by R. L. King
Ian hung up on her, letting the phone drop from his nerveless hand onto the lounge as he slumped back down.
“Something wrong?”
He looked up to see Blake standing near the glass door. He hadn’t heard her come out, and wondered how long she’d been watching him. “I just got a call from some woman who told me my mom’s dead.”
Something unidentifiable flashed across her face, replaced quickly by brisk sympathy. “Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“She had an accident. Cracked her head in the bathroom, like six months ago. They had trouble finding me.”
“That sucks.”
Ian didn’t take offense at her casual, insincere words. He’d already told her about his dysfunctional relationship with both his mother and Bobby, culminating in the night his stepfather had put him in the hospital after one of Bobby’s church friends had spotted him kissing his boyfriend in town. He’d told her about how his mother, thoroughly submissive and cowed by her bombastic, authoritative husband, had reluctantly agreed to send Ian to a “camp” where he could get “therapy” and realize the error of his sinful choices. Ian had taken off that same night, never looking back but initially fearful Bobby and his mother would send someone after him to drag him home. He’d never been sure whether it was worse that they hadn’t.
“Bobby found her. I wonder if he didn’t kill her. I know he knocked her around. Maybe he went too far this time.”
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” she agreed readily. She came over and perched on the other end of the lounge. “Want me to check into it for you?”
“How would you do that?” he asked, suspicious.
“I’ve got my ways.” Her smile grew predatory. “And if it turns out he did kill her, maybe you might want to finally get your revenge for the way he fucked up your life. Get a little closure, you know? You don’t have to put up with that kind of bullshit ever again.”
Ian studied her, his thoughts in turmoil. Usually, he felt he could handle her, but sometimes conversations with her felt like the equivalent of hanging on to a jet engine—you just had to keep your grip and hope you didn’t get sucked in. She also had a disquieting lack of regard for who she hurt, when they got on her bad side.
Still…he pictured Bobby Tanner’s fleshy, cheerful face, the way he had everybody else in town wrapped around his little finger, convinced he was the best father, the kindest husband, and the most devout and charitable member of his church congregation. Everybody loved Bobby Tanner, and to hear Bobby tell it, he loved them, too. And if a few vague rumors surfaced now and then when his wife got a black eye or his stepson had bruises on his arm—well, those had to be accidents, of course.
And even if they weren’t, a man had a right to discipline his family when they got out of hand, right? In Winthrop, it wasn’t anyone else’s business, getting involved with someone’s private family affairs. Even after Ian had ended up in the hospital when Bobby had beaten him, they’d believed his stepfather over him. The boy had “never been stable,” after all, and more than just Bobby had long suspected Ian wasn’t “normal.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks. Check into it, and let me know what you find out. Maybe I do need to go have a talk with Bobby.”
“My pleasure. Now, come on—I’ve got some good stuff to show you today.”
20
This time, Stone arrived on schedule, and didn’t make any attempt to conceal himself. His body thrummed as he entered Bangkok Lotus and looked around; he couldn’t decide whether the feeling was more like anticipation or dread, but either way the suspense would be over soon.
This late in the afternoon the lunch crowd had mostly departed, leaving a few straggling singles or pairs scattered around the place’s tiny tables. He spotted Ian in the back, lounging with his chair tilted back against the wall, and strode over to join him.
No turning back now.
“Didn’t sneak up on me this time,” Ian commented as Stone took the seat across from him. “Does that mean it’s good news, or bad?”
Stone ordered a beer from the waitress, noting Ian already had one. “I suppose that depends on what you were hoping for.”
“I could say the same to you.” Ian dropped his front chair legs with a thump and leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Stone. “Your friend works fast.”
“Yes. He has…specialized methods.”
“So what’s the verdict?”
“The test results were definitive. I’m your father.” The words sounded strange to him, but he spoke them steadily.
“And how do you feel about that?” Ian’s gaze was cool.
Stone took another swallow from his glass, and decided to opt for honesty. “A bit…overwhelmed, to be honest. Shocked. This isn’t something I expected.”
“That’s fair, I guess. I had a little more time to get my mind around the possibility it might be true. You’ve only had a couple of days.”
“I still can’t believe she never told me.” Stone’s usual conversational confidence slipped; he felt as if he were tiptoeing through a field of land mines. “After all these years, to find this out…”
“Yeah. Tell me about it. She wouldn’t ever tell me anything about my dad. She said it would be better for everybody if I just forgot about him—about you. But she didn’t say why.” His smooth brow furrowed. “I came up with all sorts of reasons for it—that you’d run off on her, that you beat her up, or maybe you were married already…”
“Gods, no.” Stone leaned forward, gripping the table. “Ian, you can’t believe that about me. Your mother and I were only together for a couple of months, and I give you my word, it wasn’t any of those things. If I’d known about you—if she’d told me—”
“What? You’d have married her?”
