Secret Intentions. Пола Грейвс

still don’t understand what he’s doing here,” she admitted aloud.

      “He’s talking directly to you,” Jesse answered. “What’s he telling you?”

      She frowned, listening to her father’s words more carefully.

      “Do you remember that Christmas in Falls Church, when you rode your bicycle up and down Oak Street? You loved that bike, but you had so much trouble learning to ride. Remember?”

      She glanced at Jesse, grimacing. “So I was a little klutzy at age six.”

      “But you never gave up,” her father continued. “And I don’t want you to give up now. Trust yourself—you know how to find the answers.”

      “That seems really specific,” Jesse murmured.

      “It does.” She looked at her father’s serious expression, trying to figure out why something about his demeanor seemed off-kilter. “He’s blinking a lot. Like he’s fighting tears. But his eyes are dry.”

      Jesse watched for a second as her father looked into the camera, even as the reporter wrapped up the interview. “You’re right.”

      “I don’t suppose there’s a recorder connected to that TV?”

      “There is, actually. After your father’s interview aired the first time, I set the DVR to record the rest of this cable network’s news shows for the night. I thought we might want to see it again.”

      “Can we replay it? I want to watch it again.”

      “Sure.” Jesse bent close again, his shoulder brushing hers once more as he pulled a second remote from the coffee-table drawer. He pushed a few buttons and her father’s interview started replaying.

      “See the blinks?” she asked. “It’s odd. They seemed almost—”

      “Deliberate,” he finished for her.

      “You see it, too?”

      He nodded, his lips curving slightly. “The wily old leatherneck.”

      “What?’

      “He’s blinking in Morse code.”