“I dislike having strangers in my house. I’d like you to go now. You can discuss this with the police.”
“I’m not finished.” He jabbed out a finger. “I understand you’refriendlywith Brooks Gleason, and that—”
“Yes, we are friendly. He wouldn’t have been here at two in the morning when your son and your son’s friend came illegally onto my property with the intent to deface Chief Gleason’s police cruiser if we weren’t friendly. However, my relationship with Chief Gleason doesn’t alter the facts.”
“One fact is you haven’t lived here long. You’re not fully aware of my position in this community, or the history behind it.”
She wondered, sincerely, why he thought any of that was relevant, but didn’t bother to ask.
“I’m aware, and your position and history don’t alter the facts of what transpired here early this morning. It was very disturbing to be awakened in that manner, and to witness your son attack Chief Gleason with a knife.”
“Fact.” Blake slapped an index finger on his open palm. “It was the middle of the night, and therefore dark. I have no doubt Brooks Gleason goaded my boy, threatened him. Justin was simply defending himself.”
“That’s inaccurate,” Abigail said calmly. “My security lights were on. I have excellent vision and was less than ten feet away during the attempted assault. Chief Gleason clearly asked your son to show his hands, and when your son did so it was, first, to puncture the cruiser’s tire and, second, to threaten Brooks with the knife.”
“My son—”
“I haven’t finished correcting your inaccuracies,” she pointed out, and stunned Blake into momentary silence.
“Only then, when your son threatened him verbally and with gestures, did Brooks draw his weapon. And still your son would not drop the knife. Instead, even when I stepped out with my own weapon, your son lunged at Brooks with the knife. In my opinion, Brooks would have been fully justified in shooting your son at that time, but he chose to disarm him hand to hand at a greater risk to his own safety.”
“Nobody knows you around here. You’re an odd, solitary woman with no background or history in the community. If and when you tell that ridiculous story in court, my lawyers will rip your testimony to bits and humiliate you.”
“I don’t think so, but I’m sure your lawyers will do their jobs. If that’s all, I’d like you to leave.”
“You just wait a damn minute.” Blake stepped forward, and Bert quivered, growled.
“You’re upsetting my dog,” Abigail said coldly. “And ifyour assistant attempts to draw his sidearm, I’ll release my dog. I can assure you he’ll move faster than he can draw his weapon. I’m also armed, as you can plainly see. I’m a very good shot. I don’t like strangers coming to my home, trying to intimidate and threaten me. I don’t like men who raise violent, angry young men.”
Like Sergei Volkov, she thought.
“I don’t like you, Mr.Blake, and I’ll ask you to leave for the last time.”
“I came here to settle this with you, to apologize and offer you compensation for the inconvenience.”
“Compensation?”
“Ten thousand dollars. A generous apology for a mishap, for a misunderstanding.”
“It certainly would be,” Abigail agreed.
“The money’s yours, in cash, for your agreement that this was, indeed, a misunderstanding.”
“Your proposal is I accept ten thousand dollars in cash from you to misrepresent what happened here this morning?”
“Don’t be stubborn. My proposal is you accept the cash in my assistant’s briefcase as an apology, and you simply agree what occurred here was a misunderstanding. You’ll also have my word that my son will never step foot on your property again.”
“First, your word can hardly regulate your son’s behavior. Second, it would be your son, not you, who owes me an apology for this morning. And last, your proposal constitutes a bribe, an exchange of money for my misrepresenting the facts. I believe attempting to bribe a witness in a criminal investigation is a crime. The simplest solution, and certainly the best outcome for you, is for me to say no, thank you. And good-bye.”
She stepped back, shut the door, clicked the locks in place.
He actually beat on the door with his fist. It didn’t surprise her, Abigail realized. His son had inherited that same unstable temperament and illusion of entitlement. With herhand resting lightly on the butt of her gun, she walked back to the kitchen monitor, watched the assistant attempt to calm his employer down.
She didn’t want to call the police. More trouble, more interruptions, more ugly behavior.
It had shaken her a little, there was no shame in admitting it. But she’d stood up to the intimidation, the threats. No panic, she thought now, no urge to run.
She didn’t believe in fate, in anything beingmeant,but if she did, maybe—theoretically—she’d been meant to go through these two experiences, the reminder of Ilya, and now of his father, to prove to herself she could and would stand up.
