“Oh, no?” She came forward on her knees and laid her head on my lap. She turned her head onto her left cheek, looked up at me with her right eye. “I get to everyone. Just ask Jay.”

“You got to Jay?” I said.

She nuzzled her cheek against my thighs. “I’d say so.”

“So why were you stupid enough to say ‘Fail-Safe’ to me at the airport?”

She brought her head off my lap. “That’s what tipped you off?”

“I was sitting on the fence about you since we met, Desiree, but that’s what knocked me off it.”

She clucked her tongue. “Well, good for Jay. Good for him. He set me up from the grave, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She leaned back on her haunches again. “Oh, well. Lot of good it did him. Or you.” She stretched her torso and ran both hands through her hair. “I’m always prepared for contingencies, Patrick. Always. Something my father taught me. As much as I hate the prick, he taught me that. Always have a backup plan. Three, if necessary.”

“My father taught me the same thing. Much as I hated the prick, as well.”

She cocked her head to the right. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah, Desiree. Really.”

“Is he bluffing, Julian?” She looked back over her shoulder.

Julian’s impassive face twitched. “He’s bluffing, dear.”

“You’re bluffing,” she said to me.

“’Fraid not,” I said. “Dear. Heard from your father’s attorney today?”

Headlights arced through the house as tires crunched the gravel outside.

“That would be your father,” Julian said.

“I know who it would be, Julian.” She was staring at me, her jaw muscles moving almost imperceptibly.

I looked as deeply into her eyes as I’d look into the eyes of a lover. “You kill Trevor and me and make it look like we killed each other, it won’t do you any good without an altered will, Desiree.”

The front door opened.

“Julian!” Trevor Stone bellowed. “Julian! Where are you?”

Tires pulled away on the gravel outside and headed back down the drive toward the front gate.

“Where is he?” Desiree said.

“Who?” I said.

“Julian!” Trevor called

Julian moved toward the door.

“Stay,” Desiree said.

Julian froze.

“Does he roll over and fetch bones and shit?” I said.

“Julian! Jesus Christ, man!” Trevor’s decrepit footfalls drew closer on the marble floor outside.

“Where is Danny Griffin?” Desiree said.

“Not answering your calls, I take it.”

She pulled her gun from underneath her sweater.

“Julian! In the name of God!” The heavy doors burst open and Trevor Stone stood there leaning on his walking stick, dressed in a tuxedo with a white silk scarf, his body trembling against the cane.

Desiree pointed her gun at him, her arm rock-steady as she knelt on the floor.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. “Long time, no see.”

40