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He held one hand out, palm up, in a gesture of surrender as he leaned down and picked up the letter opener, holding it by the blade with the hilt facing toward me.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “And I’m sorry for having to strong-arm you. But you were about to slice open my face. If I give this back to you, do you think you could refrain from it? I’d really like to walk out of here without needing stitches.”

He held the letter opener out to me. I froze for a moment, deciding whether to trust him.

“Fine,” he said, sensing my hesitation. He took a step back and put my makeshift weapon on the desk behind him. He slowly backed away, keeping his hands out in a deliberately non-threatening gesture.

“You broke into my office,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I did not. The door was open.”

“What?” I collected myself and moved away from the wall. Boone stayed where he was, hands still out.

“I promise, it was,” he said. “Go check. You won’t find any signs of forced entry, Mercy. I walked right in. I was looking for you. Hoping we could talk.”

“You could have called me on the phone! Sent a text. Instead, you’re rifling through my desk? What are you looking for?”

“A piece of paper to write you a note. I called out but nobody answered.”

Could I believe him? Or was I judging him for who his father was?

“So why didn’t you just use your phone?” I asked.

He put his hands down. “Can we sit down? Have a proper conversation? I’m happy to come back if you want me to make a formal appointment.”

I didn’t feel comfortable asking him into my office at the far end of the hallway. Instead, I took him to the waiting area smack in the middle of the lobby. Anyone on the sidewalk in front of us would be able to see right through the giant window.

Boone followed and sat on the couch facing away from the front door. I preferred to stand. I put my hands on the back of one of the chairs facing him. I realized I probably looked like I was using it as a shield. Maybe I was.

“What was so urgent that you felt you had to drive all the way up here?” I asked.

Boone sighed. “Look, I didn’t feel right about how I left things. I know you think I had something to do with what happened to your client. To Geneva. Do you know how many people have cut me out of their lives as soon as they find out who my dad is? I also meant what I said from almost the beginning. If there’s anything I can do to help Geneva. To make amends ...”

“Amends for what? If you had nothing to do with it?”

“I don’t know. You sound like Raven.”

“I want to believe you. But I don’t care what you meant, Boone. You lied to me about how close you were with your dad. You still haven’t given me a satisfactory reason why. So, what I think is happening ... you’re acting like someone trying to cover their tracks. You came out here to find out what I know. To see if I’m getting closer to learning the truth about what really happened out at Deadwater Lake.”

“And you think I was involved? That I helped my dad escape?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was questioned. No. Hounded. I talked to the FBI, the state police, and three shrinks they sent me to. I’ve lost count of how many reporters have shown up at my front door. And those were the good ones. There’ve been others who followed me out to job sites. One stood outside a bathroom stall I was using at a restaurant when I was on a date. My father’s crimes have nothing to do with me.”

“Then why lie to me?”

“Because I’m ashamed! I hate that I went to see that man. I wish I could take it back. I was seeing a therapist at the time and she suggested it might help me to confront him face to face. It didn’t. And why in the hell would I have offered to help you if I had something to hide? I gave you access to my father’s personal effects. I’ve never done that for anyone before. I told you. I did it because you convinced me it might help Geneva Bell. That’s it.”

Before I could respond, Boone launched into another rant.

“You think somebody in those letters was trying to help my dad after he escaped. If it was me, what would I gain by letting you have them? Or keeping them for that matter. Wouldn’t I have just burned them?”

He was right. I didn’t have an answer for that. “Your visits to your dad weren’t the only secret you kept from me, were they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How about a book you own?” I asked.