“I…I don’t know, to be honest. I have to be honest with you, Ian—this is too important to lie to you, about anything. I don’t know if I would have married her. We were very different people, and I was in a…strange time in my life when we were together. But I promise you, I would have made sure you were well supported.”
“That would have been nice.” Faint bitterness crept into Ian’s tone. “We had it pretty rough for a while, when I was growing up. Mom did what she could, but there was only so much she could do as a single mom.”
“I’m sorry, Ian. Truly I am. I wish I’d known.” Stone’s mind spun, making it difficult to settle on a thought. “There’s nothing I can do about the past now, though. All I can do is see to the future.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well—” Stone hadn’t allowed himself to think much about the way forward, but that couldn’t last forever. “Have you given any thought to what you plan to do? Now that you know the truth, what will you do with it?”
“I guess that’s up to you.” He lounged back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Stone. “What will you do? I told you—I’m not after anything from you. Okay, so now we know you’re really my father—but we barely know each other. I’m a little too old for father-son fishing trips and bonding over working on the car in the garage.”
“Yes, well,” Stone said dryly, “I’m hardly the sort for either of those things in any case.” When Ian didn’t respond, he said more seriously, “I don’t know, Ian. I told you before—I’m a bit rubbish with the whole relationship thing. I’m not exactly the warm, nurturing type.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you better. We’ve got a lot of things to talk about—more than you know, actually.”
Ian shot him a questioning glance. “How so?”
“That’s for later. First things first. I assume you’re planning on returning to Los Angeles?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I could. Or I could stay up here for a while. I don’t have a lot of ties anywhere, really. Do you want me to go back?”
Stone drew a deep breath. His heart still thudded faster than normal. He supposed he shouldn�
��t be surprised that talking with Ian was harder than any of his usual interactions. Despite his fundamental introversion, he’d never had trouble talking with people—it was one of the reasons he was so good at his job—but that was mostly because he had a talent for making conversations seem deeper than they actually were. He despised small talk, considering it a waste of time, but that didn’t mean he revealed much about himself to anyone he didn’t know well.
This was different, though. Ian was his son. His own flesh and blood. His heir. As far as he knew, the boy was one of only two living relatives he still had—and the only one who hadn’t tried to kill him. That had to count for something, and it meant he had to be careful. Ian was prickly and wary—he clearly didn’t trust Stone, and probably with good reason. He only had his mother’s word about his history against that of a man he’d only just met and knew little about. Stone knew where he was likely to stand in that equation, at least until he had more of a chance to get to know Ian.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to go back. I’d like to spend some time with you. I think we need to get better acquainted, you and I. You’ve probably got some misconceptions about me, but I don’t expect you to believe me without proof. Give me some time to prove to you I’m not the man you thought I was. How does that sound to you?”
Ian watched him in silence for several seconds, as if taking his measure. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I’d like that too.”
“You can stay at my place, if you like. I’ve got quite a lot of room—”
“No, that’s okay. I think it might be better if we had our own space.” His gaze sharpened. “And I’m guessing you agree. I thought you said you were going to be honest with me.”
Stone blinked, surprised, and quickly shifted to magical sight to see if he could spot anything unusual in Ian’s aura. The boy’s perception didn’t surprise him, though—in fact, it supported his theory that he had magical potential. “Er…all right, fair enough, and you’re not wrong. But I want you to know you’re welcome, if that’s what you prefer. If not, though, you’ve got to let me take care of your lodging while you’re here, at least. I won’t take no for an answer about that. I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Thanks. I’m staying at a place near downtown now.”
“Why don’t you find something in Palo Alto? Send me the details, and I’ll take care of it. And if you end up deciding to stay longer, after we’ve had time to get to know each other, then we can go from there.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that. Thanks.”
Stone glanced at his watch. He’d have liked to remain here and chat with Ian for the rest of the afternoon—he had so many questions, so many things he wanted to find out—but he had a department meeting later that afternoon and he still needed to call Captain Flores. “I’ve got to go now, but I want to talk further as soon as possible. Would you come by my house tonight? We can have dinner—fair warning, it will be takeaway, since I’m even more rubbish at cooking than I am at relationships—but we’ll be able to talk for as long as we like without interruptions. I’ve got some things I need to tell you.”
“What kind of things?”
Stone looked around the restaurant. “Things that might influence your decisions about what you want to do going forward, but I don’t want to discuss them in public.”
“That sounds…ominous.”
“We’ll talk tonight.” Stone tossed his napkin on the table and stood. “Ian—” He was surprised to detect a slight tremor in his voice. “I want you to know—I’m glad you’ve come to me. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, but I hope you won’t hold that against me. As I said, I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. If you give me the chance, perhaps we can manage to pull something good out of an unfortunate situation.”
For the first time, Ian smiled. It was a tiny, wary thing, but it was genuine, and it lit up his handsome face. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Let’s see what we can come up with, at least.”
