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

dread melted. His next reaction was anger at his wife for frightening him so. He made himself take a couple of deep gulps of air that seemed to help.
         "Wynton?"
         "What's the matter?" he asked, unable to completely filter out his irritation.
         "We, Wynn-Three and I, are in Mrs. Jennins's office. There's been a problem."
         "And you want me to drop what I'm doing and come to St. Philip's." It was a statement, not a question.
         "He's your son, too."
         The clincher to which there was no real reply. He was fairly certain his blood pressure was dropping back into a safe range. He glanced at the paper mountains on the conference room table. If they somehow got out of order . . . "Now? What sort of problem?"
         "You'll have to see for yourself."
         He couldn't.
         He couldn't just walk away from the pile of evidence and pleadings he had so carefully arranged. The chance someone might inadvertently disturb them was too great. It would take hours to put everything back in the file and then take them out in a specific order again. He couldn't explain to Glen Richardson, senior litigation partner, what had been urgent enough to justify leaving important documents spread all over the table in a conference room open to anyone, including well-intentioned cleaning crew. He

couldn't justify more time off to deal with some will-o'-the-wisp problem that existed only in Mrs. Jennins's head.
         He couldn't.
         Not for the first time, he had to perform a balancing act, weighing his responsibility to Paige and Wynn-Three against his duties to Swisher & Peele. It was a delicate accounting of debits and credits the firm usually won. Career advancement, senior partnership, high six-figure, or maybe even seven-figure, income that would see to the needs of Wynn-Three and any siblings he hoped would follow. Or being a parent. Or helping Paige.
         He hastily scribbled a Do Not Disturb note on a Post-it, placed it on the table, and left.
         Mrs. Jennins's office was as he remembered it: desk, two chairs, and a play area for her small charges. Wynn-Three looked up from a fleet of trucks and cars.
         "Daddy!"
         Wynton scooped him up, making certain his son was, in fact, fine. Only then did he turn to Paige and the day-care principal.
         "What's the problem?"
         The two women exchanged glances, each waiting for the other to speak before Paige said, "Look at his left arm."
         Wynton turned his son around in his grasp. "What?"
         "The numbers," Mrs. Jennins said, "See the marks?"
         Wynton focused his attention on a series of scratches on his son's arm. "Numbers?"
         "He found a pin or some sharp object somewhere, I'd guess," Mrs. Jennins commented.
         Closer inspection revealed she was right. He could make out the same inverted "V" for a one, plus 425, the crossed seven, and the triangle underneath.
         Wynton put the little boy down. "So? Hardly broke the skin. They'll heal in a day or two."
         Mrs. Jennins shook her head. "That's not the point. Marking his arm like that. The next step could be serious self-mutilation."
         Wynton tried not to grind his teeth. "Kids get scraped up every day. It's part of growing up. What's so unusual?"
         He had an uncomfortable feeling he knew the answer.
         The older woman sniffed her disapproval. "Not like that. He intentionally inflicted pain on himself."
         Paige spoke for the first time. "Don't you recognize them, the same numbers he wrote last night on his Doodle Bear?"
         Wynton had already dismissed the incident. "We don't know he wrote them last night. Besides, he hasn't learned either his numbers or his letters yet. Maybe some other child . . ."
         Mrs. Jennins gave that head shake again. "His teacher saw him do it. Or at least finish it before she could stop him."
         There was an uneven quality to Paige's voice as she added,