Part 28 (2/2)
Summer looked surprised, but rose along with him. ”Good-bye, Russ,” she said. ”I... It was nice to see you.”
”It was good to see you, too, Missy.”
There was no way for them to physically touch through the gla.s.s. Neither mentioned seeing the other again. Neither mentioned writing. Billy waited to see if either had anything more to say, but when neither of them spoke, he put a hand to the small of Summer's back and ushered her from the room.
Once they were free of the prison walls Summer said, ”He really loved my mom.”
”Yeah. Too bad for him.”
”He was always good to me.”
”I suppose that's something,” Billy said.
”It's everything,” Summer said. She turned to him and asked, ”Why did we leave in such a hurry? What did I miss?”
”I think I might have figured out who taught your mom how to rig that bomb.”
”I'm listening,” Summer said as she stepped into Billy's pickup.
Billy hurried around the hood and slid in beside her before he spoke. ”Luke Creed.”
”But he's somewhere in Africa with the National Guard, engaged in 'a humanitarian effort to locate and disarm mines,'” Summer recited, recollecting as best she could what the article in the Bitter Creek Chronicle had said.
”Exactly,” Billy said. ”Who better to teach someone how to make a bomb than someone who knows how to dismantle one? I figure she got a kick out of using Ren's son to help frame Blackjack.”
”Okay, Luke has the expertise,” Summer said. ”But he's been gone for nearly six months. My parents only separated a month ago. When would he have given my mother her lesson in bombmaking?”
”He could have done it over the Internet. If your mother followed the pattern we've seen, she arranged it so Luke never knew who he was giving his lesson to. Maybe she went to an Internet cafe somewhere and pretended to be some guard buddy of his, or impersonated a professor at some university. She could find him easy enough through the local guard, and guys his age always know where they can find a computer to log on.”
”Or maybe she just typed in 'How to Make a Bomb' and the details came up on the screen,” Summer suggested. ”How would we ever prove it one way or the other in court?”
”Circ.u.mstantial evidence can add up,” Billy said. ”It's convicted more than one felon.”
”Why would Luke tell us the truth, if it's going to help Blackjack?”
”He'll tell the truth because he's been subpoenaed and is under oath. It's too bad what we've got so far isn't enough to clear Blackjack.”
”Why isn't it?” Summer asked.
”You'd be asking a jury to make a pretty big leap to get from two seemingly innocent conversations and an exchange of intellectual information on the Internet to a woman planning her own death. A good prosecutor could take it apart in no time.”
”So this trip was a waste,” Summer said, slumping down in her seat.
Billy started the engine. ”Yeah, maybe. But we have one more stop to make.”
”Right. The offices of DeWitt & Blackthorne, where Uncle Harry rides to the rescue,” Summer said sarcastically. ”I should point out that Uncle Harry's way over eighty and hasn't thrown his leg over a saddle since he was seventy-five.”
Billy laughed. ”Some of those old codgers are pretty smart. Maybe he'll have some ideas to help us out.”
”He is smart,” Summer conceded. ”I just don't see any way out for Daddy. I'm scared, Billy.”
Billy reached for her hand and squeezed it. ”Don't give up yet. We'll spend the night somewhere in Houston and hit your great-uncle Harry's office first thing in the morning.”
”My family has a penthouse apartment on Woodway. We can stay there,” Summer suggested. ”That way I won't have to buy a toothbrush or borrow your T-s.h.i.+rt to sleep in.”
Billy didn't relish the idea of spending the night in Blackthorne territory. But it was bound to be more comfortable than the Motel 6 he could afford. ”I was looking forward to seeing you in my T-s.h.i.+rt,” he said.
”You prefer cotton T-s.h.i.+rts to s.e.xy lingerie?” Summer asked.
”I don't think I've ever seen anything s.e.xier than you in a T-s.h.i.+rt,” Billy said. ”But then, I've never seen you in s.e.xy lingerie.”
”Get us to Houston,” Summer said, ”and I'll see what I can do.”
Summer spent the drive back to Houston hunkered down in her seat thinking. It was hard being the child of three such notorious persons. She'd read enough to know that heredity was at least partly responsible for who a person turned out to be, with environment shaping the rest, and that scientists differed on which of the two was more important.
Summer felt her heart beating frantically, like a b.u.t.terfly slapping its fragile wings against an unforgiving jar. What if she was doomed to be like them? Surely she could choose the course she took. Surely there was some hope she could be a better person than her parents.
”You've been awful quiet,” Billy said.
”I shouldn't have married you, Billy.”
”Why not?”
”I took advantage of you.”
”Do you see me complaining?”
”The thing is, I wish I'd been more honest with you in the beginning.”
He raised a brow but said nothing.
Summer couldn't bear the silence, so she said, ”I didn't only marry you because I wanted to get away from my parents. I had this crazy idea that you'd fall in love with me and we'd live happily ever after.”
”Not so crazy, when you think about it.”
Summer's breath caught in her throat. ”Really?”
”I've always liked you, Summer. You know that. I really thought... I mean, I hoped... We might have done okay together.”
”Might have?”
”We'd have had to work at it. I'm too proud. You're too stubborn. But I figured we had as good a chance as most of being happy together, or I wouldn't have married you in the first place.”
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