Jeremy stared at his brother. He'd nailed Vecca—to the nth degree. But damned if he was going to hear that from Jeremy.
"That's downright poetic, Hank. Maybe you should try your hand at being a writer someday." He got a kick out of Hank's reddening face. "But there's a chance we've got a couple of Enemies bird-dogging us, so why don't we stick to that?"
"All right. Let's do that. What did Vecca say yours looked like?"
"She wasn't much help. My age, brown hair, brown eyes, and about average height."
Hank frowned. "That could describe my guy too."
"Maybe they're the same guy—or twins."
Hank snapped his fingers. "Twins! Did Daddy ever mention twins to you?"
"Not that I recall."
"He did to me. Said the chief Enemies were twins. Do you think these could be the guys he was talking about?"
"One way to find out: You trail me back to Queens and see if anyone's following me."
Hank glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Sorry, bro. I'm supposed to speak to a Kicker gathering in about an hour."
Jeremy stiffened. Hank wasn't going to leave him high and dry again.
"So? Cancel it."
"No can do. This is a big crowd. Been set up for weeks. I can't back out now."
Jeremy felt that familiar heat again. "I've got an Enemy chewing my ass who could mess up everything. If he finds out I'm Dawn's father and goes and tells her, the shit will really hit the fan. She'll go running back to her momma and start looking to get an abortion. I can't go knocking off abortionists again, Hank. That worked once, but it won't work again. I do one and the Creighton folks'll be all over me. That'll leave the dirty work to you. Got a gun, Hank?"
Hank seemed unmoved.
"I'll come out your way tomorrow and follow you around all day if you want. But today is out of the question."
He realized if he stayed here another second he'd be strangling Hank. He turned and headed for the door.
"Fuck you!"
6
Jeremy kept a death grip on the Miata's steering wheel as he crossed the Williamsburg Bridge. He shifted his gaze between the road ahead and his rearview mirror, keeping an eye on a silver PT Cruiser that had been staying two cars behind him since he'd left the Lodge.
Was that an Enemy? The so-called detective? Or just another guy on his way to Brooklyn?
Fuck Hank for weaseling out and making him do this all on his own. They were supposed to be a team, damn it.
He tried to see through the PT's windshield but the glare reduced the driver to a featureless silhouette.
Damn! If he could just get—
He glanced at the road, saw red lights, and slammed on his brakes. As his car screeched to a halt just inches shy of the bumper ahead of him, he heard other tires screeching behind him and braced for a rear-end collision.
It never came. The cars stopped in time. He checked for the PT, saw it pull out into an open lane and roll by to his right. The college-age girl behind the wheel didn't even glance his way as she passed.
He pounded his steering wheel. He could have been killed. And then what? Would Dawn keep the baby—the Key—if he was gone?
Like hell. She didn't seem all that crazy about being pregnant. In fact, she seemed downright unhappy about it.
The Key… aborted… its remains tossed out like garbage.
Unthinkable.
He heard a toot and looked around to see that his lane was moving again. Keeping his eyes trained on the road, he resumed his trip. But his thoughts remained on the enemy.
Average height… brown hair… brown eyes—
"Shit!" he cried.
Joe Henry… the guy hanging around Work… the video gamer. He fit
Vecea's description to a T. But lots of guys did. He bet he could wander through Work and—
Shit!—the guy had been reading Hank's book. That clinched it. He knew they were brothers. All a fucking setup.
He pounded the steering wheel in near-blind rage until a honk warned him that he was veering out of his lane. He straightened the wheel and drove on, seething.
The guy had played him like a fucking five-string banjo.
What had Vecca said his name was? John something… like two first names…
John Robertson. Yeah.
He bared his teeth. You and me, John Robertson… I think we got us a score to settle.
7
Jack reached Forest Hills and went looking for a copy shop or office supply store. He found a Staples on Queens Boulevard and, as promised, made a copy of the DNA comparison with the Creighton letterhead folded out of sight.
Then he called Christy. Her voice mail picked up on her home number; he left a message and tried her cell. The cell's voice mail picked up on the second ring—a reliable indication that it was turned off. He left another message for her to call him ASAP.
A worm of unease wriggled in his gut and he didn't know why. Bolton had Christy right where he wanted her: on the far side of a chasm from her daughter. No reason to make a physical move against her.
Should he go over to her place and check it out? No. Didn't want to take the risk of being seen peeking in her windows.
Most likely she'd forgotten to charge her phone or turn it on. Or maybe she was rehearsing for that play she mentioned. Could be a rule that all cell phones are turned off during rehearsal. Made sense.
Kind of a relief in a way. The news he had to give her deserved—no, demanded to be delivered in person. He was dreading the prospect of sitting across from her and looking her in the eve while he told her that the father of her child, the man who abducted her and raped her when she was eighteen, was the same man who'd just made her daughter—their daughter—pregnant.
He'd almost rather wear a red shirt through a Crips neighborhood.
But he'd keep trying her phones. Meanwhile, he had time to kill. He didn't want to return to the city and then come back out again. So he drove around for a while, then decided maybe it was time to become Joe Henry again and pay a visit to Work. He had mixed feelings about the possibility of running into Bolton. On one hand he wanted another chance to get into the guy's head, see what made him tick and hope he'd let something slip about this baby of his; on the other, just thinking about the guy made his skin crawl.
He called both of Christy's numbers again. No answer.
Time to go to Work.
8
Jerry was on edge. Totally. Dawn had seen him flare up before, but he'd always cooled off pretty quick. This was different. He couldn't sit still. He was like in a chair one minute and out of it the next, turning on the TV, surfing a few channels, then turning it off. He looked like he was ready to totally explode or something.
"You okay?"
He stopped between the TV and the easy chair and stared at her.
"Yeah, darlin. Why?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You seem, like, tense."
"Got a lot on my mind."
"Something go wrong at the meeting?"
"Meet—?" He looked confused.
"You know. With EA?"
"Oh, that." He shook his head. "No, everything's fine with EA. I'm just bothered by all this friction with your mother. I wish there was a way we could straighten her out and get her on board."
"That's so not going to happen. Way too late."
Bui how sweet of him lo care. So lolally typical of him lo be worried about a crazy woman who'd accused him of awful things, then tried to seduce him.
Which made Dawn feel totally worse for what she planned to do about the baby.
She'd found a place called Women's Choice right here in Rego Park. They said's*he could come in for an interview and paperwork this afternoon. Then they'd schedule her for tests, and then…
She'd totally hate herself doing it, but she knew she wasn't ready to be a mother and couldn't see any other way.