Wicked Sin

by Ainsley Booth

  “A personal request, not related to the thing that…happened.”

  I hesitate, but it’s not my place to tell her she can’t have a conversation with a friend. Even a hacker friend.

  Nodding, I step into the hall and check my messages for what feels like the fiftieth time in the last twenty-four hours.

  I need a shower and a break from my phone, but both of those things are probably on the far side of a flight back to the west coast.

  Nothing new from L.A., so I start to make some free form notes on what I’ve learned so far. More complicated than it all looks is the punch line. An incestuous world where people are horrible to each other and get away with it because of power and privilege.

  Not that different from Hollywood.

  Just colder in the winter and more humid in the summer.

  “I’m ready,” Taylor announces.

  I turn around and take her in. She looks tired. “What’s next?”

  Her mouth pinches in, uncomfortably. This is a new side to her. “We should go see my mother, I suppose.”

  “Sounds good.” It doesn’t. It sounds bad. I need to make a decision, fast, about how I can leave Taylor alone and do this next round of investigating on my own.

  But it proves a moot point.

  When we get back to the car, I put a call in to Kendra Browning, and she tells me as a matter of fact, Amelia Dashford Reid lawyered up earlier today. They were working on an immunity deal with the FBI, and there wouldn’t be any questioning her without her attorneys for any reason—not unless I went through the proper channels.

  When I hang up, we sit in the quiet of the car interior for a moment.

  “So, hypothetically speaking,” I finally start. “If your mother wanted to scare you into keeping her secrets, how would she arrange for a bomb to be planted in your car?”

  Taylor doesn’t say anything.

  Of course she doesn’t. I’m a monster who just suggested her mother is a monster. An extra-monster. It appears the monster-status was already known.

  “Does she have associates?”

  “She must.” A whisper.

  “It might be time to make that list of other people who would have a reason to hurt you,” I say quietly. “Because right now…”

  “She’s the most obvious suspect. I get that.” She takes a deep breath. “What I told you yesterday about not wanting to cover for my father? It goes doubly for my mother. There’s no love lost there.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that. I grew up in chaos. I grew up scared. I don’t know what it would be like to not be terrified that my life is going to crumble, any second, and probably by my own doing.”

  “This was not your own doing.”

  “No?” She turns and looks out the window. “Everything is connected, Detective. I got off relatively easy when I left here three years ago. Did my damage and ran.”

  “Tell me about that damage.”

  She makes a face. “Can we go and get some lunch first? I mean, it’s going to take a while to walk you through it all.”

  I laugh. “Sure. How does takeout sound?”

  “Probably revolting. Unless you don’t mind salad, because I know a place.”

  That’s more like it. I put the car in gear and steer into traffic once again.

  She gives me directions to spot in Georgetown, where I run in and get her a custom order she rhymes off from memory. I get myself a chicken Caesar salad. Then we drive to a gravel parking lot along the Potomac, which spills out into a wide green space overlooking a boat dock.

  “This is nice,” I say.

  “Nice enough to distract you from wanting to know all the…”

  “Sordid details? Sadly, no.”

  “Damn.” She picks at her salad. Then she takes a deep breath. “I came here once on a date.”

  I wait. She could be killing time, but I don’t think so.

  “That’s what he called it. That’s what my mother called it. I was sixteen, and he was a senator. We came here and went for a walk, which sounds perfectly normal—” She cuts herself off.

  Because no, it really doesn’t. My neck is getting hot already, and she’s barely begun.

  “Seemed more normal to me. I liked him more than the others.”

  The others. Lunch was a mistake. But Taylor keeps picking away at her salad, hunting for the blueberries.

  “He was the first one I got dirt on, though. The others…they were warm-ups. A test, to see just how pliable I could be.”

  “How young were you when…”

  “Fourteen. My mother caught me with a boy. I don’t know what that conversation should have gone like, but it didn’t resemble anything like I’d seen on TV or read in a book. It was… I knew it was weird. She seemed proud of me. She said—and I’ll never forget this—‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be like me. But I’m glad you are. It’ll take you far.’ And I still don’t know what she meant by that, because it hasn’t.”

  “Cole told me that she’s involved in high-level politics.”

  “Is that how he put it?” Her lips twist into an ugly, sad frown. “She inherited a seat at the most powerful table in the world. Well, inherited isn’t quite the right word, because her father is still alive. But he groomed her for it, and I think she would have groomed me for it, too, if I hadn’t fucked everything up.”

  The Blow Job Princess.

  “What did you do?”

  “You know.” She laughs, sharp and hollow. A familiar sound already, after barely a day. “Everyone knows. You asked me about it so politely, like I’d accidentally slept with a powerful man, and oops, did his wife maybe resents me for that. There was no accident there. And if she does, so be it, because it was my out and I took it.”

  It’s shockingly callous and painfully real at the same time. “That was…”

  “My cruel and desperate attempt to destroy my future reputation. Yes.”

