by Ellen Butler
I didn’t deign to answer, instead returning to the email I’d been working on when he arrived.
“Want to talk about it?”
My fingers didn’t stop their dance across the keyboard. “No. And I would appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone about it either. I’m not interested in having a parade of morbid curiosity seekers trotting through my door. Now, I’d like to drop it, if you don’t mind.”
He shifted, uncrossed his legs, and cleared his throat. “Hasina wants to see the S46’s post-mortem report, and our recommendations for future strategies, on her desk by close of business Monday.”
I clicked send and stretched my arms above my head. “I started it yesterday. I’ll forward a draft so you can add your materials.”
“What about our recommendations?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s an uphill battle, but we made great strides this time. The House is up for election this year. If we get a few of those seats to turn blue, we might have a good chance in the fall.”
I gave a distracted nod. “You know, just before he collapsed, Harper was telling me about a new bill he was working on.”
“You mean a new healthcare bill.”
“I assume so. He said it was better than S46,” I mused.
“Did he get into specifics?”
“No, he was really cagey when I offered to help.” I rotated my chair to face the window. “He said something about cashing in his chips.”
“Who’s his legislative aide on healthcare?”
“Christy Manheim.”
“You should set up a meeting. See what you can find out.”
“I plan to.”
“Do it today.”
“Rodrigo!” I spun around to face him.
“What?” He put his hands up.
“Her office is still reeling from the senator’s death.” I tapped my chin. “It’s not the right time.”
That evening, I received an email from Senator Harper’s Chief of Staff inviting me to a memorial service on Friday morning. There was no indication what the funeral plans would be, but I assumed Elise would inter his remains somewhere in Michigan. The service was being held at the National Cathedral by invitation only. I blocked off the time in my calendar, printed the invite, and tucked it into one of the convenient new pockets inside my purse. The bottom of the email recommended arriving early, due to heavy security and tight parking, which basically meant Secret Service would be on hand with their metal detectors and wands.
I wondered who, of the Washington elite, would be showing up to mourn the senator. I also wondered who the Michigan governor would appoint to replace him.
Chapter Four
Wednesday afternoon, the winds whipped my hair and trench coat in all directions as I walked the two blocks to Table Talk, a restaurant I frequented often enough for the staff to call me by name. The scent of scrambled eggs, bacon, and syrup swirled around me as I fought to keep the door from being ripped out of my hands by a gust. So much for March going out like a lamb.
Latesha waved me over to the table, and I bypassed the unmanned hostess station to join her.
“It’s good to see you.” I tossed my coat and handbag onto an empty chair and hugged my friend. She smelled of fresh baby powder and coffee. “You look fabulous in that yellow suit. You’re so lucky, with your dark skin, you can pull off that color. I’d look like a washed-out Big Bird if I tried something like that.”
“True, but I can’t wear a lot of colors you white girls wear. That scarf really brings out the green in your eyes, by the way. I ordered an Arnold Palmer tea for you.”
“Thanks.” I slid into the chair and took a sip of the sweet/tart tea. “I’m assuming you heard about Senator Harper.”
She nodded. “Who hasn’t? I understand there’s a memorial service on Friday at the Cathedral.”
“Did you get an invitation?”
“Nope.” She cupped her coffee mug. “Nobody at our office did. Anyone at yours?”
“Yes.”
Latesha’s brows rose. “Really? Which muckety-muck got an invite?”
I fiddled with the straw. “I did.”
“Get out!” She slapped a hand on the table.
“Nope. Came via email yesterday.”
“Girl, who’d you sleep with to get one?”
I gave a weak smile. “I figured everyone in the biz got one until I started asking around. Maybe they’re waiting for the RSVPs to roll in before they send out a second round.”
She whistled. “Who sent it to you?”
“Sandy, his Chief of Staff.”
“Do you think you got one because of your recent work on S46?”
Before I could formulate an answer, we were interrupted by the waitress. “How are my two favorite ladies?” the petite, white-haired woman asked.
“Hi, Ruby,” Latesha said in greeting.
“I’m good. And you?” I asked.
“Got my health, a good job, and money in my pocket. Can’t complain.” Ruby’s upbeat response garnered grins from both of us. “What can I get ya?” She whipped out her pad.
After we placed our orders, Ruby bustled back to the kitchen. I leaned forward and indicated Latesha do the same.
“I think I got the invite because I was there when Harper collapsed,” I said in muted tones.
“What do you mean, ‘you were there?’ You were at his office when it happened?”
“No, we were walking the tunnel from the Capitol to the Russell building, talking about S46. He was kind of worked up and then . . . bam! He collapsed.”
Her dark eyes widened, accentuating the whites. “You mean he fell down onto that hard cement floor? Right in front of you?”
“Right in front of me.”
“Mary, Jesus, and Jo-ho-sa-phat! What did you do?”
“First, I tried calling 911, but my phone was dead and his didn’t have service down there. So I yelled up and down the tunnel. Then I started CPR. He hit his head when he fell. It was awful.”
