“You’re right, Daddy.” Ree looked up at him. “They would never earn a good-manners medal.”

He smiled then. And felt his chest swell with pride as he took his daughter’s hand and turned away from the screaming press, toward the sanctuary of their front porch.

They made it across the yard, Mr. Smith squirming, Ree walking with steady feet. They made it up the stairs, Jason having to let go of Ree’s hand now and focus on the panicking cat.

“Jason, Jason, you organized search parties for Sandy?”

“Will there be a candlelight vigil for your wife?”

“What about reports that Sandra’s purse was found on the kitchen counter?”

“Is it true Alan Dershowitz is going to represent you, Jason?”

The keys dangled between his fingers. Jason juggled Mr. Smith awkwardly, searching for the right one. Get inside, get inside. Calm and controlled.

“What were Sandy’s last words?”

Then, right beside him, the unexpected creak of a floorboard.

Jason jerked his head up. The man stepped out of the shadows at the end of the porch. Immediately, Jason stepped in front of his daughter, armed with a cat in one hand and a set of house keys in the other.

The man walked three steps toward them, wearing a rumpled mint green linen suit and clutching a battered tan hat. Shockingly white hair capped a deeply weathered face. The man grinned broadly, and Jason almost dropped the damn cat.

The white-haired man threw open his arms, beamed down at Ree, and exclaimed jovially, “Hello there, buttercup. Come to Papa!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jason swiftly unlocked the front door and thrust Mr. Smith inside. He put his hand on Ree’s shoulder. “Inside.”

“But Daddy—”

“Inside. Now. The cat needs dinner.”

Ree’s eyes widened, but she recognized his tone, and did as she was told. As she stepped into the house, Jason shut the door behind her, locked it again, and turned to the white-haired man.

“Get off my property.”

The newcomer tilted his head to the side, appearing puzzled. Jason had met Sandy’s father only once before, and he was struck now, as he was struck then, by the man’s crinkling blue eyes and bright, flashing smile. “Now, Jason, is that any way to greet your father-in-law?”

Max extended a friendly hand. Jason ignored it, stating firmly “Get off my property, or I will have you arrested.”

Max didn’t move. His expression fell, however. He twisted his hat in his hands, seeming to debate his options. “Where’s your wife, son?” the judge asked at last, his tone appropriately somber.

“I will count to five,” Jason said. “One—”

“Heard she’s been missing for over a day. Saw it on the news and skedaddled straight for the airport.”

“Two.”