  I stare out at the river, then down to my salad, and finally back at her. The weird day has gotten weirder. “Well,” I finally say. “It seems to have worked.”

  She makes a rueful face. “Yeah.”

  “I’m not really sure how I take this back to the captain as motive for attempted murder.”

  “I remember the first time I told my therapist in Los Angeles about all of this. She’d seen it play out on television and still couldn’t believe it. So… I don’t expect anyone to be held accountable for the car bomb if it was my mother.”

  “Or your grandfather?”

  “He’s not…” She drifts off, then stabs a big forkful of salad and eats it. “My grandfather is an alcoholic. No excuse for his behavior, but he’s pretty incapable of making grand plans. Or any plan other than getting to mid-afternoon. I think he and my mother are locked in a mutually-assured destruction routine that’s more depraved than I ever want to say out loud.”

  I’m starting to put the picture together. “Did he ever abuse you?”

  “No. He was never interested in me like that. Her? Yes. They still have an inappropriate relationship. But I wasn’t his type. Thank God for that. So I was just farmed out to his friends and business acquaintances.”

  My phone vibrates, interrupting us. Then it goes again, and she waves her fork at my hip. “Answer it if it’s important. Have we dealt with enough heavy stuff for now?”

  More than enough, and probably not nearly enough at the same time. I pull it out and chuckle as I read the screen. “Huh. It’s your sister.”

  She jerks her head back in surprise. “Hailey?”

  “No.” I turn the screen around she can read it. “Your family moves fast.”

  I watch as she reads the messages. Both of them.

  Alison: OMG, this is Taylor’s sister Ali! Her phone isn’t on, and Cole gave me this number. Can you please tell her to call me ASAP?

  Alison: Also whoever you are, you better take good care of her or I will find you.

  Her eyes go wide.


  I clear my throat. “Just to be clear, is she threatening a police officer?”

  Taylor shakes her head, and then hesitates. “Only in the most literal sense.”

  “That’s the worst sense.” I grin.

  Taylor smiles too, and that’s nice to see. “She’s harmless.”

  “I don’t think that’s true for any of you. Do you want me to send her a message back?”

  “Can you tell her to fly here and rescue me from your evil clutches?”

  “No.”

  “Then, in that case, send her a picture of me, so she knows I’m really fine.”

  I take her photo, then text it back.

  Luke: Message received. Taylor is fine.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m fine.” She’s reading it over my shoulder, which I should discourage—but she can’t see my other messages. But she just unloaded a lot of personal stuff, and after wanting to see Hailey and being rebuffed, this is a small comfort.

  “In the literal sense?”

  She giggles softly. “Fine. But Ali will know that’s not my language.”

  That’s just too bad. I change the subject. “Where does she live?”

  “San Francisco. It’s nice to be on the same coast—and away from our family.”

  “She’s younger?”

  “The youngest, yeah. She’s married, too. And way smarter than me.”

  “You’re smart.”

  She stands up and packs away the last of her salad. “Shut up.”

  I follow her, dumping my container in a garbage bin on the way. “Take the compliment, Reid.”

  She twists around, shooting me a weird look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m only programmed to accept compliments on my tits and ass.”

  The latter is right in front of me, and it’s not appropriate for me to notice in the least. “I’m not going there.”

  She stops, turns, and puts her hands on her hips. “You don’t like my tits?”

  “Stop goading me just because you can’t take a real compliment.”

  One corner of her mouth twists up. “Damn it, Detective Vasquez, why are you not more easily manipulated?”

  “Years of training.”

  But I’m not the only one who’s had years of training, and only a couple of years of de-programming. I can’t be too rough with her.

  Taylor Dashford Reid is a fucking survivor, but she’s been through hell.

  “Come on, Princess. Let’s see if we can get on an earlier flight back to the west coast, and find you a safe place to stay for the next few days.”

  12

  Taylor

  Luke’s phone goes off just as we arrive at the airport. He ignores it until he’s returned the rental car, although it keeps vibrating.

  I’m hoping it’s more snarkiness from my little sister, but the way his face goes tight, his whole body tensing, I know it’s not.

  My stomach drops.

  He curls his hand around my upper arm and propels me toward the terminal. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you on the other side of security.”

  “What?” Panic rises in my chest, fast and furious. “Luke?”

  “You’re okay. Breathe.” He’s moving fast now, cutting across a lane of traffic. We dart past the minivan unloading passengers, then through the sliding doors and into the terminal. “There’s the airline counter, come on.”

  He ignores the regular line and takes the empty queue for people who have rewards cards. That’s the queue I would usually take, except that none of my cards currently work.

  At the desk, he flashes his badge and slides his credit card across the counter. “Your next two tickets to L.A.”

  “I’ll need ID from both of you,” the clerk drones, like this is no big deal.

  Maybe it’s not. I dig out my wallet and hand over my driver’s license.

  Luke isn’t even looking around, but he’s aware. He’s listening, he’s thinking. As soon as she prints the tickets, he grabs my hand and drags me to security, flashing his badge again to get around the line.

