Girl Three

by Tracy March

  Fear and regret knotted in Jessie’s chest. “Talmont came on to me last night.” She glanced away from him. “Let’s just say I wasn’t interested.”

  He pressed his lips together tightly. “From what you said afterward, there was a little more to it than that.”

  She nervously picked at one of the bandages on her hand. “I thought he was an intruder—which he was. I held my gun on him. After I figured out what he was doing there, I dropped my defenses a little. But when he came on to me, I…”

  Michael’s expression encouraged her to continue.

  “I took dead aim at him. Told him to give me his key and get the hell out.” She scrunched her nose. “Smart moves, huh?”

  Michael shook his head, a not-the-best-idea look on his face.

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You really didn’t have a choice.”

  “Could he actually have thought that I would have sex with him?”

  “You’d be surprised what some women will do.”

  Women like Sam.

  “But Talmont has a reputation for retaliation when he doesn’t get his way,” Michael said. “If he thinks you see him as a suspect, he won’t give you enough time to make the case.”

  Jessie couldn’t believe she’d wasted the day chasing false leads when she should’ve been focusing on Talmont and her own safety.

  “I think you’re in real danger,” Michael said, “so I decided to put my rusty skills to use watching out for you.”

  “Or trying to pin another crime on Talmont?”

  “Or both,” he said. “And that brings us back to the question of why you broke into Ian’s practice.”

  “I didn’t break in.”

  “That’s a technicality,” he said calmly. “Justify it if you want, but you entered illegally. I saw you. Call me crazy for asking, but isn’t it kind of counterintuitive to commit crimes to solve one? And in your line of work, I’d think a rap sheet would be a real career killer.”

  She wanted to argue, but he was right. If she’d gotten caught impersonating Sam or stealing files from Ian’s practice, she’d have no chance of getting on the Presidential Commission. “Finding Sam’s killer is more important than my career.”

  “I respect that. But I don’t think the two have to be mutually exclusive.”

  Jessie considered this. “I hope not.” She reached into her purse, took out the pictures she’d received and the copy of Sam’s letter from Geneticell, and fanned them across the table in front of him. “Here’s why I illegally entered Ian’s practice. Since I’ve been in DC, someone has anonymously sent me these.”

  He surveyed each picture and read the letter.

  “I figure someone knows something about Sam’s death but they’re afraid to come forward,” she said. “So they’re sending me clues and pointing me toward the killer.”

  Michael didn’t look up. “Or away from him.”

  “I’ve thought of that, but I can’t ignore this evidence. I think your assessment of Talmont as a suspect is right on. Because of these pictures, I learned about Sam’s involvement with the Hope Campaign and the twisted beginning of her relationship with him. I already suspected him before he showed up last night, before I even learned about their affair and his lame alibi.”

  She picked up the group glamour shot taken at the Geneticell gala. “But I can also pin a motive on every one of these people—the men more than the women, considering the crime, but things aren’t always as they appear. Tonight, my best guess, after Talmont, is a tandem effort involving Ian and Helena, with Philippe as an accessory. I’m still debating about Elizabeth.”

  “Are we getting to the reason you illegally entered Ian’s practice?” He toyed with his coffee spoon and it clinked on the saucer.

  “Almost,” she said. “Philippe, Ian, and Helena claim it was Sam’s clever idea to have sex with the senators and extort their votes.”

  “She’s dead,” Michael said. “It’s easy to blame her, and she can’t argue.”

  Jessie felt a disturbing sense of déjà vu. “Right. But Philippe now has the X-rated photos and videos, and Ian keeps the frozen sperm. Helena gets high-powered, high-paying clients, and Elizabeth gets her legislation passed—mostly thanks to Sam. They were all accessories to her scheme, beneficiaries at the least.”

  Michael looked more closely at the picture from the Geneticell gala. “They’re a strange, tight-knit group. I’d say tighter now that Sam’s dead, now that they have to protect themselves. But where’s the motive?”

  “They hadn’t banked on Sam getting involved with Talmont. He’s on the polar opposite side of the embryonic stem cell research issue, and the aisle. She went from valuable to volatile. Her loyalty was split. Do you think any of them wanted to risk her going rogue and taking the entire scheme public?”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “A scandal like that would debilitate Helena’s firm and raise enough suspicion about Ian to damage his practice or maybe even shut it down for good.”

  “What about Philippe?”

  “Well, his diplomatic career is on the upswing, especially since he negotiated the Geneticell deal. And his photography is getting a lot of attention. He has an exhibit showing at the Canadian embassy. There’s even a portrait of Sam wearing the Hope Diamond.”

  Michael nodded. “I saw the full-page article in the Arts section of the Washington Post when it opened.”

  “See? Philippe can’t afford to be exposed as an accessory to an extortion scheme. It would mean the end of his climb up the diplomatic ranks. He says he just recently got the pictures and videos of Sam and the senators from her safe deposit box, but he still has them. He was still involved.” She was glad she’d thought through all of this, and it was good to run her theories by Michael, since he knew all of her suspects.

  “So why do you think Philippe showed you the pictures?”

