Savich said, “You keep referring to them. You know who tried to kill you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Who?”

Rachael drew in a big breath, ready to shake her head. Then she grinned. “No more secrets on my part. I think it’s the Abbotts.”

“Abbotts?” Jack repeated, eyebrow up in question.

Sherlock said, “Are you referring to Senator John James Abbott of Maryland? Are you referring to the Abbott family?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you, Rachael?” Jack asked, sitting forward in his chair.

“Well, the fact is, I’m a bastard.”

They heard Mort the dispatcher hiccup a laugh from just outside the sheriff’s door. Sheriff Hollyfield frowned toward the door, but didn’t say anything.

Sherlock said, “And who is John James Abbott to you?”

“He’s my father.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Jack said, “I, for one, am glad it’s not some Mafia don, that’s just too clichéd. Or a wild-eyed terrorist, a jihad wouldn’t make anybody’s day. That would have made me wonder why Timothy and I couldn’t have been saved by a local soccer mom. You’re a senior senator’s bastard daughter?”

“Yep, that’s me. I didn’t know anything about my dad or who he was until about two months ago, when my mother finally told me.”

Savich said, “And you’re saying Senator Abbott’s family is trying to kill you?”

THIRTEEN

Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Whoa,” Sherlock said. “Let’s back up a minute. Where’s your mom?”

“She lives in Richmond with her husband and my half brother, Ben. Like I said, my uncle Gillette’s the only one who lives in Slipper Hollow now. Actually, I was raised there, with Parlow the closest town, until I was twelve and my mom and I moved to Richmond.”

Jack said, “Rachael, you’re almost thirty years old! Why did your mom wait so long to tell you John James Abbott was your father? You said she only told you two months ago?”

“She said she wanted to wait until his father died—that’s Carter Blaine Abbott—which he did finally, four months ago.”

“The Carter Blaine Abbott?” Sheriff Hollyfield said, his jaw dropping. “That’s right, I forgot Senator Abbott was his son.”

Savich said slowly, never looking away from Rachael’s face, “The old man was a legend. Word was he had ropes of power around the throats of many world leaders, both in business and in government. I think the president heaved a sigh of relief when the old robber baron finally died.”

Sherlock nodded. “I read he ruled his family like he ruled his empire—you got out of line, he crushed you.”

“He didn’t crush Jimmy—my father.”

“No, he didn’t, did he? I wonder why?”

“Jimmy said his father actually came to believe his eldest son would make a fine president, but only if dear old dad—Carter Blaine Abbott—was still alive to tell him how to run things. Jimmy said that was the only time he could remember his father ever changing his mind about anything.”

“Damn, Rachael,” Jack said, “my hair’s standing on end. You’re really related to these people? Their blood runs in your veins?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rachael said.

Sherlock said, “You said your mother wanted to wait to tell you until after the old man died. Why?”

“She told me she hated to admit it, but she was still afraid of the old bastard. She said that even though she knew intellectually all that was left of him was a moldering carcass, she would swear she could still sense him—a malevolence that gave her nightmares.”

“Tell us what happened,” Savich said.

Rachael stared at the big tough federal agent who looked like he ate nails for breakfast. All his attention was focused on her, and it was formidable. Then he leaned over, patted her hand. “Stop worrying. Everything will be all right.” It broke her. She leaned against the wall, looked at each of them in turn, pausing a moment longer on Jack’s face. He looked too pale, she thought. She said, “Needless to say, my mom was afraid of Carter Blaine Abbott. When he found out his eldest son—his ticket to immortality—was dating my mother, a small-town girl with no pedigree, no money, a backwoods hick, in his mind, he wasn’t happy. He was big into bloodlines.”

“What was your father doing here anyway?” Sherlock asked.

“My mom told me the local mill owner’s son was one of Jimmy’s good friends. That’s when there was a mill here. Mr. Abbott swooped into town and took them both off to vacation in Spain. As you would expect, the mill owner’s family didn’t object to that.”

Jack nodded. “All right. So your mom was pregnant. She never told your father?”

“No, she didn’t tell anyone. Well, she had to tell Uncle Gillette, her brother. By this time, her folks, my grandparents, were both dead. She told me she was bitter, for a very long time, bitter and very angry. And scared. She was shocked when she got a letter from Carter Blaine Abbott some five months later, telling her he’d heard she was pregnant and there was no way he was going to let her blame it on his son, no way he was going to let her drag his family into it. If he ever heard a word out of her, if she ever tried to contact his son, he’d see that both she and her brat were taken care of. What did he mean by that?” Rachael shrugged. “Mom was sure he meant he would kill her and her baby. He enclosed a check for five thousand dollars.” Rachael added, “Mom tore the check up, gave birth to me, and, as it turned out, I didn’t look like either of them until I was a teenager. By the time I was eighteen, though, I was the spitting image of Senator John James Abbott, although no one ever seemed to notice the resemblance. I guess you wouldn’t, if you didn’t know the history. But I think that until two months after old man Abbott died, she was still afraid of him.

“So Jimmy never knew about me until I showed up on his office doorstep at the Capitol, a couple of weeks after my mom finally told me about him.

“I’ll tell you, at first I didn’t want to go. I guess I was angry at him, too, even though Mom swore he never knew about me. I remember way back when I was maybe five or so, I asked her about my father, if he died, if he ran out on us. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but I saw her crying in her room, and so I never brought it up again.