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“We’ve been doing some deep digging into Sam’s background. We’re hampered by having to work on a big GSU issue, but Jarvis and I try to dedicate some time to this as well. Sam’s hidden things pretty well, but we’re finally making progress. He’s definitely not the man you thought he was.”
Confused, I glance over, trying to interpret what he’s saying.
“Your Sam Beaton didn’t exist before 1986. We found a birth record for a Samson Beaton from 1966 who died in1986 and we think your Sam stole that identity. It’s called ghosting. Somehow, he got that person’s Social Security number and managed to get a complete set of documents. We’ve been doing facial recognition to see if we could match his current persona with his original identity.”
“Did you find a match?” My voice shifts from vibrato to tremolo to squeak.
“With a couple of possibilities, we should have more answers soon.” He stretches his six-five frame, folding down, reaching up, hands flat against the top of the frame. “That’s all I can do tonight. Let’s eat something.” She drags Max to the kitchen, and Max carries in two pizza boxes, a container of wings, and a bowl of onion rings. Cress follows with a bottle of Prosecco and three flutes.
Pequod’s never disappoints. Besides the wings and onion rings, we have a large caramelized-crust pan pizza topped with spinach, pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, olives, and onion. Max insists on pineapple and ham, so he has his own small pie. Cress and I turn up our noses.
“Just think how great it would be if they would do tuna and sweet corn with red onion,” he taunts. “Very popular in Scotland.”
“You Brits come up with the most disgusting combinations.” Cress makes a sick face.
Too many Negronis followed by glasses of Prosecco, combined with too much pizza lulls me to sleep, where all my dreams are of climbing cheese mountains dripping with tuna and corn, then floating in a sea of bubbly wine while Sam taunts me from the shore.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
O’ What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!—William Shakespeare
JL
Still seethingover Sam’s latest attack and Liam’s ineptitude, I call Yannick to pick me up.
“Aren’t you spending the day with your maman?” he chides.
A pang in my chest reminds me Maman’s current condition is my fault. “She’s had a slight setback, so she’ll be sleeping most of the day.” I take a breath. “In the meantime, I have a lot to accomplish, and I need you to help me. Text when you get to the hospital.”
“Be there in a few.” He rings off.
Instead of the company SUV, he’s driving his black Corvette Stingray with the red racing stripes. The rain has stopped. Water beads up on its highly polished surface from the overladen trees, while sun sparkles on the drops. He pulls into the circular drive, coming to a flashy stop as the tires spray water from the puddles. I jump back from the resultant wave, then get into the front seat, examining my slacks for damage.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to see a real estate agent, or two.”
“Your maman has agreed to go to Chicago?”
“At least in this moment.”
“Strike while the iron is hot.” He punches my arm.
“Keep your hands on the wheel.”
“When?”
“When what?” I’ve totally lost the thread.
“When are you taking her?”
“Day after tomorrow. Can’t go any sooner.”
“You’re glowering. Did something happen?”
“Sam appeared and attacked Micki. I’d leave right now if I could.”
Yannick hits the brakes. The stop is so hard I’m worried he’ll trigger the air bags.