  “A couple of reasons. When we were at the embassy, he told me I might find evidence of Sam’s Hope Campaign.” Jessie shrugged. “Maybe she kept copies of everything, with a backup in the safe deposit box. There was a strong possibility I’d come across her key, go to the bank, and see that he was listed as a key holder, too. I guess he thought it was best to run interference.”

  “What was the other reason?”

  She furrowed her brow. “He said that the pictures might help me understand why it wasn’t a good idea to ask too many questions about Sam’s death.”

  Michael cocked his head.

  “As it turned out,” Jessie said, “my father had purged Sam’s files, except for the basics, before I ever had a chance to go through them.” She debated, but then asked, “Are you familiar with my father?”

  Michael tapped his long fingers on the tabletop. “Sure. Federal Judge Croft. Probable Supreme Court nominee after Judge Yaley retires.”

  Jessie caught an unusual hitch between his words.

  “Sam hated him,” Jessie said. “She would’ve been happy if his appointment was derailed by a scandal just months before his nomination. His critics would’ve come at him from every direction, labeled him an unfit father. They would’ve claimed he knew about her behavior and condoned it—which is true, at least where her affair with Talmont is concerned. With the sensitive political climate, the family association alone might have driven the president to tap another candidate.”

  Michael’s eyes turned dark. “Sam hated him that much?”

  Jessie considered the feelings she and Sam had for their father and how differently they’d handled them. “I think most of the things she did in her adult life were in retaliation against him.”

  Michael looked at her as if he expected her to keep talking. but there wasn’t anything else to say. “Must be quite a story,” he said.

  “More like a tragedy.”

  He started to speak, then hesitated.

  “What?”

  He raked his hand through his hair and it fell loosely back into his disheveled, sexy style. “Do
you think your father might have covered up Sam’s murder?”

  Jessie hung her head, debating her answer. “I hate to say it, but yes. Even if Talmont committed the crime. People wouldn’t have been sympathetic to a senator accused of murder, and Talmont would’ve been forced to resign. My father couldn’t afford to let that happen. He needs Talmont’s vote to get confirmed.”

  Michael lowered his eyebrows. “You’d think justice would be more important to a judge.” He shrugged. “And to a father.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  “You’d think,” she said. “And if you were me, you’d hope.”

  They sat quietly as she gathered the pictures. When she reached for the letter, she said, “There’s something else. Sam donated ten eggs to Geneticell. Ian fertilized them in vitro to create embryos…with his sperm.”

  Michael grimaced. “What? That’s way beyond inappropriate.”

  “I told him it was obscene, especially since he claims to have been Sam’s father figure.”

  “This keeps getting worse.”

  “For sure. Geneticell got ten embryos courtesy of Sam. But Ian admitted to aspirating nineteen eggs from her.”

  “What happened to the rest?”

  “He kept them for use as donor eggs, without Sam’s knowledge or consent, as far as I can tell. That’s why I broke into Ian’s practice. Sam’s files are in my purse. If you’re looking for a bona fide motive, look at Ian. Maybe Sam found out he’d double-crossed her. Maybe Ian had to kill her before she outed him. Who knows what he’s done to other patients if he would do that to her?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Michael’s stomach coiled. “So how does Senator Briel fit in to all of this? I saw her from across the street when she showed up at Ian’s tonight.”

  Jessie looked at him expectantly.

  “I figured she and Ian were meeting Helena and Philippe there, then going out together or something.”

  Jessie shook her head, and a blush crept into her cheeks. “Nothing that innocent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ian and Elizabeth are having an affair,” she said. “I heard them having sex.”

  Michael drew back. Jessie must’ve been too far away from them for her phone to transmit that drama to his Bluetooth. He rubbed his forehead, remembering how Ian had called him out for staring at Senator Briel at Sam’s memorial. “That’s hard to believe. What would a woman like her possibly see in him?”

  Jessie looked lost for answers. “Especially when she has a husband like Philippe.”

  Michael shifted in his seat, trying to ignore a pang of jealousy. Earlier tonight, he’d watched Jessie and Philippe through the picture window of the cupcake shop. After her what-a-man remark about Philippe, his lean-in whispers and kiss on her cheek took on more significant meaning.

  “I can’t imagine Philippe knows about the affair,” Jessie said.

  “Or Helena.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened. “She would literally kill Ian if she knew.”

  “Are you thinking about telling them?”

  Jessie narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure. I have no idea what kind of arrangements they have in their marriages. I’m more interested in using the information to find out more about Sam’s murder.”

  He looked at her as if she’d missed something obvious. “Or to protect yourself.”

  Fear seeped into her eyes. He hated to keep hammering home the danger factor, but he needed her to get it. To expect evil—although he wouldn’t phrase it that way to her.

  “Maybe there’s a way I can do both.” She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle a yawn. “Excuse me.”

  “You forgot to say it’s not the company.”

  She smiled. A genuine, gleaming smile that lit her eyes.

  Michael’s heart fired through an entire clip in a matter of seconds. His phone rang, dulling the moment. He pulled it from his belt and glanced at the screen. Damn Croft. Michael had already ignored one call from the judge tonight. He couldn’t ignore two.

