I followed as Richard moved away from the podium and struck up a conversation with Senator Finnegan. While the two men talked, I searched the crowd for familiar faces.
Near the entrance, I spotted Agent Cooper dressed in his familiar tweed suit. He must have arrived after the First Family. He seemed to be people-watching as well. His gaze never stopped as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
Lillian and Brooks Keller were standing in a crowd near the buffet tables. I almost didn’t recognize Lillian at first. She was dressed in a tuxedo that matched her brother’s, and she’d pulled her arctic blond hair back into a tight bun. She stiffened when she noticed Cooper by the door. Glancing nervously around, she grabbed her brother’s arm, skirted around a buffet table draped in a white tablecloth, and disappeared through curtained French doors that led outside to a walled-off patio.
Richard and Senator Finnegan’s discussion turned to the technical aspect of hedges—and not the kind of hedges that got pruned. My attention kept going back to the French doors through which Lillian and Brooks had disappeared.
There were two more sets of doors that led out to the same patio. I edged toward the one closest to me and slipped through.
The night sky looked dark against the glow of the city. A jet engine roared in the distance as a plane approached nearby Reagan National Airport.
Because of a vine-covered wooden pergola in the middle of the patio, I couldn’t see either Brooks or Lillian. I nodded to a Secret Service agent standing guard and then moved quietly in the direction of the door the twins had gone through.
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t talk with them,” I heard Brooks say. I peered around the corner of the pergola and found Brooks and Lillian standing toe-to-toe a few feet away from me. “All the major news agencies are running pictures of Pauline and me together. Where did they get them?”
“Joanna, most likely.”
“No, not Joanna. She wouldn’t do that to me. She’s too . . . too . . .”
“She’s a thief and a liar. She’d do anything to hurt you and me.”
“That FBI agent, what’s his name . . .”
“Cooper,” Lillian supplied.
“Yeah, him. He grabbed my arm on the way out of the hotel tonight. He said they’re gathering evidence against me and that they’re getting close to making an arrest. An arrest, Lillian! What evidence could they possibly have? He suggested that if I had nothing to hide, he’d appreciate it if I came in and answered some questions.”
“God, tell me you didn’t say anything to him.”
“I’m not a moron, but he got me to thinking. If I went down there and explained—”
“Nothing would change. Nothing. Don’t you see what’s happening? They’re looking for someone to blame, a convenient scapegoat. A murdered lover makes for a good story.”
“But perhaps if they understood—”
“They’d arrest you, and the court of public opinion would convict you.” Lillian huffed loudly. “Keep your mouth shut and let the FBI look elsewhere. Pauline dug deep into National Tenure’s accounts, deep enough that I’m sure she found a skeleton or two. No one benefitted more from her death and the loss of her precious laptop than Richard. If you had managed to stay out of her bed, I bet the FBI would be all over that angle right now instead of bothering with you.”
“You don’t think he killed her, do you?” Brooks sounded appalled by the idea.
“I don’t care what he’s done. As long as it takes the focus off you, I’m willing to drop a few hints here and there.”
“Now, Lillian.” It was Brooks’s turn to sound wary. “You’re about as subtle as a bulldozer in a china shop.”
“You mean a bull.”
“What?” Brooks shook his head in confusion. “No, not a bull. I mean you, Lillian. You’re too aggressive when it comes to—”
“I protect what’s important to me.”
“But Joanna—” Brooks protested.
“Had her fingers where they didn’t belong.” Lillian shivered. “Let’s get back inside and try to act as if nothing has happened, because it hasn’t.”
My heart banged in my chest. Could I let them return inside without saying anything? The banking summit was over and the CEOs would be heading back to New York. I might never get another chance to question either Brooks or Lillian again.
“Excuse me,” I called, and hurried over to them.
Lillian turned around to glare while Brooks got a goofy grin on his face.
“Ms. Calhoun, what a pleasure,” he said, closing the distance between us.
“Yes,” Lillian said, her expression tightening, “a pleasure.”
“Lovely evening,” I said, turning toward the edge of the patio to deflect Brooks’s attempt to kiss my hand or anything else.
“We were just going inside.” Lillian moved toward the French doors.
“I couldn’t help but overhear the two of you talking about Pauline. You know, the other day I found a charm that had been on her laptop case, the same metal case the killer used to knock me unconscious.”
I rubbed my temple as if it still pained me and turned to face them.
“I was wondering if you knew anything about that charm. Pauline’s roommate had mentioned to me the other day that someone she knew in New York had given that charm to Pauline, someone very close to her. Was that you, Brooks?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You mean to say you didn’t give her a golden charm, like the kind you’d hang on a necklace or a bracelet?”
“What charm? I didn’t give her a charm, did I, Lil?”
“Of course you didn’t.” Lillian turned toward me. “You have to understand that my brother doesn’t actually shop for gifts for his lady friends. Jeffery, his personal assistant, handles details like that, and ever since he spent a fortune buying jewels for that conniving Joanna Lovell, I’ve been going over the books, making a list of all the gifts Jeffery’s purchased.”
