Page 12 of 2nd Strike
He ushers us through the marble-floored foyer to a set of double doors just beyond dual winding staircases that create a wonderful focal point.
“We’ll meet in my study. More privacy there.”
“That’s fine,” Charlie says.
A housekeeper appears at the end of the hallway and Carl, the gracious host, requests a tray of beverages for us. At this point, I think my sister needs a gallon of vodka.
The study is not what I expect. Light, muted colors abound. No gleaming, rich woods here. It’s all clean lines and modern furniture that gives the room a cool sixties vibe. The artist in me loves the unexpectedness of it.
Carl waves us to a sitting area with a sharp-edged light gray sofa and two curvy, wingback chairs. Carl takes one and leaves the sofa for us.
Before we even settle in, the housekeeper appears and sets a tray on the steel coffee table. The tray is filled with two carafes and a plate of tea cookies that look homemade. Realizing I’ve skipped lunch, my sweet tooth wants a nibble.
Carl holds one of the carafes up and Charlie nods. Personally, I don’t think she needs coffee right now. Caffeine will only amp up her already fried nerves. But…tick-a-lock.
She’s a big girl.
I decline and snatch a cookie. Anything to keep my mouth busy.
Carl sips his, deems it acceptable and places it on the table beside him. “So, ladies, what can I help you with?”
My sister sits tall, lifting her chin slightly. Her body language is all business and I’m once again impressed by her ability to compartmentalize.
“Well,” Charlie says, “I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but Ethan paid us a visit yesterday.”
Carl’s eyebrows hitch a fraction. Beyond that, total deadpan. Between him and Charlie, it’d be a bloody battle for the Don’t-Sweat-It award.
“My son?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Carl lets out a breath. “He’s always been resourceful. Our own fault, I suppose. We’ve been forthright about his kidnapping. We couldn’t have him finding details we hadn’t given him. Over the years, we’ve shared only what we thought he could emotionally handle. Given his maturity, he knows most of it. Why would he come looking for you?”
“He tracked me down at the office and wanted to discuss the results of the DNA test the three of you did as part of his school project.”
“Ah.” His shoulders seem to release, but the movement is so small I could’ve imagined it. “He’s been fascinated with that project. Given his history, I’m sure it’s not unusual.”
I eye my sister. Carl has given her the perfect segue so I sit back and wait for Charlie to do her magic.
“I’d imagine I’d feel the same if I were in his place.” Charlie digs into her briefcase, pulls out a file and grabs several pages. “These are copies. Ethan gave them to me yesterday.”
“Hang on. He broughtyouthe results?”
Charlie holds the documents in mid-air, but Carl remains still. Human instinct is funny that way. It’s as if he knows he shouldn’t touch them, much less look.
I slide a sidelong glance at Charlie, who is still holding them out. Finally, she sets them on the coffee table and rests her hands in her lap. “Look, Carl, I don’t know how to tell you this so I’m just going to say it. According to these, yours and Lily’s DNA is not a match for Ethan.”
His eyes shoot to me a second, as if I can help him unhear what he doesn’t want to know. He whips back to Charlie, cocking his head and staring at her like she’s suddenly grown five heads.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The room goes silent as Carl’s features start to collapse. Narrowed eyes, tight lips, shoulders flying back. It’s all there. Battle posture.
As opposed to my sister who remains unmoving. Not a flinch, a shift of feet, a straightening of her spine. Nothing.
Frozen.
Tick-a-lock, tick-a-lock, tick-a-lock.
