KnockOut - Catherine Coulter [93]
“What happened?”
“He went out with people from the firm in New York to celebrate and, without thinking, he drank a toast. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, I guess. He hit a man in a brawl with a chair, and the man died. He plea-bargained down to manslaughter and went off to jail to serve a minimum of nine years.” She shrugged, staring down into her empty cup. “He was murdered in prison, stabbed by an inmate in the shower who turned out to be related to the man Martin killed in that bar.
“You want to know what was strange, Ethan? Autumn knew her father was dead before I told her. Not dead, necessarily, but that he wasn’t there anymore. And she knew he would never be there again. She told me they spoke every single day, only I refused to accept it as being real even though I knew in my gut that it was, even then. I couldn’t figure out why Martin had never told me about this gift of his, never told me about his family, refused to even speak of them. Now, of course, I understand.
“He didn’t want me to know about any of it, even this so-called gift that terrifies.”
Ethan took her fisted hand, smoothed out her fingers. “Autumn isn’t her father. She’s herself, and what she can do is a miracle.”
She gave a hard laugh. “Yes, a real miracle.”
He pulled her against him and pressed her against his chest. “Thank you for telling me. I’m very sorry. How long ago did he go to prison?”
“Nearly three years ago, up in Ossining. He refused to let either Autumn or me come to see him. He wrote to me every single week, although, of course, he must already have known everything that was going on, since he spoke to Autumn every day.
“By the time he died, I couldn’t even remember his smile, and I felt guilty because maybe I didn’t want to remember.” She sighed. “It was all so pointless.”
He smoothed his thumb over her eyebrow, traced his fingertips over the line of freckles. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you look familiar to me.”
She closed her eyes. “I did a TV commercial for a new kind of potato chip. It was a way to make some extra money.”
“Was that you in the wheat field, chewing on this square, lacy chip?”
She grinned. “The director wanted the light just right so it would show up my freckles; he said they made me look like the girl next door. Do you know, those chips are quite good.”
“I remember I bought a bag because of you.”
He shouldn’t have said that, he should get down to business, but not just yet. He leaned down, kissed her mouth. She tasted of oat and apricot PowerBar. “I’m very sorry for all that’s happened to you, Joanna, both you and Autumn, but we’ll get through this. I’m heading out now to find a good spot to watch for Blessed. It’s the perfect night for it, hardly any moon but enough light for me to see. You watch over Autumn, all right?” He kissed her again and rose.
Joanna slowly got to her feet and faced him. He supposed he expected her to blast his plans but all she said, her voice quiet and calm, was “Yes, it’s time. I’m going with you. I don’t want to leave Autumn, but she’ll be safe enough here. I’m hoping she’ll stay asleep. She’s a really good sleeper.” She pulled her gun out of the back of her jeans.
“Mama? What’s going on? Is Blessed here?”
48
BRICKER’S BOWL, GEORGIA
The car lights made the trees lining the Backman driveway shadowy; a light breeze made the leaves flutter.
The air was heavy, and star jasmine sent out its seductive scent.
Only forty minutes had passed since they’d left the burning car with its two dead killers inside. Savich and Sherlock, with two agents from the Atlanta field office behind them, saw the huge house, lights dotting the downstairs and the front veranda. Savich pulled the Camry to a stop, the two agents in the Toyota pulling up beside him. The four of them walked lockstep up to the Backman porch. Standing there were Sheriff Cole, and Mrs. Backman at his elbow, both now lit by several lights suspended off the overhang. Tonight, Shepherd looked