by Ana Barrons
Ned slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. “Hey,” he said gently. She could feel his breath on her hair. She shivered again, wanting to back away but knowing that was a bad idea. She had to get Ned to trust her by pretending to trust him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get morbid on you.”
“Look at me, Catherine.” She tensed, knowing what was going to happen. Slowly she raised her face to him.
“Let me take your mind off Blair for this evening,” he whispered as he lowered his head. He brushed his lips over hers once, then twice. She pulled away. She couldn’t help it. If she could have, she would have wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Instead, she raised her free hand to Ned’s cheek.
“You’ve been great,” she said. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
Ned expelled a breath, his disappointment and frustration clear. “Well, at least I can feed you.” He took her hand and led her out of the library. When they reached the doorway he stepped aside and shut the door shut behind her.
Minutes later, he reached across the table and clinked his wineglass with hers. “To a beautiful friendship.”
Catherine smiled. In the candlelight, the planes of Ned’s face were softer, his eyes brighter, his smile warmer. Could he really be a blackmailer? Did he know who killed Blair? She sipped her wine and shook off the thoughts. If she screwed this up and made him suspicious, she might never learn the truth. She focused on the duck with raspberry orange sauce, scalloped potatoes and artichokes artistically displayed on her plate.
“Presentation really is everything,” she said.
“I hope that’s not the only thing you’re going to like about my dinner. My duck generally makes a splash.”
It took her two seconds to get it. She groaned.
“The sign of a successful pun,” Ned declared. “No higher praise than a truly disgusted groan.” She took a bite of the duck and moaned with pleasure. Ned laughed. “Ah, the moan—no higher compliment to the chef.”
The meal was delicious and their conversation light and comfortable, due in large part to the wine. She wanted to ask Ned whether he’d learned anything new about Blair’s case, but the time never seemed quite right.
“So, has Joe come up with anything on your sister’s case?” His casual question caught her totally off guard.
She schooled her expression to appear nonchalant. “He’s got some theories, but no real substance.”
Ned laid a hand over one of hers. His smile was cool, composed. “Does my name ever come up around him?”
“Only when I mention that I’ve been out with you.”
Ned stroked a finger down the back of her hand. “So, is he jealous or does he have some other reason for tensing up when he hears my name?”
“Oh, he’s definitely jealous.”
His expression had moved from composed to smug. “Huh. That’s pretty hypocritical of him, considering. Don’t tell me you’ve got something going with him?”
She was stuck at the “hypocritical” part. “You mean, because of Suzannah?” Her voice sounded tiny. She cleared her throat.
“They were at a restaurant last week in the middle of Georgetown,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me how he got her to do it, but she actually diverted her route to meet him. And let me tell you, messing with security in the middle of the city can lead to big trouble.”
Catherine swallowed with difficulty. Joe had gotten the wife of the vice president to meet him. For what? “Well, there isn’t much they could do in a restaurant.”
Ned chuckled. “I wasn’t suggesting they were fooling around, but the point is, he’s totally obsessed with the woman. He’d do anything to be near her. Anything. Granted, she’s about as unattainable as they come, but he has no business acting jealous if a woman he’s after goes out with other guys.”
“Why does she meet him if she’s so unattainable?” Damn. Had she said that out loud?
Ned leaned back in his chair. “There is something going on between you two, isn’t there? It bothers you that he’s in love with Suzannah.”
She shook her head, possibly a little too vehemently. Surely he didn’t actually love Suzannah. “No, of course not. If I had something going with Joe, I’d be with him right now instead of you, wouldn’t I?”
Ned smiled and refilled both their glasses. “Enough about Joe.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Joe yawned and felt around in the cupboard for one of the really big mugs. Not there. He yanked open the dishwasher, hoping against hope it was clean. The big mugs were in there, all right, but they were all dirty.
“Shit,” he grumbled, and proceeded to rinse one of them out. He slammed the door of the dishwasher with his knee to shut it. “Why am I the only person in this house who knows how to run the goddamn dishwasher?” He pulled the pot out from under the dripping coffeemaker and stuck the mug in its place, but not before there was a loud, crackling sizzle on the burner from the drops he didn’t catch in time.
He glanced at the clock. Six thirty-five. Too fucking early to be up. At least he could stand here in his boxers without worrying about Tiffany catching him. She wouldn’t be up for at least another four or five hours. God knew the kid needed the sleep. He’d heard her crying in the middle of the night and had gone in to comfort her. He’d sat beside her and stroked her hair for a good half hour before she finally fell back asleep. He yawned again.
Not that he had been sleeping anyway.
He shuffled over to the refrigerator and poured some half-and-half into his coffee, then tipped the sugar bowl over it. The first sip was heaven. Bombs could be exploding overhead, a plague of locusts could be swarming at his windows, but that first sip of coffee made it all okay. He took another couple of sips on his way to the front door to collect the Herald.
