The Target
Page 81
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"What's it about?"
"A courtroom novel, about a judge in the federal court system. It's a subject I should know well enough, a subject I'd like to say a few things about."
"I see. So you want to go back to Colorado? To write?"
"Yes, I suppose so." He fiddled with a loose thread on his pale blue sweater, remembering her kiss on his shoulder. He looked at her. "Actually, I was wondering when you would be going back to Colorado."
"I hadn't really thought about it, not yet. All this is still sinking in. I'm willing to accept intellectually that this awful man, Rule Shaker, from Las Vegas, is behind everything that's happened, but there's still that monster who abused Emma. I won't ever forget that. I've got lots of money. I think I'll spend some of it trying to find him myself."
She looked defensive, as if she expected him to argue with her. He said, "I'd do the same thing. In fact, I'm going to be putting the word out as soon as I get home. Pedophiles have networks; they seem to either know one another or of one another. I've got several friends who spend a lot of time on the Internet. I'll see where that leads." He drew a deep breath. "Savich will keep the fire lit by alerting all the FBI field offices. He's not happy about this either."
She looked down at the soft nap of the carpet beneath her feet. "Well, I guess I should thank you, Ramsey. Emma will miss you."
He looked up at her, at the dark shadows in her eyes, and that dancing line of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He said, "I told Savich that your hair isn't at all the same color as Sherlock's, although most people would just say you've both got red hair. I told Savich your hair was the color of a sunset I saw once in Ireland."
The nap lost her attention. She blinked up at him. "A sunset in Ireland? When were you in Ireland?"
"Two years ago. I was staying in Ballyvaughan. Nearly every day I went to the Cliffs of Moher. You really can't describe how awesome they are, because you just say something like they're rugged cliffs with waves crashing and billowing up against the rocks, that they dip and then push right to the very edge of the sea, but that really doesn't tell you." He shrugged again. "You see what I mean? You haven't got a clue really how it actually makes you feel just to be there, to look over the water into the distance where there's no sign of anything."
"I'm beginning to," she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it straight on end. "Dammit, you're nice, Molly."
"Tell me about this sunset."
He looked mildly embarrassed. She grinned at his hair, though he was now smoothing it back down. He hadn't shaved yet. He looked tough and hard and she saw him in that moment with Emma on his lap, holding her against his chest, his big hands stroking her back, her face against his shoulder. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt, his feet bare. She had intruded. He was going to leave.
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. He had his own life. Hers and Emma's had intersected his briefly and violently. It was time.
He was going to leave.
It wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't going to try to change it. He said quietly, "I'll never forget this one evening I was at the Cliffs of Moher. The air was crisp and dry and the sky perfectly clear. No Irish rain that day. I sat there and watched that red ball of sun slowly sink into the Atlantic. You almost expected the water to hiss and boil when the sun sank into it. People around me were talking and laughing and joking around, until that precise moment. Then there was a hush and everyone was silent and still. Just staring at that red ball sinking under the horizon." He shook his head, bemused at the memory. "I'll never forget that sight as long as I live." He paused a moment, then looked at her. "I remember the next day it rained so hard it was like payback time for that incredible sunset. You know, Molly, I was just thinking that maybe you'd like it as well, both you and Emma. Not the rain, although that's beautiful too, no, the sunsets."
"Emma and I? Go to Ireland?"
"Yes. With me. I don't want to leave you."
The morning light was dim and gray. Her expression wasn't clear to him, as she kept her head down. After a very long moment, she raised her head and looked across the room at him. She said, smiling, "Yes, I'd like that. I'll bet Emma would too."
He felt a shock of pleasure. The strength of it surprised him. He smiled back at her. "Savich and Sherlock are going to Paris. They're leaving from O'Hare this morning."
"A courtroom novel, about a judge in the federal court system. It's a subject I should know well enough, a subject I'd like to say a few things about."
"I see. So you want to go back to Colorado? To write?"
"Yes, I suppose so." He fiddled with a loose thread on his pale blue sweater, remembering her kiss on his shoulder. He looked at her. "Actually, I was wondering when you would be going back to Colorado."
"I hadn't really thought about it, not yet. All this is still sinking in. I'm willing to accept intellectually that this awful man, Rule Shaker, from Las Vegas, is behind everything that's happened, but there's still that monster who abused Emma. I won't ever forget that. I've got lots of money. I think I'll spend some of it trying to find him myself."
She looked defensive, as if she expected him to argue with her. He said, "I'd do the same thing. In fact, I'm going to be putting the word out as soon as I get home. Pedophiles have networks; they seem to either know one another or of one another. I've got several friends who spend a lot of time on the Internet. I'll see where that leads." He drew a deep breath. "Savich will keep the fire lit by alerting all the FBI field offices. He's not happy about this either."
She looked down at the soft nap of the carpet beneath her feet. "Well, I guess I should thank you, Ramsey. Emma will miss you."
He looked up at her, at the dark shadows in her eyes, and that dancing line of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He said, "I told Savich that your hair isn't at all the same color as Sherlock's, although most people would just say you've both got red hair. I told Savich your hair was the color of a sunset I saw once in Ireland."
The nap lost her attention. She blinked up at him. "A sunset in Ireland? When were you in Ireland?"
"Two years ago. I was staying in Ballyvaughan. Nearly every day I went to the Cliffs of Moher. You really can't describe how awesome they are, because you just say something like they're rugged cliffs with waves crashing and billowing up against the rocks, that they dip and then push right to the very edge of the sea, but that really doesn't tell you." He shrugged again. "You see what I mean? You haven't got a clue really how it actually makes you feel just to be there, to look over the water into the distance where there's no sign of anything."
"I'm beginning to," she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it straight on end. "Dammit, you're nice, Molly."
"Tell me about this sunset."
He looked mildly embarrassed. She grinned at his hair, though he was now smoothing it back down. He hadn't shaved yet. He looked tough and hard and she saw him in that moment with Emma on his lap, holding her against his chest, his big hands stroking her back, her face against his shoulder. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt, his feet bare. She had intruded. He was going to leave.
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. He had his own life. Hers and Emma's had intersected his briefly and violently. It was time.
He was going to leave.
It wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't going to try to change it. He said quietly, "I'll never forget this one evening I was at the Cliffs of Moher. The air was crisp and dry and the sky perfectly clear. No Irish rain that day. I sat there and watched that red ball of sun slowly sink into the Atlantic. You almost expected the water to hiss and boil when the sun sank into it. People around me were talking and laughing and joking around, until that precise moment. Then there was a hush and everyone was silent and still. Just staring at that red ball sinking under the horizon." He shook his head, bemused at the memory. "I'll never forget that sight as long as I live." He paused a moment, then looked at her. "I remember the next day it rained so hard it was like payback time for that incredible sunset. You know, Molly, I was just thinking that maybe you'd like it as well, both you and Emma. Not the rain, although that's beautiful too, no, the sunsets."
"Emma and I? Go to Ireland?"
"Yes. With me. I don't want to leave you."
The morning light was dim and gray. Her expression wasn't clear to him, as she kept her head down. After a very long moment, she raised her head and looked across the room at him. She said, smiling, "Yes, I'd like that. I'll bet Emma would too."
He felt a shock of pleasure. The strength of it surprised him. He smiled back at her. "Savich and Sherlock are going to Paris. They're leaving from O'Hare this morning."