  I take off my shoes. While Luke is ducked down, doing the same, I surreptitiously check the pager Wilson gave me that I stashed in my bag when Luke went to get salads. No message there. Whatever has happened, he doesn’t know about it.

  Was it a mistake to trust him? Every fiber of my being tells me he wouldn’t do anything, and yet…

  Maybe I should get rid of the pager.

  On the other hand, it may be the only heads up I get if everything goes sideways.

  Resolutely, I zip up my bag and put it on the conveyor belt. Then I walk through the metal detector.

  On the other side, I turn and watch Luke follow. His face is still tight.

  “What’s going on?” I demand once we’ve collected our belongings.

  He leads me to a private corner then looks me right in the eye. “There was a threat. A letter. It was pinned to the front door of the safe house the FBI had picked out for you.”

  The bottom of my stomach falls out, and I want to collapse. I can feel my insides twisting like I might puke, but I press my hands against my chest, my mouth, willing myself to keep it together.

  No.

  “What kind of threat?”

  He doesn’t waver. Doesn’t look away. “If you don’t come back to the fold, things will only get worse. I don’t want to hurt you, Taylor, but this has to stop. Do you know what means?”

  My brain screams. It’s primal and silent and awful. No, I have no idea what that means. But I have my fears, and they’re worse than I ever could have imagined.

  Everything I did was for nothing.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten. Then twenty when my pulse doesn’t come back down.

  “Taylor,” Luke murmurs. “It’s okay. We’re safe. We’re going to get on a plane and get back to L.A. in one piece. I promise. And at the other end, we’re going to have a police escort.”

  What good is a police escort when the enemy is invisible and two steps ahead of you, though?

  13

  Luke

  Los Angeles

  As she did on the way to Washington, Taylor sleeps on the flight back.

  Not me.

  I spend the next five hours watching in horror, via text message, as the FBI takes over a case they don’t fucking deserve because they’ve clearly fucked this up since it was their fucking safe house that got leaked.

  Woods: They have given me their assurances she will be safe.

  Luke: I need to go on record stating that I don’t believe that to be true.

  Woods: I hear that. Get her back, and we’ll figure it out.

  I’m not sure what there is to figure out. I’m not handing her over to the Feds. Not after all I saw today in D.C.

  Her tense relationship with Cole Parker.

  Her middle sister’s refusal to see her.

  The accusation that she knows all sorts of things about her mother, and the way she reacted when Parker said that.

  I’ll need to debrief that carefully to the FBI, though, because they’ll have the resources to question everyone involved, including Amelia Dashford Reid.

  They can question her about it while she’s trying to flip on the financial crimes charges.

  They can take the case.

  But they can’t take my witness.

  When we land, Agent Ferdinand is waiting at the gate. With a flash of his badge, we’re taken out a back exit to a car waiting on the tarmac. Another generic sedan is right behind it.

  Armed to the max, but almost certainly without a plan.

  “I’d like a chance to debrief with your team before you whisk her off to parts unknown.” I give him a tight smile. “Compare notes, so you’ve got a complete picture of what’s going on.”

  “We can do that as we drive,” Ferdinand says. He shows me a copy of the note left at the safe house. “We’ve shared this with your team already.”

  It’s not an agreement, and my
internal warning flags go way up.

  I don’t need to look at Taylor to know that she’s on guard, too.

  “Is it time I speak to my attorney?” She’s staring past the car, at an airplane taxiing. She sounds bored. “This is all a bit…I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. Definitely time for legal counsel. Don’t you agree, Agent Ferdinand?” She turns her gaze to him and flicks her eyelids.

  I didn’t even know that was a thing that could be done, but I just saw it happen.

  Imperious to the max.

  Obnoxious to the max, too.

  It works, though.

  He sighs and opens the door for her. “To the station we go, then.”

  I go around to the other side and get in behind the driver. Ferdinand takes the front passenger seat and off we go with the other car trailing behind us.

  I give the captain a heads up that we’re coming in, but I don’t go into any details. I don’t tell her that Taylor is demanding to see a lawyer who I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist. I don’t need a paper trail on what might go down. It needs to be spontaneous.

  Taylor doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge anyone in the car for the agonizing drive from the airport to the northeast part of the city. Maybe she’s on the same page.

  Maybe she’ll turn that imperious, obnoxious gaze on me next.

  Who the fuck knows.

  As she says, all of this is definitely beyond my pay grade. But I don’t care. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.

  We pull into the underground garage and exit the car, the FBI agents flanking Taylor as she stalks ahead of me. Her purse is slung over her shoulder, but her suitcase has been abandoned in the car behind us.

  That’s not ideal.

  Suddenly she stops and turns. “Can someone please bring my bag?” She looks somewhere above the head of Ferdinand, not giving him any space to say no. “I need to freshen up.”

  In the next moment, Ram Singh appears at the stairwell, holding the door open, and Ms. Reid keeps going as if she knows this station like the back of her hand.