Was it too early to try Catherine? He ran his free hand over his head and yawned again. He’d called the last time at one in the morning, and she still wasn’t home. Or at least she wasn’t answering the phone. Each time he called his gut had told him she was with Ned, and each time he’d cursed and slammed down the receiver. It was a wonder the goddamn thing hadn’t busted apart. If only it had been Ned’s fucking head he was slamming.
Before they’d left St. Michaels she had assured him—and Robert and Pam, who were equally worried—there was no way she would spend time alone with Ned, but she had insisted on going back to Blair’s apartment to work on boxing up her things. Joe had pushed for her to come back to his house, but had settled for walking her into the apartment and checking it out before he agreed to leave her there alone. He did get her to promise to keep the door locked up tight and to call him if she got scared or lonely.
God help him if something had happened to her.
Oh, hell. He punched in her number. This time a sleepy voice came on the line. “Did you just get in?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too much like a worried parent, or worse, a pissed off lover. “I tried to call you a bunch of times last night.”
After a short pause she said, “Sorry. I guess, um, I didn’t hear it.”
There was something in her voice. Something she wasn’t saying. “I guess you were out for a while,” he said. When she didn’t answer right away he knew. “Please tell me you weren’t with Ned.”
After another long pause, she said, “Can I come by in a little while? I want to show you something.”
* * *
The cab dropped her off at his house just after eight o’clock, her hair still damp from the shower. He opened the door a second after she rang the bell and stood there, brows furrowed, obviously struggling to keep his mouth shut.
Well, she’d expected him to be upset. “Can I come inside?” she asked.
He stepped back and pulled the door open wider to let her pass. The TV was on in th
e other room, which meant Mike was up. She gazed up at Joe, freshly showered and smelling of peppermint toothpaste and felt the powerful tug of attraction. She wanted to be in his arms, but the memory of Ned’s words held her back. It bothers you that he’s in love with Suzannah, doesn’t it?
“How’s Tiffany?” she asked.
“Sleeping, I hope.”
“Did she have a rough night?”
“Yeah. We both did.” His voice was scratchy.
Catherine sighed. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk privately.” He glanced up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “Like the kitchen.”
When he’d put on the kettle for tea and they were both seated, Joe said, “You were with Ned, weren’t you?”
“Hear me out.”
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this. What do you see in him? How do you—”
She tugged on one arm until she had his attention. “I don’t see anything in him, and would you stop being such a drama queen and listen to me for once?”
His eyes went wide. “Did you call me a drama queen?”
She folded her arms on the edge of the table and leaned into them. “Give me some credit, okay? If I thought Ned would hurt me, I wouldn’t go anywhere near him.” When Joe would have spoken she said, “I may not be an FBI agent or a reporter, but my instincts aren’t completely useless. And I have more invested in finding out who killed my sister than either of you.”
Joe let out a long breath and sat back, one arm slung across the back of his chair and the other on the table. “Fine. So you decided to go see Ned.”
She leaned farther forward. “Robert’s right, Joe. It doesn’t make sense for him to keep seeing me—unless he’s a glutton for rejection—and yet he keeps calling.”
“We see that differently, but go on. Where did he take you?”
Oh, he wasn’t going to like this. “He cooked me dinner.”
Joe’s expression was almost funny he was so shocked. “At his house?”
“No, over a campfire. Yes, at his house, and before you go off, that’s the only reason I agreed to see him.”
Joe stood, grabbed the edges of the table and leaned in. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She reached into her pocket and slapped the key on the table. He glanced down at it, then back up into her face, then back down.
“What’s that?”
“His house key.”
He lowered himself slowly into his chair and picked it up. “Where did you get it?”
“At his house.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “He stuck it on a pass-through inside the door where there were a bunch of other keys.”
“And you lifted it?”
“Here’s the clever part,” she said, unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “On the way out we were both a little tipsy, and I sort of knocked a bunch of keys to the floor and then insisted on picking them up. So I slipped this one in my pocket.”
Joe stared at her. “And you don’t think he’ll miss it?”
“Eventually, but by then we’ll have gone in and out.”
He laid his forearms on the table and lowered his head slightly, like a bull getting ready to charge. “Catherine,” he said, and his patient tone irritated her before he spoke. “Ned has a state-of-the-art alarm system in that house. You might have the key but you’d get busted once you were inside, assuming it made any kind of sense to try. Which it doesn’t.”
“It deactivates the alarm system,” she said.
“What?”
She pointed at the key he was still holding, loving having the upper hand. “That key. It deactivates the alarm system so he doesn’t have to bother with a passcode. He used it when we got there, and when he didn’t go off to press any buttons I asked him why he didn’t have an alarm system.” She smiled. “And he told me.”
Joe stared at her, eyes wide in admiration, then back down at the key. “Holy shit.”
“Not bad, huh?”
