"Thank you."
"How'd she die? If you don't mind me asking."
He told her about his wife's illness, making no mention of the conflict that followed her demise.
"Any kids?"
"Unfortunately no. We had just begun talking about starting our family when she got sick. Like Ms. McCoy, she had a career. She was a microbiologist."
"Wow, she must've been smart."
"Brilliant, in fact." He smiled, although Sabra couldn't see it. "Much smarter than me."
"You must've loved each other a whole lot."
His smile gradually faded. What Sabra couldn't guess, but Tiel knew, was that his marriage hadn't been flawless and trouble-free. During the investigation into the circumstances surrounding Shari Stanwick's death, it was disclosed that she had engaged in an extramarital affair.
Bradley Stanwick knew of his wife's unfaithfulness and generously assumed his share of the blame. His work schedule was demanding and often kept him out late and away from home.
But the two had loved each other and were committed to making the marriage work. They were in counseling and planning to stay together when her malignancy was diagnosed. Her illness had actually brought them closer together. At least that's what he had claimed to his accusers.
Tiel could see that, even after all this time, reminders of his wife's adultery still pained him.
When he became aware that Tiel was watching him, the wistfulness in his expression vanished. "That's enough for now," he said, speaking more brusquely than he pr
obably intended.
"She's stopped sucking anyway," Sabra said. "I think she's gone to sleep."
While Sabra was readjusting her clothing, Tiel took the baby and changed her. Doc eased the girl back into her original position, then checked the diaper he'd placed beneath her. "Better. Thank God."
Tiel cuddled the baby close and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head before returning her to her mother's arms.
The telephone rang. The hour was up.
Everybody snapped to attention. Anticipated for an hour, the ringing telephone was jarring, because it represented the course of their future. Now that it was imminent, all seemed loathe to hear Galloway's response to Ronnie's demand. Especially Ronnie, who appeared more nervous even than before.
He looked over at Sabra and tried to smile, but his lips couldn't hold the expression for long. "Are you sure, Sabra?"
"Yes, Ronnie." She spoke quietly but with resolve and dignity. "Absolutely sure."
The boy wiped his hand on his pants leg before lifting the receiver off the hook. "Mr. Galloway?" Then, after a momentary pause, he exclaimed, "Dad!"
CHAPTER 9
WHO'S THIS?"
When the latest arrival was escorted into the FBI van, Galloway had ignored Russell Dendy's rude question and instead stood up to shake the man's hand. "Mr. Davison?"
"You've got to be kidding me." Dendy had sneered with disgust. "Who invited him?"
Galloway had pretended Dendy wasn't even there. "I'm Special Agent Bill Galloway."
"Cole Davison. Wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Galloway."
Judging by his appearance, one would guess Davison to be a rancher. He wore faded Levi's and cowboy boots. His starched white shirt had pearl snaps in lieu of buttons.
Upon entering the van, he'd politely removed a straw cowboy hat that had left a deep indentation in his hair and a pink stripe across his forehead, which was several shades paler than the lower two-thirds of his suntanned face. He had a stocky build and walked with a bowlegged gait.