ago.â
âHer? Her? How much?â
âSeven figures.â
âSevenâ! Goddamn it!â
Runyon decided to open up a little, see what kind of reaction heâd get. âWhat would you say if I told you somebody is trying to take some of it away from her?â
âWhat would I say? Good! I hope they get every damn dime that belongs to her.â
âWould you try it if you thought you could get away with it?â
âMe? Hell, no. I wouldnât want none of her money. Only thing of hers Iâd want is her blood.â
âIs that a threat, Mr. Avery?â
Avery said, âI donât make threats, man,â and turned abruptly and stalked back inside the house.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
The three interviews hadnât netted Runyon much in the way of specifics, or pointed to any of the individuals as the perp. Each man seemed to have plenty of cause to dislike, distrust, openly hate, even fear Verity Daniels; any of the three could be guilty of extortion, terrorism, or both. Or none of them.
One thing the interviews had accomplished: he had a slightly better handle on Ms. Daniels now. She was a woman who engendered strong emotions in other people, all or most of them negative, either by design or because of personality flaws. Nobody seemed to like her muchâand maybe that was the primary reason why she lived such a solitary life. Two million dollars might be enough to buy you a new home, a new look, all the possessions you wanted, but it wasnât enough to buy you a brand-new persona.
Â
6
Verity Daniels called at 7:50 that night, while Runyon was heating a can of soup for a late supper. But it wasnât the right kind of call. Sheâd heard nothing more from the perp. She was half frantic from all the waiting, she said, and needed to hear a friendly voice. He had so much experience with this kind of thing and she had noneâhow long did he think it would be?
After the long day in the East Bay, Runyon was in no mood for telephonic hand-holding. âNo idea how long,â he said shortly. âI know itâs difficult for you, Ms. Danielsââ
âVerity.â
âI know itâs difficult for you, but youâll just have to hang in until he decides to contact you again.â
âIt could be days, couldnât it? Even a week or more?â
âNot likely heâll make you wait that long.â
âBut itâs so hard. I feel so ⦠vulnerable, here all by myself. If I didnât know you were there to help me, I donât know what Iâd do.â
He had nothing to say to that.
âI donât suppose ⦠I mean, is there any chance we could get together somewhere for a drink? Tonight if youâre not busy, or tomorrowââ
âNo, thatâs not possible.â
âJust one drink, just for a little while?â
âNo, Ms. Daniels. Itâs agency policy not to socialize with clients.â
âBut it wouldnât really be socializingââ
âIâm sorry, no. I donât mean to be unsympathetic, but Iâll have to ask you not to call again until you hear from the extortionist.â
Short silence. Then, in a different voice, clipped, edged with anger, âYes, all right, I understand. Good night, Jake.â She broke the connection immediately, the sharp click like an exclamation point at the end of his name.
Coming on to him, and angry at the rebuff? Sounded like it. Why? So maybe she had developed the kind of infatuation lonely women sometimes did for men who offered them a professional helping hand. Common enough, though heâd never had to deal with it before. Another possibility: underneath that bland exterior she was a sexual aggressor. Anger was sometimes the reaction of a rejected predatory woman. And the facts and implications heâd gathered today supported the supposition.
But neither possibility explained why sheâd lied
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