“Did you ever tell your parents you wanted a name change?”
“My parents are dead. Sailboat accident off the Gulf Coast. When I was fifteen.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
She nodded slightly. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Must’ve been rough on a fifteen-year-old.”
“I always wanted to go to law school, but after my parents died, I lived with an aunt who didn’t want me and couldn’t afford me. Paying for a college education was out of the question. After about six months of just bumming around, one of my low-life high-school friends got me into the skip-tracing business. Hell, at the time, I thought he was a big shot. Wore expensive shoes, jewelry. At least he could pay his bills, which was more than I could manage. He showed me the ropes. Eventually took me in as a partner.”
“You mean … in the business sense?”
Cavanaugh looked into his eyes, as if evaluating how much she could trust to tell. “I mean in every sense.”
“I see.”
“It was fine for the first two years. Then, almost all at once, it fell apart. He started saying we should take separate vacations, see other people, crap like that. He thought that was the kind approach, the sensitive guy’s way out. I think he was a coward. It would’ve hurt less if he’d just disappeared one day.”
“That’s when you left the skip-tracing racket?”
“Yup. I had made some money; he was reasonable about letting me keep most of what I earned. I finished undergrad in three years, took the LSAT, applied to South Texas, and got in. After law school, I worked for the Attorney General’s Office, then the DA, and now the U.S. Attorney’s Office. And that pretty much brings us up to date. I thought I had a promising career. Everyone seemed to like me, I got good reviews—and then one day this crazed lawyer with a roll of duct tape broke into my apartment and taped me to a chair. Now half of Dallas is gunning for me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“What about you, Byrne? You probably hail from some small farm town and have a cute little gray-haired ma who bakes you apple pies on your birthday.”
“No. My parents are gone, too. Mom when I was young. Dad when I was at the police academy.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
She paused. “At least your father got to see you on the way to becoming something. He must’ve been very proud.”
Travis laughed bitterly. “Not hardly. He thought I was throwing my life away. To use his own words, ‘chasing a childish dream of playing cops and robbers.’ ”
“What did Dad want you to be?”
“Same as him. A trial lawyer.”
Cavanaugh placed her fingers against her lips. “So he never got to see you become one of the best courtroom attorneys in the state. That’s a pity.” She was quiet for a moment. “How did he die?”
“Heart attack. Stress-induced. And yes, to answer your next questions, he was overweight, he ate too much of the wrong foods, and we’d had a big argument about my future the night before.”
Cavanaugh waited a long time before breaking the silence. “Will you tell me why you quit the police force?”
Travis’s face became stony. “Why? That was a long time ago. Before Moroconi. Before the world turned upside down.”
“I heard … I heard something horrible happened.”
“You heard right. I don’t think you want to know.”
She placed her hand carefully over his. “I do,” she said quietly. “I really do.”
It was the middle of April, over four years before, on a beautiful, sunshine-filled Dallas day. Travis was off duty, and he and Angela were enjoying a leisurely afternoon on the town, heading nowhere in particular, reveling in the luxury of one another’s company.
“I feel guilty, Angel,” Travis said, clasping her hand tightly. “In a few minutes we’ll be at Adamson Park. They have a great merry-go-round. We should have brought Staci.”
Angela tossed back her luxurious, waist-length red hair. “Staci will be fine.” She touched the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Besides, after June, she’ll be seeing you every day.”
He squeezed her hand. “I guess that’s right. Any clues yet how she feels about me?”
“She adores you, Travis. Isn’t that obvious? You two are buddies.”
“Yeah, she adores me as a buddy. But what’s she going to think of me as a daddy?”
Angela poked him in the ribs. “You’ll do fine, you insecure twerp. You couldn’t be any worse than the creep who fathered her.”
“Staci may feel differently.”
“She won’t. She barely knows Alan. Neither of us have heard from him in years. You’ve been much more of a father to her than he ever was.”
Travis thought about that for a while. “Think Alan will come back?”
“No chance. Well, not unless I come into a large inheritance or win the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes.” She threw her arm around his shoulders. “We both love you madly. So just relax, okay?”
He grinned. “Okay. You’re the boss.”
They rounded the corner and saw a crowd of people huddled in the middle of the street. Travis slowed, holding Angela back with one hand. What was the big attraction?
As they came closer he realized it was some kind of disturbance. A man in his late thirties or early forties with a gray-flecked beard was standing in the street, shouting obscenities, grabbing at people as they passed. He was big, broad-shouldered, frightening. His tone was hostile; he seemed to be on the verge of exploding.
Angela tugged on Travis’s arm. “Let’s go back the way we came.”
Before she could steer him away, the owner of the corner pawnshop approached Travis. They recognized each other; Travis regularly patrolled this neighborhood.
“Travis!” he shouted. “Can you help?”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s that crazy bastard in the middle of the street. I don’t know if he’s drunk or high or what, but he’s driving all our customers away.”
“Probably just a vagrant who wandered over from the park,” Travis said. “He’ll likely move on in a few minutes.”
“Are you kidding? He’s been here for almost half an hour. And he gets more violent every minute. We need some help here. This part of town is dangerous enough without this kind of crap scaring everyone away.”
“Why don’t you call Morrison? He’s supposed to be cruising this beat today.”
“I called. Nobody came.”
Travis groaned. That was Morrison. He probably found a jaywalker to occupy his time so he could ignore his radio for an hour or so. “I’m really not prepared—”
“You are now.” The pawnshop owner slapped a .38 into Travis’s hand. “I took it off the top shelf. It’s loaded.”
“Great. Well, let me see what I can do.”
Angela held tight to his arm. “Travis—this is your day off.”
“I know, honey. It’ll just take a minute.”
“You promised we would spend the day together. Just you and me.”
“I know, Angel. And we will.” He removed her hand and plunged into the thick of the crowd.
The gray-bearded man was becoming increasingly abusive. “Goddamn satanistic sons of bitches!” he cried at the top of his lungs, his face upturned toward heaven. “It’s a plague. A plague on us and our children.” He pointed into the crowd. “There’s a fornicating whore. I can tell by the way she stands! And there’s another!” He rushed into the crowd, sending a teenage girl running. “Repent, sinner! Jee-sus God Almighty!”
Travis reluctantly approached the man. “Okay, padre. Show’s over. Why don’t you come with me?”
The man’s eyes opened wider than Travis would’ve thought possible. He flung himself at a young woman, ignoring Travis completely. “God is coming for you, whore of Babylon! He’s coming for all of you!”