Free Vixen by Bill Pronzini

case.”
    â€œNo. I just wanted you to know.”
    â€œAll right.”
    But she couldn’t seem to let it go. “Neither Robert nor I wants to get back together,” she said. Threads of defiance, now, in her voice. “I wouldn’t take him back if he got down on his knees and begged me. He hurt me too much, there’s been too much anger and bitterness between us. You know all that. We’ve talked about it often enough.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHe’ll be here pretty soon,” she said.
    â€œThen I’d better leave.” Runyon extended the shopping bag. “You can give this to Bobby and wish him a happy birthday from me.”
    Bryn hesitated. “No, he should have it from you. He’ll want to thank you personally. He’s in his room—I’ll fetch him.”
    She hurried away to the rear of the house. Standing still while he waited made Runyon fidget; he moved over to the living room doorway. Soft music was playing in there, one of the quieter classical pieces Bryn favored. A tray of canap é s had been set out on the coffee table, and there were three or four gaily wrapped presents—her birthday tribute to Bobby—neatly arranged on one end of the couch. He stepped back into the hallway, slow-paced back and forth until Bryn returned with her son.
    Bobby was ten today. He’d grown another half inch or so since Runyon had first met him, still a gangly kid who would probably stand well over six feet when he reached his full growth, his hair longer now and combed in a more conventional fashion than the spikily gelled style he’d favored back then. He hadn’t lost any of his shyness, at least not around Runyon. He was smiling and seemed glad to see him, but there was a reserve in both his greeting and his off-center gaze. The bond that had developed between them during Runyon’s investigation of the brutal murder of Francine Whalen, Robert Darby’s mistress cum fianc é e, and that had lasted for a while after Bryn won the second court battle for the boy’s custody, hadn’t been strong enough to last. Devolved into a polite and increasingly distant relationship as they spent less and less time in each other’s company.
    Bryn steered them away from the living room and into the dining room—table set for three, crystal glassware and good china—and the aromas of something cooking in the oven wafting in from the kitchen. Bobby opened his gift at the cleared end of the table. Two Nintendo video games, Star Fox Command and Metroid Prime Hunters, that the salesman in the computer store in Stonestown had recommended to Runyon. The boy seemed pleased with them, and his thanks was genuine enough, but it lacked any real excitement and only a tepid warmth. Probably saving his enthusiasm for whatever his mother had given him, whatever his father brought.
    A brief hug, and Bobby took the video games away to his room. Bryn cast a look at her wristwatch for the third or fourth time. Runyon said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be going now.”
    â€œI wasn’t worried,” she said, trying not to look relieved, “it’s just that it would be awkward. You don’t like Robert and he doesn’t like you.…”
    â€œNo need to explain.”
    She went with him to the front door. “Jake,” she said as he started out, looking past him to the empty street. “Next time, call first before you come over. Okay?”
    â€œI will.”
    But he wouldn’t, because there wouldn’t be a next time. He knew it and so did Bryn.
    Their relationship, even the friendship part that had included Bobby, had come to an abrupt and irredeemable end.
    *   *   *
    Home for Runyon since his move to San Francisco was a drafty, sparsely furnished, one-bedroom apartment on Ortega Street, off Nineteenth Avenue. His first actions when he let himself in were habitual, done each night without