“It’s late. You’re tired. I’m sure you understand this is not amusing.” Owen’s voice was cool. “I’m not quite sure what your goal—”
Kenna interrupted, drinking it in. “Here’s the thing, Owen.” She drew out his name, dropping the title she’d always been careful to use. “You have a problem with women. Yes, indeed. Sadly. And your wife knows, of course. I suppose that’s why she’s been in hiding all this time. Soon, even more sadly, everyone will know.”
“Will know?” Owen looked at the door, at his desk, at the phone. “Are you—drunk? High? In one second, I’m calling security.”
“Our little fling was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?” Kenna continued. He wasn’t calling anyone. And if he made a move against her, she was prepared to stop him. She gave her voice an edge of drama, as if reciting a movie plot. “I mean—you invited me to your hotels—I even took souvenirs from the presidential suites we shared.”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pink vial of body lotion labeled PRESIDENTIAL SUITE. Dangled it in front of him.
“I was so enamored with you. Rory knows how often we were together, of course. The hotel people, too. The room service I ordered for us. You were so loving, so charming. You said it would be just the two of us, as soon as you were elected and you could get rid of that silly social-climbing wife of yours. But now—it seems you were unfaithful to me, too. Taking up with that Holly person.”
Owen crossed his arms, brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. “Holly? Are you cra—? Who the hell is Holly?”
She held her expression, wide-eyed, lashes fluttering.
“Oh, gosh, I think you know. And when you dumped me for that little tramp, and then she turned up dead, well, I just couldn’t allow someone with your—shall we say—questionable morals to ascend to a seat in the highest echelons of government, now, could I? I mean, did she get in your way? What if you killed her? And what if I’m terrified that I’m next?”
Poor man. He was crumbling in confusion. It was all she could do not to laugh.
“So, there you have it,” she said. She pointed toward the phone with the lotion bottle. “Better call the secretary of state’s office. Her private phone number from your Rolodex is right there. Tell her you’re dropping out. Maybe—here’s a good one—say you want to spend more time with your family.”
“There’s just one phone call I’m going to make, Miss—,” Owen sputtered, brushing her off, wiping his palms as if to clear away her demands. “And that’s to security.”
She ignored him. “And oh, in case you have any second thoughts? Allow me to show you one more thing.” She drew a manila envelope from her black suede purse. Handed it to him. Smiled.
He sneered, dismissing it with one hand. “There’s nothing you can—”
“You think not?” She slid the photograph out of the envelope, slowly, slowly, teasing. Poor stupid Holly. Her plan hadn’t worked as she’d hoped, but it certainly played into Kenna’s hands. Matt had said Holly was nuts, anyway.
Kenna held the photo toward Owen. “We—Rory and I—found this in a book on your desk. Jane Ryland—the reporter?—knows all about it. And I know the inscription on this little gem by heart. ‘With fond memories of a lovely afternoon. Holly Neff.’”
She pretended to be perplexed. “And now she’s dead, correct? Do the police know about your relationship?”
This time Owen was silent. He smoothed his red-patterned tie. Did it again.
“So?” Kenna danced the photo at him, taunting. “The call?
Owen yanked the slick photograph from her, stared at it. “I’ve never seen this before. Absurd. Anyone could have— This is—extortion. Blackmail. Pitiful. And—”
“Oh, dear. Such ugly words. And the truth—gosh, whatever that is, will certainly come out. But probably not until after the election. Which you, no doubt, will lose. In humiliation, and embarrassment, and there’ll never be a time where someone won’t wonder—did he, really? And I’ll be long gone. So, fine, if you don’t want to drop out of the race, lovely. Your decision. However—”
“Kenna, you’re upset, you’ve misunderstood—something,” Lassiter interrupted. He put the picture down, then held up both palms, conciliatory. “Let’s talk this out. You’re not thinking clearly, you’re—”
She felt one curl slide onto her cheek, brushed it away. “Yes, I am. Thinking clearly. And, I should tell you, it’s not Kenna. It’s—Sarah.”
