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“Was he drunk then, too?”
She didn’t respond and he looked away, to the house, where in the reflection of the windows, on the upper story he saw Ross, standing in the shadows, as if he were trying to hide, but observing the scene below.
Her cell phone rang and she said, “Excuse me.”
But he wasn’t done. Even though he hadn’t expected to learn anything, he felt a needle of disappointment prick his heart. “She’s important to me,”
he said flatly, looking away toward the stable and barns, his jaw tight. The law, it seemed, was always an obstacle. “I’d just like to know if you hear something.”
“I have to take this call.”
He nodded, then took off, heading back to his little house. Nakita, now that some of his energy had been burned, was staying close to Santana’s heels. He knew Alvarez wouldn’t call him. She’d barely give him the time of day. Even if she wanted to, which she didn’t, her hands were bound. So, as an outsider, he would have to do things his own way.
First up, he thought, buy Ivor Hicks a Bloody Mary.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Dr. Ramsby said with a soft smile as she gazed across her desk to the wan-looking woman seated in front of her. Padgett Long was staring at her intently, her face devoid of expression, her wide blue eyes never leaving the psychologist’s as rain drizzled down the win-358 Lisa Jackson
dow of Ramsby’s office. She wore no makeup but she was still a striking woman with a smooth complexion, her curly dark hair and intense blue eyes rimmed by sweeping black eyelashes. But she didn’t respond. Long ago, Jalicia had learned that it was the quiet ones who were the most frightening. One was always wary of the psychotics prone to outbursts, but the silent ones, the ones who lived in their own private hellish worlds—they were the ones to watch closely, the ones who could lull a person into a false and deadly sense of security.
“This unfortunate news is actually twofold.”
Still not so much as a glimmer of understanding.
“First, your father is in failing health. I know we’ve told you that before. He’s been in a nursing facility and steadily declining.”
Padgett waited. Patiently. As if in another world.
“I spoke with Mr. Tinneman, your father’s attorney, and he told me it was your father’s dying wish to see his grandson, your child. I initially declined to talk to you about it. I wanted a member of the family to ask for your help, if they wanted it.”
Was there just the flicker of understanding, an involuntary narrowing of the corner of her eyes?
“But I decided you have every right to know what your family is intending. Your father wants to find your son. It’s my understanding that you may have given him up for adoption through the Cahill House in San Francisco?”
Still nothing.
Dr. Ramsby waited, feeling the gray of the Seattle weather seep through her window. The morning had dawned rain-washed, the sky muddled with lowhanging clouds. Though this office was decorated with soft, ambient light, a cozy love seat and match-
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ing chair, and, to accompany her desk, several side chairs, the drab of the day permeated all of the decorator’s best interests. She held a pen over Padgett’s file, intending to take notes, but she decided it might be an exercise in futility, so she folded the thick file and tucked it into a drawer.
“The other news is about your brother.”
The blue eyes didn’t waver.
“I’m afraid he was killed yesterday. At your family estate in Montana.” Padgett’s gaze was transfixed upon the doctor, as if she were listening intently.
“The authorities believe it was homicide. After speaking with Mr. Tinneman, I called the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department this morning and spoke to a Detective Alvarez. The police don’t know yet who shot your brother.”
Padgett shifted slightly in her chair. Refolded her hands.
“I assume there will be a funeral. You will probably want to attend?” She asked it as a question and there was a hint of interest, a blink.
“Padgett? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Perfectly,” the woman said without a second’s hesitation. “My brother is dead, so I can leave now.”
