She said nothing. Uninterested.

"Lunatics?" he said. "I meant they're easier to live with. To sleep. A guy like this? He's going to haunt me."

"Because?"

"Because he was avoidable. You don't need to be haunted too. The least I can do is shelter you from that."

She squatted so she could face him eye to eye. He found the pose vaguely s.e.xual and reminded himself once again that he was on dangerous ground with this woman.

"I'd like that," she said.

He'd forgotten what it was he'd said.

"For the past I don't know how many years, I've wanted nothing but independence. To take care of myself. To protect myself-defend myself-whatever. To be reliant upon no one. To trust no one."

"Sounds lonely."

"About as lonely as a divorced man with two young daughters, I imagine," she said.

"No arguing that."

A female deputy entered the long hallway and Walt looked at her, and she stood and put her back against the wall to allow the woman to pa.s.s. To her credit, the deputy pa.s.sed without a glance. Walt thought Fiona looked s.e.xy against the wall like that, too.

Trouble.

"This is extremely complicated," he said.

"Yet incredibly simple," she countered, allowing a smile onto her face.

"But complicated." He had to have the last word.

"My point being, I wouldn't mind someone sheltering me from some of the stuff. Just as long as that someone allowed me to shelter him in return. I won't be a kept woman, but I'm not an open relationship type."

"You're racking up the points," he said.

"In the good column, I hope."

"In the very good column," he said.

"We take it slow," she said.

"Look at me," he said, indicating the wheelchair. "What's it look like to you?"

54.

"Home again, home again, jiggity-jig!" shouted Emily. More enthusiasm than she'd showed in a very long time. Their father confined to a wheelchair, the two girls had taken it upon themselves to make dinner-microwaved, prepackaged meat loaf and stovetop mashed potatoes-and were incredibly proud of their effort.

"You know Fiona," Walt said.

"Of course!" the girls said almost in unison.

"She's going to hang out tonight. Help me out. Maybe help get you guys in bed and then take off."

"No problem," said Nikki. "You want to help him or us?"

Fiona considered her options. She placed Walt's briefcase into his lap and entered the kitchen with the girls.

He feigned complaint and wheeled himself into the dining room, following up on an e-mail to Skype Boldt.

"You heard?" Boldt asked when his visage appeared on screen.

"Heard what?" Walt said. "I thought you were calling about Dowling."

"I am. Indirectly, I am," Boldt said gruffly. "But since it came from your office, I thought you'd probably already heard."

"It's been a busy afternoon."

"Lab results came back on the blood from Wynn's shoes: Caroline Vetta's blood type. DNA comparison's next. A couple days out. But if I was a drinking man, I'd be popping the bubbly."

"Vince Wynn?"

"Lover's quarrel. He couldn't stand that she'd moved on. Pulled a Steve McNair in reverse."

"Did he reclaim the shoes? I thought you needed my help with that?"

"Blood shadow," Boldt said. "We had a blood shadow at the Vetta scene, an empty shape of a shoe print in an otherwise sea of blood. That shoe shape is distinctive. Exclusive. It was Wynn's brand. That gave us the warrant we needed. His sweat will carry the DNA we need in the shoes. He's toast."

"Vince Wynn," Walt said, still in shock.

"Now I can justify my expense coming over there," Boldt joked. "And just for the record, I wanted to pa.s.s this along."

"Go ahead."

"Your father called."

Here it comes, Walt thought.

"Was crowing proud as a peac.o.c.k about how his son-his son-solved a multiple homicide. And no, Walt," Boldt interrupted before Walt had a chance to speak, "it was not to compliment me on whatever role I had in it. It was to tell me about you. It was to brag on you on you."

Walt let the words swim around inside him. Found it no use to fight the curl at his lips.

"No kidding," Walt said, allowing astonishment in his voice.

"None. And I knew you should hear it from the horse's mouth."

"I appreciate it."

"I thought you would. Proud as a peac.o.c.k, I'm telling you."

"Means a lot."

"Yes, it does." More than you know More than you know. "Well," Walt said, "Vince Wynn."

"I know."

"You were looking at him all along."

"Don't do that," Boldt said. "Don't take away from your moment."

"Am I that transparent?"

"We've all had fathers. Fathers and sons. It ain't easy."

"No."

"But . . . I don't know . . ."

"Yeah, I'm with you."

"I'm outta here," Boldt said.

"Don't be a stranger."

"Back at you. You need me on the witness stand, I'm there."

"You're just looking for another excuse to use the expense account."

"You know me too well."

The screen went blank.

Walt stared at the royal blue.

"What was that about?" Fiona called out from the kitchen. "Anything important?"

Walt considered how to answer that. Caught his own reflection in the blue and the gla.s.s of the monitor. His reflection was still smiling.

He reached up and turned off the monitor.

ALSO BY RIDLEY PEARSON.

Killer Summer

Killer View

Killer Weekend

Cut and Run

The Art of Deception

The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer

(writing as Joyce Reardon)

The Pied Piper

Beyond Recognition

Undercurrents

BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS.