Page 34 of Facet

“Damn, that’s gonna take some time.” He ran a hand through his already mussed, sandy-colored hair. His gaze darted around nervously.

“I need it by tomorrow.”

“What? No way.” The guy shook his head.

A cruel smile lifted the corners of my father’s mouth as he stared at the dude. Though nothing seemed to be touching him, the guy started clawing at his neck as his face turned red. He began sputtering and choking before he dropped to his knees and his forehead hit the dirt.

Séamus crouched down and grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head as the other man gasped. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure. Tomorrow. I got you, boss,” the crumpled man promised in a voice hoarse and thready.

Seeming satisfied, my father stood up and dusted his hands off. “There. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Pleasure doing business with you, Otto. See you here tomorrow. Same time.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” the guy still on his knees parroted.

My father lightly gripped the back of my neck, and everything swirled around us like we were in the center of a vortex. I thought I was going to be sick. But as quickly as it started, it stopped. We were standing outside a massive home in the Hollywood Hills area.

We approached the front door and my father knocked.

The door opened and an older woman cautiously stood in the opening. A frown further marred the obvious age lines on her forehead. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Geisman.”

Her gaze bounced from my father to me and back. “He’s not here.”

“Valerie, we both know he is. How is that granddaughter of yours? Miraculous recovery from that horrible cancer, wasn’t it?” The serene smile that my father flashed the housekeeper didn’t fool either her or me. She startled and went pale, but she opened the door and ushered us in and into a pallor or some shit to the right of the front door.

“I’ll go get him,” she whispered and bustled off.

“Why are we here to see Willow’s father? We’ve already talked to him—this is a waste of time,” I angrily whispered.

His reply was to lift a single brow as he stared at me. I rolled my eyes and paced the room.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Mr. Geisman sputtered when he entered the room.

“We came to discuss your daughter,” my father announced as if we were discussing the weather.

“Did you find her?” he asked, hope replacing his scowl.

“No. We’re not here for that.”

“Oh, well like I told the last detectives, she ran off after my wife died. It’s been years. I have no idea where she is,” he insisted as he glared at the two of us. When my chapter had gone out to California to talk to Willow’s father, they’d led him to believe they were police detectives looking for his daughter.

“Now, why are you lying to me?” my father crossed his arms and tapped his chin as if he was in thought.

“Lying?” The shock in his single word might’ve been believable if it weren’t for the way his voice cracked and the sweat that broke out on his brow.

“Is there an echo in here?” my father asked as he spun to face me.

With my brows pinched, I shook my head.

My father began to leisurely stroll around the room. Every so often, he lifted an item and seemed to study its details. Like the carved marble elephant that he carelessly tossed up and caught again.

“Be careful with that!” Mr. Geisman snapped, a split-second before my father whipped it across the room, barely missing Willow’s father’s head. It struck the entry way hard. Something broke, but I didn’t have the time to see what it was.

“You could’ve hit me! I’m reporting you to your superiors!”

“Oh, I promise you, if I wanted to hit you with it, I would. And my superiors? That’s cute. Now let’s try again. Who did you contact when you and your wife wanted to adopt a child?” my father asked.