‘I don’t.’
Annalie shivered, even in the heat. ‘I have to tell you, all this dirt-digging we do gives me the creeps.’
‘So why’d you take the job?’
‘Why else? I need the money.’
‘I thought your father worked for a big foundation donor.’
‘He does, but he’s not rich. Besides, I pay my own bills. I never had any interest in political crap, but after nine months without a job, I was running pretty low on cash. So my dad made a couple calls.’
‘I assumed you had Washington ties,’ Peach said.
‘Why’d you think that?’
Peach pointed at Annalie’s DC tank top, which was ringed with sweat on the hot afternoon. The woman looked down, as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing. She shook her head and smiled.
‘Never been there. Somebody gave it to me.’ She added: ‘Listen, I know this isn’t just a job for you. It’s a cause. I get it.’
‘You’re right,’ Peach said.
‘That must have been awful for you and Deacon ten years ago.’
Peach watched the translucent green water. The waves swelled and broke in white ribbons. She saw a sailboat jutting like a shark’s fin out of the distant horizon line. ‘Yeah. It was even harder on him than me. I mean, just like that, Lyle was gone and Deacon had to take care of me. I didn’t make it easy.’
‘Seems like you guys get along now.’
‘Oh, yeah. We couldn’t be more different, but we’re a team. It helps that we’re working on Lyle’s legacy. The Common Way Party was everything to Lyle. So much that he didn’t always have a lot of time for us. Especially not that last summer.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hey, campaigns are crazy. I get it now.’
‘Do you know Diane Fairmont well?’ Annalie asked.
Peach dipped a hand in the surf and let warm water spill through her fingers. ‘I’ve met her. I don’t know her well. She doesn’t come over to the research wing very often. We’re the dirty little secret that nobody wants to talk about.’
‘Dirty?’
‘Some people think so,’ Peach said.
Annalie was quiet. A small Cessna flew over the beach, its motor whining. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘What?’
‘A few months ago, the Governor was looking unbeatable. He was way ahead of Ramona. Then his chief of staff got caught taking kickbacks from construction contractors, and his numbers tanked. Diane got in the race and vaulted ahead of both of them in the polls.’
‘What’s your point?’ Peach asked.
‘Is it possible that Common Way was involved?’
‘What do you mean? The Governor is a sleaze. He surrounds himself with sleazy people.’
‘You can be a sleaze and still be set up,’ Annalie said.
‘What are you saying? Do you think I had something to do with that? Because I didn’t.’
‘I never said you did, but sometimes special projects go on behind the scenes. People get recruited to do things they don’t want to do.’
Peach’s eyes widened. ‘Justin? That’s who you mean, isn’t it? You think Justin was involved in setting up the Governor’s aide.’
‘I don’t know. Is it possible?’
‘No!’
‘And yet you don’t think his death was about drugs.’
Peach stood up so fast that the chair spilled into the water behind her. Her leg buckled under her weight, and Annalie leaped to her feet and kept her from falling. Peach shrugged off the woman’s help. She realized that she’d said far more to Annalie than she ever intended. Annalie was good. And smart. She knew a lot more about humint work than she was letting on.
‘Let’s go,’ Peach said.
‘I’m sorry. I had to ask. I need to know what I’m getting into.’
Peach splashed toward the wet, sandy fringe of the beach. Seagulls scattered into the air. ‘You’re wrong about Justin.’
Annalie grabbed her shoulder and stopped her. ‘Maybe I am, but that doesn’t explain why you went to Justin’s apartment. What were you looking for?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t insult me, Peach. I know that’s not true.’ Annalie dug in a pocket. ‘Were you looking for this?’
She held up a small book bound in fraying green cloth. Much of the gold lettering on the cover had flecked away. It was the book of poetry by William Blake that Peach had given to Justin. She’d thought she lost it when she fell from the apartment window. ‘Give me that,’ she said.