21
When Stone got back to his office at the University, mind still whirling from his conversation with Ian, Laura intercepted him. “The department meeting was cancelled,” she said. “Dr. Tran was going to do a presentation, but he went home sick a couple hours ago.” She smiled. “I’m sure you’re just broken up about that.”
Stone hated department meetings, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to function properly for this one anyway, with everything else he had going on. “Terribly. Well, not about Dr. Tran, but the other bit—can’t say I’m bothered.”
“I’ll reschedule it for tomorrow.”
“Brilliant. Thanks, Laura.”
She tilted her head at him. “Are you all right? You look like you’re not quite here.”
“Just—a bit preoccupied. Nothing to worry about.” He swept past her and hurried into his office before she could ask any other questions. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to tell Verity and Jason about Ian yet, so he certainly wasn’t planning to let anything slip to the gossipy admin aide.
He’d debated whether he wanted to call Flores or let it go another day, wondering if he’d manage to concentrate properly on the Amy Detmire situation with his thoughts so fragmented. With the meeting cancelled, though, he felt guilty about letting it wait too long. If he could find out more about the church that used to occupy the abandoned building, it might give him some more leads on Portas Justitiæ.
That, and if he could sort out the situation quickly, he could devote all his focus to navigating his nascent relationship with Ian.
The sergeant at Flores’s precinct house put him through after the usual hold period. “Dr. Stone,” the captain said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Captain—I’m sure you’re quite busy—but I went by the crime scene today and I had a question.”
“Did you get anything? Any psychic emanations?”
Stone could hear the skepticism in the cop’s voice, but not as much as might have been there before the Archie situation. Flores was never going to be a true believer, but at least he no longer treated Stone like all the other crackpots who called in with wild claims. “No. Not really. But I spoke with a homeless man I encountered nearby, and he told me the place used to be a church. Do you know anything about that?”
“Why? Do you think it’s relevant?”
Stone thought he heard an odd note in Flores’s voice now, and it wasn’t just skepticism. “It could be,” he said carefully. “Has there been a development?”
There was a long pause. “Yeah. We picked somebody up last night, and we’re pretty sure he’s either the murderer or was connected with it somehow.”
“Indeed?” That was a surprise. Over his years of intermittent association with various police departments, it had been his experience that they tended to be fairly good at running down mundane crime, but the supernatural stuff eluded them. Even cops like Leo Blum, who had experience with the magical world, didn’t have the necessary skills to track and apprehend magically-enhanced suspects unless they had arcane assistance on their own side.
“Yeah. Picked him up at his residence in east San Jose.”
“Well, that’s…brilliant. Has he confessed?”
Once again there was a pause, and Stone knew why. Flores wasn’t only a cop, he was a police captain. It wasn’t generally accepted to be discussing his cases with a civilian. “No,” he said at last. “Not yet. He claims he had nothing to do with it, but we have some pretty good evidence suggesting he did.”
“You mentioned him when I brought up the church I discovered. Is there any connection?”
“Maybe. The church was called New Life. They weren’t very big, and they didn’t actually have a formal lease on the space. The owner had some kind of under-the-table agreement with them, and that ended when he went bankrupt and couldn’t sell the building.”
“Did you find out anything about them?”
Flores’s tone turned suspicious.
“Why do you want to know, Dr. Stone? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Possibly—but I can’t tell you where it came from. The person who told me made me promise I wouldn’t reveal the source.”
“Can you tell me what it is, at least?” The suspicion grew, now tinged with annoyance. “Stone, if you’re holding back evidence—”
“I’m not holding back anything, Captain, except that my source suggested the killing might be related somehow to religion or religious people. But I don’t think Ms. Detmire was a member of the church, was she?”
“Not that we could discover. We’ve spoken with her parents and Mrs. Lindstrom, but they haven’t been able to tell us much.”
“Can you tell me anything about the church?”
“Just that they weren’t mainstream. They were a splinter sect, not Catholic but distantly related. Very conservative, old-school types. Most of them were older.”
“Do you think this chap you’ve found was a member?”
“He won’t say, but one of the other members we tracked down said they’d seen him at a few services.”
“Captain,” Stone said carefully, “Do you think there’s any chance I might be able to have a brief chat with this man?”
“Why?” Now the suspicion was nearly visible in the air.
“I have a few questions I’d like to ask him. I—”
“Sorry, Stone. We don’t let people off the street question our suspects—even ones with doctorates in the occult. Especially ones with doctorates in the occult. Even if we allowed it, his lawyer wouldn’t.”
It had been a long shot, and the answer didn’t surprise Stone, but it did frustrate him. If he could just talk to the man for a few minutes, he might be able to get somewhere the mundane questioners couldn’t.
“I can’t shake the feeling you’re not being up-front with me,” Flores said.