“Lordy-bee. How long before the paramedics arrived?”
“It seemed like for-ev-er. The security officer said there’d been some sort of incident, which is why it took them so long to respond. The EMTs had to shock him when they arrived.”
She sat back and let out a low whistle. “So, you think he died on the way to the hospital?”
I glanced around and curled my finger. Latesha leaned in again. “I think he was dead when he hit the floor. I had no response even with CPR. He didn’t respond to the juice the EMTs hit him with. Nothing.”
She nodded. “The news said it was cardiac arrest.”
“Yeah . . . I didn’t know he had a bad ticker. Did you?”
“No, I did not.”
“He had a pacemaker. Did you know that?”
Her brow furrowed. “I can’t remember it coming out during his last election.”
“Neither did I. The EMTs found it.” I arranged my knife and fork and placed the napkin in my lap. “It’s kind of weird. I didn’t think you could go into cardiac arrest with a pacemaker. Wouldn’t it have fixed the rhythm or something?”
“You would think.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you reach out to Ted Beachler? He’s a cardiovascular physician assistant, right? Maybe he can explain it.”
I spun my glass in circles as I debated her suggestion. “I think you’re right. I’ll give him a call and see if he can explain how this happened. One of the EMTs said something about the pacemaker going bad.”
“You’d better call Ted. Otherwise, these questions are going to drive you nuts.”
“Can you blame me?” I pinched my lips together. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
She had the temerity to laugh. “Not really. None of my business. But I know you, Karina Cardinal. You’ve got a voracious curiosity, you’ll just keep pecking away. Don’t you give me that squinty-eyed glare.” Her finger waggled in front of my nose. “It’s part of what makes you an excellent researcher when i
t comes to the issues. You never miss a thing, whether good or bad. Always helps when it comes to defending against the opposition’s arguments. So you’d better give Ted a call and set your mind at ease. Now” —she pushed back her chair— “I need to visit the ladies’ room before lunch arrives.”
Latesha wasn’t wrong. It had been my own insatiable nosiness that discovered a hidden painting in my former fiancé’s father’s home—wow, that’s a mouthful—and my research prowess that identified it as a stolen painting from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. My subsequent actions ended an engagement and put my life, along with Martin Dunne’s entire family, in danger. The fact that Martin had hired a private security company to follow me around was the only thing that kept me from being carved up by a mafia thug.
My mobile chimed with an incoming text, drawing my thoughts away from the disturbing incident. It was Mike.
I’m headed home on the next flight out. Want to get together for a late dinner?
Wish I could. I’ve got a fundraiser tonight. Why are you coming home early?
It took Mike a moment to respond.
Caught a new case. How about lunch tomorrow?
I checked my calendar.
No can do. Working lunch with the team. Dinner tomorrow?
Fine. Your place or mine?
Do you have food at your place?
I’ll meet at yours. 7?
See you then.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard. Should I type the L-word? Neither one of us had said it. We’d known each other since college, been great friends, and I did care for him. Was I in love with him?
“What’s that secretive smile all about? Who are you texting?” Latesha wiggled her brows as she slid into her seat.
Flustered, I quickly typed,
Have a safe flight.
I was such a chicken.
“It’s nothing—just Mike. He’s coming home early from training. We’re arranging our schedules.”
“Mm-hm. So, when do I get to meet this FBI agent of yours?”
“Oh . . . I don’t know. Soon, I guess.” I slipped the cell back into my purse.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a creep like that last guy.”
“I don’t know that I’d call Patrick a creep.”
“He put a secret tracking app on your phone. Didn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but . . . ”
“But, nothing. That ranks a ten on the creep-o-meter.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s a creep.”
“You’re well rid of that character. Even if he did give you a boulder-sized engagement ring.”
I rolled my eyes. I never liked that old-fashioned ring. It was a family heirloom, and I returned it when we broke up. “You know he still texts.”
“Get out. What does he say?”
“Oh, just asks how I’m doing. If I’m okay. That sort of thing.”
“Did you tell him you changed jobs? Are dating someone new?”
“No.”
“Ladies, here are your omelets.” Ruby placed two steaming omelets with hash browns in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Ketchup.”
“Hot sauce.” Latesha and I spoke at once.
“Here you go.” She pulled the condiments out of her apron and hurried off to help another customer.
“So, you’ll have to tell me who’s in attendance on Friday. Do you think the President will be there?”
I shook ketchup onto the hash browns. “My money’s on the VP.”
“You think? They are the same party.” Latesha coated her eggs in Tabasco.
“Yes, but there was no love lost between them. Also, I don’t see him cancelling his trade talks with China to come home for Harper.”
She tsked. “You’re probably right. Wonder who you’ll end up sitting next to.”
“I’ll probably be relegated to the back row . . . behind a pillar, with the rest of the peons.” I bit down on the fluffy egg.
“Get there early. So you can take pictures, in case any famous people show up.”
“I imagine it’ll be filled with other reps and senators, and Washington heavy hitters.”
