turned around, picked up the chair, and sat back down in it. Then he folded his arms across the table and buried his face in them.
John expected to hear the word “lawyer” come out from beneath those folded arms. But what he heard instead surprised him:
A sigh. A sigh that sounded—if he wasn’t mistaken—like defeat.
And, though John found it hard to believe, he realized he was actually making headway with Larry Beckwith III, aka Dylan Dakota.
“What happened with the girl, Larry?” he asked in his most sympathetic tone. “Why did you leave her to die?”
This caused Beckwith to lift his head. He shot John a look of astonishment. “What? I didn’t!”
“You most certainly did, Larry. If that librarian hadn’t walked in at the exact moment she did, Tabitha Brighton would have bled to death.”
“That’s . . . that’s impossible!” Larry Beckwith was sitting up straight in his seat now. His face was still white as paper. “When we left her, she was fine. I mean, yes, she had just had the baby, and she was a little out of it, but . . . women have babies all the time and they’re fine. Historically, women have been having babies for millions of years and gotten up afterward and gone out to work in the fields. How was I supposed to know she wasn’t fine?”
John had to physically restrain himself from walking over, picking Beckwith up, and hurling him through the two-way mirror. He wanted to hurt him that badly.
The repercussions if he did so wouldn’t be that severe. Yes, he’d probably lose his job, but so what? He’d always be rehired back in Miami. Katie wouldn’t want to leave because of the Snappettes, but she could always go live with her cousin.
But Molly. Molly would probably never forgive him, even though Beckwith was a scumbag who deserved to suffer. He couldn’t hurt Beckwith, because Molly would be mad.
So instead of throwing Beckwith through the two-way mirror, John said, with all the patience he could summon, “First of all, Larry, women throughout history have done no such thing. Without proper postnatal care, they die, even in this day and age. You aren’t stupid, Larry, you know this. Even people without a college education, which you have, know this. You can’t sit there and tell me with a straight face that you thought that woman was going to be fine. You took her child and left her, but that’s not all. You took her cell phone. You left her there with no means to call for help.”
“But I knew—” Beckwith looked almost tearful. “I knew someone would be coming into the building the next day. I’d overheard the construction workers talking, so I knew there was going to be an inspection, and that someone was going to find her.”
“So rather than call nine-one-one for her yourself, you just decided to risk letting her die?”
“I was drunk, all right?” Beckwith wasn’t just tearful now. He was actually crying. He reached up and angrily swiped at the tears in his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking properly. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, but—that’s what happened.”
John felt a sudden jolt of clarity.
No. It couldn’t be. And yet the proof was right in front of him.
Larry Beckwith had feelings. He had actual feelings. And for Tabitha Brighton, of all people.
“You love her,” John said, in a tone of disbelief.
“What?” Beckwith looked up from his damp fingers.
“You love her. You love that girl. That’s why you stuck around after the rest of your band of merry muck-making men left. To make sure Tabitha and the baby were all right.”
To John’s surprise, Larry Beckwith III began to blush scarlet. “No!” he said, sullenly. “Absolutely not. I don’t care what happens to them.”
“Yes, you do,” John said. “That’s why you stayed, and that’s why you got caught. You care about her. You love her.”
Beckwith’s face had gone crimson—whether with rage or embarrassment, it didn’t matter. John knew the truth.
“I don’t!” the boy cried. “I mean, obviously, I don’t want her or the baby to die, especially if it’s my baby. She told me she couldn’t get pregnant—she swore to me. And by the time I figured out what was going on, it was too late. She insisted we keep it.”
“That scheming hussy.” John shook his head with mock sympathy.
Beckwith glared at him, but his red-rimmed eyes gave away his true feelings.
“I didn’t even know if it was mine! How could I be sure? I hardly knew this