* * *
She wasn’t answering her cell. Matt couldn’t call the main campaign line—it was dark inside Lassiter headquarters, and he could see no one was there. But she had told him to arrive at a specific time. That was now. What was he missing?
And then he saw it.
A little white button in the metal siding of the door. He pushed it, heard a buzz, and after a second, the door clicked open. She was waiting for him. He was expected. It was all going as planned. He pushed the elevator button. Looked at his watch. Just after eleven.
He would make it in time.
72
“Sarah Lassiter. Your daughter. Remember me?”
Kenna soaked up her father’s shock, wrapped herself in it, delighted in the slack of his jaw, the pain in his gray eyes, the way the man staggered a step, gripping the back of a striped wing chair. Yeah, she thought. Hurts when someone pulls the rug out, right?
“Sar—” Lassiter’s eyes widened, he stepped toward her, one arm reaching out to her. Then he stopped, took a deep breath. “Sarah? Is that what this—this—photo thing, this hotel thing, this Holly thing—is all about? Why would you threaten me with—?” His chin came up. Wary. “Is your mother behind this?”
Oh, please. Sarah—yes, she’d call herself that now, why not—could not believe this. He was bringing up her mother?
“And you have a little boy?” Owen continued. His voice went soft. “My grandson? Why would you—?”
Sarah burst out laughing, the brittle sound ringing in her ears. Jimmy, the rent-a-kid. She put a hand over her mouth, pressing her lips together. No. She would handle this carefully. Quietly. It would be such fun to tell him everything.
“Why would I?” Sarah raised an eyebrow, enjoying her scorn. “Let me remind you, Governor, of when we last saw each other? I’m not quite sure I remember it exactly, my being, what, two years old? But Mother told us all about it. Again and again. You discarded us. Deserted us. Left us! To—to fend for ourselves while you ran off with…”
Sarah stretched her fingers, tried to keep her voice calm. No need to yell. He’d hear her out. “You were happy. With that other woman? And that’s all that mattered to you.”
“It was, complicated, Kenn—Sarah. More complicated than just…” Owen lowered his arms slowly, his shoulders sagging. “I know I—your mother and I—your brother—is he—?”
“Let me finish,” Sarah interrupted. Had to. “When my mother killed herself—”
Lassiter’s face went white. “She killed herself? Katharine?”
See, that’s just what I mean. “Of course you never knew. You never cared. Not for our mother, not for us.”
A buzzer sounded. Perfect. Sarah hit the black button under Lassiter’s desk.
Lassiter collapsed into the wing chair, pressed his hands together, placed them near his lips. “Kenna. I mean—Sarah,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re sitting there. It’s—it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, leaving you both. Please try to forgive me. This picture thing, this hotel thing, this—Holly—is absurd, ridiculous, you know it is. Why don’t we—may I just explain?”
Sarah waved a hand. Let him talk. What could he possibly say?
“Your mother was—well, Katharine screamed. Insisted, demanded, demanded everything. I mean, Moira—wanted you. Wanted to love you both.” His face softened; he searched her eyes. “But you couldn’t have known that, of course.”
Moira? Impossible. He was lying. “Of course,” Sarah said. “But funny, if we were all so lovey-dovey, why did you just�
�dump us?”
“I never—we didn’t…” He sighed, leaning forward, hands on his knees. “Because I left, your mother got sole custody. I came to visit, again and again. You were just a baby. And Matt a toddler. You couldn’t remember. Then your mother took you—and vanished. Must have changed her name. And yours. To—Kenna Wilkes? She wrote me, said you both hated me. I tried to find you. I did. We did. She must have worked hard at it, to make it so impossible.”
“Oh, I beg you.” Sarah’s eyes burned, so angry, her skin tingled. Her hands clenched into fists, nails jabbing into her palms. “Don’t insult me. You became governor, for God’s sake! You could do anything you wanted! But finding your own children? Simply not on your busy agenda.”
She saw his shoulders flinch, as if she’d tried to hurt him. Well, she had.
