AS she returned to the circle of the kids, she noticed Sal Rigo standing at the back of the crowd. His face looked rigid as he watched her approach. She had the distinct impression he was poised to spring into action. Alice nodded once in reassurance. For the first time, the sight of him nearby reassured instead of annoyed her. Kehoe had been beyond rude. He’d bordered on vicious. Rigo warily turned and sat with the others on the sand, keeping Alice within his sight.
The encounter had rattled her. She had no doubt the “he” that Kehoe had referred to as he dressed her down was Dylan. Had he garbled his words, by initially saying she? And what had he meant about before? Was he trying to make her believe Dylan had become involved with a new recruit before, and that Kehoe had stopped it? Because Alice had worried about that in the beginning, but in the end, she just didn’t believe Dylan made a habit of this. It showed how angry Kehoe was . . . how desperate, that he’d stoop to innuendo and slander. She’d never seen Kehoe come undone. He was usually so meticulously in control.
Maybe too in control. Tonight, all the pressure he must exert to be so together all the time had seemed to be steaming out of the cracks in his armor.
The only thing she knew for certain was that Kehoe’s feelings toward her were not the dislike and disapproval she’d suspected.
Sebastian Kehoe clearly hated her.
SIXTEEN
At nine thirty that night, Dylan sat in his den talking to Jim Sheridan. Since tonight was the bonfire, Alice would work late. They’d planned to meet an hour later than their usually designated time. He’d originally been glad to have a little extra time to deal with Jim’s visit.
Now he was just annoyed and frustrated.
“Why did you have to push it?” he barked at Jim, his anger undisguised.
He sat at his desk, his elbow on the blotter. He pressed his fingertips against his shut eyelids. His flash of fury drained out of him almost instantly, leaving him weary in its wake. Jim had just informed him that he’d done a background check on Alice Reed. In doing so, he’d come across Sissy Reed’s name, and done a subsequent check on her. Being the bullheaded, diligent cop he was, he’d eventually gone deep enough into both Sissy’s and Avery Cunningham’s separate criminal histories to notice that Sissy and Cunningham had both served time at Cook County Juvenile Detention at the same time.
“I’m sorry. I’m a curious son of a bitch, you know that. Always have been,” Jim said apologetically. Dylan slowly opened his eyes and met the sheriff’s stare. “Your reaction on the night the alarm went off set me down the path. Clearly, this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill bedmate, as wound up as you were. But the more I looked at Alice . . .” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sure you notice the resemblance between her and Lynn, too. It wasn’t obvious at first, but there was something familiar that was tickling at my memory. Then it was prodding at it so bad I couldn’t sleep. You’re right. I couldn’t let it go.”
“She’s not ready to face the FBI’s interrogations. The press. The Durand board. The challengers to a claim that she’s the long-lost Durand heiress. The result of the Reeds being implicated in the kidnapping. I was just trying to buy some time for her.”
“Would anyone ever be ready for that?” Jim asked, compassion in his tone.
“Can you at least wait to tell the FBI until after the genetic testing is in? You could say we wanted to be sure before we contacted them.”
“That would require that I lie in regard to everything you just told me about Avery Cunningham’s deathbed confession, Dylan. That’s a hell of a lot of withholding, for a hell of a long time, whether the genetic testing is conclusive or not. Besides, both of us know what those results are going to be.”
“Just give me until the end of the week, then,” he bargained without pause. “For whatever reason, the completion of Camp Durand means the world to Alice. She wants to prove that she’s capable of being a Durand leader.”
“If that testing proves it, she owns the company, doesn’t she?” Jim asked, bewildered.
“Of course, but you don’t know Alice,” Dylan frowned. “She’s very . . . stubborn at times.”
“Hasn’t changed that much from when she was little, then,” Jim said with a small, sad smile.
“Just give me until Friday. Give Alice until then. That’s the last official day of camp. There’s a dinner and the individual awards and the Team Championship trophy are given here at the castle. You have no idea what it’d mean to Alice, to finish this before the swarm descends.”
“I can’t keep something this big a secret, Dylan. Not without sacrificing some pretty damn important professional ethics.”