Lake on the Mountain: A Dan Sharp Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

sensed their wariness, as though it meant he was already taken. They seemed to doubt he could divide his loyalty between his son and a partner. Maybe they were right — part of him would always be devoted to Kedrick, no matter who came into his life. But Bill didn’t demand Dan’s loyalty so much as his physical availability. In that, at least, he was easy to please.
    It was Donny who’d dubbed Bill the “heartless heart doctor.” “It’s ironic,” he said, “but that man has no feelings for anyone but himself.”
    They’d been sitting in Timothy’s Coffee on Church Street, adrift in a minor sea of T-shirts and denim. Donny had just come from work. He was dressed impeccably in a white button-down shirt, Gucci tie, and black Oxfords — Will Smith behind the perfume counter at Holt Renfrew.
    He thrummed a finger in Dan’s face. “That man is a self-centred egotist. He expects you to come running when he’s free and complains if you won’t. On the other hand, he doesn’t return your calls for days and whines if you mention it. Where’s the equality?”
    “He’s a busy man.” Dan turned to watch the traffic outside the window. “He’s dedicated to his work. It’s not unusual for him to spend fifteen or sixteen hours at the hospital, even when he’s only scheduled for twelve.”
    Donny hung on noisily and tiresomely like a dog with a chewy toy. “He could still call to let you know. It’s not as if you’re chopped liver. You’re a heavy hitter in your department, too.”
    “He saves lives. He can’t just tell people to come back later.”
    “Excuse me?” Donny said in that haughty, offended-minority tone he used to give himself the edge in an argument. “And what exactly is it you do?”
    Dan’s eyes flickered over to the line-up at the counter, where curious faces had turned to take in their conversation. His voice lowered. “I find people who don’t want to be found and I return them to places they don’t want to be returned to, for reasons that are usually none of my business.”
    “Fuck you!” Donny said. “Fuck you, you self-loathing faggot!”
    He jostled the table and sent coffee spilling from the cups and sluicing over the tabletop. Next to them, an older man with sunken cheeks leaned in sympathetically and offered a stack of napkins.
    “Thanks,” Donny said, dabbing ineffectually at the mess. He turned back to Dan. “All I’m saying is, you save lives too. Why is your job less important than his?”
    “Stop it,” Dan said. He didn’t bother to pretend to be offended. “I never said my job is less important — it’s just more flexible.”
    Dan hated arguing. Donny always managed to sound right, even when he wasn’t, and he had the energy to back it up. But in this case he had a point. Dan may have been a pro at what he did, but somehow he felt like a fraud.
    The telephone’s anxious ring jarred him, putting Donny and his stained napkins on pause. The ID strip showed a private number now, but there was still no name. It seemed to be his night for anonymous calls. Dan grabbed it before the caller could change his mind again.
    “Dan Sharp.”
    A whispery silence greeted him.
    “This is Dan Sharp. Who is this?”
    “It’s Steve — Steve Jenkins.” The voice carried a flatness that made it all but unrecognisable.
    Dan’s mind bounced around trying to find something familiar in the tone and in light of the unusual circumstances. His former next-door neighbour shouldn’t be calling at four in the morning.
    Dan’s voice softened. “Steve. Did you call half an hour ago from a payphone?”
    “Yes. I’m — I’m sorry about the time.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “I’m not sure. Could I … could I talk to you?”
    Dan threw off the sheets and sat up, his training kicking in like a decathlete approaching the stadium. “Of course. Where are you?”
    “I’m in an apartment near Donlands and Danforth.”
    Dan squinted at the caller ID and read off the number. “Is this