by Lisa Cardiff
“You’re right. And that’s exactly why I’m hanging up the phone. Don’t call me back. Ever.”
“Wait,” Brandon said, as I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Don’t hang up.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I yelled, not even bothering to press the phone against my ear.
“He knows.”
“Excuse me?” My hands shook like I desperately needed coffee. I couldn’t catch my breath. My stomach dropped to the floor. My blood roared in my ears. My vision swam. I was going to have a panic attack in the middle of Archer’s bathroom.
“Langley, he knows,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper.
“I don’t get it. How?” I bent over the countertop, staring at my crazed reflection in the mirror. My skin looked pasty. My eyes blinked wildly. My hair resembled a beehive.
“At first, I thought you told him—”
“I didn’t,” I interrupted. If I had my choice, I’d never confront my stepdad about the information in that email. In fact, if I could pay someone to scrub my mind of the event, I would seriously consider it. Reading those two paragraphs was toxic to my health. When I scanned the first sentence, I knew I should’ve stopped reading, but I didn’t listen to my gut. By the time I realized the depth of my stupidity, Brandon stood over my shoulder.
“I know.”
“Then how?”
“We can’t talk about this over the phone.”
“Do you want to come to my house later?”
“God no. Your house could be bugged.”
My lungs constricted momentarily. Then, my heart accelerated as though someone injected me with adrenaline. “You’re crazy,” I said, accompanied by a half-laugh that resembled a cough. Over the last ten years, my stepdad had done a lot of not so great stuff, but I wanted to believe I was immune from his scorch the earth philosophy.
“Meet me in front of the Lincoln Memorial in two hours. We’ll take a stroll and then part ways.”
I hesitated. I didn’t like the idea of being alone with Brandon, particularly after our last encounter. I couldn’t drag Winnie into this mess, and as much as I liked Archer, I wasn’t 100 percent certain I could trust him. Not because he was untrustworthy or bad, but because the information was too sensitive. Too explosive.
“Fine. I’ll meet you, but I can’t make it there until three.”
“Why?”
“I’m busy, and my life isn’t your business anymore.”
“You need to be careful who you trust.”
I raked my hands through my hair, tugging on the ends. “I know that. I’m not dumb. I may not live and breathe politics like you, but I have learned a thing or two over the last decade.”
“I’m just trying to protect you,” he answered, sounding relieved. He cleared his throat. “And I don’t trust that guy from the bar.”
“Archer?” I sat down on the rectangular, slotted teak bench outside the shower.
There was an awkward pause on the phone. “Yes, him.”
“You don’t know him,” I said absently, my imagination running wild with the implications of my stepfather knowing I read that email.
“I don’t, but something about him is familiar, and not in a good way.”
“Because he attended the fundraiser that night.”
“Maybe,” he answered, but he didn’t sound convinced. Either way, I couldn’t think about that right now. I had bigger things to worry about.
“I’ll see you at three.” I hung up the phone before he could say anything else to ruin the day that held so much promise less than twenty minutes ago.
Archer knocked on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Langley?”
The door handle rattled. Thank God I had locked the door. I couldn’t face him now.
“Yes.”
“The food is ready. Are you almost done?”
“Give me fifteen more minutes,” I answered, slipping my phone back into my purse and pressing the heel of my hand against the door. Thick white steam from the shower filled the bathroom, and I could no longer see my reflection in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” He shifted against the door.
“I’m fine.” Did my voice sound normal? I couldn’t be sure. Brandon warned me not to trust Archer, but I knew better than to trust anything Brandon said. Like everyone in Washington, Brandon had a self-serving agenda, but what about Archer? Did he have an ulterior motive? I didn’t know. I was falling for him, but I refused to allow my emotions to cloud my judgment. There was too much at stake.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Archer
“She’s hiding something,” I said the minute Knox sat down at the table. He had texted me this morning asking to meet me for coffee. After having a small taste of Langley, I had preferred to spend the day with her, making the most of every minute we had together, but Knox wouldn’t relent.
“Who?” Knox dropped a folder on the white round table.
“Langley. Who else?”
Knox raised one eyebrow and folded his arms across the planes of his checked shirt. “You’re hiding something too. It only seems appropriate. Don’t you think?”
“Sure.” I took a drawn out sip of my lukewarm coffee. “It’s certainly ironic, or something like that, but I need her to trust me if this is going to work. I need information.” Clearly, she was accustomed to handling her problems on her own, but I wanted her to feel comfortable confiding in me, and not just because I needed information.
“Trust takes time. You don’t trust her. Why should she trust you?” he said smoothly.
“Can you stifle your compulsion to be rational and listen to me?”
“When you grow up with a politician as skilled at masking his true intentions as Senator Wharton, a lot more than money and nepotism rub off on you.”
