Dexter Is Delicious (Dexter 5)

Deborah stared at him, then looked away for a moment, out the bright window at the bay. “If it was my son,” she said, “I would know where he was. Or how to find out.”

“You have no children, do you?” Alana said.

“No,” Debs said. She looked at Alana for a long and awkward moment, and then swung her head back to face Acosta. “He’s your son, Mr. Acosta. If you know where he is and don’t tell when I file charges, that’s concealing a fugitive.”

“You think I should turn in my own son?” he demanded. “You think that looks good?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said.

“ ‘Commissioner upholds law, even when it hurts,’ ” I said in my best headline-news voice. He looked at me with an anger that was almost physical, and I shrugged. “You can come up with something better if you want,” I said.

He didn’t even try. He just stared at me for another long moment. There was nothing to hide under, so I just looked back, and finally he turned back to Deborah. “I won’t rat out my own son, Sergeant,” he said, in a voice that was almost a hiss. “No matter what you think he’s done.”

“What I think is that he’s involved in drugs, murder, and worse,” Deborah said. “And it’s not the first time.”

“That’s all over,” he said. “In the past. Alana straightened him out.”

Debs glanced at Alana, who just gave her another superior smile. “It’s not over,” Deborah said. “It’s getting worse.”

“He’s my son,” Acosta said. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s a bug,” Deborah said. “Not a kid. He kills people and he eats them.” Alana snorted, but Acosta turned pale and tried to say something. Debs didn’t let him. “He needs help, Mr. Acosta. Shrinks, counseling, all of that stuff. He needs you.”

“Goddamn you,” Acosta said.

“If you let this play out, he’s going to get hurt,” she said. “If he comes in on his own—”

“I won’t turn in my own son,” Acosta said again. He was clearly fighting for control, but he seemed to be winning.

“Why not?” Deborah said. “You know damned well you can get him off; you have before.” She sounded very hard now, and it seemed to surprise Acosta. He looked back at her and moved his jaw, but no sound came out, and Debs went on in a deadly, factual voice. “With your connections, and your money, you can get the best lawyers in the state,” she went on. “Bobby will walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. It’s not right, but it’s a fact, and we both know it. Your son will walk, just like the other times. But not unless he comes in voluntarily.”

“So you say,” Acosta said. “But life is uncertain. And however it goes, I have still sold out my son.” And he glared at me again. “For a sound bite.” He looked back at Deborah. “I won’t do it.”

“Mr. Acosta—” she said, but he raised a hand and cut her off.

“In any case,” he said, “I don’t know where he is.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and it was plain to me that neither of them knew how to give in, and it quickly became obvious to them, too; Deborah just looked at him, and then shook her head slowly and struggled up out of the couch. She stood for a second looking down at Acosta, and then she just nodded.

“All right,” she said. “If that’s how you want to play it. Thank you for your time.” She turned and headed for the door, and before I could break the grip of the carnivorous couch she had a hand on the doorknob. As I lurched up and onto my feet, Alana Acosta unfolded her long legs and rose up from her chair. The movement was so sudden and dramatic that I paused only halfway up and watched as she slid up to her great height and sauntered past me to Acosta.

“That was rather boring,” she said.

“You’re going home?” Acosta asked her.

She bent and pecked at his cheek. The huge diamond ankh swung forward and bumped his cheek, too. It didn’t open a cut, and he didn’t seem to mind. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight.” She sauntered for the door, and after a moment, realizing I was still staring, I shook myself and followed.

Deborah was standing by the elevator, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. And evidently unaware that there was any awkwardness in the situation at all, Alana strolled right up and stood next to her. Deborah looked at her; she had to crane her neck to see all the way up to Alana’s face, but she did. Alana looked back with no expression, and then looked away as a chime sounded and the elevator doors slid open. Alana went right in and Deborah, gritting her teeth, marched in after, leaving me no choice at all but to jump in between them and hope I could stop the knife fight.

But there was no fight. The doors slid shut, the elevator lurched downward, and before Deborah could even recross her arms, Alana looked down at her and said, “I know where Bobby is.”

THIRTY-FIVE

NOBODY SAID ANYTHING AT FIRST. IT WAS ONE OF THOSE moments when the words were hanging in the air, and everybody knew what the individual words meant, but we couldn’t quite get them mentally strung together to mean what we thought they meant. The elevator hurtled downward. I looked up at Alana. My eyes were just about at her chin, and I had a very good view of her necklace. The pendant actually was an ankh, as I had guessed. It was slightly elongated and came to a point that was sharp enough to puncture skin. I wondered if she had any scars from it. And although I really don’t know a lot about diamonds, even up this close it looked real, and it was very large.

Of course, Deborah didn’t have my view of the jewelry, so she recovered first. “What the hell does that mean?” she said.

Alana looked down her nose at Deborah. Naturally, from her great height she would have to, but there was more to it than that. She gave Debs that look of condescending amusement that only the Brits can really master, and said, “What would you like it to mean, Sergeant?” And she made “sergeant” sound like some kind of funny insect, which was not lost on my sister. She blushed.