“You know I have the child’s interests at heart, correct? I only want what’s best for her.”
The old farmer lowered his chin and glared at Richard, his upper lip twitching just a bit. “Funny thing is, Mr. Wahlberg—”
“It’s Wahlman. Richard Wahlman.”
He ignored the correction. “You see, we don’t refer to Christina as ‘the child’ in this house. We call her Chris or Chrissy and sometimes we call her Jellybean. But nobody calls her ‘the child.’ Do ya know why that is, Mr. Wahlberg?”
Richard felt himself smile. This guy didn’t give a damn who was seated across the kitchen table from him, which was admirable. Irritating, but admirable. He decided to humor him.
“I had no idea Christina existed until one of my aides showed me Amanda’s obituary. You are well aware of that. It breaks my heart that my daughter is nearly four years old and I’m just now getting to know her.”
Charlie tipped his head to the side. “She’s not your anything. Neither was her mother.”
Richard blinked reflexively, but he let the jab go. He had no idea how much Amanda had shared with her family about her years on the Hill, though it was now obvious to everyone that her contributions had gone far beyond scheduling.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. McGuinness.” Richard leveled his gaze at Amanda’s father but kept his voice kind. “Christina is my flesh and blood. She’s my daughter. The DNA evidence is irrefutable. That doesn’t make her any less your grandchild, certainly, and I am amenable to you having visitation privileges, but the court has already decided this matter. I am her biological father. I have sole custody. Your eldest daughter may have stolen her from me, but rest assured I will stop at nothing to find her.”
The old farmer tapped his fingertips on the scrubbed oak tabletop and shook his head. “See, nobody knows how ya did it, but ya cheated us in that court, pure and simple. I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”
Richard felt his pulse race, which did worry him, but he could handle Charlie. “You missed the custody hearing, Mr. McGuinness. Court records show you received notice of the date and time, yet you and Evelyn didn’t bother to show up. Of course, the judge saw that as an indication that the girl wasn’t particularly important to you, and granted me custody by default. Only you know the reasons why you failed to—”
“You and ya people can go to hell.” Charlie shot an angry glare toward Richard’s chief of staff and attorney, who stood off in the dining room. “Ayuh, you’re nothing but a bunch of liars and thieves perfectly happy to stomp all over a little girl’s heart. Ya people have no shame.”
“Where are Evelyn and Christina?” That came from Apodaca. “This is your last opportunity. If you don’t answer, you could face obstruction charges.”
Charlie shook his head at her. “I don’t know where the hell they are. But if I did”—he glanced up into the light, blinking back tears—“I wouldn’t tell ya. Sorry, now, but that’s the God’s truth. Go ahead and arrest me.”
Richard was weighing his response when everyone’s attention turned to the front staircase. Half a dozen FBI evidence techs tromped down the stairs with their search warrant bounty—several boxes of books and documents and what was obviously Evelyn’s laptop and printer.
Charlie tilted up his chin defiantly. “Won’t find much in that thing but her sports therapy appointments up in Augusta and the recipes and running diary and whatever she calls those stories she writes on the computer.”
“Blogs,” Apodaca snapped.
“Ayuh, that’s right. Blogs. Cricket gets on her high horse sometimes about healthy eating and training for marathons. ‘Feed the speed,’ she likes to say. Even though some of it is strange stuff, she has lots of followers, apparently. I remember this one time, she made a dish for Jellybean that—” Charlie stopped himself. His chin trembled. He was clearly on the verge of tears. When he’d regained his composure, Charlie slapped his palms on the table and pushed himself to a stand, hiking up his worn blue jeans.