Hangman (38 page)

Never had time raced so fast.

Gabe said, “Well, I guess this is my stop.”

“Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” He turned to Talia. “Nice to meet you. Take care of him for me.”

“Blah, blah.” Donatti handed him his empty coffee cup filled with cigarette butts. “You know how I hate crap in my face. Dump this out for me.”

“Sure, Chris.” He got out and the car took off before Gabe reached the front door.

Chris giving him shit. How metaphoric.

He stared at the garbage in his hands.

Huh.

He unlocked the door and headed for his quarters—not really
his
room, but after seven months he was more than a sojourner. Once inside his space, he sat on the bed and turned on his computer.

THE KNOCK PISSED
him off. Donatti hated doing taxes and he hated being interrupted. “What?”

“Can I come in?”

Talia’s voice. “Being as you fucked up my concentration, you might as well.”

She opened the door. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. What do you want?”

A small smile grew on her lips. “I brought you some coffee.” She placed it on his rosewood desk. Chris’s office was walnut paneled with a stone fireplace. It was filled with good art and the smell of leather and tobacco. He had shelves of the finest Scotch and cut crystal tumblers. The place looked like something that belonged in an English castle, not the office of a man who owned whorehouses. In the corner was a
huge
Christmas tree that she had decorated. Underneath it were piles of presents sent to him by happy clients. Talia never adorned a Christmas tree before she had met Chris. It was an assignment she always enjoyed.

Donatti looked her up and down. She was holding a wrapped package. “Just put it under the tree.”

“It’s from Gabe.”

“Oh shit! I’ve got to get him something. What’s the date?”

“The nineteenth.”

“Okay. We got time. Go out and buy him a motorcycle.”

Talia stared at him.

“What?” Donatti said.

“Chris, he doesn’t drive. He’s only fifteen.”

“He’s fifteen already? Shit, I missed his birthday.”

“Don’t worry. I sent him a card and a shirt.”

Donatti stared at her. “You sent Gabe a shirt for his birthday?”

“You were out of town. And what’s wrong with a shirt? He wrote me a thank-you card, so I guess he liked it.”

She was pouting. Donatti kept forgetting that she wasn’t much older than Gabe. “Thank you for sending my son a shirt. Let’s aim a little higher this time. Get him a Ferrari.”

“A
Ferrari
?” Talia exclaimed.

“Yeah, a Ferrari. Do you want me to spell it for you?”

“I know what a Ferrari is. Stop being so sarcastic.” She paused. “Can I say something?”

“No.” When Talia didn’t talk, Donatti exhaled in disgust. “
What?
”

“We’re going to Paris for New Year’s. Why don’t you ask him to come with us? I bet he’d like that even more than a Ferrari.”

“I don’t want him to come.”

Talia looked perplexed. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to come, okay?”

Talia shrugged. “Okay.”

“Look, Talia, Gabe is doing all right and I’m doing all right. Not a good idea to mix it up.”

“Whatever you say.” She paused. “What should I do with the present?”

“Give it here.”

She handed him the wrapped box. “Where do I find a Ferrari dealership? This is Elko, not Las Vegas.”

“You’re right. Tell you what. We’ll go to Penske-Wynn tomorrow and buy one together. Set up the jet. We’ll leave at eleven if I can
ever get enough peace and quiet to get my taxes done.” He gave her a small wave. “Good-bye.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee.”

“Thank you and good-bye.” When she finally closed the door, Donatti smiled. He didn’t love Talia, but sometimes her innocence made him laugh. He regarded the gift from his son. Gabe was a good kid—got that from his mother.

He thought about Terry more often than he should have. She was gone, but it was far from over. They were still legally married and eventually they’d have to face each other one way or the other.

Someday, he thought. Someday.

He opened the ribbon on the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a stack of papers secured by a staple and a small note in Gabe’s neat handwriting.

The papers were from some kind of medical lab…some kind of medical test.

What the fuck?

As he rifled through the pages, Donatti skimmed the words.

DNA taken from a cigarette

DNA taken from a coffee cup.

Positive paternity match—99.9%.

Donatti threw back his head and laughed out loud.

The little
bastard.

Or maybe not.

He picked up his phone and got Gabe’s voice mail.

Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

“Thanks for the papers. If I ever need a kidney, I’ll know who to call.”

Donatti hung up the phone and went back to his work.

An hour later, he picked up the phone and called Gabe a second time.

After receiving the same message, Donatti waited for the beep
and said, “I’m going to Paris for New Year’s. Someone over there is playing Bach’s Organ Toccata and Fugue in D minor. I’m thinking about getting tickets. Talia has a tin ear and I know you have an unhealthy fixation with the pipe organ.”

A pause.

“We’re leaving on the twenty-seventh, so give me a call back right away. If your passport is current, you got nothing better to do, and you want to hear the piece, I suppose you can tag along.”

Special thanks to Marc Neikrug

FAYE KELLERMAN
is the author of twenty-seven novels, including twenty
New York Times
bestselling mysteries that feature the husband-and-wife team of Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus. She has also penned two bestselling short novels with her husband,
New York Times
bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman, and recently teamed up with her daughter Aliza to cowrite a young adult novel,
Prism
—the story of four teens in an alternate universe. She lives with her husband in Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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