"Certifiable. I mean, I've heard of it—a lady friend of mine who's into art has been using it—but I can't see myself ever buying it."

Gia had started toying with computer art before the accident. She probably could have done this for him but he didn't want her involved. The less she knew the better.

Russ smiled, showing yellow teeth. "Buying software… what a concept. 1 guess you do need me, Jack."

He closed the cover and moved to one of the three computers in the room. A few key taps and a glow began to move along the scanner's edge. A barrage of taps and then Russ motioned Jack toward the monitor.

"Okay. There it is. What do you want to do with it?"

Leaning over him he realized that Russ had been procrastinating in regard to his next shower. No biggie. Couldn't hold a candle to a rakosh.

On the screen he saw an image of the lab report he'd taken from Levy, showing Bolton's positive paternity test with Dawn. He pointed to the screen.

"See that logo? Can you copy that onto a blank sheet to make it look like stationery?"

Mouse-click-mouse-click-tap-tap.

"There you go."

Jack blinked. "That's all it takes? I can type a letter on that?"

"I'll save it as a file and you can write dozens of letters from the…" He squinted at the screen. "Creighton Institute."

Jack wasn't crazy about Russ connecting him to Creighton, but the guy wasn't a conniver. And the truth was, Russ having Creighton's logo on his computer was a greater liability to him than to Jack.

"Do it."

Mouse-click-tap.

"Done."

"All right. Back to the lab report." He touched the screen. "See those code numbers? Can you substitute names for them?"

Russ looked up at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"I didn't think I was."

"You weren't kidding." He shook his head as he turned back to the screen. "You really do need me, Jack. At least until you join the twenty-first century."

"I'm not some sort of Luddite. I own a computer, I use it, I enjoy it, but it's not a way of life." He was sure he hadn't tapped one percent of its potential, but getting into it took time—hours before the monitor or reading manuals that he didn't care to surrender. "I've got other things to do. I mean, why should I spend my time learning this Photoshop thing when I can pay you to do it for me? You're better at it than I'll ever be, so it's worth the money."

"Never looked at it that way," Russ said as he moused and clicked. "You're right, man. Save that computer of yours just for e-mail. I can always use the money." He started tapping on the keys. "Okay. We got rid of the numbers, now we've got to match the font and the text size and we're in business. What names we using here?"

Jack grabbed a pen and pad from the desk and jotted down Dawn Pickering and Jerry Bethlehem.

"Make sure Dawn goes in the second spot—she can't very well be anyone's father."

Russ spoke as he typed. "You never know, Jack. You never know. So, you running a number on this Bethlehem guy?"

"Better you don't know. And even better you forget you ever heard these names."

"Gotcha. Okay. There you are: Some girl's found her daddy—or vicey-versey. I'll print this out along with the stationery. How many copies you want?"

Jack thought about that. He needed only one letter, but a number of copies.

"How about I type it right here, and then you print it out."

"Sure thing." Russ rose and gestured toward the keyboard. "Be my guest."

As Jack seated himself he pulled a slip of paper from a pocket and handed it to Russ.

"While I'm doing this, why don't you make yourself useful and look up the next of kin of these folks."

"Don't want me to see what you're writing, right?"

"Right."

"No problem." He looked at the names on the slip and whistled. "This might take a while."

Jack looked up at him. "Then you might want to get right to it. Besides, you're blocking my light."

As Russ wandered away, Jack began to type. He had a two-finger style—slow, but it got the job done…

5

"You sure your phone's turned on?" Jerry said.

"Yes, I'm sure." Dawn hid her irritation. "That's like the tenth time you've asked me."

What was up with him? He knew her phone was never off. Never. The way he kept getting up and limping around his living room, and then sitting down again was getting on her nerves, and she didn't have many left.

Mom… dead… even after identifying the body—which had to be the totally worst moment in her life, ever—she still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that she wouldn't be down the hall at home or at the other end of the phone anytime Dawn needed her.

God, she wished things between them hadn't got so out of hand.

If I'd been home…

Guilt enveloped her like a cold, damp cloud. She couldn't shake it. A sob burst free.

"It's my fault… all my fault. If I'd been there… if I hadn't moved out…"

Jerry stopped his pacing and stood over her.

"Now, darlin, we been through that. Your momma was on the edge, havin strange thoughts, doing strange things. We didn't recognize the signs. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine. I shouldn't have fallen in love with you. I shouldn't have taken you away from her."

Dawn grabbed his hand and pressed it against her cheek. She needed Jerry now, more than ever. She felt so sad, sad beyond words, beyond belief, and maybe even a little—she didn't like to admit it—angry at Mom for abandoning her. She'd left her totally alone, with no father, no sisters and brothers, no grandparents, nobody. She couldn't even go back to her house because it was a crime scene and the police were still working on it—they called it "processing." Or so they said. Maybe she was the prime suspect and they didn't want her back, covering her tracks.

God, that was totally sick!

"I so should have known something was going haywire with her."

"Look, darlin, I been around crazy people and I know the signs, and your momma wasn't givin a clue that she had this in mind."

Dawn stared up at him. He never spoke about his past. This was the first clue he'd ever given. Despite her fog of depression, she jumped on it.

"You've been around crazy people? When?"

He looked confused for a second, maybe even flustered.

"My momma had a major breakdown when I was in my, um, twenties. Broke my heart when we had to stick her in a loony bin, but we just couldn't handle her. I'd go visit her every day and, believe me, I saw loads of craziness."

"What was wrong with her?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. You're sure your phone's on?"

She wanted to scream. "Yes! Why do you keep asking?"

"I'm just wondering what they found on the tox screen. This mysterious caller—is he right? 'Cause if he is, how does he know? Unless your mother

didn't kill herself." He put his hands to his head. "1 can"t handle this. It reminds me too much of my own mother. It's freakin me. I gotta go out."

"Where?"

"Just out. I need some air."

"I'll go with—"

"No. I just need a little time. I'll be better when I get back. I need to be alone."

"And I need not to be alone."

"Hang on there, darlin. I'll be just a little while."

As he limped toward the door she thought of a way to stop him.

"But you can't drive with that leg!"

"I'll manage. I'll take your car."

And then he was gone.

Dawn picked up the nearest thing she could find—the universal remote—and hurled it at the door. The battery cover popped off when it hit and the batteries went flying.

How could he do this? What was so important that he had to leave her now of all times? It was like totally heartless.

An awful thought crept up on her. What if he didn't love her as much as he said? What if he was sneaking off to see someone else? He'd been looking at his watch as if waiting for a certain time.