by Alex Gates
“The rational always do,” James said. “But politics looks good on you.”
A string quartet strummed a soft melody while a dozen waiters served canapés and fine wines to the guests. It might have been an ambush, but it was a formal, elegant trap.
“I don’t trust any event that makes me wear pantyhose,” I said.
James smirked. “Then we’ll have to take them off as soon as possible.”
“You think you can liquor me up and take advantage of me?”
“Who needs the liquor?” He adjusted his tie—a charcoal grey suit instead of his usual Bureau black. It only exaggerated his muscles, the broadness of his shoulders. An outfit like that worked better than a tequila shot and two hours of small talk at the bar.
“Careful,” I warned. “You keep making jokes, and I’ll leave you home the next time someone tries to buy my silence with fake accolades.”
“The accolades are real.” Like a gentleman, he took my coat. Like a psychologist, he offered his advice. “Take the compliment. This is a party, not an interrogation.”
“This is wrong.”
James was careful to keep his voice low. Wish I had his patience. “If you want to keep your job—”
“Screw my job.”
“If you want to help those girls…” His eyebrow arched. I quieted. “Then you play their game tonight.”
I didn’t want him to be right. “What would you do? Shake hands with Reissing? Thank him for inviting me? Pretend that he isn’t personally responsible for the abuses happening at Grayson House?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll never be able to save them.”
Jesus. I downed the champagne. What the hell was I even doing here? What was Reissing planning? Was he just making a political statement by exploiting the Baby Hope case? Or was he keeping me close? Offering me career advances and public recognition in a bid to keep my mouth shut?
If nothing else, at least this party offered me a chance to find out the truth. All of Edgar Reissing’s friends and confidants, comfortable and toasty, swapping stories around an open bar? Drunken gossip always revealed more than sweaty interrogations.
The clinking of champagne glasses silenced the crowd, and, from the top of the main staircase, Judge Reissing greeted his guests.
“Thank you all for coming!” Reissing gave a hardy laugh and waved an impatient hand as the crowd began an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. “I am overjoyed that all of my lifelong friends, associates, and those looking for a free meal were able to make it tonight to help celebrate my birthday!”
The guests laughed. I didn’t. I surveyed the crowd, identifying more people I recognized through newspaper articles than any personal connections.
Reissing continued, lifting a glass of champagne to toast a man in the back of the room. “And I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my indispensable friends and partners from Connolly, Travers, and Rowe Consultants. Not only do they throw one hell of a party—I mean, who has the connections to reserve this entire restaurant on such short notice, give them a hand just for that—but they have been with me every step of the way this past election year. Took care of everything so I could focus on doing the work that mattered for the city. They’re miracle workers, truly. Kent Travers? Stand up, give a wave. Thank you, my friend, for all the good you do.”
A black man in a stylish suit stood by the bar, graciously accepting the compliments with a charming smile and a quick straightening of his impeccable suit. He seemed young, half the age of the rest of the bow ties, wrinkles, and unspoken nose jobs attending the party.
Kent Travers. I didn’t know him, but half a dozen others called, clapped, and congratulated him, including the mayor. They warmly shook hands and greeted each other by their first names.
“He’s from a political consulting firm,” James whispered. “Biggest in the state—more connected than most on the East Coast.”
Connolly, Travers, and Rowe. It started to make more sense. “CTR?”
“That’s them.”
“They’ve been wining and dining the police union for a year. You know them?”
“They lobby from Pittsburgh to DC. Unions, politicians, special interest groups—you name it, they represent them. They’re the living embodiment of politics. Money means nothing to them. They deal in favors and promises. I’d rather sell my soul to the devil than owe an election to vultures like them. Speaking of…” Judge Reissing called a handsome man to his side—the epitome of tall, dark, and sexy. “That’s their protégée.”
Judge Reissing quieted the beginnings of applause. “This man, right here. Senator Grant Harding. It wouldn’t be a party without my friend here. How long can we have him honoring us tonight, Kent? An hour?”
Kent saluted Reissing from the bar. “Cleared his schedule just for you, Ed.”
“Hear that, ladies and gentleman?” Reissing patted Harding’s shoulder. “Folks, if you haven’t yet met the greatest senator to come out of that tiny town of Canonsburg, then you are in luck.”
The senator grinned so bright with teeth so perfect he’d legislate the pants right off a girl. “One day, I hope to be the best senator from Washington County, but we all start somewhere.”
“Give it time.” Judge Reissing laughed. His champagne dripped as the glass teetered high in a toast. “Now, dinner will be served after this cocktail hour, but while I have you all hostage—I mean, attentive…” He grinned as a polite chuckle passed over the crowd. “And I didn’t even need my gavel. I wanted to let you all know about a worthwhile project that I’ve been championing for years now. At some point, everyone go introduce yourself to my good friend, Charles Geralt…if you don’t already know him.”
The guests clapped. I dug my fingernails into James’s arm.
Charles Geralt? I searched the party for the man with the name that pitted my stomach. He lurked at the base of the stairs, nursing a dark drink that tampered his scowl. Needle nosed and thin as a rail, the man more resembled a two by four than the steel he’d used to develop his real estate empire.
