Page 67 of Savage Justice

“Job satisfaction,” he adds, as though he can see my lack of conviction.

“Right. What else?”

He hesitates, then, “If you have questions, you should ask Molly.”

“Ask Molly what?”

Again, that pause. “She and I, we go back…”

“I know. University. She was at your wedding.”

He nods. “That’s right. We’re friends. And when I heard what that bastard has been doing…”

I prop my feet up on the low table in front of me. “Okay, we’re on the same page so far…”

“I care about Molly, and her kids. That’s what friends do. What’s your excuse? Or Ethan Savage’s for that matter?”

“Molly’s mine,” I state, for the avoidance of doubt.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Does she know that?”

“Probably. If not, she will. I take care of what’s mine. That goes for Lucy and Noah, too.”

He pauses for a moment, taking that in. “I’m glad to hear it. And Ethan? What’s his angle?”

“The same. In his case, it’s his reputation at stake. A deal gone bad, needs putting right.”

“Revenge, you mean?”

“You could call it that. It’s just business. It’s how things have to happen.”

“I see.” He meets my gaze, steady, eyes narrowing. “So, are we good now?”

“Not quite.” I wait a beat, then hit him with the killer question. The question that’s been nagging at me for the last few hours. “Is Lucy your kid?”

He’s quick, I’ll give him that. And cool. He appears rattled, but only briefly. His brow furrows momentarily, but he quickly rearranges his features back into a bland mask.

“No,” he replies.

I’m not buying it. “She has a look of you. In the eyes, the shape of the nose. There’s something about your jawline, and hers…” I’ve been studying this man’s profile all afternoon. I’m not mistaken. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” His tone is icy calm. And emphatic.

I could offer to remove his fingernails with a chisel, but I opt to change tack. Because, weirdly, against all the evidence, I think I believe him. “Do you know who Lucy’s father is?”

He hesitates again, then, “I do, actually.”

I knew it. “Who?”

He turns his back on me and picks up his pencil again. “This conversation’s over.”

“Like fuck it is!”

“Take this up with Molly. It’s her secret to share, not mine.”

“You piece of shit! I—”

He swivels around to face me again. “If you’re serious about Molly, do her the courtesy of letting her share what she wants, when she wants. If she chooses not to talk to you, maybe she has her reasons.”

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