Those kids were turning tricks anyway.”Oh. Well, then. Un-cuff the misunderstood Jesuit.O’Leary had told the truth, partly anyway. He was a failed...priest. From long ago. For the past 24 years he’s been on the scuffle -- a carny huckster looking for fast money. He’d been selling shelter kids for sex ever since his phony credentials -- buried long enough to elude the Sullivan twins -- landed him at St. Jeremy.I sort of believe him, and sort of don’t, that he didn’t know the fate of the kids he. "Peter?" she whispered again. "Am I pretty?" Uh," I cleared my throat again. "Yeah." I waited a minute and when she didn't say anything I asked, "Was that your nightmare?"She shook her head. Her hair brushed softly against my arm. I stifled a groan of growing frustration. God hates me, I thought, he must just plain hate me to give me this kind of temptation."I didn't really have a nightmare." She confessed softly."You didn't?" My throat went dry yet again. "So, uh, so why you in here?" Couldn't. More

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