“She’s planning to meet Brandon today,” I confessed, and it felt like a confession because I almost didn’t want to share this information with Knox. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being complicit in or tainted by Senator Wharton’s mountain of lies. I shouldn’t care. The obstacles to us having a real relationship were varied and numerous on both of our sides. She just didn’t know any of that yet, but she would soon enough. Too bad my body didn’t give a fuck about any of that the second I came within a hundred feet of her.
After she fell asleep last night, I stared at the ceiling, searching for a loophole in the predetermined end of our relationship. I needed her in my life long enough to eliminate the clawing need to touch her and kiss her. Hours later, I still didn’t have a satisfactory solution.
“How do you know?”
I leaned back in my chair. “I overheard the end of their phone conversation this morning.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure, but she’s meeting him at three.”
Knox’s fingers glided along the screen of his phone. “I’ve got someone on it.”
I tapped my fingers on the top of the worn wood table.
“Could you hear anything else she said?” Knox asked.
“Not a lot. She was in the bathroom with the shower running.”
Knox rubbed his jaw. “Do you think she’s still involved with him?”
“No,” I answered automatically, even as anger and suspicion churned in my gut. Maybe she and Brandon were working together. When Brandon confronted her at the bar that night, both their comments were cryptic and vague, but anyone with ears could tell something wasn’t right. My desire for her had obliterated my common sense. “Dammit. I don’t know.”
“Well, I guess all we can do is wait and see how this unfolds, unless…” His voice trailed off.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want to forget this whole thing and bury the past once and for all.”
I stood up and smiled grimly. “I wish it were that simple, but I can’t do it. He ruined my life and our mom’s life.”
Knox shook his head. “He didn’t ruin your life. Your childhood, yes, but not your life. And mom…
she made bad decisions before and after she met him. He contributed to her downfall, but she had a hand in it too. A big hand.”
He was right. We both knew it, but she had never admitted it. She blamed everyone but herself for her problems. Self-reflection wasn’t her thing. “Do you think he had anything to do with her death?” It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed my mind, but I’d never given voice to my suspicion before. My gut had guided me through plenty of ugly moments. Whether it was abuse by another one of my mom’s drunken boyfriends or making the right investment, I relied on my intuition to point me in the right direction. From the day I learned she killed herself, I had a hard time believing the facts presented by the police.
He shifted in his seat. “The police ruled her death a suicide,” he said, but I heard a note of disbelief in his voice.
My mind reeled as I gazed out the window of the coffee shop. The sidewalk was thick with people. A couple of children darted ahead of their mom, laughing. A man gestured wildly while he yelled into his phone.
“I don’t believe it. I never have,” I said after a moment. “She finally started putting her life together, and she wasn’t drinking anymore. She found a job. It doesn’t make sense that she’d do all that work just to put a bullet in her brain two months later.”
He twisted his coffee cup on the table. “No, it doesn’t, but I haven’t found any clear and convincing evidence to the contrary.” His voice was measured, calm even.
My stomach lurched into my throat, choking me. “But you suspect something, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said.
Knox was a natural strategist with a criminal attorney’s affinity for investigation. Since we were kids, he loved dismantling lies and half-truths—sometimes with investigative work, sometimes with Machiavellian planning—which explained his first career as an intelligence officer in the navy. To this day, he hadn’t changed. If evidence existed suggesting foul play in our mother’s death, he’d find it.
“And you still think we should stop digging into Senator Wharton’s life?”
Knox stood up and braced his hands on the table. “It’d be the safest thing to do, but neither of us ever take the easy way out.”
I smiled. “So why start now?”
“My sentiments exactly. I’ll have our team look through Langley’s home while she’s out with Brandon.”
“Make sure they put everything back in order. I don’t want her to suspect anything.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And make sure Senator Wharton’s team doesn’t catch them in the act.”
Knox smirked. “It shouldn’t be a problem. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“I know.”
He glanced at his watch as though he had somewhere to go, and he probably did. He worked for Black Investments in security, but I didn’t have any illusions that it was his only gig. I didn’t ask him for particulars anymore. Based on his tight-lipped responses, I assumed he still did contract work for the government in an unofficial capacity, but he never shared the details, probably because he couldn’t.
“I have another meeting. If it works for you, I’ll touch base tonight with more information.”
“Of course.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Langley
Wind whipped hair around my face as I crossed Lincoln Memorial Circle and approached the steps in front of the monument. Wrapped in a long, black overcoat, Brandon stood on one of the steps in front of me. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and jogged down the stairs to meet me.
“Let’s circle the reflection pool.” He pressed his hand into my back, guiding me back across Lincoln Memorial.
“Fine.” I quickened my pace, and his hand slipped from my back. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, cutting to the point of our meeting. I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in his company.
“Last week I was going through some files.”
“Yeah?” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my cream jacket.
Brandon glanced over his shoulder. “Wait. Before we discuss this, I need to look at your phone.”
I stopped walking. “No.”
