They were both quiet for a moment, then Hank looked at her. “I wonder what exactly that kid used the last wish for.”
“I don’t know. He refuses to tell anyone, even Lydia.”
“He could have wished for the ship.”
“I’d say from that satisfied smile on his face when we were at the church that he probably wished for what he wanted all along.”
Hank looked at her. “What?”
“He wanted a dad.”
Hank gave a wry laugh. “Well, now the kid’s got one. What’s he gonna do with me?”
“Probably talk your ear off for the next thirty years.”
They laughed together for a moment, then Hank reached out and drew a finger slowly along her jaw. He slid his knuckle under her chin and tilted her face up so she was looking at him. “And how about you, sweetheart?” He grinned. “What are you gonna do with me?”
She slid her arms up around his neck and pressed her body against his. “Probably talk your ear off for the next thirty years.”
He laughed hard and pulled her into his arms. She looked up and gave him that smile. “And what are you going to do with me?”
He slid his hands down the buttons on her robe, flicking each one open. A touch here, a touch there, a heartbeat or two, and that smile was all she was wearing. He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. “I’m going to love you, sweetheart.”
34
Six weeks later, San Francisco, California
The mansion wastall and proud and stood high on the hillside above the bay like a reigning queen. Bright pink bougainvillea grew up the south side of the home. A paved carriageway ran beneath an arch of willow trees bent together by the strong Pacific winds. There were gardens in back, hedges of manzanita hemmed gravel walkways and dormant rose bushes, while a lion-head fountain stood nearby. There, a goat wearing pink hair ribbons drank from the water that spilled into the tiled base.
Inside the house, the walls and staircase were made of rich California redwood polished until it shone deeper, darker, and more intricately grained than mahogany ever could. And echoing off those walls were the sounds of children’s laughter.
A back door slammed, and there was the sound of gravel spitting up as a young boy’s shoes ran over the pathway to a bench where Hank and Margaret sat talking.
Theodore skidded to a stop in front of them, his voice excited and out of breath. “Grandpa Harlan says you have to come inside!”
Hank’s hand closed over hers.
She looked at him.
“Could this be about the extradition hearing?”
She laughed. “No. It’s only been a week since we met with the courts. There couldn’t possibly be any word this soon.” She stood and held out her hand. They walked inside and went down the back hallway. Margaret tugged Hank along with her, following the sound of voices to her father’s study.
They walked inside, and she stopped suddenly at the intensely serious look on her father’s face. “What is it?”
He glanced down at a paper in his hand and took off his glasses, then set them down on his desk. His gaze moved past her to Hank, who suddenly released her hand.
Margaret whipped her head around, catching some look that had passed between her father and her husband. She walked over, and her father handed her the paper. She skimmed it, then looked up at the men in the room. “This is an order to take Hank to the state penitentiary.” She turned to her dad. “This is some kind of mistake. At the hearing they released Hank into your custody. I thought it was all taken care of. What is going on?”
“This is Mr. Cornelius, Margaret, from the state attorney general’s office.”
A man in a black suit that was too long for him stepped forward. “The French government has asked the Justice Department, and they in turn directed the state, to deny custody and keep Mr. Wyatt incarcerated until this issue can be fully investigated.”
“But he voluntarily turned himself in. We were told this wouldn’t happen.”
Mr. Cornelius spoke to her as if he wanted to pat her on the head so she could better understand. “Since the charges against him are for murder, and because he escaped—”
“He’s not going to run away.”
