In the kitchen, Blair looked down upon the mess the intruder had made. He kicked aside the boxes of cereal and canned goods that had been thrown to the floor. Then he took a seat at the table, picked up the phone, and dialed.
When Mandy answered, he asked to speak to his daughter.
“Blair,” she said, “I was just going to call you. I was hoping you could come over tomorrow evening for a chat.”
“Where’s Sandra?” he asked.
“She’s playing in her room. Did you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you, Mandy. Go get Sandra, please. I need to talk to her.”
“Blair—”
He exploded: “Go get her, goddammit!”
The line went dead.
He held onto the receiver. He knew he shouldn’t have shouted. Losing control wasn’t going to help. He redialed but got a busy signal. He waited five minutes before dialing the number again.
“Hello?”
“Sandra?” He almost choked with relief.
“Yes, Daddy. Mommy says you wanted to talk to me.”
“I did—I mean, I do. How are you?”
No reply.
“Is everything okay at school?”
He waited.
“Darling?”
“I’m here, Daddy. But why does your voice sound funny?”
“It does?” Leave it to a child to pick out the nuances. “Does this sound better, Pumpkin Head?”
She giggled.
“Sandra,” he said, “your mother wants me to come over tomorrow night. Maybe you and I can go out for an ice cream. Would that be okay with you?”
“I like ice cream. But not for dinner.”
“No, no. After dinner, darling. It’ll be your dessert.”
“Okay. Can I have pis…um…piss… You know, the green-colored one.”
“Pistachio?”
“Yes. Pis-tach-o.”
“Pistachio it will be,” he said.
“Hold on, Daddy. Mommy wants to talk to you.”
He thought of stopping her, but it was already too late.
“Blair, I need to see you.”
“So you said. What’s this about?”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow night.”
“Keep Sandra home from school.”
“What?”
“I need you to do this for me. Keep her home from school. Not just tomorrow, but for the rest of the week.”
“Have you lost your mind? Why would you ask such a thing?”
Dalton had warned he would play hardball. And Blair had seen evidence of that tonight. How much further the agent would go was anyone’s guess. “I realize how this must sound to you,” he said, making up the spiel as he went along. “But my business has gotten a little weird recently. Threats have been made.”
“Against you?”
God, this was hard. “Against me, you, our daughter. That’s why I want to use caution.”
“What kind of threats are we talking about?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters! I will not take my daughter out of school because you have personally been threatened. We have absolutely nothing to do with your business. Now, are you coming over tomorrow night or not?”
“Mandy, please,” he tried to reason with her.
“Yes or no?”
He didn’t know what other argument he could use. He was flying on a hunch. And that hunch could be wrong. “Okay,” he finally said. “What time did you have in mind?”
“Around six o’clock.”
He remembered promising his daughter dessert. Now he could spend even more time with her. “Maybe I’ll buy Sandra dinner afterwards,” he said.
“Fine. That won’t be a problem.”
“And what about school?”
“What about it?”
“Can you keep her home, at least for tomorrow?”
“Goodbye, Blair.”