Sloan realized Paul was truly trying to be helpful, but he was also making her feel uneasy and uncertain when she was already strangling on other emotions she could scarcely contain. She wanted to ask him to stop, but some innate sense of justice or maybe simple curiosity prompted her to pursue his reasoning one step further. "What about my sister? What possible justification could she have for never trying to contact my mother?"
Paul glanced sideways at her. "Maybe she wonders why her own mother never tried to contact her."
"Under the terms of the agreement they forced my mother to sign, she was not allowed to contact my sister."
"Maybe Paris doesn't know that."
Sloan stared hard at him, trying to suppress the first, silly flare of hope she'd felt in decades about a possible family reunion. "You said you had an informant in the household in San Francisco. Do you know any of this for a fact?"
"No. Paris was never of much interest to us. All I know about her is that some people think she's aloof and cold, while others think she's quiet, refined, and elegant. Everyone agrees she's beautiful. She's a nationally ranked tennis player, a five-handicap golfer, and a master at bridge. When she plays in tournaments, she's usually teamed up with your father, who is also a nationally ranked tennis player, an excellent bridge player, and a scratch golfer."
Sloan expressed her sacrilegious disregard of such frivolous accomplishments by rolling her eyes and lifting her shoulders in a Gallic shrug—a gesture that was somehow so prim, and so unexpectedly cute, that Paul had to choke back a startled laugh. "Then there's Edith," he said, mentioning the last surviving member of the family. "She'll be in Palm Beach, too."
"Edith?" Sloan repeated.
"Your great-grandmother on your father's side," Paul explained, and bluntly added, "She's a ninety-five-year-old dragon with a quick temper who terrorizes and intimidates anyone who crosses her path. She's also a notorious cheapskate. She's worth about fifty million dollars, but she reportedly throws a fit if more than one lamp is lit in a room."
"She sounds delightful," Sloan said dryly; then she had to fight down the uneasy awareness of her own frugality—Sara had called her a miser just last week, and her own mother lamented that Sloan hated to part with money. But then, Sara and Kimberly were both hopeless spendthrifts, Sloan reminded herself bracingly. She, on the other hand, lived on a tight budget because she'd learned the necessity of it in childhood and because her salary as a police detective left her very little money to spare. If she had plenty of money, she'd certainly spend it. Well, some of it.
Satisfied that he'd relieved a little of her anxiety with his best-case scenario, Paul left her pretty much to her own thoughts after that, but as they neared the Palm Beach exit off the highway, he knew he had to bring her back to reality. After his efforts to make her relatives seem human and possibly likable, he now had to remind her that her father was a criminal suspect and her role was to spy on him. "Your father's house is about ten minutes from here," he said. "Earlier, I gave you my best-case scenario. I'm afraid we have to prepare now for a worst-case scenario. Let's go over our stories again, so we can do our jobs."
She turned in her seat, giving her full attention to him. "Okay, go ahead."
"We're going to tell them we met in Fort Lauderdale five months ago, when I was attending an insurance seminar there," he explained, reminding her of the personal details about himself that they might expect her to know. "My father's name is Clifford; my mother's name was Joan. She died several years ago. I was an only child; I grew up in Chicago and graduated from Loyola University. I still live in Chicago and work for Worldwide Underwriters Inc. You and I haven't been able to spend much time together because we live so far apart, and that's why it was so important to us to spend these two weeks together." He flipped on the turn indicator and changed lanes, preparing to take the next Palm Beach exit. "Clear so far?"
Sloan nodded. They'd discussed all this on Presidents' Day, but now her curiosity was piqued. "Is any of that true?"
"No," he said in a flat tone that discouraged any further effort to inquire into his real personal life. "My cover is in place, and it will hold up if Reynolds decides to check me out, but I doubt we'll need it Once your family realizes we haven't known each other long or spent a lot of time together, they won't get suspicious when you don't know everything about me. They won't be particularly interested in me anyway, so they won't ask many questions. I'll be there to come up with answers when they're needed. If I'm not around, say whatever you want but remember to fill me in later. Now, let's go over your background. Have you decided on a suitable career for yourself?"
"Yes."
They'd both agreed that it would be foolish to tell Carter Reynolds that Sloan was a police detective. According to Paul's San Francisco informant, Reynolds hadn't known anything whatsoever about Sloan when he called Kimberly to get her phone number, and there was no reason to think he'd learned anything at all when he called her at work. Paul was still elated about that "I can't get over how lucky we were that your mother didn't have a chance to tell him anything about you the day he called her."
"Luck didn't have anything to do with it My mother was dying to tell him all about me, but he didn't give her the chance because he's heartless and rude. He hasn't called her in thirty years because he doesn't care how she feels or what she thinks. When he finally did call her, he told her he didn't have time to talk, he only had time to get my phone number. As soon as she gave him my direct number at work, he told her he'd call her again sometime when he was less rushed, and he hung up!"
"I see your point."
Sloan didn't mean to dampen his spirits. "You got your lucky break later, when he called me," she said with a smile. "I've quizzed Sara without her realizing it, and she says she remembers exactly how Captain Ingersoll answered my phone and exactly what he said to Carter. Nothing Ingersoll said would have alerted my rather that he'd called the police station or that I'm a cop. That was lucky."
"I was due for a lucky break in this case," Paul said wryly. "Now tell me what career you picked out for yourself."
"In college, I majored in marine biology and then mathematics before I switched to law enforcement, but you said you wanted me to pick a career that Reynolds will regard as frivolous or innocuous. A career in science or mathematics doesn't qualify, and I don't have enough knowledge in either of those fields to pull it off. I was still trying to think of a solution last week while I was waiting for Sara to finish talking to a client—and that's when it hit me—the perfect career."