Oh, what flimflam that turned out to be—the father who had taken pains to hide any knowledge of his whore-son’s existence from his family rewarded with a twice-misbegotten grandchild. The payoff DeVane extorted from both father and daughter to keep their vile secret providing ample startup capital for the first of his own business endeavors. And the son DeVane had fathered . . .

He closed his eyes now, resting his head back in his contoured seat as the submersible sped him away through the depths.

That little bastard had been left to fend for himself in some adoption home.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

MORNING SUNSHINE POURING OVER MOUNT HAMILton in the crystal-clear distance, Roger Gordian was about to pop his daily capsule of flaxseed oil—rich in omega 3, good for the pump, Ashley insisted—when his direct line rang.

He put down his glass of water, plunked the capsule back into the weekly pillbox Ash filled for him every Sunday night, and picked up.

“Gord,” said Dan Parker at the other end of the line. “I’ve finally got it!”

Gord furrowed his brow.

“Got what?” he said.

“The word.”

“What word.”

“C’mon, don’t play dumb. That day at the steakhouse . . . when you said how you were content with everything you’ve accomplished, but didn’t want things to stay exactly the way they were. How you wanted to stop and not stop. You told me were looking for a perfect word to describe how you felt, remember? For what it was you wanted.”

Actually, Gordian hadn’t recalled telling him until that moment, what with everything that had happened over the past month. The thought, however, had been very much on his mind.

“So,” he said. “Give it to me.”

Parker paused over the phone.

“Retirement,” he said. “How’s that one, my friend?”

Dressed for her regular jog, Julia Gordian opened her back door and went to lasso up the hounds. It was a gorgeous morning—the hard rains of September long past—and the dogs had been lounging in the sun since she’d let them out an hour earlier. But now it was time for them to get some exercise . . . even the slowpoke.

“Jack, Jill, let’s go!” she called. Then looked over at the third dog stretched in a bar of sunlight behind them. “You, too, Viv! Old wounds only count so much for excuses in this house!”