“Listen to me, Penn. You are not that girl’s father. I know that with absolute certainty. And if you thought hard about it, you would too.”

“What the hell does that mean? I worked out the months from her birth certificate. I could easily be her father. You got pregnant right before you disappeared.”

She studies me with cold objectivity, as though taking some life-altering decision. “If you ever mention what I’m about to say, I’ll deny I said it. Jenny Doe is my daughter. But she is not yours. She’s twenty years old now, and I have no legal responsibility to care for her. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist. Since she’s not your child, you have no say whatever in the matter, and you should never mention it to me again.”

“Livy, where is this coming from? How can you be so cruel to this girl?”

“You’re so naive. You don’t know anything. You—”

She stops as the low purr of an engine murmurs through the trees. I assume it’s Kelly until Leo Marston’s silver Lincoln Town Car rounds the bend by the azalea bushes.

“Get out of here,” Livy says in a taut voice. “Go. And don’t come back. I was stupid to think we could ever make it work.”

I don’t move. I can’t.

Leo’s face is masked by the glare of the sun on his windshield as he parks behind the BMW. When he gets out, his face is not mottled red with fury, as I expect, but calm. A smug smile curls his lips as he walks toward me. When he stops three feet away, I see that his upper cheeks are flushed, and when he speaks I smell the sweet odor of bourbon.

“Livy?” he drawls, glancing at her over the roof of the BMW. “Does this person have your permission to be on our property?”

“He was just leaving.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I asked if he’s a guest, or if he’s a trespasser, like the other night.”

Livy looks at me with pleading eyes, the familiar eyes I once knew. “He’s my guest, but he’s leaving. Let’s go inside.”

“In a minute, in a minute.” Leo is grinning like a six-year-old boy with a secret. “I’m glad I ran into you, Cage. I’ve got some news you’ll be interested in.”

“Is that right?”

“You’re damn right that’s right. A friend of yours was just arrested in the Hoover Building in Washington, D.C.”

Fear and guilt for Peter Lutjens clench my stomach.

“Seems this fellow was attempting to steal a file,” Leo drones on. “A file sealed on national security grounds. He had a funny name. Foreign name. Dutch maybe. There’s some question of treason, I believe. John Portman is personally investigating the situation.”