“I don’t think that’s what he’s saying. It’s an election year, he has to sound decisive.”
“Are you defending him?”
“No, of course not. This is overreacting. This state-of-emergency thing won’t fly for long. People won’t put up with it. He—Paulson came to see me last night, after visiting hours.”
“Why? What’d he say?”
“Nothing. Small talk. But it felt wrong.”
“Are you okay?”
He’d asked her that twice this week. She might get used to it. “Yeah.”
He sat back against the seat and sighed. “You have to listen to that. Listen to your gut when it tells you something’s wrong. My gut’s screaming bloody murder about that guy. No one’s going to observe a curfew.”
“We still don’t have proof that he’s behind anything.”
“Maybe you could have a look at his credit card statements, see if he’s bought any scuba gear.” He said it like it was a joke.
She glared. “I’d need a warrant for that.”
By then, the limo had stopped near the private elevators. Michael, the chauffeur, opened their door. Warren wasn’t so angry that he didn’t nod a greeting at the driver. Celia pulled her bag over her shoulder as she climbed out—then Warren took it from her. She resisted an urge to grab it back.
“I can get that, you know,” she said. “I’m not an invalid.”
He ignored her.
They began another silent elevator ride.
I should say something, Celia thought. She really almost died this time. She should stop being angry at him.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. It was all she could think of.
“For what?” He glanced at her sidelong.
She shook her head and scuffed a shoe on the carpet, feeling like a teenager all over again. “I don’t know. For everything.”
“Oh. Right.” Now he looked down. Was that him scuffing the toe of his Italian leather shoe? “Your testimony the other day … I know you took a lot of flak for it. But you did good. You held up. I thought you should know.”
She stared. “Why tell me this?”
“Can’t I give my daughter a compliment?”
“You never have before.”
“Yes, I have.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer—couldn’t. They hadn’t had a civil conversation in years.
This clinched it, though. She couldn’t accept a compliment any more than he could accept an apology.
“I’m sure I have,” he said finally. “I’ll ask your mother, she’ll kn
ow.”
The elevator opened up at the penthouse.