The Priest's Graveyard by Ted Dekker Page A

appearance in his home. The very thought of leaving terrified me.
    “Of course,” I said. “What do you do?”
    “I work in international investments. My partner’s the devil and I swear that one day one of us is going to kill the other,
     but sometimes that’s the price one must pay for wealth. He’s twice my age and still has twice my ambition.” He chuckled.
    I laughed with him. “Does this devil have a name?”
    He grinned. “Jonathan Bourque. Used to be a priest, if you can believe it.”
    “I take it you don’t like this so-called priest.”
    “Former,” he corrected. “Let’s just say that he has his graveyard and it’s full of his victims.”
    The world was a twisted place, I thought.
    Lamont grew more serious. “Your living here might present us with a rather complicated relationship. It’s a dangerous world
     out there, and I’m obsessive about security.” He looked at me. “I told you that Cyrus would never lay a hand on you?”
    “Yes.”
    “I have to confess, I might have spoken out of turn.”
    “He’s after me?” I was alarmed.
    “Not as long as you’re here. No one can touch you here, I’m absolutely certain of that. But short of killing the man, which
     is not in my nature, I can’t keep him from being who he is.”
    “But you talked to him?”
    “An associate of mine had someone approach him. To say that he’s upset about having lost you would be a gross understatement.
     Which is why I think you’ll be safer if you stay here.”
    “Okay.”
    A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Just like that?”
    I shrugged, and he shook his head. “No, you have to be deliberate about this decision. I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m
     taking advantage of you.”
    “I would never think that. I like you.”
    He blushed. “I like you, too. That’s what I’m worried about.”
    “I’m not a little girl,” I said.
    “No. Now, that I do know.”
    Lamont stood and paced thoughtfully. “I’m a little OCD, you know. I have my rules.”
    “OCD, that’s like…anal?”
    “No, it’s more than anal. Everything has its place.” He motioned around the room. “The doors all have two locks and a dead
     bolt. The house is dustproof—no door leads directly outside. The glass must never be touched. I prepare my food in a certain
     way. To the average man they’re just quirks, but for me they’re necessities. Why else do you think I live so far out of the
     mainstream?”
    “I’m a bit quirky myself,” I said.
    “I’m gone for days at a time. I’m not sure you could handle that.”
    “I’d miss you. But you’d come back, right?”
    At this point, I was hardly lucid. My mind was spinning and I was overwhelmed by my surroundings. His cleaning habits and
     travel schedule were trivial compared with the prospect of living in such a wonderful, safe environment.
    “That’s not what concerns me. While I’m gone I would need to be absolutely confident that you and the house were all right.
     It’s just the way I am and you might grow tired of it. I wouldn’t want you to leave the house alone, at least not until we
     were sure the world outside those doors was safe for you. And I would need to know that you aren’t spilling beans on the floor
     or otherwise making a mess in my absence.”
    He looked at me apologetically as he said it, then he shrugged. “Sorry.”
    “Sure.” I had no interest in leaving the house and I wasn’t messy.
    “Sure? You’re very sure?”
    “Are you forgetting my alternatives?” I asked.
    “True. But you might get lonely. Are you sure you could handle that?”
    “Trust me, I’ve had enough of the streets to last me a lifetime. As long as I have food, music, and television I’ll be fine.”
    “Unfortunately, I don’t have television. We could get it just for you. But my idea of controlling or messy might be different
     from yours.” Lamont took my hand and kissed it. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes!” I laughed weakly, not because