“Now Charles over there—he’s built and maintained a wonderful organization called Grayson House. This organization saves kids. Lots of them. Gives them a second chance with the law, with themselves, and with their addictions. He’s doing this city a service. I encourage you all to go have a chat with him and consider donating to his organization.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered.
Jesus. No wonder Reissing was so goddamned protective of Grayson House. He worked with the man running the damn enterprise! He’d never admit to any sort of problem inside the facility.
Damn it. What sort of monster put a friendship before the safety of a dozen or more children?
“Grayson House helps a lot of young people,” Judge Reissing said. “And in this day and age, they need all the help they can get. You may remember the story from just a few weeks ago, the abandoned baby left callously in the Giant Eagle bathroom. A baby which, unfortunately, was born with an addiction to heroin. If we had more places like Grayson House, this tragedy might have been avoided.”
Extolling the virtues of Grayson House while exploiting the very child created after the mother endured unknown abuses at the facility? That was a new level of disgusting.
Reissing searched the crowd, blocking the light with a hand over his eyes. “Fortunately, we have heroes in this world, heroes like Detective London McKenna. Where’s London?”
James held my arm as my stomach dropped. The sudden spotlight and rage pinned me in place. The inevitable stares of the crowd did the rest. Even before the captivity had plastered my face over the news, I’d hated any form of public attention. Reissing’s lies made it all the worse.
“Ms. McKenna is a testament to the Pittsburgh police force—she works tirelessly to save every innocent life she can. You may remember her heroism at the beginning of this year, releasing those children from that horrific
cult. Well, she has again proven herself as one of the city’s finest. Thanks to her, not only is Pittsburgh’s Hope on her way to recovery, Senator Harding has some exciting news.”
I accepted the round of applause with a forced, gracious wave.
Corrupt bastard.
The senator once again joined Reissing on the steps. His smile wasn’t just practiced—it was genuine. “Thank you, Judge Reissing. I am so grateful that I get to speak on the behalf on a beautiful little girl who has no voice tonight—and probably won’t for another year.”
The crowd murmured a gentle laugh. I didn’t move.
“I’ve been on the ground with this terrible crime from the beginning, fully invested in Baby Hope’s story.” He gestured to the guests with his thumb, too polite to point. “I ran for senate with a promise—a promise to Pennsylvania’s children, and a promise to their parents, the good-hearted folks who make this state one of the greatest in our nation. I promised that I would do all I could to help the less fortunate. I vowed that every child would have a chance for success—be it a school lunch in the afternoon or opportunities for their future in both old and new technologies in this state. From rejuvenating Pittsburgh’s steel mills to fostering the new fields of healthcare and computer science, I want every Pennsylvanian child to have a bright and prosperous future.”
The senator charmed the guests with his platitudes, but it worked. He had the crowd eating out of his hands…and the women wishing for more.
“So, it is my pleasure to announce this fantastic news,” he said. “Baby Hope is just one of many children who will have every available opportunity. The city’s newest little star has found a new home tonight. She’s been discharged from the hospital. Right now, she’s sleeping in a new crib under the watchful eye of a delightful foster family I had the honor of meeting just before I arrived here tonight for this most joyous celebration.”
The audience applauded, toasting the judge and senator with their champagne before breaking from their conversations to offer their Rolex weighed, diamond ring decorated hands to me for a proper handshake.
This was worse than a crime scene. Worse than an interrogation with a hostile witness.
Worse than facing an unknown, unlit basement with only a rusted chain and prayer to protect me.
They exploited the baby.
They denigrated Amber.
And they praised an institution that didn’t encourage recovery, only further abuse and misery.
“I’ve gotta talk to Geralt,” I said.
James blocked my path before I parted the restaurant like the goddamned Red Sea. “Not here, London.”
“If I can’t get to the judge, then I’ll go to the source.”
“And say what?” He kept his voice low, a smooth rumble of professionalism and respect that irritated the hell out of me when I was angry. “I can count three of your superior officers from here. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Not yet.”
“Every minute I waste here is another that Hannah could be in trouble.”
“And every mistake you make pushes her further into the gutter.”
Damn.
I gulped a mouthful of champagne and set the half-empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. No sense drinking myself into any arguments tonight. I’d need a clear head, especially since I’d already lost my patience.
The guests mingled once again, their voices, laughter, and stories humming over the cocktail hour. I stiffened as Judge Reissing’s voice carried a little too loudly, calling my name more for the political benefit of my presence than any genuine warmth.
“There she is! London, my dear, I am so glad you could make it tonight.” He offered his arm. I should have twisted it behind his back and slammed my handcuffs down. Instead, I politely allowed him to lead me through the party. “Come with me. I want to introduce you to a few people. Important people, London.”
No doubt. I gave a demure nod as Reissing led me to Senator Grant Harding. The politician flashed a Time Magazine smile as he spoke with the department’s Assistant Chief, Jon Esposto. Nothing like my boss’s boss to ease the churning in my gut. Not like I hadn’t spoken with Esposto before, but he wasn’t thrilled with the fiasco that happened with the cult in Forest County. Not many in the precinct were.
