maybe, but you know Lewis is bullheaded. No subtlety. I’ve noticed lawyers tend to be like that.”
Colby couldn’t have missed the joke, but he didn’t allow himself to be diverted. “We’re bullheaded because we know how tricky the law is. I’ve warned you about this before, but it’s worth repeating. Private settlement agreements with confidentiality provisions are not only tricky…they’re begging for trouble. You get even a hint of coercion, exploitation, improper influence—”
“There’s no improper influence, damn it.” Red felt his pulse quicken. “He simply wants to give her some money to help with the baby. In return, he wants her to promise she won’t drive to Russian Hill and toss a bomb into what’s left of his family. If she says no, she says no. No one’s going to threaten to break her knees.”
Colby shrugged. He wasn’t the nagging type. He’d said his piece—said it twice, in fact, which was rare enough—and Red knew that he would back off now.
“So, anyhow, Victor didn’t think Lewis could handle it. That means she’s prickly?” Colby’s voice was carefully neutral. “She needs to be charmed, and he thought that, as a Malone, you could charm her?”
Red turned away. The sunset was a hell of a lot easier to look at right now than Colby’s face. “Charm? I don’t know. Obviously he doesn’t mean I should order roses and candlelit dinners. I think he hoped I could…you know…finesse the presentation. The last thing Victor needs is to antagonize her.”
“Well, I guess today put paid to that. You got her favorite old geezer arrested. I assume you’ll be handing this off to Lewis now after all?”
Red shook his head. “Victor doesn’t want Lewis involved.”
An awkward silence hung between them. It seemed to stretch, though it probably wasn’t more than a few seconds.
“Red.” Colby’s voice dipped low. “You know you keep talking about Victor in the present tense.”
Present tense. Of course. As opposed to past tense. Dead tense.
For a horrible second, Red wasn’t sure he could answer. His throat closed up, as hot and painful as if he’d swallowed broken glass.
He clenched his jaw until it burned. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid, not even when he sat in Victor’s shadowed bedroom and watched him drift between the sweating clarity of pain and the terrifying morphine hallucinations.
But how the hell could he accept the fact that Victor was dead? The man had been only fifty-two, at the top of his career. So completely alive.
Victor was the closest thing to a father Red had ever known. He’d literally saved Red’s life fifteen years ago, when he happened to be in the right part of the Pacific to drag a stupid, unconscious teenager and his surfboard to safety. But he’d also saved Red’s life again, metaphorically, five years later, when he showed him the way to a career.
Victor’s wife, Marianne, was too young to be a mother figure, but she was a good and loyal friend. And, by God, Red would do whatever was necessary to protect her.
Whether Colby approved or not.
Red might not have gotten off on the right foot with Allison York today. But today had been merely the first skirmish in a much longer campaign. Colby was right. Victor had obviously picked him for this mission because of the Malone charm. That charm might be diluted a bit, sifting its way down to him, the youngest brother. But surely he’d inherited at least enough to get the job done.
The sun had almost dipped down to the horizon, and the buildings across the street lurked in deep shadow. The electricity was still on here in the empty shop, but the fixtures had been removed, and the bare-bulb glare was depressing.
They should be getting home. The brothers always went to Nana Lina’s Belvedere Cove waterfront house for dinner on Fridays, and if they didn’t hurry they’d be late. It was an hour back to San Francisco, though luckily on a Friday afternoon most of the traffic would be headed into Windsor Beach, not away from it.
“Shall we hit the road?” Colby put his hand in his pocket and extracted his keys.
Red shook his head, his decision suddenly made.
“You go,” he said. “I think I’ll get a rental car and stay here a couple of days.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS 3:00 A.M., and Allison had walked at least a hundred miles. She must have worn a groove in the peach-and-green braided rug that covered the small living room. When she moved out, she’d probably have to pay her landlord a fortune to fix it.
Not that she had any hope of moving out anytime soon.
With only a full moon and the distant rays of the corner streetlight to guide her, she kept circling, humming an old Beatles song while she walked. A hundred and one. Her eyes drooped and her arms ached. So few hours between now and 8:00 a.m., when she’d have to meet the real-estate agent.
But still Eddie wouldn’t go back to sleep.
With a suddenness that startled both of them, Eddie sneezed that little snicking sound of his. It was hardly a noise at all, but it was enough to jolt him awake. He widened his eyes, as if someone had insulted him. Then he arched his back, straining away from her, and let loose a furious wail.
“Shh, shh, honey, hush.” She bounced him softly, holding the back of his head in her palm. He sneezed a second time, and she listened for wheezing in his lungs. If he was getting pneumonia again…
Nothing. The tension in her chest eased. So far, so good.
“Hey. Keep it down, why don’t you, kid? People are trying to sleep in here.”
Allison looked up to see Jimbo Stipple, her roommate, housekeeper, babysitter and best friend, standing in the hallway. He never wore a shirt to bed, and his sweatpants had so many holes in them he was barely decent. But Jimbo had lived on a navy sub for the better part of four years, and he wasn’t exactly the self-conscious type.
“Do you know what time it is?” He tried to sound annoyed, but his yawn got in the way. He leaned toward the kitchen to see the stove’s digital clock. “Oh. Shit. It’s three in the morning.”
Allison raised her eyebrows. They’d had a deal. As soon as the baby was born, Jimbo had to stop cursing.
“What?” He twisted his arm over his shoulder to scratch at the Rubik’s Cube tattoo on his back. “Come on. The kid’s only three months old. He doesn’t know that s-h-i-t is a cuss word. He thinks it’s an entertainment choice.”
Allison managed not to laugh. Life with Jimbo had its challenges, but it was never boring.
“Sorry,” she said. “His nose is stuffed up again. He can’t settle.”
Jimbo frowned. “Does he have a fever?” He crossed the room in three strides and put his hand gently on Eddie’s forehead. Against the flawless powder-pink of the baby skin, it was almost a shock to see the knuckles tattooed with black block letters.
B-A-C-K, this hand said. The tattoos on the other