“Just let me see it. I think Senator Wharton is monitoring your calls.”
I slid the phone out of my pocket and scanned the front and back. “Looks fine to me.”
Brandon snatched it out of my hand. “Does the battery drain quickly?”
“Lately, yes, but I’m due for an upgrade.”
He removed the gray hard-shelled cover from my phone and dismantled the battery. “The battery is hot to the touch.”
“So what?” I said, holding out my hand.
“So, he has someone monitoring your phone. Mine too.” He dropped the pieces of my phone into my open hand. “Keep the battery out of it until you can buy a new phone. Change your number too.”
“Why?”
“You’ll be harder to track.”
“I can’t keep my phone number secret from my family.” I put my hands on my hips. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Brandon threaded his fingers through his blond hair. “Remember how Senator Wharton asked me to research those ten women?”
I tipped my head toward the sky, letting the late afternoon sunshine wash over my face. “I remember.”
He nodded. “As you gathered from that email, Senator Wharton had an intimate relationship with every one of them at some point in the last thirty years.”
“Right. You said as much six months ago,” I snapped. “He wanted you to convince them to sign a nondisclosure agreement in exchange for money as a preventative measure before he announced his plan to run for president.”
He rubbed his hands together in front of his chest. “Only seven of the ten signed the agreement.”
“Obviously he did something to convince the remaining three to be quiet. He plans to announce his candidacy next week. He wouldn’t do that if there were any loose ends.”
“The three holdouts are dead.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “Did they die recently?”
“All of them died within a week of their refusal to sign the agreement.”
My stomach flipped. “Surely, it’s a coincidence,” I said, but knee-jerk emotion rather than logic caused me to utter those words.
Brandon shrugged. “All three deaths were ruled suicides if that makes you feel any better.”
I nodded absently, staring at trees as the wind rattled their bare branches. They seemed more sinister than a minute earlier. “It wouldn’t make sense to kill those women. Lots of politicians have affairs. It’s not as big of a deal as it was ten or fifteen years ago. He wasn’t married during all of them either.”
Brandon kicked a pebble off the sidewalk into the reflection pool. “You’re right, but the circumstances of Senator Wharton’s affairs are slightly different.”
“How so?”
“All of his affairs occurred when the women were under the age of eighteen. They were highly paid escorts.”
“What?” I whispered, the word ringing unnaturally in my ears. “I don’t understand.”
“Gerald Whittaker. Does the name sound familiar?”
“Yes. He’s the self-made billionaire the FBI arrested last month, but I haven’t followed the story closely. I don’t know any details.”
“Nobody does. Well, not yet anyway, but maybe never if Senator Wharton gets his way.” Brandon shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.
“What am I missing?”
“Gerald has been so successful because he does favors for important people.”
“What kind of favors?”
“He provides things they can’t seek out themselves.”
“Like?”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder. “Investigators claim Gerald trafficked and traded sexual favors from several bought-and-paid-for underage females, some of them as young as twelve, and loaned them out to his friends and corrupt politicians.”
My eyebrows knitted together. “Wh
at does he get out of it?”
“Power. The ability to extract favors from these people at a later date in the form of votes, favorable land deals, and other things.”
My mouth dropped open. Could people really be so stupid? They had to realize they stepped into a trap. “Like blackmail?”
Brandon rubbed his hands over his face. “Exactly like that.”
I couldn’t say anything. My lips froze even as my mind whirled with the implications of Brandon’s disclosure.
Six months ago, I thought Brandon and my stepdad wanted to cover his extramarital affairs both during his current marriage and with his first wife. I ended our relationship because Brandon was complicit in harboring lies that kept my mom in the dark and effectively chained her to my stepdad.
I couldn’t fathom how he sat at the dinner table with us every Sunday and chatted with my mom while maintaining a straight face. Maybe my mom wouldn’t end her marriage. After all, she craved the power too, but at least she had the ability to make an intelligent choice.
I rubbed my temples. “And Gerald Whittaker apparently had something to do with the ten women connected to Senator Wharton?”
Brandon rocked back on his heels. “From what I’ve gathered, he introduced Senator Wharton to all of those women. From murmurings on the Hill, Whittaker kept evidence of the encounters as insurance. Pictures. Videos. The FBI uncovered some evidence from his computer, but the case is moving slowly. Probably because the evidence will rock more than one politician’s career.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Senator Wharton and many other people are anxious for this information to disappear, and you have information you shouldn’t.”
“Until this moment, I didn’t know much. I saw a list of women’s names, most of which I don’t remember. I didn’t even finish reading the email. Thomas wanted them to sign something agreeing to keep their relationships secret.” I shrugged. “Big deal.” I didn’t add that I printed a copy of the email and hid it in my coat pocket before I left. I couldn’t explain why I did it. I haven’t looked at it since that day, except to hide it in a box in my closet, but for some reason I thought I might need it in the future. Evidently, I made the right decision.
