gone to ground. They’ve pulled out all the stops, but no sign of her
yet. Smart girl. To fool everyone isn’t easy. She’s your daughter, all
right. Cunning and sneakiness are in her genes.”
Thomas Matlock opened a desk drawer and pulled out a 5×7
color photo set in a simple silver frame. “There are only three
people alive who know she’s my daughter, and you’re one of them.
Now, her mother got this to me just eight months ago. Her name’s
Becca, as you know, short for Rebecca–that was my mother’s
name. She’s about five feet eight inches tall, and she’s on the lean
side, not more than one hundred twenty pounds. You can see that
she’s in good shape. She’s athletic, a whiz at tennis and racquetball.
Her mother told me she loves football, not college but professional.
She’d kill for the Giants, even in their worst season.
“You’ve got to find her, Adam. I don’t know if Krimakov will
connect her to me. It’s very probable he’s known all along that I
had a wife and a daughter, no way to bury that, and we didn’t want
to do the witness protection program. But you know something? I
still don’t have a clue where he is or what he’s been doing the past
twenty years. I’ve got tentacles all over the world but no definite
leads on his whereabouts. Now I’ve upped the ante, but still nothing.
“But you know he’s on top of American news, all of it. The instant
he hears the name ‘Matlock,’ he’ll go en pointe. She’s in deep
trouble. She doesn’t even realize how deep, that the cops and the
FBI are the least of her worries.”
“Don’t worry, Thomas. I’ll find her and I’ll protect her, from
both the stalker and Krimakov, if either of them shows up.”
“That’s just it.” Thomas sighed. “This stalker bothers me. What
are the odds that a stalker would go after Becca? Too great, I think.
What I’m thinking is that just maybe Krimakov already found her,
just maybe he’s the stalker.”
“Jesus, Thomas,” Adam said. “I guess it’s possible, but unlikely, I
think. If he’s the stalker, then that means he found her even before
your wife died.”
“Yes, it scares me to my toes.”
“But there’s no proof at all that it’s Krimakov. Now, first things
first. I’ve got to get the locals and the Feds off her trail once and for
all.”
“You’ve already begun to track her, then?”
“Sure. The minute I heard her name, I got all my people working
on it. What would you expect? You’re the one who always has
to look at the big picture. I don’t. Let me make a phone call right
now, let Hatch know you’ve approved everything, get all my people
on this.”
“And if I hadn’t called you?”
“I’d have taken care of her anyway.” Adam turned to pick up the
phone. “She’s your daughter.”
Adam knew that Thomas Matlock was looking at him as he
lifted the receiver of the black phone and punched in some numbers.
He knew, too, that Thomas had worried and worried, tried to
figure out the odds, determine the best thing to do, but Adam had
simply stepped in and begun protecting his daughter from a stalker
who could be, truth be told, Krimakov, although to Adam the odds
were that Krimakov was long gone. But it was a lead. It was something,
the only thing they had.
Thomas should have known that he didn’t have to even ask.
Adam also imagined that Thomas Matlock felt a goodly amount of
relief.
As he spoke quietly on the phone, he saw the jolt of pain cross
Thomas Matlock’s face, and he knew it was because Thomas would
never again see Allison. And more than that. Thomas Matlock
hadn’t been with his wife when she died. He’d wanted to be, but
Becca was there, always there, and he couldn’t take the chance. The
pain and guilt of that had to be tearing him up inside.
Oh yeah, he’d try to save Thomas’s daughter.
Only one mistake in the seventies, and Thomas Matlock had lost
any chance at the promising life he’d begun. He’d had to hold himself