There was a long silence on the other end of the line; it went on for thirty seconds, perhaps even a minute. Jason felt his stomach settle, his shoulders square. Sandy had been right—her father was a very, very good liar.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Jones,” Max said at last. He didn’t sound so congenial anymore. More like pissed off. A wealthy, powerful man who wasn’t getting his way.

“Really? Because I’d think in this day and age of computerized records, you’d understand that all information is eventually accessible, especially for a guy who knows where to look.”

“Cuts both ways, Jason. You dig around looking at me, I dig around looking at you.”

“Knock yourself out. When’d you arrive in town?”

“What day did you first meet my daughter?” Max countered evenly.

“Rent a car, or use a car service?”

“Gonna volunteer a DNA sample for the paternity test, or wait for family court to order it?”

“Doesn’t matter. This is Massachusetts, where gay marriages are legal and in loco parentis matters more than biology for determining who should have custody of a child.”

“You think just because you know a little Latin, you understand the law better than I do, boy?”

“I think I recently wrote an article about a grandfather who tried to gain custody of his grandson because he disapproved of the child’s lesbian parents. The court ruled that the child should stay with the only parents he had ever known, even if they were not his biological mothers.”

“Interesting. Well, here’s another bit of Latin for you. Maybe you heard of this phrase, too, working on your little story and all: ex parte.”

Jason froze in the middle of the kitchen, his gaze going belatedly out the window. He saw the uniformed officer approaching his walkway, heading for his front door.

“Means ‘in an emergency,’” Max continued smoothly, low chuckle back in his throat. “As in, a grandfather can seek an ex parte motion in front of family court, and the court could grant an ex parte order regarding visitation, without you even being aware that such a hearing is going on. After all, you are the prime suspect in a missing person investigation. Surely staying with the prime suspect in her mother’s disappearance is not in the best interest of the child?”

“Son of a—” Jason hissed.

Front doorbell rang.

“Might as well answer it,” Max said. “I can see you, son. So can most of the free world.”

That’s when Jason spotted Max, too, standing over by the cluster of white news vans, cell phone held to his ear. The older man waved his hand, looking chipper in a fresh blue suit that set off his shock of silver hair. The phone call, why Max had chatted away so readily, keeping Jason in one place, all under the guise of making amends … Jason’s doorbell rang again.