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“To wrap up the job.”
“It’s done.”
“Almost.”
His expression sobers. “Don’t be a selfish prick.”
No, this is the one unselfish thing I’ll do in my life.
His fingers tighten on the cup, denting the sides. “She loves you.”
Fuck, it hurts. Before he can say more, I push through the door. I don’t need a last look at my wife. She’s a permanent picture in my mind.
Drew finds the boy where Dalton said, in the care of a nanny, living on a secluded farm north of Pretoria. When I speak to the woman on the phone, she says Dalton told her the boy’s mother is mentally ill and a danger to herself and her baby. She doesn’t know more. Dalton settled the bills, but he didn’t visit more than once a year. It makes sense why he hid Lina’s child. He wanted Clarke’s fortune all to himself. In the case of an inheritance, a blood relative takes priority over a legal guardian. An heir meant the money would’ve gone into a trust fund until the child was of legal age.
Susan Bloem cooperates when I tell her about Dalton’s death and who I am. When I bring Reyno with me for a visit, she produces the birth certificate for Lina’s child on which the father was declared as Jack Clarke. Dalton or Clarke, whoever named the boy, called him Joshua, or Josh for short.
We’re standing in the lounge of the shabby house when she calls the kid to come and greet us. A chubby boy with Lina’s dark blue eyes and, fuck, her dimple, comes in from the backyard with a plastic horse clutched in his plump little hand. All kinds of emotions clash inside me.
I go down on my haunches. “Hey, Josh. I’m Damian and this is Reyno. We’re friends of your mom.”
“Mommy’s sick,” he says.
“Not anymore. She’s gotten a whole lot better, and Reyno here is a doctor. He says you can see her. Would you like that?”
He glances uncertainly at the old woman, who smooths a hand over his hair. “He’s shy. It’ll take some getting used to.”
She seems to be good to him. I stand to face her. “I don’t know how long it will take for Lina to regain her strength, but she’ll need a hand until she’s back on her feet, and seeing that you’re the only family Josh knows, I’d like for you to stay on until Lina makes a decision. I’ll pay you well for your trouble.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Hart. Josh and I are close, and, well, work is scarce these days, especially for an old woman.”
“That’s settled then.”
I ruffle Josh’s hair. “How would you like to live in a house on the river with your own fishing boat?”
His eyes grow large and his smile wide.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I hope Russell knows how to fish. Otherwise, he’ll have to learn fast.
The thought is a bitter pill to swallow, but I brush it aside. After leaving Susan to pack, I arrange for a driver to fetch them tomorrow. There’s still the property deed and transfer of ownership to take care of, as well as Dalton’s estate. My attorney assures me Lina won’t be held responsible for Dalton’s debts. They’re not blood relatives, and Dalton never adopted her.
When I’ve taken care of the most pressing business, I go back to the big, empty house I won’t be selling, after all. In the quietness of the study, I light a fire, pour a whisky, and turn on the television. Dalton’s accomplice, a freelance mercenary called Samuel Rourke, was detained by the security company and handed over to the cops when, alerted by a body splattered on the pavement, they arrived on the scene. He took a shot at Russell as Russell was being hoisted up by the electric reel I’d fitted to the rail, but missed. Russell wounded him in the leg, ensuring he wouldn’t get far climbing his way down all those stairs. Wisely, Samuel made a deal. In exchange for telling the police everything, he gets ten years for kidnapping instead of twenty-five. Won’t matter much. I know people on the inside who’ll take care of him. For the part he played in Lina’s abduction, he deserves to die. For now, the cocksucker is doing me a favor, spewing the facts all over the news channels. He’s telling how Dalton paid him to kidnap his daughter, about the ransom, and Dalton’s plan to make his daughter’s murder look like suicide.
I down the rest of my drink and slump in my chair. I can’t face sleeping in a bed where Lina’s smell lingers. I can’t face tomorrow or the day after. Swinging back my arm, I hurl the glass into the fireplace. It shatters with a satisfying crash. A blue flame shoots up in the chimney. It lasts for all of a second before the flames go back to normal. Life continues quietly, making a mocking of my tantrum and laughing in my face.