Owen stood, reaching out both arms, pleading. “I tried. But your mother told me—well, I wish you could understand how hard I tried. I’ve never forgiven myself. I wish I could make it up to you. What can I do to—?” His hands dropped to his sides.
“Do? Ah. That’s an easy one.” Sarah gestured to the phone. “It’s my turn to take something from you. The only thing you really love. End your campaign, or I’ll end it for you. Your choice. Make the call. Or I—go public with the photos. And oh, so many more. Not to mention—”
“But, Sarah. Why? Now you’re here. We can start over. Isn’t that right? Sarah? And is Matt—?”
“Oh, you remember his name, how charming,” Sarah said. “Just what I was about to mention. I do have some news about him. Which, given the events of the past few days, I’m quite sure will speed your decision. And in fact—”
She paused, then turned toward the open door. Where her older brother, just arrived, now stood. “In fact, let me introduce you, once again, to Matthew Lassiter Galbraith. Who, you may remember, is your son. Perhaps he’ll tell you the news himself.”
73
Jane held her cell phone in one hand, talking as she opened her car door, kicked off her wellies, and slid into her tall leather boots. “Jake? Oh, my gosh, I am so glad you answered. Where have you—? Watch it!” Some guy in a Celtics jacket and Halloween mask almost ran into her car door, waving a cup of something. The game was letting out, judging by the crazies on the street. “Anyway, I’m at Lassiter headquarters. Did you get my other message?”
“I’ve been a little busy,” Jake said.
Whatever. “Okay, so get over here, okay? It’s Kenna Wilkes. And Matt. I think they’ll both be here. How long will it take? For you to get here?”
“You sure this time? Matt’s there? No mistake?”
Jane started across the street, biting back a crack. Last time she’d asked Jake to meet her here, they’d met a woman she’d promised him was dead. “I’m sure,” she said. “And listen. His name is Matt Lassiter. I’m almost at the front door.”
“Stop!”
Jake’s voice was so commanding, she actually stopped. In the middle of the street. Rolling her eyes, she continued toward headquarters.
“I’m using the crosswalk,” she lied.
“What? No, listen, stop. Do not go in there by yourself. I’m in the car now, I’m headed to you. Lights and siren. Listen for me. I’ll turn them off when I hit the corner of Causeway. Don’t want to spook anyone. Two minutes. I’ll be there. Do not go in, Janey. Got me?”
“Got you.” Jane clicked off the phone.
She peered through the front windows. Saw the lights off, lobby empty. She listened for Jake’s siren. Nothing. Looked at her watch. Five after eleven.
Forget it.
She was going in.
* * *
Matt couldn’t move. Could barely believe it. He stood in the office door, seeing the back of a man’s head. The man was seated in a big chair, gray hair just showing over the top, a white shirtsleeve on the armrest. Saw Cissy, her face flushed and angry, yelling at him about “finding your children.” Saw the man stand, slim, tall—his father—take a step toward her.
What Jane Ryland had said was true. My father knows. But why was Cissy acting so mean? This was their time to be together.
Cissy pointed right at him. “Your son,” she was saying.
His father turned.
Matt saw the tears come to his father’s eyes, felt the same in his own.
“I—we—”
“Matthew?” Lassiter came toward him, glanced back at Cissy, then stared at him.
“Father?” He couldn’t help it, it was crazy, but even after so many years and so much unhappiness, he still loved him. He was a Lassiter. Nothing could change that.
He fell into his father’s arms, feeling the tears, feeling the man’s chest rise and fall, feeling—
“Are you kidding me?” Cissy was beside them, using both her hands to yank them apart. She punched Matt in the arm, her eyes slits of anger. “He ruined our lives, remember? Remember? Mother killed herself!”
She whirled, pointed a finger at their father. “Because of you! You might as well have murdered her!”
“Sarah, Matthew, I’m so sorry—”
“See, Cissy?” Matt interrupted his father, needing to help. Maybe he could make this better. We’re here to surprise dad, right? Reunite as a family. “Our father loves us. Can’t you see that? Life doesn’t always work the way we hoped. But we can still be a family, can’t we?”
