Mercy (Atlee Pine #4)(5)

Pine drew up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “And what have you concluded?”

Part of her didn’t want to know his answer, but in life you needed to listen to things you didn’t want to hear, maybe those most of all.

“Well, first of all, I’m leaving everything I have to you and Mercy.”

Pine immediately shook her head, recoiling at this news. “Jack, I don’t—”

“Please hear me out. Please. It’s important!”

Pine shot Blum another glance, and the woman nodded with a pleading look on her face.

She sat back, folded her arms over her chest, assumed a stubborn expression, and said, “Okay. I’m listening, but that’s not the same as agreeing.”

“I am your and Mercy’s father. That gives me certain responsibilities, none of which I have lived up to.”

“You didn’t know where—”

He interrupted. “I knew more than I let on. And what I didn’t know I could have found out. The bottom line is, I have behaved abominably throughout this entire thing. I doubt any man could have been a worse father.”

He was so distressed that Pine felt her anger at him start to fade. She sat forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Jack, you were between a rock and a hard place. There was nothing simple about the situation.”

“Well, it’s simple for me now. I have two daughters. You are my only family. Parents often leave what they have to their children and that’s what I’m going to do, too. If you don’t want it, that’s fine, give it away to whoever and whatever you like. But you can’t stop me from doing it,” he added sharply. “I’ve already had my lawyers draw it all up and it’s signed. There’s nothing you can do about that.”

“Okay, Jack, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“But you’ve got a lot of years ahead of you. So this is sort of premature.”

“No one knows what tomorrow will bring, Atlee, we both know that better than most.” Before she could say anything he asked, “Have you found out more about Mercy, or your mother and Tim?”

Pine told him about the grave being exhumed and awaiting confirmation that the body there was indeed Ito Vincenzo’s. She informed him of their steps to track Desiree Atkins that night, and their deduction that she had met Len and Wanda and they had helped her to flee.

“You mean the people who were in that photograph with Mercy?” said Lineberry.

“Yes.”

“Do you really think you can find them after all this time?”

“With the technology and databases available today, it’s hard to stay hidden.”

“And you’re hoping they can tell you what happened to Desiree?”

“That’s right. And if we can find Desiree she might be able to shed some light on that night and even on where Mercy might have gone.”

“She might not have any incentive to tell you,” Lineberry pointed out.

“There are ways she can be persuaded. She’s looking at prison time for what she did. And if she murdered her husband or . . . ” Pine drew a quick breath. “She’ll talk.”

Lineberry, with an effort, sat up a little straighter. The conversation seemed to have animated him. “There’s one more thing,” he said.

Pine looked at him warily. Her real father had already thrown one curveball at her with the inheritance thing; she had no interest in another one. “Yes?”

“I know that you’ve been doing all of this searching on your dime.”

Pine’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t been expecting this. “So?”

“It’s not fair that you continue to do so. I have the resources that—”

She got his meaning. “No, Jack, this is my search for—”

“It’s mine too!” he snapped, so unexpectedly they all simply froze. Lineberry actually looked stunned that he had the energy to do it. He continued more calmly, “If you use some of my resources, you might get to the truth faster. For instance, the use of my jet to get around.”

Pine began to shake her head but Blum said, “Go on, Jack. We’re listening.” She gave Blum a glare but remained silent.

“And I know you’ve been using rental cars and the like. That is not necessary. Take the Porsche SUV. It’s just sitting in the garage doing nothing. And . . . and I’ve opened an account with funds in it that you have the authority to access from anywhere.” He slid open the drawer on his nightstand and took out two pieces of plastic. “One debit, one credit. There is no limit on the amount you can charge. The four-digit PIN for the debit card is your birthday, month and day.”

“Jack, I can’t take your money.”

“It’s not my money, Atlee. It’s our money. And it’s not like you’re going to be using it to go on vacation. You’re using it to find your sister and my daughter. And your mother and Tim. I presume that when you’re working as an FBI agent, the more resources you have to accomplish the job, the better. Am I wrong?”

“Well, no,” she said slowly.

“Then I don’t see what the damn problem is, do you?” he added bluntly, as though daring her to conjure a reason that would thwart his will.

Well, thought Pine, he had niftily turned the tables on her this time. She even felt a grudging pride for how he was handling this.