Free The Unquiet-CP-6 by John Connolly Page B

could feel the tension building up inside him. I had allowed my hand to drift to the butt of my gun, and my own forefinger was now extended above the trigger guard, ready to slip into place if necessary. Then the tightness released itself from Merrick’s body. I heard him exhale, and he seemed to grow smaller and less threatening.
    “You ask her about the Project,” he said softly. “You see what she says.”
    “What is the ‘Project’?”
    He shook his head.
    “Ask her, then come back to me. Maybe y’ought to talk to her ex-husband too, while you’re about it.”
    I didn’t even know that Rebecca Clay had been married. I was only aware that she hadn’t married the father of her child. Some investigator I was.
    “Why would I do that?”
    “A husband and wife, they share things. Secret things. You talk to him, and it could be you’ll spare me the trouble of talking to him myself. I’ll be around. You won’t have to come looking for me, because I’ll find you. You got two days to make her tell me what she knows, then I lose my patience with y’all.”
    I gestured at his wounded hand.
    “It seems to me like you lost your patience once already.”
    He looked at the bandaged limb and stretched the fingers, as if testing the pain in the wounds.
    “That was a mistake,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to strike out like that. I’m being sorely tested by her, but I don’t mean to do her harm.”
    Maybe he believed that was true, but I didn’t. There was a rage inside Merrick. It pulsed redly, animating his eyes and keeping every muscle and sinew in his body taut with barely suppressed emotion. Merrick might not mean to hurt a woman, might not set out to do it, but the blood on his hand said all that needed to be said about his capacity to control his impulses.
    “I lost my temper, is all,” he continued. “I need her to tell me what she knows. It’s important to me.” He drew on his cigarette again. “And since we’re getting all friendly here, you didn’t give me your name.”
    “It’s Parker.”
    “What are you, a private cop?”
    “You want to see my license?”
    “No, a piece of paper won’t tell me nothing that I don’t already know. I don’t want trouble from you, sir. I’ve come here with business to conduct, business of a personal nature. Maybe you can make that little lady see reason so I can conclude it and be on my way. I hope so, I surely do, because if you can’t, then you’re no good to either of us. You’ll just be in my path, and I might have to do something about that.”
    He still had not looked at me again. His eyes were fixed on a small photograph that hung from the rearview mirror. It was a picture of a girl with dark hair, perhaps Jenna Clay’s age or a little older, the image encased in plastic to protect it. A cheap crucifix dangled beside it.
    “Who is she?” I asked.
    “That doesn’t concern you.”
    “Nice-looking kid. How old is she?”
    He didn’t reply, but I had clearly struck a nerve. This time, though, there was no anger, just a kind of disengagement.
    “If you told me something of why you’re here, then maybe I could help you,” I persisted.
    “Like I told you, sir, my business is personal.”
    “Then I guess we’ve nothing left to discuss,” I said. “But you need to stay away from my client.”
    The warning sounded hollow and unnecessary. Somehow, the balance had shifted.
    “I won’t trouble her no more, least of all, not until you talk to me again.” He reached down for the ignition key, no longer intimidated by the gun, if he had ever really been in the first place.
    “But here’s two warnings for you in return. The first is that when you start asking about the Project, you’d best keep a keen eye in your head because the others are going to hear about it, and they won’t like it that people are looking into it. They won’t like it one little bit.”
    “What others?”
    The engine sputtered into life.
    “You’ll find out