"You've never given me anything and I've sure as hell never asked. I'd just like for you to get out of my way so I can do my job."
Bartlett stalked toward the door. Then he turned back.
"You'd better think long and hard about what you're getting into. You can ask some of the two‑bit reporters I've dealt with in the past. They're fucking roadkill."
With that pronouncement, he slammed the door and was gone.
Stone stared after him, feeling his heart pump. It wasn't the threat; it was the mixed emotions. For a moment, in spite of his better judgment, he'd felt like he had a father, but then Bartlett became the enemy again.
Then the door cracked open and Jane appeared, dismay in her eyes.
"What was that about?"
"What was what about?"
"I've gotta tell you, that man doesn't know how to keep his voice down. What was that about helping your mother? Karen. You never talked about her much, but I sure don't remember you ever saying anything about her and Winston Bartlett."
"That's because I didn't. Jane, there are parts of my past life that I try not to think about any more than I have to."