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Authors: J. A. Jance
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see you."
"My father? Here?" She quailed and pulled back into the chair, rocking desperately. "I don't want to see him. I can't."
"Mrs. Baxter says you should come on down."
"No. Tell her I won't come."
"All right," Isabel said. She went out and closed the door. Moments later the door opened, and Amy bounded in. "What do you mean you won't come?"
"I don't want to see him. I can't."
Amy came over to Holly's rocker and knelt in front of it. "Yes, you can, Holly. You've got to. He wants to settle. He's willing to make a deal, but you have to talk to him in person."
"No. Please."
"Come on, Holly, after all this, don't back down now."
"Why not?"
"Because you've already come this far and done so damned much hard work to get here," Amy insisted. "This is the one last thing you have to do to regain your self-respect and take control of your life. Now's your chance to hold your father's feet to the fire. He's managed to get away with what he did to you all these years. Don't let him do it again. He owes you. And you owe it to yourself."
"Can't Rex talk to him?"
"Rex is in California today, remember? He'll be back tonight, in time to be in court tomorrow if he has to. It's up to you, Holly. I know you can do it. Take a deep breath now. Relax."
Holly nodded, then distractedly ran her fingers through her sweat-matted hair. "But I'm a mess," she said. "I can't see him like this. I've got to shower, wash my hair, put on makeup."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!"
"Please."
At last Amy relented. "Alright," she said with a smile. "Get in the shower. I'll tell him to come back a little later."
"You're sure I can do it?"
Amy came over to Holly's rocker and knelt in front of it.
"Do you remember what I told you when you first came to me for help? After we met at that meeting?"
Holly nodded. Her spoken answer was almost a recited catechism. "That I'd have to trust you, but that the only way to learn to trust others was to trust myself."
"Think how far you've come since then, Holly. Think how much you've accomplished. Child molesters are basically cowards, and you've called his bluff. That's why he's here. That's why he's come to offer you a settlement. You don't have to be scared of him anymore. The tables are turned. Now he's scared of you."
"That doesn't seem possible."
"But it is. Go get in the shower. I'll tell him to come back in an hour."
"Not an hour," Holly said flatly. "That's too soon. It makes me sound too eager. Tell him to come back at four."
"Alright," Amy said. "Four it is."
Long after the door closed, Holly lingered in the chair without moving. If this was what she wanted; then this was what was supposed to happen; how come she felt so awful? If this was victory, why was she shivering and sweating at the same time? Why was the prospect of seeing her father again after all these years so terrifying?
Finally, though, after an hour or so, she managed to pull herself together enough to rise up out of the chair and head for the shower. If Amy still believed in her, maybe Holly Patterson could somehow find a way to believe in herself.
She had to. Amy had said it was the only way she was going to win. And winning was supposed to be worth it.
Chapter Seven
IN THE relative pre-lunch quiet of Bisbee's Blue Moon Saloon, Angie Kellogg was studying her Arizona state driver's license manual as though her very life depended on it. Studying was something she had done so seldom in her short life that it came as a surprise. Even to her.
On the run from her drug-cartel, hit-man boy friend, Angie was an ex-L.A. hooker who had landed in Bisbee two months earlier. Under circumstances that still amazed her, she had been taken under the protective wing of an unlikely trio of rescuers made up of Joanna Brady, Reverend Marianne Macula, and Bobo Jenkins, one of Bisbee's few African Americans. As the enterprising owner/operator of the Blue Moon, he had offered Angie Kellogg her first legitimate employment.
Determined to be
"My father? Here?" She quailed and pulled back into the chair, rocking desperately. "I don't want to see him. I can't."
"Mrs. Baxter says you should come on down."
"No. Tell her I won't come."
"All right," Isabel said. She went out and closed the door. Moments later the door opened, and Amy bounded in. "What do you mean you won't come?"
"I don't want to see him. I can't."
Amy came over to Holly's rocker and knelt in front of it. "Yes, you can, Holly. You've got to. He wants to settle. He's willing to make a deal, but you have to talk to him in person."
"No. Please."
"Come on, Holly, after all this, don't back down now."
"Why not?"
"Because you've already come this far and done so damned much hard work to get here," Amy insisted. "This is the one last thing you have to do to regain your self-respect and take control of your life. Now's your chance to hold your father's feet to the fire. He's managed to get away with what he did to you all these years. Don't let him do it again. He owes you. And you owe it to yourself."
"Can't Rex talk to him?"
"Rex is in California today, remember? He'll be back tonight, in time to be in court tomorrow if he has to. It's up to you, Holly. I know you can do it. Take a deep breath now. Relax."
Holly nodded, then distractedly ran her fingers through her sweat-matted hair. "But I'm a mess," she said. "I can't see him like this. I've got to shower, wash my hair, put on makeup."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!"
"Please."
At last Amy relented. "Alright," she said with a smile. "Get in the shower. I'll tell him to come back a little later."
"You're sure I can do it?"
Amy came over to Holly's rocker and knelt in front of it.
"Do you remember what I told you when you first came to me for help? After we met at that meeting?"
Holly nodded. Her spoken answer was almost a recited catechism. "That I'd have to trust you, but that the only way to learn to trust others was to trust myself."
"Think how far you've come since then, Holly. Think how much you've accomplished. Child molesters are basically cowards, and you've called his bluff. That's why he's here. That's why he's come to offer you a settlement. You don't have to be scared of him anymore. The tables are turned. Now he's scared of you."
"That doesn't seem possible."
"But it is. Go get in the shower. I'll tell him to come back in an hour."
"Not an hour," Holly said flatly. "That's too soon. It makes me sound too eager. Tell him to come back at four."
"Alright," Amy said. "Four it is."
Long after the door closed, Holly lingered in the chair without moving. If this was what she wanted; then this was what was supposed to happen; how come she felt so awful? If this was victory, why was she shivering and sweating at the same time? Why was the prospect of seeing her father again after all these years so terrifying?
Finally, though, after an hour or so, she managed to pull herself together enough to rise up out of the chair and head for the shower. If Amy still believed in her, maybe Holly Patterson could somehow find a way to believe in herself.
She had to. Amy had said it was the only way she was going to win. And winning was supposed to be worth it.
Chapter Seven
IN THE relative pre-lunch quiet of Bisbee's Blue Moon Saloon, Angie Kellogg was studying her Arizona state driver's license manual as though her very life depended on it. Studying was something she had done so seldom in her short life that it came as a surprise. Even to her.
On the run from her drug-cartel, hit-man boy friend, Angie was an ex-L.A. hooker who had landed in Bisbee two months earlier. Under circumstances that still amazed her, she had been taken under the protective wing of an unlikely trio of rescuers made up of Joanna Brady, Reverend Marianne Macula, and Bobo Jenkins, one of Bisbee's few African Americans. As the enterprising owner/operator of the Blue Moon, he had offered Angie Kellogg her first legitimate employment.
Determined to be
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