Deadline (Sandra Brown)

aware of that. Like he wasn’t being a goddamn Sir Galahad to spare her from being put through more. He didn’t say that, just made a motion with his shoulders to show that he agreed: Amelia had suffered some serious shit.
    After giving him time to elaborate, which he didn’t do, Eva got up and began straightening things in the room—the stack of fresh towels that an orderly had left near the sink, a bouquet of flowers sent from Headly’s office in DC, a sheaf of hospital insurance forms. None of these things needed her attention. She was trying to pretend that she wasn’t about to pry, that this was a casual and spontaneous conversation.
    Of course Dawson knew better.
    “How were the little boys?” she asked.
    “Good. Oblivious about their dad. For now. Which is as it should be.” In spite of his dark mood, a smile hiked up one corner of his mouth. “I had to give them a lesson in biology.” He related the anecdote. Eva and Headly laughed.
    “After dinner, Amelia let them make their own sundaes, which were disgusting because they dribbled on everything she set out, including blackberry jam. They made a mess, but I think it was important to her to let them have a good time last night. Considering yesterday’s…event.”
    The three were quiet for a moment, then Eva ventured to ask, “Did you explain to her why you went to such lengths to go after Carl and Jeremy?”
    “We talked about it some.”
    They looked at him, expecting more, but he didn’t expound.
    Eva pressed on, her misty, wistful expression straight out of a greeting-card commercial. “Amelia is an excellent mother.”
    Dawson cleared his throat. “She is.”
    “And she’s such a sweet-natured person. It was kind of her to stay here with me through that terrible first night.”
    “Sure was.”
    “We talked like old friends, not like two women who’d just met.”
    “Hmm.”
    “She told me that the boys continually ask about school, because they’re aware that it starts next week. She doesn’t know how to tell them that they might not be going back when the other children do. They want a house with a yard so they can have a dog.”
    “I know all this, Eva.”
    Bickering with Headly was a normal part of their repartee. But he’d never had a cross word with Eva. Taken aback by his testiness, she lapsed into silence. But now that his anger over the situation had been given an opening, it burst of out him.
    “I know their circumstances, and they stink, but I can’t fix them . It would be wrong of me to try. My intrusion would only make their situation worse.”
    “Amelia wouldn’t see your involvement as intrusion.”
    “How do you know?”
    “You make her head spin.” He registered surprise. Seeing it, she added, “She told me so. In confidence. Which I just broke.”
    His heart levitated, then sank. “That’s nice to hear, but it doesn’t make a difference. The situation is—”
    “Subject to change soon.”
    Headly’s mumble arrested Dawson’s angry pacing. “Why do you say that?”
    Headly looked over at Eva. “Maybe I will have some of that juice, but with ice. Would you please get me some from the machine down the hall?”
    She folded her arms over her middle. “Hell, no. I’m staying put. I want to hear why you said that, too.”
    Headly scowled, but she didn’t budge or show any signs of relenting. Headly sighed and looked at Dawson. “Neither of us is getting any younger.”
    “Meaning you and Carl?”
    He nodded. “Always before, when he felt us closing in—even if we weren’t—he hightailed it. He’s jumped states in a matter of days.”
    “You think old age has slowed him down?”
    “In a manner of speaking. He always had this ragtag bunch of outlaws to aid and abet him. Gun dealers, drug dealers, or petty crooks who were hero worshipers, disciples of his twisted dogma. All willing to do his bidding. Most have either been caught and are serving long sentences, or they’ve been killed by one of their ilk, or simply died off. By the way, they found the guy who owns the boat.”
    “The CandyCane ?”
    “He’s living in the Keys. But barely. Stage-four lung cancer. He’ll die in captivity, but even knowing that, he wouldn’t give up any information about Carl.” He stared down at his right hand where it lay on his chest and wiggled the fingers experimentally.
    Dawson noticed. “The doctor was right.”
    Headly sneered. “Just to prove how smart he is, last night he stuck a needle, which