  “Sorry, I have to take this,” he said. “It’s business.”

  Jessie nodded but looked surprised when he left his seat.

  “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” He headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Hello.”

  “Busy evening?” Croft asked.

  Instinctively, Michael scanned the half-empty restaurant, almost expecting to see Croft smirking back at him with a gotcha grin on his face. Relieved that he didn’t, he ducked into the stairwell that led to the restrooms.

  “Yes,” he said. “Very busy.”

  …

  Jessie had noted Michael’s deliberately controlled reactions to the caller ID on his phone—an almost imperceptible tilt of his chin and tension around his eyes. Then he’d gone downstairs to take the call.

  Minutes passed as she sat alone, finishing her hot chocolate. Her body still hummed with the elusive chemistry she felt with Michael. Over the years, she’d had little time for relationships and just as little interest in them. Her career had been more important. She’d dated some, but she hadn’t met the right guy. And she certainly hadn’t met anyone who’d intrigued her like Michael.

  After an unusual amount of time for a phone call, Jessie began to wonder if he was coming back. He’d said it was a business call. Maybe there had been some kind of emergency and he’d had to leave. But his coat was still draped over the chair. And wouldn’t he have at least called her to let her know?

  She felt increasingly uneasy sitting alone in the dining area, mulling over her conversation with Michael. Talmont has a reputation for retaliation when he doesn’t get his way. And she could still hear Ian’s determined promise to take care of her. She tried to convince herself that she was simply being paranoid, but the tension in her body told her otherwise. The feeling was frightening but familiar, thanks to the stalker she’d managed to attract.

  More minutes ticked away, and she decided to text Michael before she gave up waiting.

  You okay?

  No response.

  Jessie put on her coat and slipped her gun from her purse to her pocket. She took a ten out of her wallet, tossed it on the table, and made her way down the dim stairwell.

  On her way out, she looked for Michael in the downstairs dining areas and in the bookstore, but didn’t see him. She wasn’t sure what to make of him leaving like he did, but she hoped there was a simple explanation for it. He’d emphasized the danger she was in for asking questions about Sam’s murder. Wouldn’t the same go for him, since he was asking questions, too?

  Jessie started to worry about both of them as she wove her way through the bookstore and stepped out to the sidewalk that flanked Connecticut Avenue. She winced against the frigid, gusting wind. Jamming her hands into her pockets and clutching her gun, she set off on the three-block walk to Sam’s place.

  Townhouse-lined 19th Street was eerily quiet. She passed a man walking a beagle but no one else. Keeping watch for sudden movement, she crossed to the better lit side of the street.

  One car passed.

  A pizza delivery guy buzzed by on a scooter.

  Quick footsteps clicked on the sidewalk a ways behind her, their sound carried on the wind. She glanced back, but didn’t see anyone. Her steps matched the steady rate of her pulse, both picking up pace. She looked for traffic and stepped off the curb to cross S Street.

  “Jessie,” a man called from a distance.

  Michael? She turned.

  An engine revved. A dark SUV that had been parked along S Street barreled toward her, headlights off.

  Jessie saw it in freeze-frame.

  The SUV bore down on her. Its shiny grille glinted beneath the streetlight, mesmerizing her and rooting her where she stood.

  “Jessie!” It was Michael, closer now.

  She lunged for the curb but the side mirror of the SUV caught her behind her shoulder and spun her around. Pain splintered down her arm and exploded across her back. She fell hard
onto the frozen pavement, stunned.

  The engine roared, then its sound grew distant.

  Electric fear shot Jessie to her knees, scrambling for the sidewalk. She fumbled in her pocket for her gun, whipped it out, and pointed it toward the empty street. Her hand trembled, but her grip was tight.

  Footsteps ticked louder. She turned to see Michael running toward her. When he got close, he slowed.

  She pointed the gun at the ground.

  Michael blinked cautiously and gave her a sidelong look. He kept his hands in sight and raised them slowly. “Are you all right?” His voice bristled with worry.

  She planted one foot beneath her and stood. Blood pulsed in her head, and she reeled with dizziness. Her shoulder throbbed.

  Michael risked a step toward her. “Please, Jessie. Listen to me. You’re in no condition to be handling a gun. How about putting it away?”

  “And leave myself defenseless? What if the person in that SUV comes back?” She gripped the gun tighter.

  Something shifted in his expression. “You’re not defenseless.” He took a tentative step closer. “I’m here for you,” he said, and a shiver ran through her. “Let me prove it.”

  “How?”

  “First, put the gun away. Then I’ll take you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

  “No. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  His brow furrowed, his look anxious and sincere. “What about the gun?”

  She glanced up and down the street, then shifted her gaze to his handsome, guileless face.

  God, she wanted to trust him.

  He buttoned his coat as a gust of wind tousled his hair. “I’m sorry my phone call took so long. I couldn’t interrupt it to text you back. My client is…powerful, controlling.” He shook his head. “It was inconsiderate of me to take the call, but that’s my job.”