“Then stop.”
“I will. Tell me where he is and—”
“I don’t know.”
“Rebecca—”
“Grace.”
“Whatever,” he said, raising his voice to match hers. “Do you expect me to believe that you haven’t had any contact with him in four years?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t know where he is, and I don’t.”
“So you do have some contact with him. How often? Once a year, every other month, twice a week? How does he get in touch?”
She stuck out her hands, palms down. “Get out your bamboo shoots. Or does waterboarding work better?”
Frustrated, Jack got up and rounded his chair, placing his hands on the back of it as he leaned into it. He stared her down, or tried. She had the same ability to look through a person that her brother did. Turning away, he muttered, “Goddamn family trait.”
“What?”
“Your eyes.”
“You’re not the first to remark on that. When we were kids—” She bit off what she was going to say.
Jack stepped around the chair and sat down again. “When you were kids, what?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. Tell me something I don’t know. One grain of information.”
“Mom made pot roast every Sunday.”
“Everybody’s mom makes pot roast on Sunday. Tell me something about him.”
“You already know everything.”
“Surprise me with something.”
“He actually likes squash. Or did. I suppose he still does.”
Jack watc
hed as, in spite of herself, her thoughts turned to times past. Happier times. In a poignant tone of voice, she said, “He was always protective of me. I’m two years younger, and he took the big brother role seriously. For as far back as I can remember, he watched out for me. He wouldn’t let anyone pick on me.”
“With him as your bodyguard, it would take a real dumb bully to mess with you.”
“I stood up for myself, too.”
He grinned. “I bet you did. How exactly?”
“I told all the bullies to fuck off.”
He’d walked right into that one, and he supposed that to some extent he had it coming. Grin dissolving, he turned his head toward the window; it was like looking through a waterfall. He watched rivulets of rainwater charting their inevitable course down the glass.
Coming back to her, he said quietly, “I’m not trying to bully you, Rebecca. I would if I thought it would do any good, but I don’t think even bamboo shoots would get out of you where he is.”
“They wouldn’t, because I don’t know.”