Constance (Constance #1)(104)

“Yeah, that’s going around,” Con said, ignoring the implication behind his words.

“Indeed. I saw your lawyers dissolved our contract.”

“Didn’t feel I lived up to my end of the bargain.”

“I’d certainly agree with you there. But you don’t need me to buy you a clone anymore, do you?” Gaddis said.

“No, I’m pretty well fixed in that department now.”

Gaddis chuckled. “Yes, it’s been quite a reversal of fortune for both of us. But it makes me curious why you haven’t. We both know your medical situation.”

“I have my reasons,” Con said, turning her attention to straightening the counter.

He watched her in curiosity. “You’re really just going to let yourself die?”

“It’s been working for people for thousands of years,” Con said.

“But it doesn’t have to anymore. Not for someone of your means.”

“You didn’t come all the way down here to ask after my health.” She found his concern for her well-being irritating.

“No, I did not,” Gaddis admitted.

“So, get to it. What do you want?”

“I want to know who killed Brooke Fenton.”

Cabigail had never released her recording of the meeting between Fenton and Butler, and the police still had no suspects in her death. Butler would never know how different things might be for him if she had.

“Didn’t Peter tell you?” Con had assumed that Gaddis knew at least that much.

“He arrived too late for anything but the aftermath. He saw you get into a car with a young woman but was too far away to identify her. Who was she?”

Con blank-faced him as though she’d spontaneously forgotten the English language. When he saw she wouldn’t answer, he leaned heavily on the counter as though testing to see if it would bear his weight should he decided to hurdle it. He seemed to change his mind, though, and his frown disappeared, replaced by a hospitable smile. “What happened in that mountain? That was a spectacular cave-in.”

“Loudest thing I ever heard. And I was in a band.”

“If it were to be excavated, what would we find, I wonder?” Gaddis said.

“Well, that’s private property and about a million tons of rock, so that’s not going to happen.”

“Abigail Stickling’s private property until you inherited her estate. What happened up there? What are you hiding?” he demanded.

“Maybe you’d know what happened if you’d gone yourself instead of sending Peter,” Con said, realizing for the first time the depth of her anger toward him. “You know, you still haven’t asked me about him.”

Gaddis’s expression darkened once more. “I assume Peter is dead. He was a good friend. He deserved better. Is that why you’re building that organization in his name? Some kind of penance.”

That’s exactly what it was, but Con didn’t respond or react to Gaddis’s provocation. One of the first things she had elected to do with her newfound wealth was found a nonprofit organization that would provide outreach and counseling to the first-generation clones, veterans like Peter who were still struggling to adapt. She hoped he would approve.

“I owe him,” she said simply.

“That’s very noble of you.”

“Well, someone needed to be,” Con said, slipping off her stool and heading for the front of the store. “Now, I’m sorry, but I need to lock up.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you. I just wanted you to know that I’ve had teams combing through Palingenesis’s computers for months. I have a pretty good idea what’s in your head.”

Con didn’t break stride and kept her voice resolutely neutral. “Oh?”

“You’re not even a little bit curious?”

She held the door open for him and stepped onto the sidewalk. The rain had broken for a moment. “It was good to see you again.”

“Apparently you are not.” He paused in the open doorway. “Or is it only because you already know?”

“What is it you want from me?”

“That’s Palingenesis’s intellectual property in your head. I can get a court order to force you to return what’s ours.”

“And my lawyers will have you tied up in court until long after I am gone.”

“If it’s even there anymore,” Gaddis said. “Is that what Abigail bought with her fortune?”

“My aunt’s dead.”

“Yes, so I keep telling myself. Do you have time for a story?” Gaddis asked and then told it without waiting for an answer. “An old friend of mine was in Seoul on business last week. He called me with the most curious story.”

She looked up and down the street, waiting for him to go on. If he thought she was going to play him in, well, he was out of his damned mind.

“He said he saw the spitting image of Abigail in the Namdaemun Market.”

Con felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

“Strolled right by him. Clear as day, he said. He tried to follow her but lost her in the crowd. Swears up and down it was her. I had to persuade him that was impossible. There are only so many faces in the world. Eventually they have to start repeating.”