Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  Forget Avery. Christiana should’ve been studying Sarah and Yvette. She’d never experienced such subtle control.

  “Are you all going to stand out there yacking all day, or are you coming inside?” Judge Churchill’s voice boomed from the open front door atop the wide front stairs.

  Peter strode forward and placed his foot on the bottom step. He turned to Jonathan. “We’re all going in, Congressman.”

  Christiana followed her father, Jonathan, Mark, Yvette, and Sarah into the massive marble hallway to face the Judge, now encircled in his wife’s arms. Coco fit well in the ornate circular entranceway. She stood like part of the artwork—beautiful, statuesque, and immutable.

  “Well, we’re here,” the Judge said.

  “What? No sit-down in the front parlor?” Jonathan asked.

  “Say what you need to say, and then we’ll all go our separate ways.”

  “Mrs. Churchill, is Avery here? Last time she called . . . I mean, is she okay?” Christiana asked.

  “No,” the Judge answered. Christiana wasn’t sure which question the Judge had answered, but Coco’s smile sent a silent thank you for asking.

  The Judge’s eyes grew colder. “So you’ve come to give me your answer, Congressman?”

  “Yes. The answer is ‘no.’ No more deals, no more lies. We’ve had enough of those.” Jonathan shot a look at Christiana. “I’m sorry for what you’re about to hear, Christiana. And probably you, as well, Peter.” He lifted his chin toward her father.

  Jonathan stepped toward the Judge. “I’m not about to drop charges against Avery. I won’t be bullied into justice not being served. I don’t care what you do to me.”

  “What?” Avery. A hard, emotionless cloud descended, and Christiana’s body filled with a cold, dark rage like plaster of paris.

  The Judge’s cocksure posture hardened. “Your proof is thin, Congressman.”

  “Judge, your daughter will rot in a jail cell surrounded by—”

  “Enough of the theatrics. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “You have no idea what I’m willing to do.” A crimson stain spread up Jonathan’s neck, and he widened his stance.

  Coco’s chest anxiously rose and fell. Christiana faced the mother of the woman who had shot her beloved. An unspoken understanding passed between them that the conversation wasn’t headed in a downward spiral. They headed to war.

  Her father hadn’t been a good father. But she hadn’t realized until that moment he was a stellar teacher. Think forward.

  She concentrated on the sunlight streaming between the Churchills and her family—yes, Jonathan, Mark, and even Yvette and Sarah were now her family. Her battle plan shuffled and rearranged in seconds. Avery may have started this battle, but Christiana knew how to win the war.

  Jonathan’s voice, normally full of conviction and power, adopted a deadly edge. “Judge, Mrs. Churchill. Get ready—”

  Christiana clutched his suit jacket. “No, Jonathan. I have something to say.”

  She almost smiled at the punishing look he gave her for speaking his least favorite word: no. A small tickle licked at her nether regions. She clamped down her lust that rose under his steely stance.

  The Judge disregarded the fact Christiana spoke. “You can say all you want, Congressman. I’m blowing the lid off your practices.”

  Christiana straightened. “I don’t think so, Judge.”

  “Oh, really? Perhaps your father would like to know what you and the Congressman do in the dark?”

  “It wasn’t always in the dark.” The stunning quiet fed her resolve. She held the floor. She also knew it wouldn’t last.

  “It’s none of my business,” her father interjected into the stillness. The shocked look on Jonathan’s face probably matched her own—and the Judge’s. Leave it to her father to understand the power of not being attached to whether information was revealed or not. “Christiana is a grown woman who makes her own choices. She’s of legal age.”

  “You won’t feel the same when you hear what I have to say.”

  “Judge, you should listen to me first before you say another word. For your own sake.” Christiana walked two steps forward. She lifted the strand of pearls hanging low on her nervous belly. “Do you recognize these? They were my mother’s.” The Judge’s face registered she’d hit a nerve. Naturally, he recovered in seconds.

  Coco’s face dropped. “Marcus.”