‘There’s an inscription,’ Annalie told her. ‘I looked through the book when you were in the drug store. “Then they followed / Where the vision led,/And saw their sleeping child / Among tygers wild.” That’s from a poem called “The Little Girl Found.” It’s not a man’s handwriting. Is it yours? Did you give Justin this book?’
‘Give me that!’ Peach repeated, ripping it out of her hand.
‘The Little Girl Found. Is that you?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘You loved Justin, didn’t you?’
‘I said, that’s none of your business.’
‘Did he love you?’
‘Why do you care?’ Peach asked. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘Because if he loved you, maybe he told you his secrets.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I didn’t find a thing in his apartment,’ Peach said, and the bitterness was obvious in her voice.
‘Justin wrote something in this book,’ Annalie told her. ‘It’s on the page for the poem “The Tyger.” Does that mean something to you?’
Peach’s fingers tightened on the ragged cloth of the book. ‘What did he write?’
‘Look.’
Peach turned the brittle pages. She knew exactly where the poem was. She found it – What immortal hand or eye / Could frame thy fearful symmetry? – and Annalie was right. Someone had written a single word on the page. Not someone. Justin. It was his handwriting. There was no mistaking it.
The message had to be for her, didn’t it? This was their poem. They’d read it over and over in bed, so many times, with such emotion that it was like the words of the poem had taken the place of sex between them. Every stanza was burned into her memory, and she could hear it in Justin’s voice.
He wouldn’t write on that poem to anyone but her. He’d written one word, but not a word. A name.
What made no sense was that it wasn’t her own name on the paper.
Instead, Justin had written: Alison.
11
Cab couldn’t take his eyes off Caprice.
The sconce lights, shaped like torches, played shadows across her white skin. She wore a sleeveless black dress, and her strong arms ended in manicured hands and scarlet nails. Her full brown hair covered the straps of her dress and swished in little curls across the slopes of her breasts. A double gold chain hugged her neck, and gold hoop earrings peeked out between the locks of her hair. Her deep red lips folded into a smile as he watched her.
‘Like what you see?’ she asked.
‘I do.’
‘I do, too,’ Caprice said. ‘You may have noticed I’m pretty direct.’
‘So I gather.’
‘You’re tall, and you look like a movie star. People see you and think, he must be somebody. It turns me on to be seen with you.’
‘Here I was thinking the same thing about you.’
Caprice didn’t duck the compliment. She didn’t bat her eyes at him and protest: Me? At my age? Instead, she took a sip of expensive Albariño and said: ‘Oh, I know I turn you on.’
‘Am I that transparent?’ Cab asked.
‘Yes, you are, but your mother called and told me.’ Caprice laughed. ‘How’s that for a pick-up line?’
‘Actually, it’s not the first time I’ve heard it.’
She laughed again. He liked her laugh, which was confident and smart. ‘Knowing Tarla, I bet not. She�
��s a force of nature. Do you ignore her advice? Or are you one of those sons who protests and protests and then does what she wants anyway?’
‘I’ll let you know when I figure it out,’ Cab said.
He glanced over the iron railing at the dining area below them, which looked like the patio of a Spanish villa in the romantic light. They were on the mezzanine, which was a narrow alcove at the top of a tiled staircase, with a dozen tables discreetly overlooking what was called the Don Quixote room. Cut flowers adorned the tables. The mosaic designs reminded him of Andalucía. The Columbia in Ybor City was a mammoth destination, but its subdivided dining rooms managed to feel intimate.
‘Do you like the piquillos?’ Caprice asked, dipping her little finger in Manchego cheese and licking it with her tongue.
‘Superb.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve never been here. It’s a Florida institution.’
‘The waiters know you,’ Cab said. ‘Is this where you take all your men?’
Caprice tilted her head, as if debating whether to be honest. ‘I do come here a lot. This is my favorite table.’
