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“He called earlier.” Jason polished off his drink. “Big news.”
Zach’s blood seemed to freeze.
“He called to crow, really,” Jason continued as he walked to the bar and added more Scotch to his melting ice cubes. “Seems he’s found Bobby Slade, the one who we hoped would turn out to be Adria’s real father. Robert E. Lee Slade. He’s Ginny Watson’s ex-husband, all right, and he’s living’ in Lexington, Kentucky—has himself some kind of auto repair shop or something.” Jason made a dismissive gesture with his hands, as if whatever it was that kept Bobby Slade employed didn’t really matter. “According to Sweeny, Slade doesn’t know where his ex-wife is, hasn’t kept up with her since he heard from her two years ago when she’d taken some kind of nanny job in San Francisco.”
Zach’s hands began to sweat and he remembered Ginny Slade as a plain woman in dowdy suits and heavy shoes who looked ancient compared to Kat. But somehow the birdlike woman had managed to steal her precious charge right out from under Witt’s nose.
“What else does the guy have to say?”
“Plenty. Bobby claims his wife was a nutcase. Totally bonkers. She lost any grip on reality she had when their toddler daughter was killed in a drowning accident. She blamed him, he blamed her, and their marriage fell apart. Sweeny says Slade was glad to be rid of her.”
“So what about London?”
“Here comes the clincher,” Jason said, looking up at the ceiling. “Slade says that years ago—the mid-70s, he thinks, just before he moved to Kentucky—she showed up in Memphis out of the blue. Ginny had a kid in tow, a dark-haired girl of about four. He thought it was strange at the time, but just assumed that the kid was hers as she claimed. She’d always had a thing about babies, even before losing her own.” Jason looked straight at his brother and the hidden anger in his eyes bordered on hatred. “The odd thing about the situation was, and it kind of gave Slade the creeps, that she named the kid Adria, the same name she’d given their little girl who’d died.”
“Jesus Christ
,” Zach whispered.
“My sentiments exactly. I hate to admit it, but it looks like Adria might just be London.”
Zach gripped the edge of the desk. This was all wrong. It had to be. Adria couldn’t be his half-sister. No way! She wasn’t related to him! He thought of her being battered, nearly killed by an attacker. Someone who thought of her as a fraud. His insides grew cold. If the would-be killer discovered the truth…Jesus! And there was another more personal issue. One he wanted to forget. But he couldn’t. He remembered her lying beneath him, her body shiny with sweat, her voice moaning in gentle rhythm to his thrusts…for the love of God…
“Nelson’s fit to be tied. He’s on his way over here.”
“What about Trisha?” Zach asked, though he could barely keep his mind on the conversation.
“Couldn’t get hold of her,” Jason admitted. “She’s probably out prowling again.”
“Let me talk to Sweeny. He’s probably lying—”
“Shit, Zach, get a grip.”
“I need to talk to him!”
“Why?”
“I just need to ask him some questions,” Zach said, and Jason favored him with a smug little smile that said he could read his brother like the proverbial book.
“The number’s on the desk, Zach, but it won’t do any good. The facts, as they say, are the facts. Adria Nash is probably our sister. The good news is that she doesn’t know it.”
“Yet,” Zach said, with a sinking sensation.
“Ever.” Jason’s jaw hardened and he suddenly looked so much like their father, Zach winced. “As far as I’m concerned,” Jason said with deadly calm, “she’ll never know.”
23
“We finally caught ourselves a break,” Sweeny said, his voice self-satisfied and oily as it sang through the wires.
Every muscle in Zach’s body contracted an inch and he could barely breathe. “You have an address where Ginny Slade can be found?”
“Nope, but I’ve got one where she worked a couple of years ago. Pacific Palisades in San Francisco.”
“Let’s have it.”
The detective hesitated only a second, then gave Zach the name and number of Virginia Watson’s last employer of record. It wasn’t much, but it was all Zach needed. He hung up just as Nelson shouldered through the double doors of Jason’s office, took one look around, and paused, his face blanching slightly. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Sweeny found Ginny Slade,” Jason said. “Well, nearly. He thinks she’s in San Francisco.”
