Overkill(53)

“Not really, Kate. My motive wasn’t just to spare their feelings. And it wasn’t to avoid bad publicity.” Still without looking at her, he punched the ignition button and put the car in gear. As he pulled away from the curb, he said, “Rebecca was pregnant.”





Chapter 22





Eban!”

Hearing his father’s shout, Eban surfaced, shook water off his face, and pushed his swim goggles up onto his forehead. “What?”

“Get out. Come into the study.”

“I’m in the middle of my swim.”

“Get out and come into the study.” Without further ado, Sid pivoted and entered the house through a pair of French doors that opened onto the terrace. Windowpanes rattled when he pushed them shut.

His mental cursing keeping time with his strokes, Eban swam to the pool’s edge and hoisted himself out. The pool was heated, but the air was chilly. Goose bumps broke out on his skin. He wrapped himself in the beach towel he’d brought out with him, slid his feet into pool shoes, and flapped toward the French doors.

As he walked into the study, he said, “I had ten laps to go. This had better be important.” Spotting Upton, he said, “But it can’t be good.”

His father said, “Sit down.”

“I’m wet. I’ll stand.”

“Fine.” His father also remained standing. In fact, he was prowling the room like a caged lion sorely pissed off at his cub. “Tell him,” he said to Up.

Upton cleared his throat. “I just heard from my snitch in New Orleans. Kate Lennon and Zach Bridger visited the facility today.”

“Today?”

“Around lunchtime.”

“Together?”

“Indeed.”

Although Eban didn’t want to show it, this came as a disturbing news flash. Late last night, those two had been tucked in at Lennon’s house. By lunchtime today they’d been in New Orleans, meaning they’d wasted no time beating it down there. They were moving more quickly than he had anticipated. More quickly than he was. Being outmaneuvered bothered him more than anything.

“They stayed less than an hour,” Sid said, obviously relating what Up had already told him. “The administrator personally escorted them into Rebecca’s room. They spent only a few minutes there before retreating to the doctor’s office.”

Eban looked down at Upton, who resembled a troll sitting hunched in one of the deep leather chairs. “Did your snitch overhear any of their conversation?”

“No.”

“Maybe you’re not paying her enough. Offer her more money, and I’ll bet she’ll grow bigger ears.”

“I believe we can assume what the topic of discussion was, Eban.”

“Yes, I think that’s a safe assumption. What the hell are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

Eban was taken aback by the blunt reply, then became awash with fury. He bore down on his godfather. “What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean not a damn thing.”

Sid had stopped pacing. “He’s right, son. Up has taken this as far as he can alone.” With obvious distaste, he added, “It’s time we got your outrageously expensive and self-aggrandizing defense attorney back in the loop.”

“There is no loop,” Up said. “Not with me anyway.” Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a letter-size envelope and laid in on the cocktail table beside the chair. Ignoring Eban, he addressed Sid. “I’m tendering my resignation.”

Sid fell back a step. “What?”

“It’s spelled out in the letter.” He nodded down at the envelope. “I’ve made provisions. You won’t be without representation. Several qualified attorneys who meet your job requirements will be on hand to assist you immediately. It’ll be up to you whether or not you take them on full-time.”

“Up, surely you’re not serious.”

“Let him go, Dad,” Eban said. “Good riddance. The Angel of Death has more spunk than him.”

Upton smiled and used the armrests to assist himself out of the chair. “He’s right, Sid. I’m dying.”

“Dying?”

“What I initially thought was chronic heartburn is stomach cancer. I’m not valiant enough to take the grueling treatments which, in the long run, would buy me only a few more months of misery.” He looked over at Eban before coming back around to Sid. “But even if I weren’t about to die, I would stop facilitating Eban’s iniquities.”

Eban, who’d poured himself a straight vodka while Upton had been talking, said, “Clearing your guilty conscience before meeting your maker?”

“Clearing it would be impossible,” Upton said, looking Eban square in the eye. “But I won’t contribute to it by advocating on your behalf one moment longer.”

“Up, you can’t do this.”

He gave Sid a rueful smile. “In fact, I can, Sid. I am. I’ve loved you like a brother, but I’m done.” He held Sid’s gaze for a moment, then, without even another glance toward Eban, turned and left the room.

Eban shot his vodka. “Well, it wasn’t Shakespeare, but that was a moving farewell speech.”