She gave a dismissive snort. “Not them. I mean, famous people. Like Hollywood actors.”
“What about news anchors? There’s bound to be one or two.”
She paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. “Depends. Not the local ones. Focus on national ones, like David Muir. He’s a fine-looking one.”
Her demands made me laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now for heaven’s sakes, let’s talk about something a little less depressing.”
“Okay. . . . There’s an opening at NHAA you’d be perfect for.”
“Girl . . . ” She waved her fork at me.
“C’mon, everyone’s doing it. . . . ”
Even though Latesha brushed aside my efforts to recruit her into NHAA, I emailed the job description and human resources contact information to her that afternoon. Our lunch only made me realize how much I missed seeing her on a daily basis. For some reason, an unexplainable sense of dread had been tugging at me since the senator’s death, and Latesha’s down-to-earth personality helped subdue some of that anxiety.
Chapter Five
The rat-ta-tat-tat of Mike’s signature knock at the door was a welcome sound. He looked tall and handsome in his unbuttoned Navy overcoat and red scarf, his short, dark hair tousled by the wind.
“Something smells good.” He flashed a dimpled half-smile at me that would be impish on a little boy, but only served to make him sexier. I never told him that little smile had been making my belly flutter since we met in college; I’d learned to ignore it for years.
“Get in here, you.” I grabbed him by the lapel, pulling him over the threshold. The door slammed as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. Though taken by surprise, it was but a moment before he returned the kiss. Pressing me against the wall, he tangled his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck and explored my mouth with his probing tongue. The ring of my landline finally drew us apart.
“Welcome home,” I managed to puff out.
“Thanks. Do you need to get that?” He pressed his forehead against mine.
“Nah, they can talk to my voicemail.”
“What’s in the oven? It smells delicious.”
“Salmon steaks.”
“I suppose they can’t wait?”
“Not unless you prefer burned fish.”
“I think they call that blackened.”
“Blackened, schmackened, if I don’t get it out, it’ll be burned and not very tasty.”
We’d been taking things slow and had yet to “seal the deal,” as they say. I think the two of us were still a bit afraid to ruin a fabulous friendship that we’d developed back in college. When we started dating, a myriad of questions pulled at me. What if I disappointed him in bed? Was I ready to have my friend see me naked? What if he sucked in bed? What if . . . fill in the blank. One thing I didn’t want to do was lose my friendship with Mike by jumping into something we weren’t ready for. I could imagine Latesha asking me, “Why don’t you discuss these issues?” Imaginary-in-my-head Latesha was right. We should. We should have the grown-up conversation.
Taking that into consideration, I’d determined to shift this thing between us into the next gear. Mike’s early return only sought to move my timeline forward a few days. Optimistic about the outcome, I’d shaved, put on some pretty panties, and dabbed a little perfume in all the right spots. But I wasn’t going to have it ruined by setting dinner on fire. We had time.
Reluctantly, he stepped back and sniffed my hair as I passed.
“Hang up your coat,” I directed. “Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve opened a white.”
“Yes, please. And a tall glass of water too.”
I pulled the salmon out of the oven.
Mike strolled into the kitchen area. He’d removed his s
uit jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. “Anything I can do to help?”
I stared at those muscular forearms . . . sprinkled with dark hair . . . and those long, agile fingers. I knew I was attracted to him. If the steamy kisses we’d shared were any indication, he was certainly attracted to me. Why was I so worried about going the distance?
“K.C.?”
“Right, here’s your water. The wine is over there, breathing. Glasses are in the corner cabinet. Can you pour? I’ll be right back, I’ve got to hit the head.”
By the time I returned, he’d poured the wine and was tossing the salad. My moment in the bathroom had allowed me to get my head on straight.
I finished plating the meal. “So how did the training go?” I asked as Mike and I climbed onto stools at the kitchen island.
“Unfinished.”
“Does that mean you’ll have to go back?”
“At some point.”
“That’s too bad.” We ate in silence. The fish was delicious—flaky yet succulent—and the rice fluffed to perfection.
“This is delicious. Thanks for cooking.” He forked a pile of salad leaves.
“No problem. I thought you’d appreciate a homecooked meal.” I finished off the rice. “So . . . what’s this big case you were called back for?”
He returned his uneaten greens to the plate and stared at them.
“I know, I know, you can’t talk about it. Just tell me”—I gently elbowed him—“is it something I’ll hear about on the news one day?”
His jaw flexed, and he reached for the wine, taking a gulp before turning hard eyes on me. This was a look I’d witnessed a few times. Only once before had he leveled it at me. I figured he developed it during his time as a Capitol Hill police officer or maybe during his FBI training. Either way, it wasn’t a look I cared for; I found it intimidating . . . as I’m sure he meant it to be.
“Hey, don’t get mad. I’m just kidding around. Relax. Sheesh.” I scooped up a mouthful of fish and shoveled it in.
He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s going to come out soon enough. I’m surprised they’ve been able to keep a lid on it so far.”
