man who made his life a tragedy.
“Max told you I was Kevin’s father, didn’t he?” I say softly, trying to steer his anger away from Jet.
In the roaring silence of Paul’s shock, the back door opens. Max Matheson walks through it, a pistol in his hand. The upper left quadrant of his face and skull is a Pollock painting of purple and blue, and his left eye is so swollen I can barely see it.
“What the hell happened?” he asks. “Paul? I heard a shot.”
I back away from the door until the island stops me, and Jet follows. I have a feeling Max’s life is now measured in seconds. Then again . . . I thought that last night, on Parnassus Hill. All I know is this: I need the gun from the drawer.
Chapter 52
Paul takes a step toward his father, partially blocking my view. But as Paul speaks to Max, and Max meets his eyes, I move left and slide open the drawer that holds the .32 automatic that Nadine insisted I take this morning.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Paul demands. “How did you get out of the hospital?”
Max steps deeper into the kitchen and says, “The way you stormed out of my room, I was worried you might do something crazy. So I yanked out my IVs and got down here as fast as I could. I nearly passed out near the county line, but I made it.”
Paul’s back is to me, but I can see skepticism in his posture. “What did you drive? Your truck was here in Bienville.”
Max doesn’t miss a beat. “I went down to the employee lot and found a guy dropping off his wife for a shift. I waved two hundred-dollar bills in his face and asked if he could get me to Bienville in thirty minutes.” Max touches the wrecked left side of his face. “I think this got me the ride. The guy felt bad taking my money. He drove eighty-five all the way to my house, and I got my truck there.”
While Paul digests this, Max sweeps his eyes over the room, taking in the scene with military efficiency. He and Paul are on the far side of the table, Jet and I between the table and the island. Max looks surprised to find us alive.
“I thought for sure you’d shot this Jody bastard,” he says, waving his gun at me. “Did you show them the video?”
Paul answers without looking at him. “Yeah.”
“And?”
I slide the pistol a little farther behind my leg.
“And what?” Paul says.
“What did they say about it?”
Paul shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
Max’s eyes narrow. “Doesn’t matter? What are you talking about?”
“I been thinking, Pop. I think the best thing is to get a DNA test on Kevin. I won’t tell him what it is. Just routine blood work for a sports physical.”
Max’s face betrays astonishment. “Why the hell would you do that? I told you where that’ll lead. Them taking Kevin from us. From you. They’re playing you, son. A DNA test is a bell you can’t un-ring.”
Paul nods as though he understands, but his voice remains firm. “Still . . . I think it’s the best thing. Just to be sure.”
I take a chance by speaking to bolster Paul’s position. “A DNA test is the only thing that can settle this beyond doubt. And it will prove Jet and I are telling the truth.”
“Of course he’d say that,” Max argues. “He’ll tell any lie he can think of to get out of this room. And remember, the DNA test tricks you into proving Kevin belongs to him. You’ve got to end this now. If you don’t have the sand for it, I’ll do it for you.”
Paul faces his father with surprising grit. “Two minutes ago, I was an inch from killing Marshall. If it turns out he’s been lying to me all this time—if he’s Kevin’s father—I’ll kill him. But I want to be sure.”
Anxiety bleeds into Max’s face. He’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, and his eyes flit from Paul to me and back.
“What about you, Pop?” Paul asks in an eerily calm voice. “You fine with a DNA test?”
Max stops shifting. “I’ve told you how I feel about that.”
“I mean a DNA test on you. You and Kevin.”
Max Matheson was always the coolest customer I ever knew. But in this moment, his legendary composure deserts him. The truth in his eyes is beyond concealment. He has wanted his illegitimate son for so