Forced to ease up on the accelerator as traffic slowed near the St. Louis Cathedral with its three spires knifing upward into the hazy sky, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. A throng of tourists had spilled onto the streets around Jackson Square, walking and talking throughout the musicians, mimes, and dancers positioned on corners and steps and sidewalks. Jase usually enjoyed watching the street performers, cases open, and hats on the ground for tip collection, but today, the scene was lost on him.

He told himself to calm down, try to think rationally and deal with his father in a civilized, adult manner.

But that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Not the way he felt, not knowing his whole damned life had been a lie.

The sluggish traffic started moving again. He flipped down his visor and felt his jaw clamp tight, his fingers clench the wheel in a death grip. Who the hell did Edward Bridges think he was, manipulating his kids, lying to his family and playing the victim? What kind of piss-poor excuse of a man would keep the truth from his own sons?

The same kind of man who would bury a body and keep his mouth shut for years. A man who would lie to protect his own son, to protect you.

Jase cursed as the guilt that he’d never been able to outrun wrapped a little tighter around his lungs, so tight, he had trouble drawing a breath. For so many years he’d lived his own lie, and yet he was willing to tear his father limb from limb for doing the same.

But it had to end.

Today.

Another five minutes and he was pulling into his assigned space in the apartment’s parking lot. A wayward thought crossed his mind as he cut the engine. Maybe he’d luck out and the old man would be gone.

No damned way.

He was through with lies.

Even his own.

He jogged across the dusty lot and startled a lizard sunning himself. As Jase passed, it scuttled beneath the fronds of a fat fern near the staircase. Taking the steps two at a time, Jase was up the two flights to the third floor in no time flat. As he stepped out of the stairwell, he found his father leaning over the porch railing, smoking a cigarette as he watched the traffic roll past.

The door to his unit was open wide and Ed, who had obviously showered and shaved sometime during the day, nodded as he spied his son.

As if nothing was wrong.

As if he hadn’t turned Jase’s life inside out.

“We need to talk,” Jase said without preamble, then looked down the long walkway and spied a woman pushing twins in a stroller two doors down. “Not out here.” He headed inside.

“Figured as much.” Ed snuffed out his cigarette before following.