After about ten minutes, Jamie emerged from the coffee shop with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She stood on the sidewalk, looked left and right, and started walking back in the direction of her car when a man came out of Starbucks and called to her. Wilcox pressed his nose against the cool glass of the front door.
Could it be, he wondered, resting his hand over the gun under his jacket.
The two talked briefly, and as they parted the man put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, and Wilcox’s mind drifted back to his interview with Paolo Cataldi at the FBI field office in Albany three years before:
“Do you recognize this person?” Wilcox had asked, showing Cataldi a photo of Jamie Carter.
“Yeah,” Paolo had answered. “That’s Donny’s girlfriend.”
Quickly, Wilcox opened the front door, but a troop of students and parents were idling on the sidewalk, and when he managed to push his way through them, both Jamie and the man were gone. He stood there, trying to catch his breath, when his cell phone buzzed. As he put the phone to his ear, surprised by the name on his screen, he didn’t notice that a man, just inside the glass of Panera Bread, had also been watching the scene, and was doing the same.
CHAPTER 30
“What’s that?” Edward asked, as Jamie placed the bulky duffel bag on the floor. As she did, Lucky came charging through the open back door into the kitchen and started sniffing it, her tail wagging. “Geez, please tell me it’s not dog food?”
“No,” she said, giving the dog a pet on the head. She reached onto the counter where she had left her car keys earlier that morning so she could transfer the duffel bag to her car.
“How did it go?” Her brother was standing near the kitchen cabinets, pulling out boxes of microwave popcorn. “Your meeting with the vice president.”
“Fine,” Jamie said. She didn’t want to keep lying to Edward, but she had had to tell him something—the text from Bob had taken her by surprise—and after leaving for a week with no notice or information, he wouldn’t have settled for radio silence again. Despite the long drive, the meeting with Bailino at Starbucks had been quick, and if what he said was true, that ToniAnne Cataldi had been behind all the attempted assassinations, what was in the duffel bag was enough to put her away for a long time. “The meeting went well,” she added, a comment she hoped wasn’t another lie.
“So what’s in it?” Edward asked. “The bag?”
“Oh, just stuff for the president,” she said, which, technically, was true. Whenever Jamie said things were “for the president,” she knew Edward wouldn’t snoop or ask any more questions. He was too respectful of the office—and the man. “Where’s Faithy?”
“She’s with Trish, Sara, and Peter in the yard. They were all taking turns rubbing Lucky’s belly last I saw.”
At the sound of her name, Lucky sat attentively, watching Edward, probably hoping for a treat, although Edward didn’t notice. He was busy humming to himself while removing frozen turkey and veggie burgers from the freezer. Although he had been angry with her for going MIA for nearly a week, the anger hadn’t lasted. It never did. Their relationship sometimes reminded her of a parent and child—the parent punished the child the night before for some infringement, and then the next day, when the sun came up, all was forgiven and forgotten.
“Do you need help with anything?” Jamie asked.
“Nah, you know me, James. I love barbecuing, although not as much as I like making breakfast in the park.” He smiled.
He was smiling more these days. At first, Jamie hadn’t been on board when Edward told her he would be moving down to Virginia after she accepted the White House press secretary position. There had been no reason for him to uproot Trish and the kids simply because she had decided to relocate, but he ended up finding a good job at an environmental law firm in Alexandria, and he and Trish were able to buy a much larger home with what their house had been worth on Long Island. Edward seemed content here, more relaxed, and that made her happy.
“Momma, is that you?” Faith called from outside. She stood in the back doorway, her little body dark against the sunny backdrop. “Come out, we’re playing with bubbles.”
“C’mon, Lucky, let’s go play with bubbles,” Jamie said, and the dog walked beside her toward the back door.
Outside, Faith was already on the move, running with the bubble wand, and Lucky charged after her, trying to eat all the soapy liquid slipping into the wind. Was that dog ever not hungry, Jamie wondered. The two of them ran in widening circles, Faith laughing and calling to the dog to follow her and Lucky obeying like a good little soldier. It was only when Jamie saw Faith running free—the way she was now, the way she was in Wyoming—that she felt truly at peace. Being cooped up in the house, even if it was the White House, was no life for a child. Her daughter carried so much baggage, because of who her mother and father were, that it was nice to see her behaving like an ordinary nearly five-year-old.
Jamie wondered what their lives would look like now that Bailino was lurking in the background again. She saw the way he had looked at her at Starbucks, the way he had always looked at her. She didn’t feel afraid; she didn’t know what she felt. Safe, maybe, but did this mean that she and Faith would never really be free?
The front doorbell rang, and Jamie heard Edward yell, “Coming!” as Faith returned to the backyard deck to reload her bubble wand.
“Momma!” she said, dunking the wand three times. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, sweetie, but it looks like you’ve been having some fun.”
“They’ve been asking me for a dog,” Trish said, motioning toward Peter and Sara. The three of them were sitting at the table playing cards. “See what you started.”
“Please, Mom,” Sara said. “Do you have any sevens, Peter?”
“Go fish,” Peter said before turning to his mother. “Aunt Jamie has a dog, and she works all day, too.”
