“She’s there with Sinclair,” he said frigidly. “I’ve just seen her. She’s still with him. I’m goin’ to stop it.”
“How?”
The Wolf shrugged. But his movement carried no conviction.
“That’s for me,” he said. “It’s enough to say it’s goin’ to stop. You’re her father. You know Sinclair. Yet you just stand around. Well, I know Sinclair, too. Maybe I’ll stop around. But I’ll fix things—the way you haven’t.”
Pideau’s eyes blazed.
“An’ what ken you do?” he snarled. “Ken you jump in? Ken you set a man an’ a gal actin’ diff’rent when life looks good to ’em? Who’re you to do it, anyway? Hev you right? Is Annette your woman? Is she the sort to set around an’ say ‘Yes’? Not on your fool life.” Pideau held up a clenching hand. “She’s got you right there, an’ she’ll squeeze till you gasp for your man’s crazy life. Get busy. See an’ try to stop her. She’ll beat you like a kid, an’ set you with your face to the wall.”
The man’s harsh scorn was withering. But the Wolf smiled maddeningly into his face.
“You’re forgettin’ Sinclair,” he said soberly.
Pideau’s eyes bored.
“He’s a p’liceman,” he snapped.