A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(124)

“He already executed Benjamin Smalls. So what’s one more?”

She stood, her fury evident in the reddened cheeks, the slash of her mouth, and the trembling arm that was pointing to the door. “You just get up and march the hell out of here. I never want to see your lying face again, do you hear me?”

“Well, you’re going to have to endure it for just a while longer. By the way, do you know your blood type?”

This comment might very well have been the only thing that Archer could have said to stop the lady in her tracks. “What?”

“Your blood type. Everyone has one. Mine’s AB.”

“I’m . . . I’m a B,” she said slowly.

“Okay, do you know your mother’s blood type?”

“No, I don’t.”

“How about your father’s?”

“No,” she snapped, obviously growing irritated at these queries.

“How about Sawyer Armstrong’s?”

She started to say something, but as she got the point of his question the look on her face made Archer tense.

“What exactly do you mean by . . . that?” she said in a low and threatening voice.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

“How dare you? You are a lying, filthy—”

“They killed Myron O’Donnell last night. And the only things missing from his office were the medical records for you, your mother, and Sawyer. See, the doc had all three of them. He’d had your mother’s and Sawyer’s for a while. But then you just had your appendix operation. And Sawyer realized that what O’Donnell could have seen from that was that one plus one does not equal . . . you.”

Archer barely caught her before Kemper hit the floor in a dead faint. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, propped up against the pillows, found some smelling salts in her medicine cabinet, and also poured out a snifter of brandy from the small bar set up on a stainless steel rolling table in the front room.

The salts did their duty, and she jerked and sat up, gasping. He gently but firmly pushed her back against the pillows and held up the snifter.

“Drink this,” he said. “It won’t make you feel any better, but it won’t make you feel any worse, either.”

She took the drink without a word and finished it in one impressive swallow. “You . . . if you’re lying to me, Archer—”

“I don’t have anywhere near that sort of imagination, Beth. They shot O’Donnell, made it look like a narcotics job, and slit the poor elevator guy’s throat, just like they did Fraser.”

Kemper dropped the empty glass on the bed, slowly sat up and put her face in her hands, and started moaning.

Archer gripped her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to drop this on you like an A-bomb, but you needed to know.”

Through her hands she said, “You mentioned that you had news of Douglas?”

“You might need some more brandy.”

She shuddered and lowered her hands. She looked up at him hopelessly. “Please . . . please don’t tell me that he’s . . .”

“He’s not dead. But the jury’s still out on whether he will be. That’s why we need your help.”

She shuddered again and said in a whisper, “I have whiskey out there.”

“I have whiskey in here,” he replied, pulling out his pocket flask and handing it to her.

She took a swallow, handed it back to him, and said, “Now, tell me what’s happened to Douglas.”

“They took him from his jail cell. They knocked out the guys that Willie had set up to guard him.”

“Why? Why take Douglas?”

“With Drake out of the picture, he’s the mayor by default. Sawyer can’t have that.”

“And you really have proof that he’s not my father?”

“We’re trying to get it. And even though you fainted back there, something tells me that you’re not as surprised by that as you should be.”

She wouldn’t look at him but she didn’t have to. The eyes welling with tears and the tremble of her delicate mouth were enough.

“He . . . he didn’t always act like a father . . . around me.”

“Yeah, he also found it difficult allowing anyone to grow close to you. Benjamin Smalls, your husband.” Archer paused for a moment and then decided to launch it. “Your mother.”

She didn’t move even the tiniest of her muscles. She just sat there staring at nothing like nothing was the most fascinating thing ever.

“We talked to your husband in jail before he got snatched. He said the idea for the luncheon that day was Sawyer’s. He insisted you be there. So your mother went solo, right into the Pacific. That’s what happened, right, Beth? Douglas said the light went out of your marriage then. He thought you blamed him. But did you?”

She looked up at him with such a sorrowful expression that Archer’s mouth started to tremble.

“I . . . I questioned my fa—I questioned Sawyer on . . . what happened to my mother.”

“You questioned him on whether he sabotaged your mother’s plane?”

“It took all the nerve I had. And . . . and he answered my question with a question. He . . . ” She broke down at this point and seemed to be struggling to keep from collapsing.