“Guys, Lucky will be spending lots of time here. She’s everyone’s dog,” Jamie said as the back door opened, and Edward emerged.
“Oh, Edward will love that,” Trish said with a wink. “Right, hon?”
“James?” Edward said. He had a strange look on his face.
“What is it?” asked Trish, her expression changing. She too could sense something was wrong.
“Trish, keep the kids here, okay? Jamie, can you come inside?” Edward opened the door wider.
“Sure,” Jamie said. She followed her brother into the house, and he closed the back door behind them. She was about to ask what was going on when she realized two people were standing in the kitchen. As she got closer, she saw the first was Special Agent Wilcox and, much to her surprise, the second was Bob.
“Agent Wilcox?” Jamie asked. “What are you doing here?” She ignored Bob, who looked so excited he might burst.
“I’m afraid I’m here on official business,” Wilcox said.
Jamie glanced at the duffel bag on the floor and then at Edward. She knew she was going to have to come clean eventually, but she hadn’t planned on doing it in front of her brother. “Special Agent Wilcox, I have something—”
“Jamie,” Wilcox said, “you are under arrest.”
“What?” Jamie took a step back. She checked behind her to make sure the back door was closed and Faith was still outside. “Under arrest?”
“What on earth for?” Edward asked. “Is this a joke?” He glared at Bob.
“I’m afraid not,” Bob said.
“Mr. Scott, please,” Wilcox said, motioning to Bob to remain quiet. “Jamie, you’re under arrest for conspiracy, aiding and abetting a felon, and the attempted assassination of the president of the United States.”
“You can’t be serious,” Edward said, stepping in front of Jamie.
Wilcox took out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m afraid I am, and I suggest that you move, Edward, before you too are arrested. For obstruction.”
“This is ridiculous,” Edward said, standing firm. Edward’s lawyer f
ace was emerging, the one Jamie had seen displayed in many courtrooms, both as a defense lawyer and prosecuting attorney.
“Is it?” Wilcox said. “Have you asked your sister about Don Bailino?”
“What about him? Are the leaks true? Is he alive?” Edward asked. “If you know that to be true, Agent Wilcox, why the hell don’t we have any protection?”
“You should ask your sister that too,” Wilcox said, crossing his arms.
Edward turned around, and all eyes went to Jamie. “What’s going on, James?”
Jamie took a breath. Edward’s pleading eyes made her hesitate.
“What would Reynaldo Rodriguez’s family think about you protecting the man who killed him?” Wilcox said.
“Bailino didn’t kill Reynaldo,” Jamie said.
“Protecting?” Edward asked. Now he took a step back. “What is he talking about?”
Jamie focused on Wilcox. She would have to deal with Edward later. “Agent Wilcox, you know me …”
“I don’t know you,” Wilcox said. “I thought I did, but I don’t.” One of the handcuffs was dangling from his crossed arms like a pendulum. “I followed you today, I followed you all the way to Delaware.”
“Delaware?” Edward said, putting his hand on the counter next to a bowl of freshly popped popcorn as if to hold himself up. “I thought you were heading into the office for a meeting with the vice president?”
“The plot thickens …” Bob said with a smile.
“Shut up, Bob,” Jamie said. “Why are you even here?”
Wilcox looked as if he were about to explain, but Bob cut him off.
“I got an unexpected visitor last night,” Bob said. “I think you know who it was.” Jamie could feel all their eyes on her again, but she said nothing. “I thought it was my duty as a citizen of the United States to report it to the FBI.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jamie said. “You don’t give a damn about the United States.”
Edward put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, his eyes no longer shocked, but concerned. “Jamie, what is going on?”
“Edward, I don’t know where to start,” she said when Wilcox stepped forward with the handcuffs.
“Wait,” Jamie said. She reached for the duffel bag, but Wilcox pushed her back surprisingly rough.
“No sudden movements, please,” Wilcox said.
“It’s why I was in Delaware. It’s evidence that ToniAnne Cataldi was behind the assassination attempt.”
Wilcox didn’t even glance at the duffel bag. He wrapped the cold metal around her wrist. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said, locking the first and then the second handcuff. As he recited the rest of her Miranda rights, Bob’s smile nearly broke his face, as if he were going to plunge his hand into the popcorn and start eating it.
“Is that really necessary?” Edward asked.
“I’m afraid that it is,” Wilcox said. “What’s in the bag, Ms. Carter?”
“It’s parts used by Cataldi for the explosive device.”
Edward turned pale. “You brought that into my house, James?”
“There’s nothing lethal in it,” Jamie said. “Just parts like—”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re making good decisions these days, Ms. Carter.” Wilcox got behind her and began ushering her forward.
“Edward,” Jamie pleaded, “it’s a long story … Please look after Faith.” As confused and angry as her brother was, he nodded, and relief washed over her.
“Did she tell you she was in Wyoming?” Wilcox asked Edward as they reached the front door.
The look on Edward’s face told Wilcox that she had not. “At that log cabin?” Edward asked Jamie. “Where they think Bailino is?”
“Was, Mr. Carter,” Wilcox said. “He seems to be wherever your sister is.”