“Are you certain?” If not Brooks, then who gave the charm to her? “It looked like a dollar sign encrusted with gems. Her initials had been engraved on the back.”
“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brooks shook his head with obvious distress.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Lillian cut in. “He’s a wizard with numbers but clueless when it comes to women. Pauline was just like you, darling brother. She’d sleep with anyone who’d let her into his bed.” She turned to me. “I bet that stupid charm came from one of her other lovers.”
“There was more than one?” That surprised me. “In New York? Are you sure?”
“No,” Brooks protested.
“I’m sure,” Lillian said. She’d started to drag her brother back inside, but she stopped. “The people involved in this affair aren’t as lily white as the press portrays them to be, Ms. Calhoun. Pauline craved attention and drama. She came to me with a crazy story about Joanna’s hold on Brooks, hoping to cause friction.”
“Lillian,” Brooks hissed. This time he was the one tugging on his sister’s arm, anxious to leave.
Lillian batted his hands away. “Turned out Pauline had been right about Joanna being trouble, but it wasn’t the affair that was the problem. After reviewing the accounts, I discovered Joanna, my trusted personal attorney, had embezzled nearly half a million dollars from me. I suppose the lavish gifts she’d been getting from Brooks weren’t enough.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“We didn’t prosecute.” Lillian glared at her brother.
“She had photographs,” Brooks grumbled.
“I’m so sorry.”
“So are we, aren’t we, Brooks?” Lillian said, and dragged Brooks inside.
I RETURNED TO THE RESTAURANT FEELING sorry for Brooks.
Guilt had been written all over his face when his sister had mentioned Joanna. But when I’d asked him about Pauline, he’d crinkled his nose and brows and looked simply confused.
S
o if not Brooks, then who strangled Pauline?
And why would Lillian think Richard had the most to gain from Pauline’s death?
“There you are.” Richard brushed a kiss on my cheek. He was holding two plates piled with hors d’oeuvres. A small stack of tiny crab cakes caught my attention.
“For me?” I took the plate and popped a crab cake in my mouth, savoring its creamy sweet taste. “Thank you.”
“What’s bothering you?” Richard asked. He smoothed out the crease between my eyes with his thumb. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone frown so hard.”
I popped another crab cake in my mouth before answering. “I thought you’d said the other day that you wanted the police to find Pauline’s stolen laptop, because it could prove to the senate committee that added regulations weren’t needed.”
“That’s right. I do.” He glanced around the room. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Lillian Keller.”
His lips pulled into an unfriendly smile. “Figures. She’s a shark and she sits at the helm of my bank’s toughest competitor. She’d love to hurt me.”
“I didn’t realize. But—”
“Come here.” He took the plate and set it on a nearby table. He then took me into his arms and kissed me.
Oh boy, Richard could kiss.
The tingling started in my toes and worked its way to the top of my head before he’d finished making love to my lips. Before today, I didn’t understand that phrase.
Joanna must have been wrong when she’d told me that Richard exclusively dated supermodels and celebrities, since I was neither. Or perhaps he’d grown tired of the gorgeous, leggy, and well-endowed types and was looking for a real woman, because the way he kissed me made me think of weddings and forever and towheaded little . . .
I grabbed his lapels and peeled my lips from his.
“Um . . . um . . .” What had we been talking about?
“Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispered in my ear.
“No, but I like how you express your approval.” Excitement bubbled in my chest. If his kiss had the power to knock me breathless, what would happen if I invited him up to my bedroom and let him do more than kiss?
“What’s that?” A commotion at the entrance had caught Richard’s attention. “John’s in trouble.” The Secret Service agents seemed to have all converged in one spot. Richard and I moved closer to get a better view of what was happening.
Was that the head of CAT, Mike Thatch, arguing with President Bradley?
The First Lady spotted me and directed the Secret Service to allow us to come closer. Because there was really no danger to the President and First Lady, just a minor disagreement, Richard and I easily squeezed through the tight circle the Secret Service agents had formed around the First Family.
“What’s going on?” I asked Mrs. Bradley when I reached her side.
She hooked her arm in mine. A sparkle of excitement lit her eyes. “We’re springing a little surprise for the press pool. They follow John and me everywhere, dutifully recording our movements. But we’ve been attending many private events like these lately where the press pool is banned from coming inside and watching the proceedings. They’re stuck in a stuffy van for hours, waiting to follow us back home with really nothing to report. But not tonight. Come on.”
“Give us five minutes to secure the area,” Thatch told the President, who nodded.
It actually took more than ten minutes for the Secret Service to give the okay. By that time, nearly everyone at the event was speculating on what President Bradley planned to do.
“He’s going to sing,” someone whispered behind me.
I doubted that.
“We know what this is about,” Richard whispered in my ear.
