by Sandra Brown
chapter 22
“We know this is last minute, but we’re hoping you’ll go to dinner with us.”
Paris looked from Dean to Gavin. In seven years, he had grown tall, lean, and handsome. His hair had darkened slightly and the bone structure of his face was more defined, but she would have recognized him even on sight.
“This is a cliché,” she said, “and you’ll hate me for saying it, but I can’t believe you’re so grown up.” She clasped one of his hands between hers. “It’s so good to see you again, Gavin.”
With a mix of embarrassment and shyness, he said, “It’s good to see you, too, Ms. Gibson.”
“When you were nine, Ms. Gibson was appropriate. Coming from you now it makes me sound ancient. I’m Paris from now on, okay?”
“Okay.”
“How about dinner?” Dean asked.
“I’ve already got something started.”
He raised his eyebrows expectantly, putting her on the spot and giving her little choice except to say, “There’s plenty if you and Gavin don’t mind eating in.”
“It will be a welcome change.” Dean nudged Gavin across her threshold. “What are we having?”
“You weaseled an invitation out of me and now you’re choosy?”
“Anything but liver or rutabagas.”
“Angel-hair pasta with pork tenderloin and veggies. No rutabagas.”
“My mouth is already watering. What can we do to help?”
“Uh.” Suddenly she felt at a loss. It had been so long since she had entertained, she’d forgotten how. “We could all have something to drink.”
“Sounds good.”
“I have a bottle of wine . . .” She gestured toward the back of the house.
Dean said, “Lead the way.”
In the kitchen, she assigned him the job of opening the Chardonnay, while she poured a Coke over ice for Gavin. Dean made himself right at home. She and Gavin were more awkward with the situation. “There’s a CD player in the living room,” she said to him. “But I’m not sure I have any music you’ll like.”
“I’ll like it. I listen to your show sometimes.”
Pleased to know that, she told him where to find her CD player. He left the kitchen for the living room. As soon as he was out of earshot, she said to Dean, “Am I to acknowledge the bruise on his face or not?”
“Not.”
It had been impossible not to notice the dark bruise and slight swelling beneath Gavin’s right eye. Naturally she’d wondered how he had come to have such a painful-looking injury. But Dean seemed angry and upset about it, so she changed the subject by asking how Gavin’s meeting with Curtis had gone.
“Curtis said Gavin stuck to his original story, telling him nothing that he hadn’t told me. He and Janey argued, then he joined a group of friends. Never saw her again.”
“Does Curtis believe him?”
“Noncommittal. He didn’t detain Gavin, which I take as a positive sign. Also, Valentino has a mature voice. I don’t think Gavin could pull that off, even if he tried. And where would Gavin be holding a girl hostage? He doesn’t have access to a place. He would have had to kill her that night and—Jesus, listen to me.” He braced his hands on the edge of the counter and stared into the bottle of wine.
“Gavin had nothing to do with Janey’s disappearance. I just know that, Dean.”
“I don’t think he did either. But I also never would have guessed he was doing the other stuff. It’s been disconcerting, to say the least, to discover that my son has been leading a secret life.”
“To some extent, don’t all teenagers?”
“I suppose, but I’ve made it easy for him. I wanted him to like living with me, so I’ve soft-pedaled the discipline. It didn’t seem like I was going easy on him, but I suppose I haven’t been as diligent or consistent as I should have been. Gavin took advantage of that.”
Turning his head to address her, he added, “With all my psychological training, shouldn’t I have realized that I was being conned?”
Just then Gavin called from the living room, “Is Rod Stewart okay?”
“Great,” Paris called back. Then to Dean, she said, “Cut yourself some slack. It’s a child’s duty to try and bamboozle his parents. As for discipline, techniques from a textbook don’t always translate to real life.”
“But how can it be this hard to get right?”
She laughed softly. “If it were easy, if one system worked for every child, a lot of so-called experts would be out of work. What would they discuss on afternoon talk shows? Think of the chaos, to say nothing of the economic crisis, that well-behaved and obedient children would create.”
After winning a smile from him, she dropped the joking. “I’m not making light of your concern, Dean. In fact, it’s admirable. Gavin may have gotten off track, but he’ll turn out all right.”
He poured wine into the two stemmed glasses she had set out and handed one to her. “We can hope.” He clinked their glasses.
She looked at him over the rim of hers as she took a sip. “He comes by it naturally, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Gavin isn’t the only master manipulator in the Malloy family.”
“Oh?”
“Very crafty of you, showing up here with him in tow after I had already declined a dinner invitation.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“As a psychologist, how would you classify a man who uses his child to get a dinner invitation out of a woman?”
“Pathetic.”
“How about two-timing?”
Dean’s smile faltered. “You’re referring to Liz.”
“Did you tell her about your dinner plans for tonight?”
“I told her I needed to spend time with Gavin.”
“But you didn’t mention me.”
“No.”
“She seemed to have a rightful claim to your evenings.”
“She has had, yes.”
“Exclusive claim?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Couple of years.”
