“Uninvited? How cheeky.”

“Yes,” Roger replied distastefully.

“Who is he—I presume it’s a he?”

“She introduced him as an attorney with the New England Oceanographic Institute. Mr. Crockett had me verify his credentials.”

Lillian was burning with curiosity, but the little twerp was going to make her drag out every word. “And?”

“The institute has no attorney by the name of Jeremy Carruthers.”

“Do tell.”

Roger reddened. “At Mr. Crockett’s request, I, er, investigated Mr. Carruthers’s luggage.”

Lillian stretched out on the padded bench. “Why, Roger, you snoop. And who is our Mr. Carruthers?”

“He’s an attorney with Carruthers and Stevens, a law firm in San Diego.”

Lillian spilled her drink down her front. “Oh, dammit. Roger, I’m sorry—what a mess. I haven’t been on a boat in ages,” she explained nervously. “Just give me a towel or something.”

“Are you sure—”

“Roger, please, I’m fine.”

She had hoped Bartholomew Wakefield, as he now called himself, would be wrong and she wouldn’t have to face MacGregor Stevens, but if his associate were already here... God, how Mac hated her. She laughed sadly, wondering how many times self-righteous, proper, dutiful and upstanding MacGregor Stevens had shut her loathed face off his television set. She used to think of that, just before she went on air. Sometimes she’d smile, thinking, “This one’s for you, Mac.”

She’d wanted to hate him, too. But she couldn’t. Not then, and not now.

“I’ll see you in hell, Lillian Parker,” he’d told her the last time they’d met.

Well, she thought, here we are.

25

J. Land Crockett sipped his hot tea with purplish lips. He had summoned Lillian to the sun porch minutes after her arrival. The wind blew sharply through the screens, but Crockett sat under layers of blankets and wore a thick sweater, buttoned all the way up, with a turtleneck underneath, the collar unrolled on his scrawny neck. He fastened his piercing black-blue eyes on her. “Our Ashley Wakefield looks to be ready to get us by the short hairs and start pulling, Lil.” He sounded almost amused. “She wants answers, probably as bad as I do. Only I don’t give a damn if she gets them. I do give a damn if I get mine. And I intend to.”

Lillian put down her china cup so he wouldn’t see how badly her hands were shaking. She never used to be afraid of Crockett. What was happening? “Who are you willing to destroy to get your answers, Crockett?”

He gazed at her with his notorious intransigence. “Anyone who stands in my way.”

“Including me?” She hated how small her voice sounded.

“I need to know the truth.” His voice was an odd mix of bitterness, pain, loneliness and love. “I’ll even risk everything I believed and loved about my own daughter.”

Lillian reached for a warm scone. Crockett even had clotted cream; God only knew where it had come from. “Maybe the truth isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Maybe. I’ll find out, won’t I?”