“You hated it.”
“I did. All of it.” Because he’d been such a poor husband himself, his son had ended up living with a stepfather no one liked. And Emily had felt trapped. She didn’t want to “fail” again. But she’d been afraid of Malcolm…
Sebastian wished he’d given those fears more credence. But his father had needed constant care during the years she was first with Malcolm, and once his dad had died and he’d managed to forgive her, he was accustomed to the situation. He’d passed along a few bucks to ease the financial strain, hoping that would help, but he’d never expected it to end the way it did. The fact that Malcolm was a cop-that he loved being a cop-had convinced Sebastian that Emily’s husband was basically a good guy. Sebastian had thought he was just rigid and difficult to deal with on a personal level.
Even after so long, he was shocked by how wrong he’d been.
“So you finally agree that Malcolm is alive?” he asked.
“Now I do. It was him. Who else would be calling here in the middle of the night?”
Sebastian had no idea. But it was a relief to hear Constance acknowledge the possibility that Malcolm was still among the living. Until now, only his mother and, to a point, Mary-had believed him.
“Should I e-mail him? Let him know it was me?”
“You have his e-mail address?”
“It was on those transcripts you sent me.”
“No. I can’t afford to spook him. But why would he be looking for me?” he asked, but he could guess. Malcolm was tempted to see Mary this weekend, more tempted than he’d ever been to let someone from his former life know he was alive. But he was scared, too-scared enough to be searching for signs of trouble.
“Maybe he realizes you’re on to him. Maybe he feels you’re getting close.”
Lightning illuminated a few souls determined to brave the weather. At nearly eight o’clock in the morning, it was still dark enough that they had to use their headlights. One pair flipped on, then another.
“It’s possible,” he said. It wasn’t as if Sebastian had kept his search a secret. He’d flown all over the country tracking down everyone Malcolm had ever known, including Malcolm’s first wife. If Malcolm had been in touch with any of them, he’d probably been told that Sebastian was asking questions. Malcolm had contacted Mary, hadn’t he? Perhaps he’d contacted someone else, too-someone who’d heard what he’d done but didn’t quite trust the news. Or someone who was willing to accept any denials Malcolm had to offer.
“Do you think he checked with the bank?” she asked.
“That would be my guess.” Sebastian couldn’t believe that Malcolm would call Constance first, that he’d let her hear his voice when there were easier ways to get information. Lincoln Hawke Financial, the bank where he worked, was holding his position open, despite the topsy-turvy economy. Had Malcolm called there, he might’ve been told that Sebastian was still an employee. Or, depending on whom he’d spoken to, he might’ve been told that Sebastian hadn’t been in for more than a year.
What would Malcolm make of such a long absence?
“I’m nervous,” Constance said. “If he’s afraid you’re on to him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
Turning away from the window, Sebastian went back to his computer. “It’ll blow the meeting this weekend, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not worried about the meeting-I’m worried about your safety!” she cried. “He’s already killed two people and gotten away with it. If he thinks you’re on to him, he might decide to get rid of you!”
“I’m prepared for that.”
“How do you prepare for being shot?”
“By knowing how to shoot back. After all the time I’ve spent at the range, I’m not bad.”
“But he could use this meeting with Mary to set you up. You might go there thinking you’ve got him, and it could be exactly the opposite.”
Maybe, but he’d never been this close to catching the man who’d killed his son. This could be his only opportunity. “Then we’ll see who outsmarts whom.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” she snapped. “That’s your response? That cavalier attitude will get you killed!”
“You know I can’t turn back now.”
“Sebastian, you could stop this madness if you wanted to. How will it help Colton or Emily if you die, too? And what about me? Don’t I matter at all?”
He logged in to his e-mail program. “I can’t move on until I put this to rest,” he said. “This is the only way.”
“Sebastian?”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
The question caught him off guard. He didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t lie to her. That was one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do with any woman. Not after Emily had cheated on him, not after he’d learned how it felt to be on the receiving end of such lies. “I don’t know anymore.”
His admission met with a prolonged silence. “Then you won’t be coming back, anyway, not to me,” she said and hung up.
Exhaling, he tossed his phone aside and held his palms against his eyes. He’d just slipped even farther away from the woman he’d wanted to marry, away from everything he had left.
A knock sounded at the door. It was early for the maid, but Sebastian couldn’t imagine who else it would be. “No housekeeping,” he called.
“It’s me.”
Jane. He crossed to the door and opened it to find her standing in the hallway, shaking off an umbrella, which she propped against the wall. She was wearing a trench coat that fell open to reveal a fitted brown business suit with a narrow skirt and a turquoise blouse. Only her rock-star hair, that tattoo on her hand-the one on her breast was completely hidden today-and her large dangly earrings gave away the fact that she wasn’t like other women who might wear this kind of tailored clothing.
“I got hold of the owner of that rental house we visited yesterday,” she said.
Sebastian felt torn. He’d just broken up with Constance -and this time he was sure it was for good. That was probably a mistake. And yet he wanted to touch Jane. He wanted a second chance to make it a pleasant experience for her.
But her starchy bearing told him she had no intention of letting that happen. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that they’d ever been intimate.
“And?” he prompted.
“Wesley Boss moved out three months ago.”
“Any forwarding address?”
“Just the P.O. box we already have, as you expected.”
He stepped back to let her in. She paused uncertainly, but when he cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge, she clutched her purse in front of her and marched past him in her sensible brown pumps.
“Did Malcolm put a phone number on the rental application?” he asked as the door swung shut.
“He did. It was the number of that cell phone my kidnap victim used. A phone that’s disappeared from the network and can’t be found, of course.”
She had the smell of rain on her, mingled with the perfume he’d noticed the night before. “So it’s a dead end.”
“Yes.”
He motioned to the desk chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, I’m on my way to work. I just stopped by to see if you’d lend me that picture you have of Wesley Boss-or Malcolm Turner or whoever he is-so I can make a copy of it. It’ll be a lot easier to find him if I can at least show people what he looks like.”
“The one you saw yesterday is still in the car, but I’ve got another one.” He crouched next to his briefcase-he’d opened it on the floor on the far side of the bed-and riffled through the contents, eventually withdrawing a manila envelope containing an eight-by-ten of Malcolm. He’d taken it from a second photo that’d had Emily in it, too, until he’d cropped her out.
Jane avoided any incidental contact as she accepted it. “Thank you.”
“No need to make a copy. I have a whole stack.”
“Perfect.”
“What about references?” he asked.
“References?” She’d obviously lost the thread of the conversation.