Falls thought for a second, then said, “I may just be hired help, but Julian’s like a son to me. I watched him grow up. I helped raise him, and have a warm place in my heart for his mother. There’s not much I won’t do for him.”
“Your point?”
“My point is I’m not as forgiving as Mrs. Vane. It’s not in my nature and not in my job description. Point is you need to talk to me. There’re things I need to know and I plan to know them. You think on that. I’ll expect you to have a different attitude come morning.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“In the meantime.” Falls put the big Ford in gear. “Don’t come near the main house without permission. Dogs are out after dark, and the guards are for more than show. I can promise you that.”
“I think we understand each other.”
Falls waited a heartbeat, then took his foot off the brake. Michael watched taillights fade in the dark beneath the trees, and then joined Elena on the porch. She was in a rocking chair, knees drawn up. Michael sat beside her. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m scared.”
“Give me a second.” He returned to the car and triggered the release of the driver’s-side air bag. It was disengaged, hollowed out. Inside was the forty-five, wrapped in newspaper to keep it from rattling. “See, all better.”
Yet Elena did not feel better. She went into a back bedroom, pulled the curtains and climbed into bed. “I love you, Michael, and I can handle this. Your brother. This place. I can give you your day, and you can get some answers. Just tell me you know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Swear it on your soul.”
He touched his heart. “I swear on my soul.”
She pulled his head down and kissed him. “Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“What if you had to choose? Julian or me? Julian or the baby?”
“That won’t happen.”
She cupped his face with both hands, stared deep into his eyes. She kissed him hard, then rolled onto her side.
“It just did.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jessup had a room apart from the servant’s wing. It had a small living area, a closet, a bath and its own separate entrance. He could have taken a larger room, but he valued the entrance, the privacy of his own door. Abigail knocked on it an hour after Michael was taken to the guesthouse.
“Come in.” Jessup opened the door and stepped back as Abigail pushed in. They were on the north side of the mansion, the door recessed at the bottom of three shallow steps that got little sun and smelled of damp concrete. Abigail brushed past him without a word. She had an unrestrained look in her eyes, an animation she normally suppressed. He shut the door, and she paced. She traced a line of books with her fingertip, sat on the bed, then stood.
“I’ve always liked this room,” she said. “Very masculine.” She took in the heavy furniture, the paneled walls and small stone fireplace. She picked up a hand-forged fire tool, tilted it so the hammer marks glinted. “It suits you.”
“Are you okay?”
She replaced the poker and it clanked hard against the metal stand. “He’s settled at the guesthouse?”
“Yes.”
“After all these years.” Her shoulders rose. “I can’t believe he’s here.”
“It’s concerning.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We have different concerns.”
“Must you always be so paranoid?”
“Must you always be so naive?”
She allowed a smile, touched his arm. “Such strong shoulders to bear the weight of the world…”
“You’re damn straight.”
Abigail let her hand fall away, and the smile went with it. “Have you informed the senator?”
“I’ve spoken with his security. Senator Vane is still meeting with lawyers.”
“What do his people think?”
“They think Michael’s a nut-job with an angle. Money, probably. If not that, then another asshole with ideas on abortion rights, gun control, the death penalty. Most threats against your husband revolve around those issues. They’re not looking any deeper than that.”
“But you are?”
“My interests are more personal.”
“Do you think he’s a danger?”
“I think we should be all over this guy.”
“I need more than your instinct.”
“There’s more.” Jessup moved to a small table in the corner beneath a window. He opened a file and spread out a sheaf of photographs. “These just came off the printer.”
“From his car?”
“The search was cursory, but still…”
“Who did you use?”
“Alden.”
“Alden’s good.”
Falls spread out a handful of photographs. The car. The license plate. Shots of the interior. “There was one weapon in the vehicle.” Jessup sifted out a close-up of a handgun. “Kimber nine millimeter, a high- quality handgun. The serial numbers have been removed. Not filed off, but burned off with acid. Very thorough. Very professional. We also found this.” Another photograph slid across the table. It showed an open duffel and bands of green.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars, give or take. The bills are brand-new. Still in the sleeves.”
“Do you still think he’s after money?”
“Three hundred thousand is not a billion.”
“Is that all you found?”
“This was in the bottom of his duffel.” Falls slipped a photograph from the file folder and handed it over. The picture was of a book.
“Hemingway? Should I worry?”
“I’m just showing you what we found. The gun. Clothing. Cash. I saved the best two for last.” He slid out another picture. It was a close-up of another snapshot, a black and white photo of two small boys on a field of mud and snow. Time had degraded the image so that their features were washed out, their eyes specks of black.
“Oh, my God.” Abigail lifted the photo.
“It’s the same picture, isn’t it?”