They were at the end of the mezzanine, largely invisible to others around them. ‘Just like a cat,’ he said. ‘Keeping your back to the wall.’
‘Actually, it’s a spy’s table,’ Caprice said. ‘I can look down and watch people, and they don’t know I’m doing it.’
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Cab pointed out. ‘Do you take all your men here?’
Caprice brushed one of her hands back through her hair. ‘I mostly come here with lobbyists and donors to talk about policy. I don’t have much time for romance. Frankly, I need to be careful about who I’m seen with. Politics is a public business.’
‘And yet you’re here with me,’ Cab said.
‘I wouldn’t mind being photographed with you. I wouldn’t mind doing a lot of things with you.’ She took a crab croquette from one of the tapas plates in front of them. ‘Don’t misinterpret. I’m not in the market for a relationship, but I do like having someone who looks good in a tux when I have to go to events. And afterward, well …’
‘Friends with benefits?’
‘We don’t even have to be friends. I have plenty of friends. Some men would call that the perfect arrangement.’
‘Yes, they would.’
Caprice put a hand over his and rubbed his index finger in a provocative way. ‘Am I embarrassing you? Like I told you, I’m direct. Usually, you get what you want by taking it, rather than asking.’
‘Did I say I was complaining?’ Cab asked.
‘No, you didn’t. Good.’ She bit into the croquette and brushed Cuban cracker crumbs from her lips. ‘Tarla said you run like hell from real relationships.’
‘She’d say I run like hell from her, too,’ Cab said. ‘And she’s probably right. Having a rich, famous, beautiful mother who wants to control your life isn’t the unqualified blessing you might think.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘My girlfriend probably says I run from her, too,’ Cab added.
Caprice left her hand where it was. ‘Ah.’
‘She’s Cuban. She’s a cop. Tarla doesn’t approve.’
‘I suppose she’s beautiful.’
‘She is.’
‘Well, then why are you here flirting with me?’ Caprice asked.
‘Because Lala and I can’t seem to make it work between us. I’ll take most of the blame for that, but she and Tarla aren’t entirely guilt-free. And to be candid, I find you very attractive, which makes it hard to say no.’
‘Then say yes.’
‘I’m having a good time,’ Cab told her. ‘Let’s leave it at that for now.’
‘Fair enough.’
Cab leaned back in his chair. He heard the throb of flamenco music and the click of castanets from somewhere in the restaurant. The aromas of mussels and chorizo rose from the table. ‘It surprises me that there’s no man in your life.’
‘My career is my life,’ she told him.
‘Is that lonely?’
‘Not for a driven woman like me. There hasn’t been anyone serious since Lyle.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Caprice traced a nail around the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes were reflective. ‘Can I be honest with you? Lyle and I were never really romantic soul mates. We shared political values and ambition. It was a relationship of common interests. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t love him. I suppose that must sound awful, given what happened.’
‘No. You were both young.’
‘Yes, we were. Lyle was so rigid, too. Inflexible. That made it difficult. It’s funny, because our whole mission as a third party is not to let ideology be the enemy of the greater good. I don’t really blame him, of course. He felt so responsible in his personal life. He was trying to be a father to his younger siblings, and that was tough. Anyway, I swore to myself I wouldn’t have that kind of relationship again, and when we got the foundation up and running, I never sought out opportunities. Too busy saving the world, I guess.’
‘Married to the cause?’ Cab asked.
‘Something like that.’ She read his face and added: ‘I know. You don’t believe in causes.’
‘One man’s cause is another’s obsession. The Liberty Empire Alliance is a cause, too.’
‘For evil, not good.’
‘Who gets to say which is which?’ Cab asked.
Caprice winked. ‘Me.’
‘You think we’d be better off with a benevolent dictatorship? Give the people what they need, regardless of what they want?’
‘Maybe we would. I could think of worse people than us to overthrow the government, but let’s try a third party first. A party where compromise and common sense aren’t dirty words. A party that doesn’t look for all-or-nothing solutions.’