  “Little girl, I’m wholly disinterested in whatever you have to say. I am sure you’re an innocent in this unseemly affair. But, know this. If you continue, you’ll be treated as the adult you pretend to be.” The Judge put his hand over Coco’s, which still rested on his wide chest.

  “Judge, you’ll listen to her. The question is, do you want to do it now, or hear it on national television tonight?” Peter’s voice rang out as if addressing a press conference. Christiana saw for the first time his true gift—the ability to steer a conversation to the real story at hand.

  The Judge turned to her father. “Get out of my house. I don’t recall inviting a reporter. Besides, you know as much as I that fear makes people say the stupidest things.”

  “I’m not afraid of you. But you should be afraid of me. There’s nothing like a young woman to go on national television, courtesy of my father’s help of course, to explain how the Churchills wouldn’t let her mother out of a mental institution. It’s part of a new series on the mental health atrocities committed by the legal system.” Christiana had made her voice low and even, pretending she spoke like Jonathan.

  “A story no one would believe—or care about,” the Judge said.

  Christiana’s father stepped forward. “Oh, they will when I publish the love letters you wrote her, including the one that threatened no man would have her but you, even if it meant—let me get the exact words right—locking her in an ivory tower and throwing away the key. Rather clichéd, but I can roll with it.”

  The Judge sniffed. “Not exactly hard evidence that I had anything to do with Alexandra’s unfortunate demise.”

  Christiana watched her father’s nostril’s flare.

  “Breathe,” Mark whispered.

  She obeyed.

  “The fact your signature is all over her restraining papers is an added touch.” Yvette’s silky voice filled the space, and for a moment cooled the room. She placed a diamond-studded hand to her heart. “I don’t know how you people get away with such things,” she continued. “Let me see, and I quote, ‘If the court or jury finds that the person is mentally ill and, because of that illness, is likely to injure himself or other persons if allowed to remain at liberty, the court may order his hospitalization for an indeterminate period, or order any other alternative course of treatment which the court believes will be in the best interests of the person or of the public.’ End quote. Alexandra’s depression didn’t fall into that category, I’m afraid.”

  Yvette turned to Christiana. “Arniss talked in his sleep. It was the most interesting thing he did in our bed.” She winked a long set of eyelashes.

  Christiana clamped her lips shut, knowing her mother probably did fit the description so eloquently recited by Yvette. But, only three people knew the truth, and one of them had killed herself over it. Christiana bit her tongue. Raising her mother’s reality now would only destroy more lives.

  “So this is how it’s going to go, Judge,” Jonathan said. “You will leave Christiana, the Snows, Yvette, my family and anyone else I deem, now or in the future, alone. You will not talk about me to anyone regarding me personal life, ever. And as for you daughter, we will let the investigators discover what they will, and justice will be served as the district attorney states.”

  Coco turned her face, wrought with anxiety, toward her husband, as his cheeks turned a mottled shade of red.

  “Wait! I have a counter offer,” Christiana said. “Jonathan, I need you to do something for me.”

  For her whole life, Christiana had felt one step behind everyone else. Fo
r once, she felt ahead. There was only one way out of the scenario Avery caused. She’d have to do something no one else in the room seemed willing to do.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathan asked.

  The Judge snorted. “You’re going to lose your seat.”

  “Stow it, Judge.” Jonathan didn’t take his eyes off her face.

  Christiana ignored the Judge’s imposing figure to her left, his neck muscles still bulging in anger. “I want you to tell the police to drop charges against Avery, I mean, tell them no matter who they find, you won’t prosecute.” She spoke loudly, just in case her voice didn’t bounce enough off the marbled room.

  “Christiana—”

  “No, please. I know what it’s like to be lost. To feel that kind of desperation inside, when you want something . . . someone so badly. When you’re just hanging on.”

  His face rivaled the Judge’s. “Avery Churchill grew up in one of the most privileged families in Washington. She had everything.”

