“Come on, Walsh,” said Colton. “Think.You’re smarter than this. You can’t just go charging in there like a bull. That was Philip Farrow, right? He’s one of the top-paid lawyers in New England.”
“How do you know that?” asked Eric.
“Irrevelant,” said Colton. “My point is, he’s got resources coming out of his ears. Plus, he’s her father.”
“He’snother father,” spat Thomas.
Colton faltered. “What do you mean?”
“He’s her stepdad.”
“Huh.” There was a beat as Colton considered this, his dark eyes scanning the far-off trees. “Who’s her biological father?”
“I don’t see how that’s important.”
“Just answer the question.”
“I don’t know, I think he was one of Philip’s old managing partners. Can you move?”
Some of the color had gone out of Colton’s face. “That’s not possible.”
“Get out of my way, Price.” Thomas’s voice tilted into a shout. “Jesus, look at the day we just had. What the hell does it matter who her father is?”
“Because,” said Colton, as though Thomas was slow, “myfather was Philip Farrow’s old managing partner.”
“Ah, how shameless—the way these mortals blame the gods.”
Homer’sThe Odyssey
Vivienne lay on her stomach, a clean satin pillow pressed over her head. It didn’t do much to drown out the sound of her mother’s knocking.
She’d been out there for nearly a quarter of an hour, hammering on the door without end. She could stay out there all night, if she wanted. Vivienne wasn’t going to open the door. She wanted to be alone, left to lick her wounds in private.
She deserved at least that much.
At the edge of the bed, Judd began to whine. She reached out a hand and rubbed him soothingly between the ears, until his crinkled brow lay flat. Next to them, Molly let out a sleepy rumble. It had taken Vivienne the better part of an hour to coax them into the tub. Another to scrub the blood from their muzzles. They were still damp hours later, their fur as sleek as a seal’s. If her mother knew she’d let them on the bed like this, she’d have a coronary.
Out in the hall, the knocking came to an abrupt stop.
It was replaced by Philip’s voice, low and angry. “What the devil is going on up here? I sent you upstairs fifteen minutes ago. Can you not manage your own daughter?”
“She’s refusing to open the door,” whined her mother.
Vivienne rolled onto her back and pressed the pillow over her face just as a fist began pounding heavily at the door.
“Vivienne! Open up this instant!”
“She’s locked us out,” said Amelia, emboldened by Philip’s anger now that it wasn’t directed at her. “I heard her do it.”
Another set of knocks sounded, louder than the first.
When she was very small—before the gorge—she used to stomp her feet when she didn’t get her way. She’d stand in the middle of the floor with her fingers plugging her ears and hold her breath until she turned purple.
She wondered if she’d learned that trick from Philip.
Annoyed by the disturbance, Molly began to bark. Judd’s ears pinned flat.
“I know you’re in there,” called Philip, who sounded as though he’d pressed his face right up to the gap at the bottom. “And I know you hear me, so listen closely. If you ever want to see Thomas Walsh alive again, you’ll open this door.”
