Free The Cathar Secret: A Lang Reilly Thriller by Gregg Loomis Page A

that?"
         He eased himself onto the couch beside her. "I was hoping you could tell me."
         She scrutinized the writing more carefully. "Who wrote this?"
         "Good question. Wynn-Three says he didn't."
         She put the toy down on the couch. "Must have been Manfred, the kid from next door. The numbers are European."
         "Huh?"
         Paige had done her junior year abroad in college, nine months in Italy. Wynton often wished he could have spent time abroad, but he had been too worried about keeping his grades at law school acceptance caliber.
         She picked Doodle Bear up again, pointing with the other hand. "The first figure, the one that looks like an upside-down 'V,' is a one. The Europeans, with the exception of the English, cross their sevens so as not to be mistaken for a one. I have no idea what the triangle means. What's the significance of the number 14257 and why would Manfred write it on Wynn's bear?"
         "You'd have to ask him. Only I'm fairly sure he didn't, that Manfred didn't write that number. I was upstairs with the boys the whole time before they went outside. I didn't see him touch the thing."
         Paige had lost interest in the program. "Well, you can bet Wynn-Three didn't. He's a month away from even beginning to learn letters and numbers. Besides, if that particular number had any significance in his life, we would know it."
         Before he could express his doubt, there was a call from upstairs.
         Paige stood, sighing. "I'd bet number-one son has wet the bed again."
         "Again?"
         She sighed again, headed for the stairs. "Ever since that Pink Pig thing. It's like he forgot potty training. I have to change him once or twice a week."
         Regression on toilet training. Kids didn't progress in straight lines, anyway. At least that's what Wynton thought.

CHAPTER 14

    Law Offices of Swisher & Peele
    The Next Day

    W YNTON'S OFFICE WAS FAR TOO SMALL to spread out the entire United Bank litigation file, so he had reserved Conference Room One for the extra space. He needed to check each piece of documentary evidence against the final draft of the pretrial order, the lengthy document agreed to by both sides which formed an outline of the trial of the case. A list of witnesses and exhibits by number, any objections to the adverse parties' evidence, pertinent legal points, contentions of the parties, and the myriad other details that would basically give the judge a heads up on potential issues.
         Though good for TV and film drama, trial-by-ambush had all but been abolished.
         First, Wynton had to make sure he had a copy of each item the plaintiffs would tender and then make sure nothing had been inadvertently omitted from the bank's list. It was a tedious job usually relegated to senior associates, but there was simply too much riding on the outcome, both for the firm and for Wynton's future, to risk an error.
         He had just checked defendant's exhibit one hundred three, as noted by the handwritten number on the yellow sticker, when the phone on a small sideboard buzzed.
         Frowning he picked it up. "Wynton Charles."
         "Wynton?" Paige's voice was a pitch above normal. "You've got to come here right away."
         Her tone made him forget the stacks of papers on the table. Paige wasn't the type of person who easily upset. Visions of disaster flashed across his mind. "What . . . ?"
         "It's Wynn-Three."
         Muscles instantly tensed and the next breath didn't come easily. He prayed to a god with whom he had not stayed in touch for a very a long time. If something had happened to Wynn-Three . . .
         "Wynton, are you still there?"
         He was almost afraid to ask, "Is he okay? What happened?"
         "He's not hurt, if that's what you mean. But you still need to come out here."
         Wynton relaxed. He could feel himself slump. He leaned on the table, feeling weak as an iceberg of paralytic