  “And she still has nothing.” The Judge stood in her peripheral vision, and she sensed his stance loosened. Perhaps he recognized Christiana as an ally to lobby for Avery’s release. But Christiana’s instincts screamed she had speared the truth, lifted it to his eyes, and he now wrestled with his part in the mess. The realization wouldn’t last long. The urge to be right ran deep in someone who spent his life judging and doling out answers and punishments.

  “Jonathan, the truth is, I would have stepped in front of that bullet for you if I could have. But I’m here now, and I want to make sure we have a future. Knowing Avery is in jail may feel good for a little while. But, I know you. In the end, you’ll feel guilty that she didn’t get what she really needed.”

  “And what’s that?” Sarah finally spoke.

  “Help.” Christiana threw the word directly at Coco, who looked like she held back a sob. All motion and fidgeting in the room stopped, as if everyone waited for her to repeat the word. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I saw the signs. I didn’t do anything. I was so wrapped up in you.” She turned to face Jonathan on her last word. “Avery needs help. Neither of our mothers got what they needed and that meant we didn’t either. Now this might be the chance.”

  “Pulling the mother card, are you?” Jonathan’s eyes glistened with emotion.

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t want to get a good punch in before they lock the door behind her, but I’m willing to let that go if you are. Forgive her. I will.”

  A stifled choke from Coco Churchill broke her gaze. Christiana kept her hand on Jonathan’s chest, but turned her head to the Judge and his wife whose eyes stayed locked on Christiana.

  “I’ll need you to promise that you won’t do anything about this,” Christiana said to them. “No leaking rumors—”

  “You mean the truth,” the Judge said.

  “Yes,” Christiana knew the time for denying their relationship—all of it—had passed. “But I need to know I have your word, Judge.”

  “You’re just a footnote in his long history of womanizing, little girl.”

  Peter stepped forward. “That’s calling the kettle black.”

  The Judge’s nostrils flared. “Bullshit. I’ve never done—”

  “Sure you haven’t, Judge. But remember. I have a feeling your word won’t count for much after I start my series of profiles on federal judges in the nation’s capital.”

  Coco dropped her arms from her husband and stepped forward. “Enough.” She turned to Jonathan and Christiana. “I’ll give you something better than his word. Mine.”

  “Marcella.”

  “No, Marcus. This is the way it’s going to be.” Coco smoothed down the front of her peach jacket. “No charges will be brought against our daughter. The D.A.’s a friend. Avery leaves tomorrow for St. Margaret’s. You will never speak of the Brond and Snow families again, to anyone. Not ever. And we go on with our lives. All of us.”

  The Judge picked up her hand and caressed her knuckles. It was the single most intimate thing Christiana had ever seen the Judge do. He raised Coco’s hand to his lips, and she gave him a slight smile.

  At that moment, Christiana realized that she—all of them—had misjudged the real power in the room.

  “You should’ve let me get one punch in,” her father said to the back of Mark’s head as he descended the two marble steps leading to the limestone drive.

  Mark didn’t respond, but Jonathan turned to face her father. “I know the feeling.”

  Christiana noticed Jonathan stood on the lower step, so her father looked down at him.

  Jonathan took a deep breath. “Listen, I realize the Judge said some things back there, things that you might be curious about.”

  “I don’t want to know.” Her father held up his hand. “I’m getting used to the fact my little girl here has a boyfriend. That’s all I can handle right now. Besides, Christiana is far beyond her years.” His eyes washed her in love, then turned to Jonathan. “But, know this, Congressman—”

  “You have permission to kill me if I hurt her.” Jonathan extended his hand.

  Her father nodded his head and then reached for Jonathan’s grip. “It must have been hard to give up your seat.”

  “It wasn’t, actually.” Jonathan turned his eyes to Christiana. “Giving you up would have been hard.”

  “Then don’t,” she said quietly.

  “I have no intention of giving you up, lovely.”

