Free The Girl In The Glass by James Hayman Page A

wouldn’t throw you in the clink either, but he wouldn’t be happy.”
    McCabe knew he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on his daughter and somebody who might be her boyfriend, but it was too much fun not to. He was tempted to wander out and say hi and give the kid the once-­over, but he knew Casey would give him absolute hell if he did. Not knowing what else to do, he piled up four pillows—­his two and Kyra’s two—­and lay back on his bed without turning on the lights. Parenting was hell.
    Okay, he told himself. It was just after midnight. He’d been dead to the world for nearly nine hours. Unlikely he’d get any more sleep. He wondered if the world had changed in any meaningful way since he’d gotten himself so stupidly, staggeringly drunk. He checked his phone. No calls from Kyra. It was only a little after nine in San Francisco. She was probably out at dinner with some guy who wasn’t a cop.
    Nearly dawn in England. He supposed Sandy was still snoozing in London, dreaming about shooting grouse or riding to the hounds or whatever the hell it was Lord MuckyMuck had planned for the weekend. On the other hand, maybe her plane had crashed and she was dead. That’d suit him just fine, except a lot of other ­people would have died with her. So maybe her plane had just developed engine trouble and had been diverted to someplace like Gander, Newfoundland. Man, would Sandy ever be pissed off finding herself in Gander. Who the hell can you show off to in Gander?
    Tired of lying down, McCabe got up again and listened to Casey and the boy speaking softly. Nothing of consequence. Then the talking stopped. He supposed they were making out. Hoped the kid, whoever he was, deserved whatever affection he was getting. He was pretty sure things wouldn’t go very far. Not with Daddy, the cop, supposedly asleep in the next room. He heard soft laughter. A whispered good-­night.
    I love you.
    Yeah , I love you too. See you Saturday.
    The door to the apartment opened and closed. The door to Casey’s bedroom opened and closed. McCabe walked to the window and peered through the blinds. He watched a tall skinny kid with carrot-­top hair leave the building. Kind of geeky looking. Geeky is good, McCabe told himself. Geeky wouldn’t push things too far too fast. The kid stopped. Took out a cell phone. Began texting. With his fingers still pecking away at the phone, he got into his car, an old Saturn, started the engine and drove away.
    I love you. I love you too. See you Saturday.
    Probably wouldn’t come to anything. She’d be in Providence come September. Ready for new adventures with college boys. The idea of being without her, of being alone with both Casey and Kyra gone, was painful.
    Okay. No way was he going to sleep any more. He supposed he could go to the office, but he didn’t have much to do there either. Maybe go for a run? Nah. Running while hungover wasn’t appealing. He looked around the room. The bed, the rocking chair, the empty closet where Kyra’s clothes used to hang. It all felt like it was closing in. He needed air. And space. He went to the kitchen. Put on a pot of coffee. Came back. Took off the clothes he’d been sleeping in. Blue button-­down shirt, crappy tie and gray pants. Clearance rack stuff from Men’s Wearhouse. The raspy voice from the commercials growled through his mind. You’re gonna like the way you look. But he didn’t like the way he looked. Point of fact he thought he looked like shit. Still, you had to save money somewhere.
    He took a one-­minute shower. Dried himself and found a pair of jeans and a blue sweatshirt with USM written across the front. He pulled them on. Sorted through the shoes in the closet and found some black Nikes. He unlocked the gun safe, pulled out his holster and ser­vice weapon, checked the load and strapped it on. Pulled the sweatshirt down over it. Not that he thought he’d need the gun, but he never left it unattended in the apartment.
    He poured a