Page 113 of Thick as Thieves

He turned off the engine and sat back in his seat, facing forward, staring at the brick wall in front of the truck. She did the same. Neither said anything.

Now that she’d had time to recover her breath and wits from the dog attack, her thoughts reverted to the fight they’d had just before it. The topic lay between them like a grenade whose pin had been pulled. No sooner had she wondered which of them would pick it up than he spoke in a grumble.

“That Jacob was the daddy?”

She glanced at him, then looked forward again. “Jacob Greene with an e at the end.”

“Where’d you two meet?”

“I worked at Neiman’s as a personal shopper. Jacob became a client. A good one. He spent a lot of money with me. I later became his patient.”

“Patient? He’s a doctor?”

“Yes, but by the time I started seeing him professionally, we’d gone beyond the traditional doctor-patient relationship.”

“Obviously way beyond. How come you’re not together now?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s married.”

“Ah. That’s the crimp. Big one. The wife found out about his pregnant mistress and—”

“Will you shut up?” She turned to him then. “Jacob is a specialist in AI. Artificial insemination. He impregnated me, yes. Using sperm from an anonymous donor.”

He held her gaze for several seconds, then bowed his head and rubbed his thumb across his eyebrow. “I feel like an ass.”

“I can’t imagine why.” She didn’t try to disguise her sarcasm.

He looked at her querulously. “Well, when I asked about the father, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t even tell my sister. It wasn’t any of her business, and it certainly wasn’t any of yours.”

“Right. So you’ve said.”

Before they could take it further, his phone vibrated, rattling th

e loose change in the cup holder. He kept his eyes on her as he reached for it and answered. She heard Don say, “Okay. I’ve got the directions to his place.”

“Gimme.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll get the info from somebody else.”

“This guy’s no choirboy, Ledge.”

“Figured that.”

“You’re looking for trouble.”

“No, he was, and now he’s got it.”

Don hesitated, then muttered, “Hell.”

The place looked almost too derelict to be real, more like a stage or movie set crowded with props to make it appear as squalid as possible. Floodlights mounted on metal poles formed a perimeter and shone down on the property, contributing to the movie set feel.

The house was as ramshackle as the various outbuildings, one of which was missing half its roof. The disemboweled, rusted-out vehicles scattered about were a cliché. Two mismatched upholstered chairs squatted on the porch under the overhang. Arden didn’t even want to think about the vermin that nested in them.

Off to one side of the dirt yard was a row of cages, crudely constructed of weathered scrap lumber and cyclone fencing. They were filthy and overpopulated with dogs trained to fight to the death if necessary.