“Edward,” Jamie said quickly before she was out the door. “I needed to bring Faith somewhere safe, and that was—”
“Bailino’s arms,” Bob said smugly as Wilcox pushed her outside.
“Edward,” Jamie cried, “you know that’s not—”
“I suggest you don’t say any more without a lawyer present,” Wilcox said and moved her down the front steps as several knocks came from the back door, followed by Faith’s muffled calls. “Momma? Momma?”
“Agent Wilcox,” Jamie said, trying to see his face, but he was holding her arms firmly in front of her. “There’s got to be another way. Let me say good-bye to my daughter …”
“I’m afraid not,” Wilcox said, pushing her toward a car she didn’t recognize in Edward’s driveway. Neighbors were out on their front porches now and peeking over backyard fences, their cell phones raised high. On the street, cars were pulling up and double-parking, as men and women with video cameras rushed in their direction.
Wilcox opened the back door of the car and, in contrast to his earlier handling of her, pushed her somewhat gently inside, although he slammed the door behind her. Then he went back into the house and returned with Bailino’s duffel bag, Bob trailing behind him. He placed the bag in the trunk of the car without even opening it, got into the driver’s seat, and locked the car doors. When Bob tried to get into the passenger side, Wilcox rolled down the window.
“You’ll have to grab an Uber, Scott,” Wilcox said. “I appreciate the help.”
Bob appeared dumbfounded as Wilcox threw the car into reverse and skidded out of Edward’s driveway, as more and more neighbors flooded the street in front of Edward’s house, flashes popping and videographers trailing the car for half a block.
When they had driven for a few minutes, Wilcox stared at Jamie through the rearview mirror. She stared back.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” she said. “You could have called me to the White House or to FBI headquarters. I would have come. You know that. My daughter has been through enough.”
“What’s happening now is because of your actions, not mine, Ms. Carter,” Wilcox said, shaking his head. “What happened to that nice girl I met five years ago? The one who knew the good guys from the bad guys?”
Jamie glanced out the window, as Wilcox merged onto I-95 going north. “She’s gone.”
CHAPTER 31
“Are you out of your mind?” Phillip asked when Wilcox entered the Oval Office.
It had been more than an hour since Phillip summoned Wilcox for a meeting and interrupted Sunday dinner with his family—the first dinner they had had in more than a week, a celebration of sorts after Agent Summers had confessed to the attempted bombings. He thought it all might be over. Instead, it turned out to be the calm before the storm. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“Mr. President, time was of the essence …” Wilcox said.
“Bullshit,” Phillip said. “You knew I’d never go for it. Arresting Jamie for … What was it?” He picked up his cell phone, which had been practically glued to his hand for the past hour, and scrolled. “Conspiracy, treason, and aiding and abetting a known felon,” he read from the news website, “and who the hell knows what else? Where is she?”
“She’s being held in an undisclosed location,” Wilcox said coolly.
“There’s no such thing as undisclosed. I’m the goddamn president—president—of the United States,” Phillip said, slamming his cell phone on the desk and cracking the screen. “For Chrissakes, Wilcox … You really think that Jamie Carter is trying to assassinate the president? Me? That she was trying to harm her own daughter?”
“We’ll leave that for a jury to decide.”
“I need to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Not possible?” Pain shot through Phillip’s temples, and the dizziness that he had managed to keep at bay returned. He rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb, rendering the room blurry for a few moments. How did it all seem to get out of control? “Are you kidding me?” he said. “Do I really need to pull rank here? Why are you following around Jamie Carter? Agent Fuller got a full confession
from Agent Summers early this morning.”
“I’ve been fully apprised on what is going on with Agent Summers.”
“And is that not enough? Summers confessed.”
“We may know the executioner, but we don’t yet have a mastermind. Or motive.”
“What does that mean? You think the mastermind is Jamie Carter?”
“No, but Jamie knows more than she’s letting on.”
“Summers said he acted alone,” Phillip said.
“According to Jamie Carter’s so-called evidence, I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Evidence?” Phillip remembered seeing Wilcox drag a duffel bag from Edward’s house into a trunk of a car on one of the news sites. “And that’s reason to drag her in front of television cameras like a criminal? Not to mention the additional damage that was done to my administration, which is already in turmoil. Did you see the video that was released a half hour ago?”
Wilcox appeared uncharacteristically taken by surprise. “Video?”
“O’Connell’s video. The whole video. It’s gone viral. He’s back from the dead, apparently, with the director’s cut of that little video he took of me three years ago sneaking around the Barbara farmhouse like a spy, shooting an antique pistol, and then running inside moments before the farmhouse burned down to the ground.”
“With you saving Jamie and Faith Carter at the end,” Wilcox said.
“Yeah, well, that’s old news, and no one cares.” Phillip paced behind his desk. “Speculation has already begun about what the hell I was doing there, in the same place as Bailino, in the same place as Paolo Cataldi when—as the media reported—I told the FBI that I was on my way to my housekeeper’s …”
Wilcox looked as if he were about to say I told you so, but Phillip didn’t give him the chance.
Baby Carter (Baby Grand Trilogy, Book 3) Page 21
