“Kelly.”
“Rita,” he was breath taken by the sight of her in a low-cut black chiffon outfit. He hugged her softly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It's so great to see you.”
“C'mon in, big guy. Would you like coffee, tea or a fruit drink?”
She was an anachronism, a 21st century Scarlett O'Hara. She had her vision of a perfect world and would not let the gates of Hell prevail against it. She had her Church, she had her friends and she had the code she lived by. As northeast director of Homeland Security, he dealt with so much human slime that someone like Rita seemed an improbability. There should have been no one like her.
She prattled on about the Church, about the unfortunate women along the Bowery who flocked to her women's ministry looking for a little extra. They hoped they could
