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“I’m here. I’m just confused. I spoke to Shore an hour ago. He didn’t mention anything about your joining us on Monday. Then again, he didn’t have time to. He had to grab a call from the D.A. He fired out the when and where for the meeting, and hung up.”
“The where was my idea. Lenny’s is a good meeting spot—it’s home base for the congressman and good food for us. Why are you ticked off? Is my being there a problem?”
“That depends on why you’re coming. It’s sure as hell not about doing a magazine spread on the screwup surrounding the Winters’ homicides, not when Shore is busting his ass to keep this low profile. So why would he want a photojournalist there?”
“Face time for him and media coverage for his bill. I’m covering the legendary congressman who’s living on the edge again—professionally, stirring up conflict between different special-interest groups over this new legislation he’s proposing; personally, striking out on brand-new thrill-seeking adventures. As for the shocker about the wrongful conviction in the Winters’ homicides—let’s say I’m being given the job of censoring what does and doesn’t leak out about it.”
“Clever thinking on Shore’s part,” Monty muttered. “Getting the best photojournalist in the business, who also just happens to be the son of the PI he hired. He gets skill and discretion all in one package. He also gets you stretched too damned thin for my purposes.”
This time Lane reacted bluntly to his father’s rankled tone. “Okay, Monty, spit it out. What’s bugging you?”
“Time. How long will you be working on this photo essay?”
“A week, maybe ten days.”
“No good. I need you on the crime-scene photos.”
“Fine. You got me. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
“Yeah, when? While you’re jumping out of planes?”
“No. I don’t do my best work when I’m free-falling.” Lane blew out a breath. “Listen, Monty, give me a little credit. The minute Hank told me there was a glitch in the Winter convictions, and that you were involved in the investigation, I assumed you’d want me for the photo interpretations and image enhancement. My assignment for Time is based in New York. If my out-of-town time amounts to several days, it’ll be a lot. Which means I’ll be home almost every night, right here in my house with my state-of-the-art equipment.”
“Right—your state-of-the-art equipment and your other twenty-five assignments.”
“Not to worry. This one’s top priority. Besides, I’ve got Jonah working for me now, remember? He can handle a lot of the routine work for my nonclassified projects. Which will free me up for the critical ones like yours. So why don’t you swing by my place over the weekend and bring me up to speed. That way I’ll have a better idea what I’m looking for. If there’s anything in those photos that’ll help lead you to the real killer, I’ll find it.”
“Okay.” Monty was somewhat mollified, but still wound up—a state of mind that wasn’t vanishing anytime soon. “What’s your schedule?”
“I’ve got cocktails at the Shores’ tonight. The congressman wants to brief me on next week’s itinerary and adventures. Other than that, I’m flexible. Jet-lagged, but flexible.”
“How was the trip?”
“Successful. Manic. Long.”
Monty didn’t push. He was well aware that some of Lane’s assignments were government-sanctioned and that any discussions about them were off-limits. Still, there was something about Lane’s tone this time that was different. It smacked of weariness, and maybe a hint of something Monty recognized from personal experience—something that had eventually made him walk away.
“You could use some time off,” he remarked casually. “And I don’t mean traveling on some godforsaken assignment, or jumping out of planes for the thrill of the plunge. I mean downtime. Chill-out time. I tell you what—why don’t you spend Christmas up at the farm? Bring whoever you’re dating these days. The whole family will be there—Mom and me, Devon and Blake, Merry…oh, and that law school kid she’s seeing.”
Lane chuckled. “His name’s Keith. And he’s a nice guy. Intelligent, self-assured enough to withstand your interrogations, and crazy about Merry.”
“Too crazy about her. She’s sweet, young, and trusting—way too naive to know what Keith has on his mind. But none of those traits apply to me. I know just what part of his body he’s thinking with.”
“So do I. And I’m no happier about it than you are. But Merry’s not nearly as naive as you think. She’s almost twenty-two. She’s got a definite mind of her own. Besides, she’s graduating from college in May. What are we going to do after that, lock her in her room?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Yeah.” Lane found himself agreeing. “Me, too.”
“In the meantime, what’s-his-name, almost-attorney-at-law, is getting the guest room at the opposite end of the house.”
“I never doubted it.”
“So you’ll come?”
Lane hesitated, but only for an instant. “Sure. Sounds great. A dose of home is just what I need.”
“Think you’ll be bored?” Monty asked drily. “A long weekend at the farm can’t compare to cocktail hour at the Shores’.”