I nodded as we preceded the President and First Lady outside. The press pool had gathered around the restaurant’s entrance along with Dupont Circle residents, who’d lined the street in order to catch a glimpse of the First Family.
Uniformed and Secret Service agents dressed in dark suits eyed the crowd suspiciously and moved quickly to intercept anyone who tried to get too close. I spotted a few CAT agents patrolling in the background.
The President’s limousine stood running at the front door, ready to whisk the First Family away as soon as the surprise had been sprung.
Richard stood behind me with his hands on my shoulder. The First Family took their place in front of the press pool. Senators Pendergast and Finnegan pushed their way through the crowd to stand at the President’s elbow.
Once everyone had settled down, President Bradley cleared his throat. Photographers began snapping nonstop, their flashbulbs blinding.
“Many of you in the press pool have become as close to me as family. We practically all live together at the White House.”
Several members of the press pool chuckled.
Mrs. Bradley squeezed her husband’s hand. When he continued, he gazed lovingly at his wife. “There’s going to be a new addition coming to live with us at the White House. Two new additions, actually.”
A collective gasp rose from within the press pool.
“Margaret has given me the best gift a wife can give her husband.” His smile grew wider. So did the First Lady’s.
“We’re having twins,” she said.
Someone started to clap. Others joined in.
Cheers and whistles filled the street.
“John’s a crafty man,” Richard said, shaking his head. “Just like me, he’ll do anything to win. The morning news will be about the pregnancy, not about how he spent the week butting heads with senators and Wall Street without accomplishing anything.”
“I’m sure that’s not why—” I’d started to say.
The rest of that thought got caught in my throat as I spotted Joanna Lovell. What was she doing here? She stood at the edge of the crowd gathered from the surrounding neighborhood.
She wore the same suit and running shoes from two days ago, but they looked freshly pressed and clean. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and her face had been cleaned of makeup.
A large flowered bag was slung over her shoulder, as if she’d spent the day shopping. She looked so harmless that when I first spotted her, recognition didn’t fully kick in until I saw her reach into that bag and pull out a—
“Gun!” I broke away from Richard and lurched toward her. “There! She’s there!”
But I was too late.
The Secret Service agents who dove toward her were also too late. The gun had been fired but I don’t remember hearing it go off.
Senator Pendergast went down first.
And then Brooks.
A CAT agent jumped in front of me. Bullets that would have struck me peppered his chest. He fell backward, knocking me down with him.
Other Secret Service agents swarmed the area with their guns drawn. The Presidential limousine’s tires screeched as it sped away from the curb followed by several black SUVs. I prayed the President and First Lady had escaped unharmed.
As I pulled myself up, I noticed the CAT agent who had saved me remained crumbled like a broken toy soldier on the sidewalk. Grabbing his shoulders, I rolled him over onto his back.
“Turner!”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I ran my hands over Jack Turner’s chest. He wasn’t my sidekick and wasn’t even my friend. So why was I crying? I pressed my hands against the three dark bullet holes that had torn through his uniform in an effort to stanch the flow of blood.
But there wasn’t any blood.
A heart has to beat for a bullet wound to bleed. Thanks to Turner for bringing up memories I had hoped to leave buried in my past, I remembered that grisly detail from my mother’s death.
No heartbeat. No blood. No life.
Turner was dead.
“No.” Tears clogged my throat. I cradled his lifeless body in my lap and buried my face in his chest. He’d saved me. He didn’t have to do it. He didn’t have to
fling himself into the line of fire for me. But Turner had that damned hero complex, and that’s what heroes did—they sacrificed themselves. “Oh, Turner.”
“What the hell are you doing?” a raspy voice asked.
I raised my head, expecting to find Richard.
I didn’t expect to see that the dead guy I’d been cradling in my arms had opened his eyes.
I yelped and dropped him on the pavement. “You—you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Bulletproof vest.”
“Of course.” I patted his ruined vest.
He pushed my hand away. “The bullets still pack one hell of a punch. Come morning my chest will be a rainbow of bruises, but you don’t have to cry. I’m fine.” He jumped to his feet and thumped the vest’s ceramic insert. “These really are top-of-the-line, military-grade body armor.”
“Wait,” I called.
“They’ve got the shooter.” He pointed to his earpiece as he trotted away. “It was Joanna.”
THE SECRET SERVICE CORRALLED EVERYONE who’d attended the wildlife charity event back into the restaurant while a pair of ambulances roared away with their sirens blaring, rushing Senator Pendergast and Brooks Keller to the nearest hospital. So far, no one I’d asked knew the extent of either of their injuries. They’d both been shot, but no one else had been hurt.
“I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would Joanna want to shoot at the President?” I asked Agent Cooper, hoping he could answer at least that question for me.
An uncomfortable hush had descended in the room. A couple of people were whispering as if they were attending a funeral. Most looked shell-shocked, staring blankly at nothing.
Flowerbed of State Page 26
