She yanked on the door handle, pushed it open, and scrambled out.
"Christy!"
"Leave me alone!"
She stumbled, found her feet, and began to run toward the lake.
7
Jack sat frozen, staring as Christy ran thirty or forty yards straight away across the grass to stop by a huge willow. She leaned against the trunk for a few heartbeats, then sank to her knees, sobbing.
He hopped out and hurried toward her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a couple of old biddies out walking their dogs stop and stare.
Had to play it careful here. Didn't want any 911 calls about a domestic dispute going down in public.
When he reached Christy he squatted close but didn't touch her. He hesitated, unsure of what to say. What was up here? He decided the last thing he should do right now was push.
"If you don't want to talk about him, you don't have to." He glanced at the two biddies who were still watching. "But whatever you decide, let's get back to the car."
She wiped her eyes and looked at him, then nodded. Jack rose and held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. As she and Jack walked side by side to the car, the biddies turned away and continued their stroll.
Back inside the Mercedes, Jack kept mum as he watched Christy and waited, mentally spurring her to spill. Finally…
"Why did you mention the Atlanta abortionist assassinations?"
Jack thought about that and didn't have a ready answer. All her problems revolved around Jeremy Bolton, the assassin, so he supposed it must have been running through his mind.
"I… when I was backgrounding you, it was the big story of the times in Atlanta."
"Well, I had nothing to do with killing anybody."
Why would she think he'd even consider that?
"I never thought you did."
"Yeah, well, for a while there the cops weren't so sure."
Jack stared at her. "You were a suspect?"
"I… I was connected to those doctors."
"Golden and Dalton?"
"You know their names?"
"Told you, I've been looking for someone from your past. What about the guy who killed them?"
She blinked. "Jeremy Bolton?"
"Now who's got the good memory."
She loosed a harsh laugh. "Oh, I'll never forget that name. When the cops finally caught him and found no connection between us, they lost all interest in me."
Jack hesitated. His next question might touch a nerve.
"You don't have to answer this but I've got to ask: Did you have abortions from the dead docs?"
She stared straight ahead. "No."
Something about the change in her tone… was she telling the truth?
"Being a murder suspect…" He shook his head. "That must be rough. That why you said it was the worst time in your life?"
"That… and other things."
"Dawn's father?"
"He's off-limits."
Remembering the last time he'd pushed her, Jack backed off.
"Well, if you change your mind, let me know so I can see where he fits in this puzzle."
"Believe me, he doesn't fit anywhere."
"What about the name change? Why did Moonglow Garber become Christy Pickering?"
"You're really on top of things, aren't you. Pretty damn thorough for so short a time."
"Just trying to give you your money's worth," Jack said without mentioning that someone else had done all the investigating.
"Well, the name change is my business."
"Another secret?"
She looked at him. "No. Just something I choose not to share."
Jack nodded. She was wound tight—maybe too tight. He decided to leave out the pregnancy part for now—it wasn't going to affect his course of action and it might drive Christy over the edge.
But since she wouldn't talk about Dawn's father, that put a sample of the mystery man's DNA out of reach. Levy's second choice was a sample of Dawn's. Jack had to figure a way to get it without triggering a barrage of questions. After a moment he came up with what he hoped was a plausible story.
He touched Christy's arm. "Did Dawn leave anything behind that might be carrying some of her DNA?"
She looked at him with an alarmed expression. "Why?"
"Let's see how close she and Bethlehem are—genetically, that is. Maybe the chance of birth defects—"
"Birth defects? Oh God, don't even think about her being pregnant!"
Jack took her reaction as proof his instincts had been right.
"You're the one who told me they were having sex."
"Yes, but pregnant?"
"One tends to follow the other."
"I can't even think about it."
"Well, then, think about this: You need to show her something. I have Bethlehem's DNA on file at the lab. If I can get some of Dawn's for a comparison, who knows…? Maybe it'll change her mind, or at least give her second thoughts about getting too cozy with that close a relative."
Christy said nothing for a while, then nodded. "I'm sure I saw a hairbrush in one of her drawers after she left. Will that do?"
"Just fine."
"Then let's not waste any more time."
8
Jack sat in his car near the lake and waited. Christy had wanted to drive him over to her house to retrieve the brush but Jack had nixed that for the same reason he'd met her here today.
While waiting, he'd called Levy and told him Dawn's father was a no go but he'd have the girl's hair soon. Jack had expected an argument, with Levy wanting to put him off till tomorrow, but he'd jumped on Jack's suggestion to meet again at the Argonaut.
Levy seemed really into this possibility of a super-oDNA kid.
Jack closed his eyes and untethered his thoughts, letting them take random bounces.
Christy's panic attack… what had triggered it? His mention of the abortionist assassinations? Or something else?
She'd said she'd been "connected" to the two dead docs? What did that mean?
He let it all hang out and cooked up the wildest scenario he could imagine: Had they performed abortions on her and left her so wracked with guilt that she'd killed them?
No. He'd learned the hard way to judge character, and he just couldn't see Christy as a cold-blooded killer.
Then again, Levy said Thompson had told him Bolton was framed. What if it was true? What if Christy had been involved in the frame and now he was getting back at her?
But the cops and probably the feds as well had investigated her and cleared her. And, for whatever it was worth, she couldn't have known Bolton—he'd changed since going to the lockup, but not so much that she wouldn't recognize him as Jerry Bethlehem, beard or no.
He shook his head, baffled. This was making him crazy.
And making him even crazier was this idea of a super-oDNA kid. Clearly someone had designed this situation, but to what end?
And who? The mysterious Jonah Stevens? Who was Jonah Stevens? He pops up out of nowhere, does a Johnny Appleseed thing with his sperm, and dies—supposedly.
But did he die? With no body to exhume, who could be sure he was really dead, or even who he'd said he was?
He could have been Rasalom.
Jack shifted in his seat. Now there was a discomfiting thought: the Other-ness's agent on Earth spreading some sort of toxic seed in the hope of creating a child to—what? Wake up everyone's oDNA and start Armageddon?
Was that the Plan? Was that what Bolton had meant by the comin of the Key to the future … a new world?
By "new" did he mean Otherness dominated?
Rasalom had been mounting attacks on multiple fronts to bring the Otherness to this sphere. Was the super-oDNA kid one of those fronts?