He was old enough to be my father but young enough to take offense to the word retirement. Esposto had worked for his herniated discs and cataracts, torn rotator cuffs and arthritis. The torture wouldn’t stop until he became chief—a position Chief Graziani seemed reluctant to pass.
Esposto greeted me formally, eyebrow rising as the dress seemed longer on the store rack than over my hips. The Senator swallowed, his stare a polite meeting of my eyes and not a sly glance at my bust. Now I knew he was political—always aware of where a camera might invent a scandal.
“London.” Judge Reissing introduced me to the senator. “Have you met Grant Harding?”
I extended my hand. “I haven’t had the opportunity. Though I believe you’ve been a fixture around the police department lately.”
His palm was warm—a hardy handshake offered with a charming grin. “Had I known you were in the building, I might have insisted upon a detour. It’s a shame I haven’t met you yet, Detective McKenna. I hardly expected someone so…” He cleared his throat, picking the right word that, in his delay, would inevitably be the wrong thing to say. “Young.”
Reissing nodded. “Young, but experienced. Almost like you, Grant.”
He chuckled, embarrassed. “You’ll have to forgive me, Detective. When I was told an officer had saved Baby Hope, I’d expected…well, to meet someone who looked more like your sergeant.”
And I’d pay good money to see Adamski fit into this dress. “Surprise.”
“A good one.” Harding’s eyes were dark with a faint splash of green. I probably shouldn’t have held his gaze for so long. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective McKenna.”
“London,” I said. “Likewise, Senator.”
“My friends call me Grant.” He smiled. “And I expect that we should become very good friends, London.”
James exhaled his words harsher than his usual mellow cadence. He reached out, gripping Harding’s hand with a bit more force than necessary. “Doctor James Novak. FBI.”
Harding appropriately gave me a wider birth. “FBI, Doctor Novak? That’s impressive. Where is your field?”
“I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with a specialization in criminal psychology.”
Judge Reissing also shook his hand, but he winked at me. “Psychology? I suppose you always know what’s ticking in London’s head then?”
James was too smart to answer that question. “I appreciate a good mystery.”
“Well, we all have our secrets and quirks.” Judge Reissing lowered his voice. “Though sometimes…I do wonder what goes on in that mind of hers.”
If he squinted real hard, he probably could’ve guessed. “I’m not that inscrutable. I always try to do the right thing.”
“And it’s so hard to tell what that is these days.” Reissing gestured with his hand, a gold ring glinting in the light. “Fortunately, we have friends and partners who can help. Never forget how hard they can work with and for you, London.”
Esposto agreed. “We’re the lucky ones. Detective McKenna is as loyal as they come. Always willing to do what’s right for her brothers and sisters in blue.”
My stomach turned. “Right. Of course.”
“That’s why she’s on our radar,” Esposto said. “She’s got a promising future ahead of her.”
Reissing chuckled. “I can believe that. I’d hate to be the one to go toe-to-toe with her. She’s smart as a whip and a surefire little pistol.”
Harding’s chuckle might have verged on flirting. “Hopefully you’re not that dangerous, London.”
“Shouldn’t be, if she keeps on the right path.” Reissing patted my shoulder. “A lot of good things will be coming your way, London. Don’t let anything inter
fere with that bright future.”
Harding and the others eavesdropping might have believed the words to be compliments. I didn’t buy it. Every syllable Reissing chewed was another punch to my gut. Worst of all, his praise left no bruises. A snake bite with no venom, just a warning.
The senator waved a waiter over and ensured everyone had a refreshed glass of champagne. “Well, London, a toast to all your hard work on the Baby Hope case. I am glad we have women like you on the force who do what needs to be done to keep our streets safe.”
Our glasses clinked. The champagne soured on my tongue.
Harding sighed. “While I’m relieved a foster family has taken Baby Hope…I suppose I’m old-fashioned. I hate to see a child separated from her real family. Is there any indication that a grandparent or aunt or anyone might be willing to help either the child or the mother?”
“No,” I said. “Unfortunately, the mother didn’t have a traditional family support structure. And those who were supposed to help her…” I eyed Reissing. “Failed.”
“A shame.” Harding ran a hand across his jaw—hard, square, and destined for a presidential portrait. “I know I preach it all the time, but I honestly wish we could instill some family values into our communities again. Doesn’t matter what the family looks like—one parent or two, same sex or not. As long as the family core is protected. I remember a time when a girl in trouble would receive all the help a community could provide. Family and friends and even strangers, all helping out to guide the youngest back to safety and stability.” He huffed. “Just where is the baby’s father in all this?”
I hated to bust his delicate sensibilities with tales of abuse and rape. “We haven’t located him yet…” I smiled, my gaze pausing over Reissing. “But I’ll stop at nothing until I find him.”
Harding nodded, the dimple in his chin pronounced when he frowned. “I have two children of my own. Imagining them growing up without a father…it’s terrible. A man must take responsibility for his actions and do everything in his power to make it right.”
Funny. That was my responsibility too. And I took it damn seriously. “Believe me, nothing is more important to me than finding Baby Hope’s father. And I hope I’ll have all the support I’ll need to search for him.”
