Part 60 (1/2)

The doorbell rang again and again and again. Whoever was out there was really leaning on it.

”Yeah, yeah, I'm coming! Hold on!” he shouted as he headed down the hall, combing his hair out of his face with his fingers.

It made sense that Mary Lou would escape and visit her sister now, when Sam had told her they had to sit down and talk. No doubt she hoped that that impending conversation would be forgotten while she was away.

He opened the front door to find a man standing out there who was broader, taller, and blacker than Jazz Jacquette. He was an enormous man with hands like boxing gloves and a gold front tooth.

”Lieutenant Roger Starrett?” he asked.

”Yeah,” Sam said, scratching the stubble on his chin.

The man opened the screen and slapped an envelope into his hands. ”You've been served.”

”Served?” s.h.i.+t. ”Hey!” Sam caught the screen door before it bounced and went outside, but the man was already halfway to his car. ”What's this about?”

He didn't even turn around. ”Not my business, man.”

As he got into his car and pulled away, Sam opened the envelope and...

Holy f.u.c.k. Mary Lou had filed for divorce.

He read the d.a.m.n thing again. Yes, she most certainly had.

He sat down, right on his front steps, even more exhausted than he'd felt last night. It was the strangest thing. This was what he wanted for monthsa”for nearly two yearsa” wasn't it? So why wasn't he dancing? Why wasn't he doing handstands?

Because of that note on the kitchen table.

Because Mary Lou had moveda”that was no short visita” to f.u.c.king Florida.

And Sam was going to be lucky if he saw his daughter once a year.

And he also wasn't dancing because all those last foolish hopes he'd had of being single again and calling Alyssa had been snuffed out when he'd gone to her room and come face-to-face with Max Bhagat.

Sam went inside the house and closed the door. These days even when he won, he lost.

Joan didn't wake up until late in the morning.

Mike was still sleeping, and she lay there for a long time watching the colors and lights from the sun on the ocean play across his face.

”What am I going to do with you?” she whispered.

It was barely loud enough for her to hear, yet he opened his eyes.

Just like that he was awake. One minute, sleeping, the next, alert.

”Are you a morning person?” she asked warily.

His smile was pure sin. ”I'm an any time of the day person.”

Joan laughed. ”That's not what I meant.”

He pulled her closer, nuzzling her throat. ”Yeah, but it's what I meant.”

She kissed him, then pulled back to look searchingly into his eyes. ”Are you really all right?”

He released her, lying back on the bed with his hands up underneath his head. ”Okay,” he said. ”Let's have this conversation.”

What was he talking about? ”Which conversation?”

He sighed. ”The one where you tell me that you saw me eliminate that target yesterday.”

”Eliminate that target,” she repeated. ”Yeah, Mike. I did see that.”

”And here I am,” he said. ”No different than I was before. And you don't really understand how that could be, right?”

She sat up, cross-legged. ”There's a lot I don't know or understand about you. I'm looking forward to finding out all the little details, but...”