Supreme Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

to Georgetown, to be closer to her, the result of which was that he saw her even less frequently now.
    “How’s your mom doing?”
    “Fine,” Amy said, giving him a noncommittal smile.
    “You have a birthday coming up.”
    “I do.”
    “So what can I get you? You don’t want to leave it to me, do you?”
    She glanced at Landon, who had abandoned his sandwich at midpoint and was surfing the Net on his phone. The kid gave Amy a look that had a shrug in it.
    “I’d kind of like to get away for a few days,” she said. “We have a break coming up.”
    What, with this fuckwad?
    “What do you have in mind, hon?”
    “Cabo San Lucas maybe. Puerto Vallarta is nice.”
    “Why, have you been there?”
    “No, but I’d like to.”
    “Just get away. By yourself?”
    “No. I, uh . . . might go with a friend.”
    “Well, I might finance a getaway for you, sweetheart. But your friend? She would have to pay her own way.”
    Landon smirked to himself, eyes on his cell.
    Amy nodded. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    They finished their sandwiches in silence.
    Conversations between Reeder and his daughter were rarely much longer. Not since the divorce, anyway, four years ago. Reeder had gone along with Amy living with her mother, though he and his ex-wife shared custody. His and Melanie’s relationship had gone wrong, but Mel was always the right kind of mother.
    Then two years ago, Mel remarried. Reeder’s replacement was Donald Graham, a political lobbyist who at least was a liberal. Reeder liked Graham just a little less than he did Bobby Landon. Wasn’t that Graham was a bad guy, really, just that Reeder disliked lobbyists on general principle.
    He also disliked men sleeping with his ex-wife on irrational principle.
    But at least Graham had supported the notion that Amy get her own place, citing the need for her independence. Of course, Reeder figured Graham realized his own seas would be calmer without Amy around.
    Reeder’s cell chirped. He snatched it off his belt, checked caller ID: Gabriel Sloan .
    To Amy, he said, “I better take this.”
    “Sure,” she said, long since used to that.
    “Where are you?” Sloan asked, an edge in the familiar mellow baritone.
    “Dinner with Ames and Bobby,” Reeder said. Years ago, he and Sloan, her godfather, had started referring to Amy as “Ames,” like her high school girlfriends. Amy disliked the nickname now, and Reeder rarely let it slip out anymore except to Sloan.
    “Tell her I said hey,” Sloan said.
    “Gabe says hey,” Reeder said.
    That got a smile from Amy, and she held out a hand. “Can I talk to him?”
    Reeder shook his head. “Business.”
    “Hi, Gabe!” Amy shouted, and several other patrons were startled into glancing their way. “Call me!”
    Even Reeder had to smile.
    “Tell her I will,” Sloan said.
    “She probably just wants to remind you her birthday’s coming.”
    Amy threw a wadded napkin at her father, but she was smiling.
    Sloan asked, “Is the dipstick boyfriend along?”
    “Oh yeah.”
    “So they’ll be ditching you soon.”
    “You always were a detective. You want to get together, right? The FBI needs my help? I thought this day would never come.”
    “Go to hell. But I need you to go over what you told Bishop. Who knows? Might be something to it.”
    “No ‘might’ about it. If you trusty G-men can spare a moment from running off in the wrong direction, I’ll be glad to straighten you out.”
    “When? Where?”
    “My place, an hour. I’ll have the Nationals game on—you bring the beer.”
    “See you then,” Sloan said.
    Soon Reeder was walking Amy and Bobby back to the street. He gave his daughter a peck on the cheek and shook her boyfriend’s damp hand. The couple strolled off, arm in arm again. He supposed he should cut Landon a break—at least the kid hadn’t spouted any Marxist nonsense tonight. Amy must have put him on his good behavior.
    Darkness was settling in, and a distinct chill