His father put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, the weight of it feeling like years. Their eyes met, father and son. Matt pressed his lips together to keep from crying, seeing the love in his face. It would all be okay. Even despite Holly. He had to say something now, talk to him, let him know how much he had sacrificed for—
“You decided what was best for you, Governor.” Cissy’s voice cut through the silence. “Now it’s about what’s best for us. You’re dropping out of this race. Your political life is over. Every action has consequences—and this is it. Make the call. Now.”
Matt saw her hand go into her jacket pocket. And pull out a—
“No!” Matt yelled. “Cissy! He’s our father. You have to stop!”
74
A white button in the molding of the front door. Jane pushed it with a finger. She heard a buzz. Tried the door. Nothing. It was locked. Dammit.
And then she heard the siren. She scooted away from the door as if she’d never tried it. He’d never know.
“Jane!” Jake’s voice came from a few yards away. “I told you not to— Hey. You’re covered with mud. Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine. Tell you later about the mud. But I bet this door’s locked,” Jane said. “And they’re supposed to meet at eleven.” I think.
Jake rattled the door handle. Smiled. “So observant of you. Come with me.” He trotted down the sidewalk, beckoning her to follow.
“Down this alley,” he called over his shoulder.
She caught up with him, jogging alongside, their footsteps echoing against the brick buildings on each side.
“But why are we—?”
“There’s another door,” Jake said. “Gotta be. The secretary—Deenie, whatever her name is—told me the governor uses the side. Maitland, too. Maybe we can get in that way.”
“Look,” Jane said. A lone bulb illuminated a black metal door set flat in the side of the headquarters building.
They reached for the battered metal knob at almost the same time.
Jane got there first.
* * *
“Our father?” Cissy almost spit Matt’s words back at him. “He decided he didn’t care about us. He killed our family. You know what? You know what? We shouldn’t let him get away with it. It was all about money, and power, and ambition. And Moira. Our mother wasn’t good enough for him, so he dumped her. And us.”
Matt stared at the gun glinting in his sister’s hand. A gun pointed at their father. Why? We’re supposed to— “Think for a minute, Cissy. You’ll never get away with it. All I have to do is yell. Somebody’s out there.”
�
��Yell away,” she said. “By the time anyone arrives, it’ll be over.”
“You don’t want to do this, Kenn—Sarah.” Lassiter stepped toward her. “Matt’s right, we can be a family. I’ll make the call. Just like you asked.”
Make the call? What were they talking about? But his father was courageous. Strong. Matt could be the same. He held out his hand, gesturing for the gun. “Come on,” Matt said. “You don’t want to do this.”
He couldn’t understand the look on his sister’s face.
“You don’t want me to do this, Matt. But maybe you did it.” She waved the gun at him. “After all, you’re already a killer. You killed Holly Neff.”
“What?” Lassiter looked at him, taking a step back. “Who the hell is this Holly Neff?”
Matt had to explain. Fast. He struggled for the words. “She was—she was—she was going to ruin you, Father. She was setting it up to look like you were having an affair. She was telling the reporters a big lie. She thought I would love her for it, want the revenge. I needed to—”
But Cissy was still talking. Holding that gun. Pointing it at his father.
“This can go either way, brother dear. Because I can say you killed your father. And when the cops get here, you’ll be dead, too. I’ll have killed you, trying desperately, though, alas, not successfully, to protect the candidate.”
Cissy was actually—smiling.
“I’ll be a hero,” she said. “The valiant campaign staffer who tried to save her boss. No one knows who we really are, do they? By the time they figure it out, if they ever do, I’ll be long gone.”
“Sarah, honey, you—” Lassiter threw Matt a glance. Eyes wide, hand to throat, stutter-stepping backward. Matt knew he was pleading help me.
They were in this together. They could get out of it together. Matt would protect his father. That’s what a son had to do.
* * *
“Dammit. This elevator’s not working.” Jake punched the button again and again, but there was no light, no sound, no clanking. “We’ll have to go to the front—”
“Stairs,” Jane said, heading for a metal doorway. “Fourth floor.”
The Other Woman Page 32