Joe flipped the key over and over in his hand and seemed to come to a decision. “There’s a state dinner at the White House tomorrow night,” he said. “Ned will definitely be there.”
Excitement sparked inside her. “I imagine that will keep him out for a while.”
“Several hours,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joe checked his watch for the millionth time. Eleven o’clock. The kids and Catherine should be asleep now. Evie’s doctor had prescribed a light tranquilizer for Tiffany at Joe’s insistence. She had been waking up night after night, crying for her mother. The lack of sleep combined with her almost total loss of appetite had run her immune system into the ground. She had a sore throat and a fever and, as Joe had told the doctor, he’d be damned if he would watch Tiffany slip away like her mother. Maybe she did have an unconscious death wish, but giving her tranquilizers before bed and letting her eat whatever junk food made her feel good beat the hell out of her getting seriously ill.
He was still pissed off that Catherine had spent the evening before drinking so much wine with Ned Campbell that she crashed early with a hangover headache. The good news, of course, was that she was asleep in his bed. If he had anything to do with it, that was where she’d be every night from now on.
He pulled back the curtain to make sure the nondescript brown Nissan was still down the block. Robert had emailed Joe a password so he could verify that the retired FBI agent he’d hired to park outside the house was who he said he was. He had strolled out earlier and spoken to the guy and confirmed that the man was keeping a watchful eye for other nondescript cars parked near the house.
If he was going to do it, now was the time.
It took him twenty minutes to make it to Sadler’s house on Fifth Street in upper Northwest Washington, ten blocks east of Walter Reed Army Hospital. The detective’s phone number and address weren’t listed, but Joe had dug it up months ago, just in case. Joe knew pretty much anything there was to know about Sadler that was part of the public record. He sat outside the small brick colonial for a minute, checking the pattern of lights in the house. There was a light glowing on the second floor and several on the first floor. He was most likely awake. Joe sidestepped the walkway and headed around to the back.
Sadler was sitting in a recliner watching TV in what appeared to be a family room. Joe could see him perfectly, despite the vertical blinds covering the glass sliding doors off the deck. He knocked twice. Sadler grabbed the remote, switched it off and stood, holding his service revolver with both hands.
“Sadler,” Joe called. “It’s me. Joe Rossi.”
Fear transformed into relief and then anger. Sadler flipped the lock and slid the glass door open barely enough to stick his head through the opening.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said in a loud, angry whisper. “I could’ve shot your fucking head off. I told you I’d call you.”
Joe shrugged. “Once again, Will, you didn’t, and I’m tired of waiting. You going to let me in or what?” Sadler scanned the yard and street before sliding the door and letting Joe through, then scanned it one more time before he closed the doors. He struggled to close the vertical blinds.
“Damn things don’t close all the way,” he muttered. “Anyone could see in here.”
“Who are you afraid of?” Joe stood beside the recliner, his hands in his pockets. He nodded to the beer on the side table. “You going to offer me one of those?”
Sadler ran his fingers over his scar. “I might as well.” He limped into the kitchen, grabbed a Corona out of the refrigerator and held it out to Joe. “Let’s talk in the living room. You can’t see inside.” He flipped off the overhead light and switched on a small table lamp, then perched nervously on the edge of the sofa.
&nb
sp; Joe sat across from him. “Hurt your leg?” The fear in Sadler’s eyes made him snap, “What’s going on, Will? And don’t fuck with me. What do you have that you’re so anxious to get rid of?”
“I don’t have it here.” He held his hand up before Joe could speak. “But I can get to it easily. As soon as I’m sure the Herald is willing to come up with the cash.”
Yeah, right. Joe ground his teeth. “For what, goddamn it?”
Sadler wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The air-conditioning was on full blast. “I’ll get to that. It’s going to cost you. Information like this doesn’t come cheap.”
“Information like what?” Joe growled. “I told you not to fuck with me. What the hell is it?”
Sadler stared at him. “What’s got your bowels in an uproar?” He must have sensed Joe’s anger bubbling up because he backed down. “Okay, okay. It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the bottom line.” Still, he hesitated. “Someone contacted me at the end of November, right before Thanksgiving.”
Ah. Shortly after Joe’s first article about Blair’s high-powered lovers had come out. “Go on.”
Sadler nodded and mopped his forehead again. “They said they were going to get me reassigned to oversee the missing person investigation and that I needed to keep them informed about how the investigation was going. The men you named in that first big article in the Herald were raising holy hell.”
How well Joe remembered. He’d lost track of how many of them had threatened him with a lawsuit. Funny that not a single one went through with it.
“Let’s make a deal, they say. This is some embarrassing stuff Rossi’s putting out, we’ve got a situation in the Middle East that needs our full attention. What do you say we keep the press out of the loop for the time being?”
“So it was someone in the Wayland administration.” Joe’s heart was thumping in his chest. He had a strong suspicion who this person was, but he would be patient. For now.
