The Last Equation of Isaac Severy(61)

“I’d be happy to explain,” she continued, “if you would only consider—”

“Meeting with Mr. Lyons?”

“Actually, that’s not why I’m here.”

He checked his watch. “Then you should get to it.”

“I’m here to recruit you. We’d like you to work for us.”

He laughed. “You really are deranged.”

“Give it some thought. We pay well. Extremely well, in fact—”

“So you’re asking me to leave my position at the university to work for an organization I know nothing about, one that appears to have questionable hiring practices, and has quite possibly stolen from my dead father—all for the paycheck? You think that’s what motivates me?”

“For the intellectual satisfaction, then.”

“You know my answer.”

“But you haven’t heard the entire question.” She sent a puff of smoke downwind. “I wonder what Anitka Durov would think.”

He frowned. “What has she got to do with this?”

“I thought she might have an opinion.”

“So this is blackmail now?”

“Please, we’re not so classless as that. I’m only trying to get your attention. How about lunch tomorrow, take two?”

He turned to walk back to his car.

“So you have no interest in seeing your father’s work?” she shouted above the wind.

He stopped and turned back. “I have no interest in being shadowed or contacted repeatedly, or having you know more about my life than my family does. I’d like to be left alone.”

“What, so you can slip back into academic obscurity? Let your brain decay while you bed the latest grad student?” She allowed her Dunhill to drop, smashing the butt with her shoe. “Or is it that you’d rather not be reminded of your father’s legacy when you’re struggling so valiantly for a shot at your own?”

Philip froze. He felt his anger rising but could not deny the painful truth of this statement.

She went on. “Could it be that you’re not—an inquisitive person?” Nellie lit another cigarette, the flame of her lighter twitching in the wind. “What about all those questions you had for me that day in Malibu?”

“You mean the day Lyons stood me up?” Philip shouted.

Nellie paused for a reflective moment. “We’ve been unfair to you, Mr. Severy. I’ve been unfair to you, and I’d like to make it up if you’ll let me.”

A staccato buzzing came from her pocket, and her slender hand dove in to silence it. “But looks like it’ll have to be another time.”

“Short leash?”

She gave him a knowing look and pivoted to the car’s back door. When she opened it, Philip moved forward to get a better view of the back seat. But he saw that it was empty—just black padded leather and a snakeskin handbag. The only other person in the car was the driver, who made a move for the ignition.

“Just a second, Arturo.” Nellie rested her arm on the door and turned to Philip.

“Do you remember the one question you asked me that I couldn’t answer?”

“Which one was that?”

“You wanted to know what the P in P. Booth Lyons stood for.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“It was probably wrong of me to keep it from you, given how important your father was to us.” She snuffed her cigarette in the door’s ashtray, and when her hand returned, it was holding a business card, like magic. He would have been no more surprised to see the queen of diamonds.

“I have one, thanks.”

“You don’t have this one. It’s the only one like it in the world.”

He took the card from her. There was no number or contact information, just a serifed name floating in cream: Penelope Booth Lyons.

He frowned, struggling to interpret what he was seeing. “Penelope.”

“But I prefer Nellie,” she said. “Fewer syllables.”

She climbed into the car and pulled the door shut behind her. A second later, the window slid halfway down.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow? No more secrets, I promise.”

Philip didn’t respond. It was as if two incompatible ideas had suddenly catapulted into his brain and were now forced at gunpoint to reconcile.

The engine of the town car hummed into action, and the headlights returned.

“You’ll let me know about tomorrow, then? I’m not going to chase you anymore, Philip. When you’re ready to see your father’s work, you’ll tell me.”

The dark glass of the window gradually eclipsed her assured smile. And when her face had disappeared from view, the car slipped into gear, and the woman who called herself P. Booth Lyons drove away.





–?20?–


The List


It was dusk, and the offices of the Juvenile Protection Unit were nearly empty. From his spot at a window overlooking downtown Los Angeles, Gregory tried to appreciate the twinkling cityscape, how the honeyed glow of sunset could give way so rapidly to night. But he felt uneasy, as if something were about to happen that he couldn’t control. Maybe if he looked hard enough, he’d be able to pick out Tom’s figure below, making its wretched way back to the subway. At some point, he feared, Tom was going to abandon his routine altogether. He might even pick up and move, far from where he could be surveilled. Gregory couldn’t allow that to happen.