Riptide

succeeded admirably," Thomas said. "He has flushed me
    out. I guess maybe that's why he didn't let you see him, Becca. He
    wants to keep playing this insane game. He wants to terrorize you
    and now he can continue the terror, with me squarely in the game
    with you."
    "And only he knows the rules," Becca said.
    "Yes," Adam said. "I wonder if he's been living on Crete all this
    time."
    "Probably so,"Thomas said.
    "Wait," Becca said, chewing on her bottom lip. "Now I recognize
    those curses--they were Greek."

"That settles that," Thomas said. "We've got all the proof we
    need that the ashes in that urn in the Greek morgue aren't Krimakov's"
    He leaned down and kissed Becca's forehead. "I won't leave you
    again. Now we'll find Krimakov, and then you and I have a lot of
    catching up to do."
    "I'd like that," she said. Then she smiled over at Adam, but she
    didn't say anything.

Chapter 21

    Detective Letitia Gordon and Detective Hector Morales of the
    NYPD looked over at the woman who lay in that skinny hospital
    bed, looking pale and wrung-out, IV lines running obscenely into
    her arms, her eyes shiny with tears.
    Detective Gordon cleared her throat and said to the room at
    large, "Excuse me," and flashed her badge, as did Hector Morales,
    "but we need to speak to Ms. Matlock. The doctor said it was all
    right. Everyone out."
    Thomas straightened and looked at them, assessing them,
    quickly, easily, and smiled even as he walked forward, blocking their
    view of his daughter. "I'm her father, Thomas Matlock, detectives.
    Now, what can I do for you?"
    "We need to speak to her now, Mr. Matlock," Letitia Gordon
    said,"before the Feds get here and try to big-foot us."
    "I am the Feds, Detective Gordon,"Thomas said.
    "Damn. Er, a pleasure to meet you, sir." Detective Gordon
    cleared her throat. "It's important, sir. There was a murder committed
    here in New York, on our turf. It's our case, not yours, and
    your daughter is involved." Why had she said all that? Because he
    was a big federal cheese, and that's why she'd tried to excuse herself,
    tried to justify herself. What was he going to do?
    Detective Morales smiled and shook Thomas's outstretched
    hand. "Hector Morales, Mr. Matlock. And this is Detective Gordon.
    We didn't realize she had any relatives other than her mother."

"Yes, she does, detectives," Thomas said. "There's still some drug
    in her system, so she's not really completely back yet, but if you
    would like to speak to her for a couple of minutes, that probably
    wouldn't hurt. But you need to keep it low-key. I don't want her
    upset."
    "Look, sir," Detective Gordon said, pumping herself up, knowing
    that she should be the one giving the orders here, not this
    man, this stranger who was with the government. "Ms. Matlock
    ran away. Everyone was looking for her. She is wanted as a material
    witness in the shooting of Governor Bledsoe of New York."
    Thomas Matlock merely arched a very patrician brow at her and
    looked intimidatingly forbearing. "Fancy that," he said mildly. "I
    can't imagine why she would ever want to leave New York what with all the protection you offered her."
    "Now see here, sir," Detective Gordon said, and tried to shake
    off Hector Morales's hand on her arm, but he didn't let go, and she
    looked yet again into that man's face, and she shut up. There were
    words bubbling inside her, but she wasn't about to say them. He
    was a Big Feeb, and she saw the power in his eyes, something that
    flashed red warning lights to her brain, an ineffable something that
    shouted power, more power than she could imagine, and so she
    kept her mouth shut.
    "There is a lot we do not understand, Mr. Matlock," Detective
    Morales said, his voice stiff, with a slight accent. "May we please
    speak to your daughter? Ask her a few questions? She does look
    very ill. We won't take long."
    The thing of it was, Letitia Gordon thought as she walked to the
    bed where the young woman lay staring at her with dread, her
    dyed hair tangled and dirty about her face, she wanted to stand very
    straight in front of that man, perhaps salute and then do exactly

what he told her to do. And here was Hector, acting so deferential,
    like this guy was the president or, more important, the police commissioner.
    Whatever he was, this man wore power like a second
    skin.
    "Ms. Matlock, in case you don't remember, I'm Detective Gordon
    and this is Detective Morales."
    "I remember both of you very clearly," Becca said, and concentrated
    on