  Christiana took his hand and studied his face. She’d spent so much time lost in his gaze, she’d memorized nearly every flicker of gold swimming in all that emerald. But she momentarily froze, seeing a new emotion flash across his beautiful eyes.

  In her periphery, her father’s attention descended on her, lightly, protectively. He bumped her shoulder, encouraging them to descend down the steps.

  “Well, don’t forget to get this little I’ll-keep-my-mouth-shut deal in writing, Congressman,” her father said. “I wouldn’t put it past the Judge to find a loop hole.”

  “Paperwork is already being prepared, Peter.” Jonathan squeezed Christiana’s hand, as the two men descended side by side, silent and slow.

  Christiana rubbed her neck. The tense scene should have catapulted her into a history-making migraine. Instead, she bounced down the final step and across the drive, her hand encased in Jonathan’s larger one.

  The gravel crunched under their footsteps as they walked toward Jonathan’s SUV. Mark sat in the driver’s seat, gazing over the hood.

  Her lungs expanded, taking in the rose and lavender scents from the Churchill’s front garden. She wondered if Avery had ever noticed how much beauty surrounded her. “What’s St. Margaret’s?” Christiana asked as they neared Jonathan’s idling car.

  “A mental institution,” her father said slowly.

  Jonathan pulled her closer. “An exclusive one. She’ll be fine. In your words, she’ll be helped.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch, gentle and grounding, spoke more than his words.

  Though he stood as tall and confidence as ever, the last week’s events etched his brow, and his left shoulder slumped forward in the sling. Her protective instincts flashed hard and fast at seeing him wounded.

  “Jonathan, I have one last question. For you,” she said.

  He smiled. “Now that we’ve got you talking, you have a lot to say. Okay, go ahead.”

  “Congressman Jonathan Franklin Brond from Rhode Island, do you like being a member of Congress?”

  “You know, no one’s ever asked me that before.”

  “It’s high time they did.”

  “Yes, it is, which is exactly why I’m not seeking re-election. That’s why I came, to essentially fall on my sword and keep you out of it. I didn’t care what the Judge wanted to do to my name from now until October.”

  Christiana clutched his arm, and he winced. She dropped her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so—”

  “Happy?” His eyes danced with delight.

  She c
ould only nod.

  “He may not drop it, you know,” her Dad said. “The D.A.”

  "True. He wouldn't have had a choice if I had told them everything. The system would have taken over. But know this. I will do anything, even refrain from disclosing information, to keep your daughter safe, Mr. Snow. That’s why you’re looking at the new head of public affairs for the American Mental Health Association.”

  Peter cocked his head. “The Judge would’ve still raked you over the coals, made you lose that position.”

  “That’s why I came. To let him know he got at least a piece of what he wanted—a Brond out of office. I’ll let him find out now from the story you’ll write.” His lips quirked up. “Of course, I’d planned to warn him if he tried anything, I could always file those charges. There’s no statute of limitations on attempted murder. As a judge, you’d think he was aware of that.”

  Peter’s eyes grew misty. “Yeah, well, fathers sometimes forget the most important details where their daughters are concerned.”

  Sarah touched Jonathan’s arm. “Man, your father is going to be so pissed.” Amusement colored her eyes. “Please promise me I can be there when you tell him.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “Well, Chris, I expect you’ll want to go home with your boyfriend now. I’ll get Sarah and Yvette home. Besides, I’ve got some stories to file. You know, just to make sure the Judge knows I’m serious.”

  “Dad . . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Chrissy. Nothing too bad. I’m going to cover some of his recent cases just so he knows I’m watching. And I’ll conveniently forget . . . certain other things.” He softly winked and headed to the car where Yvette stood as if waiting for him to open the door for her. He stopped halfway and turned to Christiana and Jonathan. “All’s well that ends well. Thanks to Marcella . . . and Christiana.”

  It was the first time her father ever called her by her whole name. The dam she’d built to house her final tears burst. She jogged to her father and hugged him around the waist. He engulfed her in a bear hug. “You’re very brave, my little girl,” he said into her hair.