In law school he met Nora. They were married on a spring day in a civil ceremony. His parents attended, though he wished they hadn’t. They had come without dressing up, looking ridiculous in their casual clothes, and what was worse, they were unaware of any impropriety. His father drank too much and told loud, off-color stories. His mother looked at nobody and said nothing. He hadn’t realized how badly he was ashamed of them. They were rubes, and they had never aspired to be anything better. Seeing this, he knew he had shaken off the barrio for good. He was a married man, and he would make his own family to replace the one he’d been born with, the one that had let him down.
Later, when he started making money, he bought his folks a house in Tustin, a decent suburb where they could live a comfortable life as retirees, but he rarely saw them. He didn’t want to be reminded of where he’d come from. Rhetoric about his log-cabin origins was handy in speeches, but he didn’t think of himself as having been raised in a log cabin. He saw himself as having engineered a narrow escape from hell.
To begin in the graffiti-scarred hallway of his apartment building, and to end in the halls of Congress-a long trip, a great ascent. Now he could dine at hotels like this one, meeting with important people who kowtowed to him for legislative favors, exercising power in his every official act, and in plenty of unofficial acts, as well.
Having risen to his present height, he would never give up what he had won. Anyone who threatened his position, anyone who stood in his way, would be dealt with and removed. He had learned that lesson, too, on the football field and in the streets.
A man fought for what was his. He didn’t let scruples or sentiment deter him from doing whatever had to be done.
He thought Abby Sinclair understood this policy. At least he hoped she did. He wanted to have made the right choice in hiring her. The matter was delicate and couldn’t be entrusted to just anybody.
Of course, if she disappointed him, she could be dealt with, too.
The thought played along the back edges of his mind as he watched her enter the rendezvous court. He gave her a quick smile, which was not returned.
Abby sat at the table. Across the room, Stenzel touched his ear, adjusting his ear piece.
“I know at least three things about your stalker,” Abby said, not bothering with a hello. “She’s paranoid and potentially violent. She has a gun. And she’s not Rose Moran.”
Reynolds blinked, surprised by the rapid-fire assault. “How can you know that?”
“Because this is Rose Moran.” She plucked a sheet of paper from her purse, unfolded it, and pushed it across the table. It was a photocopy of an old newspaper story, with a picture of Rose and his family. He stared at it for long moment.
“Have you been checking up on me?” he asked finally.
“Yes. Apparently with good reason. There’s no resemblance between your ex-housekeeper and this woman. Why did you lie to me?”
He took a breath. An accusation of lying was not something he took calmly-even when it was true. But it would do him no good to lose control.
“I didn’t lie,” he said quietly, keeping his temper under tight restraint. “It’s been ten years, and I thought I saw a resemblance-”
She cut him off. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me the truth.”
“This isn’t a good photo. Rose doesn’t look anything like this.”
“She doesn’t look anything like the woman you sent me to track down, either.”
It looked like she wasn’t buying his bullshit. If he’d been in her position, he wouldn’t have bought it, either.
“But you did track her down?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.”
“And she’s a threat?”
“She may be.”
“You just said she’s paranoid and violent.”
“Potentially violent. Until I know who she is and what relationship she had or has with you, I can’t assess the risk.”
“There was no relationship,” he snapped, then regretted it, because she hadn’t meant it that way.
She studied him coolly. “Who is she, Jack?” He noted how she used his first name to establish trust. She thought she was clever, but he was clever, too. He might not have a degree in psychology like she did, but he knew people.
He had settled down now. That she had learned some of the truth was an unwelcome development, but not entirely unexpected. He could handle it. He could negotiate.
“I can’t tell you,” he said in his most reasonable voice. “I’m sorry, but that information is confidential. It really doesn’t matter, though. All you need to do for me is tell me where to find this woman. I can take it from there.”
Abby just stared at him. “We need to be honest with each other if we’re going to work together.”
“There are some things you’re not allowed to know. I’m sure some of your other clients have imposed restrictions on what they could tell you.”
“If they did, they didn’t stay my clients for long.”
“This is a special case. I occupy a sensitive position.” He spread his hands in a gesture of openness. “Surely you can see my point.”
“No, I can’t. Everybody has secrets. I understand that. But you can’t keep secrets from me. Not if you want me to continue in your employ.”
“In this case, I have no choice. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She started to get up. “You owe me for one day’s work. I’ll send the bill to your office.”
Reynolds was surprised. Either she was a damn good bargainer, or she really was willing to quit on him.
“So that’s it? You’re going to walk away-even after you said this woman may be dangerous?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“At least tell me what you found out. Her name.”
“I have a feeling you know her name. Her real name, anyway. Which is more than I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“She seems to have reinvented herself. Her personal history goes back only eight years.”
It made sense. It explained why he hadn’t been able to find her on his own. “If she’s using a new identity, what is it?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you that.”
The anger was making a comeback. This woman wasn’t being reasonable. “Why the hell not?”
“I’m beginning to think I can’t trust you. About anything. Trust is very important to me.”
This was the third or fourth time she’d called him a liar to his face. Most people wouldn’t get away with it once. “I’m not paying any damn bill for your services unless you give me the information I’m asking for.”
Abby shrugged. “Forget the bill. I’ll consider this a pro bono case. Charity work.”
Red light flashed across his field of vision. “Fuck you, then. I don’t need you.”
“Actually, I think you do.” She drummed her fingers lightly on the tabletop. “This woman is going to keep attending your events. She has a schedule of all your public appearances. I saw it in her car, right next to an Orange County map book to help her find her way around. She’ll continue stalking you. Maybe at some point she’ll try something more.”
“Then you have to stop her. That’s what you do.”
“I’ve been planning to take a vacation. This seems like an excellent time to do so. Unless you want to come clean with me and stop playing games.”
He knew he should give her something, anything, just to keep her on the case, but instead he heard himself say, “You don’t give me orders, you little bitch.”
Abby shook her head sadly. “Not very nice. I’m leaving now.” She was out of her chair, slinging the purse over her shoulder.
“God damn it”-Reynolds sucked in a harsh breath-“I need to know where she is.”
“Next time she shows up at one of your events, ask her yourself.”
She walked off, not looking back.
He hated her. He wanted to drag her into a dark hallway and squeeze the information out of her. Literally squeeze…