Part 93 (1/2)

Johnno pulled out his cigarettes, carelessly offering one to Michael. He

took it, and the first pull of the strong, exotic smoke had his stomach

bouncing. ”So,” Johnno asked, mildly amused, ”do you plan to follow in

your father's flat feet? Isn't that what they call cops?” he continued.

”Flat foots?”

”Oh.” Michael tried another small, experimental puff on the Gauloise. ”I

don't think I'm cut out to be a cop. Dad, he's great at it. Patient,

you know. Like with your son's case. He worked on that for years, even

after the department closed the files.” He caught himself, appalled that

he'd brought it up. ”He's like, dedicated,” he finished weakly.

”Yes, he is.” More at ease, Brian smiled the charming, heart

warming smile that made his fans love him. He wished he'd added rum to

the lemonade. ”You'll give him my best, won't you?”

”Sure.” It was with great relief that Michael saw Emma bringing in cold

drinks on a tray.

An hour later, Emma walked him back to his car. ”I want to thank you

for not telling Dad how stupid I was today.”

”No big deal.”

”Yes, it was. He gets ... upset.” She gazed out to the high stone

walls that surrounded the estate. Wherever she went there were walls.

”I think he'd put me in a bubble if he could.”

The urge to touch her hair was so strong, so unexpected, that he'd

lifted his hand before he caught himself and brushed it through his own.

”It must be tough, with what happened to your brother and everything.”

”He's always afraid, afraid someone will try to take me, too.”

”Aren't you?”