Rather than argue, Cab took another garlic-and-chili shrimp. Caprice was right; he didn’t believe in causes. Once you really believed in something, you could make excuses for anything. The ends always justified the means. It wasn’t a long journey from Diane Fairmont to Hamilton Brock.
‘Speaking of the Liberty Empire Alliance,’ Cab said.
‘Ah yes, you went to prison today. And you talked to Chuck Warren, too. How did those conversations go?’
‘Pretty much as you’d expect.’
‘Do you think Hamilton Brock is behind the threats against Diane?’
‘He says if he wanted Diane dead, she’d already be dead. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean Brock doesn’t know or suspect who’s doing this. As for Chuck Warren, he thinks the threats are just a political ploy.’
Caprice cocked her head. ‘You mean, we made it all up to get sympathy for Diane?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m assuming the threat is real until I prove otherwise. That doesn’t mean I don’t have doubts. If I find out you and your people are playing me, I won’t hesitate to expose it.’
‘I’d expect nothing less.’ She added: ‘So what’s your next step?’
Cab reached inside the pocket of his suit coat. He still had a copy of the article there, with the threat scrawled across it. He unfolded the page and tapped the newspaper byline. ‘Rufus Twill. He was an Orlando reporter. Some boys from the Liberty Empire Alliance nearly put him in a wheelchair a few years ago. I suspect he still keeps pretty close tabs on them.’
Caprice frowned. ‘I don’t like the idea of getting the media involved.’
Cab couldn’t help where his mind went. He thought: Or is that exactly what you want? Press. News. Headlines. He wondered if he was a marionette, and if Caprice was a sexy puppeteer who was guiding him exactly where she wanted him to go. He shoved the article back in his pocket without replying.
‘There’s something else,’ he told her. ‘I need to talk to Diane.’
‘Is that really necessary? Diane is busy with the campaign, and I don’t control her schedule. I’m not sure how she can help you.’
> ‘Neither am I, until I talk to her.’
She pursed her lips. ‘The thing is, I didn’t tell Diane that I was asking you to look into this. She’s not convinced the threat is real. She doesn’t want to be seen as exploiting what happened back then.’
‘Well, real or not, I need you to set up a meeting,’ Cab said. ‘It doesn’t have to be long. Fifteen minutes.’
‘What do you hope to learn?’
‘She was there when Birch was killed. She may remember something that would point me in the right direction.’
‘Diane won’t talk about the murders,’ Caprice said. ‘She doesn’t give interviews about it.’
Cab pictured Diane’s face in his head. He saw her eyes across the courtyard and the look that had passed between them the previous night. A look of remembrance, guilt, and desire. He remembered her ten years ago, too, when her eyes were closed and her mouth was contorted in pleasure, and her body was underneath his own.
‘She’ll talk to me,’ he said.
*
Outside the Columbia, a black luxury sedan pulled to the curb to collect Caprice. The street was crowded. The driver, who had the heft of a bodyguard, got out and opened the rear door for her. Caprice balanced gracefully on the tips of her shoes to kiss Cab on the cheek. She whispered in his ear.
‘Would you like to come home with me?’
‘That’s tempting,’ he said, ‘but I can’t.’
She eyed the street around them. He thought she was looking for photographers. People watching them. Smartphones spying on them. She put her warm fingers around the back of his neck, and he bent down this time, and they kissed. Her tongue slipped between his lips. Her nails were sharp enough to leave scratches.
‘Just so you know what you’re missing,’ she said.
Caprice got into the town car, and the driver shut the door. The car drove off, and Cab, still a little breathless and with the taste of lipstick on his mouth, dodged the traffic as he crossed the street. His red Corvette was parked at a meter in front of a brick building that sold hand-painted tile. The top was up. He unlocked the door and folded his stilt-like legs inside.
That was when he realized the car wasn’t empty.
Season of Fear Page 10
