I’m In No Mood For Love Read Online Free Page B

spotlight, orfor politics or politicians either. He was a registered independent and tended to vote all across party lines. He cared most about shining a light on the truth and exposing it for the world to see. It was his job. He’d fought his way to the top—sometimes kicking and shoving—and he loved it.
    Only it wasn’t coming as easy these days. His insomnia was both physically and mentally draining. He could feel everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish slipping away. The fire inside dimming. The harder he fought, the dimmer the fire, and that scared him to his core.
    The drive from the Double Tree that would have taken a native Boisean fifteen minutes took him an hour. He made a wrong turn and ended up driving around the foothills until he admitted defeat and plugged the coordinates into the SUV’s navigation system. He disliked consulting the GPS and preferred to pretend he didn’t need it. It felt pansy ass. Like stopping to ask for directions. He didn’t even like to ask for directions in a foreign country. It was a cliché, but one he knew was true about him. Just like he hated to shop and hated to see women cry. He would do just about anything to avoid a woman’s tears. Some things were clichéd, he thought, because they happened to be true more times than not.
    It was around eleven A.M. when he turned upthe drive of the Wingate mansion and drove past the three-story home made mainly of limestone that had been quarried by convicts from the old penitentiary several miles up the road. He recalled the first time he’d seen the imposing structure. He’d been about five and thought sure a huge family must live within its dark stone walls. He’d been shocked to hear that just two people lived there: Mrs. Wingate and her daughter Claresta.
    Sebastian continued around to the back and parked in front of the stone garage. Joyce Wingate and his father stood within the garden, pointing at rows of rosebushes. As always, his father wore a starched beige shirt, brown trousers, and a tan Panama hat covered his dark, graying hair. A clear memory of helping his father in that garden entered his head. Of getting dirty and killing spiders with a handheld spade. He’d absolutely loved it. Back then, he’d looked up to the old man as if he were a superhero. He’d been fungible, and absorbed every word, everything from mulch to fishing to how to fly a kite. But of course, that all stopped, and for years bitterness and disappointment had replaced hero worship.
    After his high school graduation, his father had sent him a plane ticket to Boise. He hadn’t used it. The first year he’d attended the University of Washington, his father wanted to visit him, buthe’d said no. He didn’t have the time for a father who hadn’t had the time for him. By the time he graduated, the relationship between his father and mother had become so acrimonious, he’d asked Leo not to attend the ceremony.
    After graduating, he’d been busy building his career. Much too busy to stop and take time out of his life for his father. He’d interned at the Seattle Times , worked for several years for the Associated Press, and written hundreds of freelance pieces.
    Sebastian had always lived his adult life untethered. Free-wheeling. Roaming the world without attachments to hold him back or tie him down. He always felt superior to the poor suckers who had to take time out to call home on a satellite phone. His attention was never split in different directions. He’d been dogged and determined and extremely focused.
    His mother had always encouraged him in everything he’d done. She’d been his biggest supporter and most vocal cheerleader. He hadn’t seen her as much as he would have liked, but she’d always understood. Or at least had always said she did.
    She had always been his family. His life was full. He and his father didn’t even know each other, and he’d never felt any desire to see him, always thought that if at some point in