That came as an unpleasant shock. “Wow. When I knew you in Houston, your affairs lasted no more than a couple of weeks.”
“Because the woman I wanted was taken.”
“We’re not talking about that, Dean.”
“The hell we’re not.”
“We’re talking about you and Liz. A two-year relationship implies—”
“Not what you’re thinking.”
“What is Liz thinking?”
“Dad?” From the open doorway, Gavin hesitantly interrupted them. He was extending a cell phone to Dean. “It’s ringing.”
“Thanks.” He reached for the phone and read the incoming number on the LED. “Gavin, help Paris.”
He left the kitchen before answering the phone, causing Paris to wonder if the call had been from Liz.
“What would you like me to do?” Gavin offered.
“Set the table?”
“Okay, sure. My mom made me do it all the time.”
She smiled at him. “I remember whenever Jack and I went to your dad’s house for dinner and you were there, that was your chore.”
“Speaking of, I, uh, haven’t had a chance to tell you. I’m sorry about him, you know, dying.”
“Thank you, Gavin.”
“I liked him. He was cool.”
“Yes he was. Now,” she said briskly, “do you think we should use the dining room, or eat here in the kitchen?”
“Kitchen’s okay with me.”
“Good.” She showed him where the napkins, dishes, and cutlery were kept and he began setting the table while she sautéed the vegetables and strips of pork. “Are you looking forward to school this year?”
“Yeah. Well, I mean, I guess. It’ll be tough, not knowing anybody.”
“I can relate. My dad was career army.” She filled a pot with water to boil the pasta. “We moved all over the map. I went to three differen
t elementary schools and two junior highs. Luckily he retired, so I got to attend only one high school. But I remember how hard it was to be the new kid.”
“It sucks.”
“You’ll adjust in no time. I remember when you had to switch Little League teams, midseason. You went from being a Pirate to a—”
“Cougar. You remember that?”
“Very well. Your coach had to quit.”
“His job transferred him to Ohio or someplace.”
“So all the boys on his team were divided up among the others. You weren’t at all happy about it, but it turned out to be the best thing that could’ve happened. The Cougars needed a good shortstop, and you filled that position. The team went on to be district champs.”
“Just city,” he said modestly.
“Well, to hear your dad talk, it was the World Series. For weeks all Jack and I heard from him was ‘Gavin did this, Gavin did that. You should’ve seen Gavin last night.’ Drove us nuts. He was so proud of you.”
“I made an error in one of the play-off games. The other team got a run because of it.”
“I was at that game.”
“That’s why it sucked so bad. Dad had invited y’all to come watch me. I’m sure he could’ve killed me, then died of embarrassment.”
She turned away from the range and looked at him. “Dean was most proud of you then, Gavin.”
“He was proud of me for screwing up?”
“Hmm. In the next inning, you hit a double that batted a runner in.”
“I guess that made up for it.”
“Well, yes, to the fans and your teammates. But when Jack thumped your dad on the back and told him that you had redeemed yourself, Dean said you had redeemed yourself by getting right back into the game. He was more proud of the way you handled the mistake than he was of your hitting a double.”
Turning back to the stove, she put the angel-hair pasta into the boiling water. When she turned back around, Gavin was still frowning skeptically. She nodded. “Truly.”
And when she said that, she experienced a moment of realization. Listen to yourself, she thought. After making a mistake, Gavin had gotten right back into the game. He hadn’t slunk into the dugout and spent the remaining innings on the bench, grinding his cleats into the dirt while beating himself up over his error.
Last night Dean had said he hadn’t let his guilt and regret eat him alive. He had let it go.
Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from these Malloy men.
Dean returned to the kitchen, interrupting her disquieting thoughts. “That was Curtis.” He glanced at Gavin as if reluctant to talk about the case in front of him, but he continued without asking Gavin to excuse himself. “The case has gone stale on him.”
“What’s happening?”
“He’s got intelligence officers trying to run down Lancy Fisher.”
“Who?”
“You know him as Marvin Patterson.” He gave them a brief summary of Marvin’s colorful criminal career. “He’s wanted for questioning. And so is a Bradley Armstrong, a convicted sex offender who has violated his probation and flown the coop. He’s got men checking into the telephone angle to see if it can be figured out how Valentino is rerouting calls. And Rondeau . . .”
He paused to glance at Gavin, who ducked his head.
“He’s still working the computer side of this thing. They didn’t find a computer in Marvin’s place, but they found discs and CDs, so more than likely he took a computer with him. All this to say that Curtis is stuck in neutral. Since nothing new has turned up, I suggested to him that we see if we can provoke Valentino.”
“Into doing what?”
“Poking his head out.”
“How?”
“Through you.”
“Me? On the air?”
“That’s the idea. If you sing Janey’s praises, make her out as a victim, maybe he’ll call you to justify himself. He may talk longer and inadvertently give us a clue to his location or identity.
“The point is to keep the emphasis on Janey,” he continued. “Personalize her. Repeat her name frequently. Make him think of her as an individual, not just his captive.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “Do you think that tactic will work with Valentino?”
