million times. Just because he and his ex-wife had been able to maintain some mutual respect, a friendship, everyone assumed they were intimate. "She was very important to me--she was the mother of my kid. But I wasn't sleeping with her. Malcolm's claims were merely an excuse, a way to garner sympathy."
They flew past an SUV before Sebastian had to move over to avoid a head-on collision with a Dodge truck. "You'll get a speeding ticket if you don't slow down," she warned. "And getting pulled over will waste more time than you'll save by going so fast."
Evidently, she was paying more attention than he'd thought. And she was right. Grudgingly, he let up on the gas.
"What does Malcolm look like?" she asked as they slowed.
"Average. Five foot nine, hundred and seventy-five pounds. Irish 89
background. Red hair. Blue eyes. Why?"
"Just curious."
She might be seeing him in a few minutes. Until then, Sebastian had a picture he could show her. Leaning across the seat, he opened the jockey box and fished around inside, eventually coming up with the photograph he'd been using in his search. "That's him," he said, handing it to her. "Emily and Colton, too. It's what they sent in their last Christmas card."
She studied the photograph.
"So?" he prompted. "Have you ever seen him before?"
"No."
"Is he what you expected?"
"Not really. He's losing his hair."
"You can tell in that picture?" he asked, surprised.
"I used to be a hairstylist." She held the photograph closer. "He seems to have a nice physique, though."
"Classic short man's complex, trying to compensate with muscle mass for what he lacks in height."
She didn't respond to his comment. "Emily is beautiful."
Bitterness overwhelmed him. "Was beautiful," he corrected.
Jane hadn't said anything about Colton, but Sebastian guessed she was studying the similarities between them. His son had looked so much like him, except he'd had his mother's light-colored eyes.
Grabbing the photograph before she could mention it, Sebastian shoved it back in the jockey box. He didn't want to talk about Colton. Not with a virtual stranger. And not with anyone who was close to him, either. That was the real reason Constance was moving on. He hadn't been able to include her in what he was suffering. He'd withdrawn.
Fortunately, Jane said nothing. She watched the green rolling hills between Sacramento and Ione fly past her window--or stared at nothing, he couldn't tell which--but she gave him some space and for that he was grateful.
Several minutes later, she resumed the conversation, and her question had nothing to do with the photograph he'd shown her. "What about the five hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? Where'd that come from?"
The money he could talk about. He'd been talking about it since Malcolm's escape. It was the strongest proof that Malcolm was still alive. "That was Emily's.
90
She'd gotten an insurance settlement a few months before and cashed the check.
She was saving it to build a new life for her and Colton. At least, that's what she told me. But after the funerals were over and we went to clean the house, the key to the safety-deposit box was there but the money wasn't."
"Maybe she moved it."
"Where? There was no record of it ever going into any of their accounts.
And if she was ready to invest it, she would've asked for my help. I'm an investment banker. She mentioned doing something with it once, but Malcolm put a quick stop to my involvement. He said he didn't trust me, and he accused us of having an affair."
"More smoke and mirrors?"
"A way to make sure the money wasn't tied up when he made his getaway."
"Malcolm traded his profession, his family, his whole life for an amount that might last him five years--if he lives modestly?"
"People have killed for much less," Sebastian said quietly.
"Usually those people are on drugs or looking for the money to get high.
They're not thinking straight. This was planned. Was he in debt?"
For someone who'd
They flew past an SUV before Sebastian had to move over to avoid a head-on collision with a Dodge truck. "You'll get a speeding ticket if you don't slow down," she warned. "And getting pulled over will waste more time than you'll save by going so fast."
Evidently, she was paying more attention than he'd thought. And she was right. Grudgingly, he let up on the gas.
"What does Malcolm look like?" she asked as they slowed.
"Average. Five foot nine, hundred and seventy-five pounds. Irish 89
background. Red hair. Blue eyes. Why?"
"Just curious."
She might be seeing him in a few minutes. Until then, Sebastian had a picture he could show her. Leaning across the seat, he opened the jockey box and fished around inside, eventually coming up with the photograph he'd been using in his search. "That's him," he said, handing it to her. "Emily and Colton, too. It's what they sent in their last Christmas card."
She studied the photograph.
"So?" he prompted. "Have you ever seen him before?"
"No."
"Is he what you expected?"
"Not really. He's losing his hair."
"You can tell in that picture?" he asked, surprised.
"I used to be a hairstylist." She held the photograph closer. "He seems to have a nice physique, though."
"Classic short man's complex, trying to compensate with muscle mass for what he lacks in height."
She didn't respond to his comment. "Emily is beautiful."
Bitterness overwhelmed him. "Was beautiful," he corrected.
Jane hadn't said anything about Colton, but Sebastian guessed she was studying the similarities between them. His son had looked so much like him, except he'd had his mother's light-colored eyes.
Grabbing the photograph before she could mention it, Sebastian shoved it back in the jockey box. He didn't want to talk about Colton. Not with a virtual stranger. And not with anyone who was close to him, either. That was the real reason Constance was moving on. He hadn't been able to include her in what he was suffering. He'd withdrawn.
Fortunately, Jane said nothing. She watched the green rolling hills between Sacramento and Ione fly past her window--or stared at nothing, he couldn't tell which--but she gave him some space and for that he was grateful.
Several minutes later, she resumed the conversation, and her question had nothing to do with the photograph he'd shown her. "What about the five hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? Where'd that come from?"
The money he could talk about. He'd been talking about it since Malcolm's escape. It was the strongest proof that Malcolm was still alive. "That was Emily's.
90
She'd gotten an insurance settlement a few months before and cashed the check.
She was saving it to build a new life for her and Colton. At least, that's what she told me. But after the funerals were over and we went to clean the house, the key to the safety-deposit box was there but the money wasn't."
"Maybe she moved it."
"Where? There was no record of it ever going into any of their accounts.
And if she was ready to invest it, she would've asked for my help. I'm an investment banker. She mentioned doing something with it once, but Malcolm put a quick stop to my involvement. He said he didn't trust me, and he accused us of having an affair."
"More smoke and mirrors?"
"A way to make sure the money wasn't tied up when he made his getaway."
"Malcolm traded his profession, his family, his whole life for an amount that might last him five years--if he lives modestly?"
"People have killed for much less," Sebastian said quietly.
"Usually those people are on drugs or looking for the money to get high.
They're not thinking straight. This was planned. Was he in debt?"
For someone who'd
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