“Not entirely, no. But it’ll also offend his ego if this is all about her instead of him. He wants to be the star, the one everybody’s talking about. So by making her the focus, he may not be able to resist coming out to say, ‘Hey, look at me.’ ”
Paris glanced at the clock.
Dean spoke her thought out loud. “Right. We’ve got just over twenty-four hours to stop him from doing what he threatened. Tonight could be the last chance we’ll get to change his mind. He shouldn’t be nudged into doing something extreme, which could have tragic results. But possibly you could persuade him to release her.”
“That’s not an easy assignment, Dean. There’s a fine line between goading and persuading.”
He nodded somberly. “I almost regret coming up with the idea because of that.”
“What does Curtis think?”
“He jumped on the idea. Gung ho on it. But I reigned him in, told him it wasn’t going to happen unless you were one hundred percent comfortable with it.”
He came to stand closer to her. “Before you make a decision, there’s something else to think about, and it’s no small consideration. In fact, it’s a major one. Valentino started out angry with you. He’s doing this to punish you as well as the woman who wronged him. If you begin pressuring him, on any level and in any manner, he’s likely to get angrier and you’ll be the target. He’s already made one veiled threat.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
“Sounds like that, doesn’t it?” he said with a wry smile. “Don’t give a thought to disappointing Curtis or me. Taking risks is part of our job, but you didn’t sign up for it. This has got to be your call, Paris. You say nix it, it’s nixed. Think about it. You can give me your answer after dinner.”
“I don’t have to think about it. I’ll do or say whatever is needed to get that girl home safely. But I’ll need your guidance.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a firm, quick squeeze. “I’ll be right there with you, coaching you on what to say. I’d be there with you anyway.”
Aware of Gavin watching them with interest, she turned away from Dean, announcing, “The pasta’s ready.”
• • •
“Hello? Brad, is that you? If so, please talk to me.”
He hadn’t planned what he would say when his home phone was answered, but he had been compelled to call if only to assure himself that his family was still there. As soon as he heard one of their sweet voices, he figured he’d think of something appropriate.
But upon hearing the tremor in his wife’s plea, Brad Armstrong couldn’t say anything. Her evident distress undid him. His throat seized up and he couldn’t speak. He clenched the phone in his sweaty hand and considered hanging up.
“Brad, say something. Please. I know you’re there.”
He expelled a breath that was half sob, half sigh. “Toni.”
“Where are you?”
Where was he? He was in hell. This shabby room had none of the amenities of the lovely home she had made for him and the kids. There was no sunlight in this room, no good smells. Here the blinds were tightly drawn, blocking out all light except for what came from one feeble bulb in the lamp. The room stank, mostly of his own despair.
But his surroundings weren’t the worst of it. The real hell was his state of mind.
“You must come home, Brad. The police are looking for you.”
“Oh, God.” He had feared it, but having his fear realized made his stomach roil.
“I went to the police station this afternoon.”
“You did what?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Toni, why did you do that?”
“Mr. Hathaway had to report you to SOAR.” She explained how she had wound up
in the office of a detective, but he was so distraught he caught only a portion of what she said.
“You talked about your own husband to the police?”
“In an effort to help you.”
“Help me? By sending me to prison? Is that what you want for me and our children?”
“Is that what you want for them?” she countered. “You’re the one who’s destroying our family, Brad. Not me.”
“You’re getting back at me for last night, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. You’re still angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“Frightened.”
“Frightened?” he snorted. “Because I wanted to make love? From now on, should I alert you in advance that I want to have sex?”
“It wasn’t about sex, and it certainly wasn’t lovemaking, Brad. It was aggression.”
He rubbed his forehead, and his fingers came away wet with sweat. “You don’t even try to understand me, Toni. You never have.”
“This isn’t about me and my shortcomings as a wife and human being. It’s about you and your addiction.”
“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. I’ll go back to group therapy. Okay? Call the police and tell them you made a mistake. Tell them we had an argument and this was your way of getting back at me. I’ll talk to Hathaway. If I suck up to him, he’ll be lenient.”
“It’s too late for apologies and promises, Brad.”
The finality and conviction with which she spoke alarmed him to an even greater extent.
“You’ve already been given more chances than you deserve,” she continued. “Besides, it’s no longer in my hands or Mr. Hathaway’s. It’s a police matter now, and I have no choice but to cooperate with them.”
“By doing what?”
“Giving them access to your computer.”
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ. You do have a choice, Toni. Don’t you see that you’re going to ruin me? Please, honey, please don’t do this.”
“If I don’t give them permission to get into it, they’ll get a court order or a search warrant, whatever is required. It’s really not up to me.”
“You could . . . Listen, I could tell you how to clear it so they couldn’t find anything. Please, Toni? It’s not hard. A few clicks of the mouse, that’s it. It’s not like I’m asking you to rob a bank or something. Will you do that for me, honey? Please. I’m begging you.”