by J. L. Brown
“Now you’re the confirmed nominee, how does that change your campaign?”
“It doesn’t. Our focus has always been on the economy, education, and equal rights for women.”
“Whitney, come on now. Haven’t you won equal rights, already? Isn’t that what the Title IX business was all about?”
“You would think. But we still do not have a federal law providing equal rights for women. And, now, women are re-fighting the battles we won forty years ago. Unlike other civil rights—for example, gay rights—women’s rights are regressing instead of progressing. And, Cole, please call me ‘Senator Fairchild.’”
“You’re talking about abortion.”
“Over the last decade, the opposing party proposed numerous bills that blocked funding for critical women’s reproductive health, particularly for low-income women. A woman’s access to a safe abortion should not depend on her ZIP code. But the issue is not only about a woman’s right to choose, but equal pay, economic and educational opportunities for poor women and women of color, and protection against gender-based violence. But, yes, more women need to be in the room when women’s health issues are discussed.”
“We aren’t going to agree on this one. I’m not qualified to discuss women’s health issues with you, so I won’t even try.”
Senator Whitney Fairchild smiled. “Exactly.”
Cole realized—too late—he lost the point. He needed to be more careful with this woman. “Let’s move on to China.”
The senator nodded. “As you wish.”
“China slowed down on the amount of our debt it’s buying. Are you concerned, and, if so, what should we do about it?”
“‘China is a sleeping lion. Let her sleep, for when she wakes she will shake the world.’”
Cole stared at her, perplexed. “Huh?”
“Napoleon said that.” She smiled. “Of course, I am concerned. China had been a net buyer of US treasuries for a long time and is a significant and important trading partner of the United States. We’re fortunate other countries took up the purchasing slack—namely, Japan—but the current situation is a warning about something we all realize. We must become more self-reliant.”
“Finally, something we can agree on, my friend.” Cole decided to switch topics, a tactic he used to rattle his interviewees. “Whit— Senator, tell me about your husband’s affair.”
The senator shook her head, pursed her lips, and wagged her index finger at him. “My husband made a mistake. And I don’t believe we are friends, Cole.”
“And a neighbor, of all people. Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘borrowing a cup of sugar.’”
Senator Fairchild threw her head back and laughed. She had a pleasant laugh. “That’s a good one.”
“Uh, yeah.” This woman couldn’t be rattled. “You went to one of those liberal, Eastern schools—”
“I attended Northwestern undergrad and Harvard Law School, yes.”
“—and you and your husband are extremely wealthy. How can you possibly identify with the struggles of the middle class in this country?”
“Because I know what’s it’s like to struggle. I grew up in a middle-class family in a small town in Missouri. My father was an insurance agent who owned his own small business; my mom was his office manager. They struggled to make ends meet for my two brothers and me. What I love about my party, Cole, is we are always fighting for the middle class and our ability to empathize. I don’t need to be poor to want to raise the minimum wage to give people the opportunity to live a better life.”
Walked into that one. Cole decided to change tack again. “What are your thoughts on TSK, the Talk Show Killer?”
“I think his actions are deplorable.”
“Even though he seems to spout the same liberal B.S. you do?”
“I wouldn’t describe my beliefs as B.S., but his acts are deplorable just the same and stem from the mind of a sick individual. Fairness on the airwaves and social equity are important issues and ones I care deeply about, but instead of killing conservative talk-show hosts, I ran for president.”
Good answer. The interview ran for ten more minutes. After he signed off, he leaned back, tired, like a boxer who had been pummeled into the ropes for fifteen rounds. Still standing but barely. He smiled at her in spite of himself.
“I’m still going to do everything in my power to defeat your candidacy.”
The senator smiled back. “And I am still going to do everything in my power to not let you.”
The Democratic nominee picked up her purse and left the studio. Cole hesitated before turning to glance over his shoulder out the studio window into the hallway.
To his dismay, his smiling employees were lining up to shake her hand and take selfies with her.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
San Francisco, California
Jade sat next to Christian in an interrogation room at the local FBI office. Dante, Pat, Max, and Austin observed them through the one-way mirror. After confirming that the suspect in custody was not TSK, Jade had sent local agents to the home of Billy Stone, the San Francisco talk-show host, to make sure the incident in the garage hadn’t been a diversion.
The man sitting across from them did not seem nervous.
She stated the date, case number, and her identification information. “Please state your name for the record.”
“Kevin. Kevin Burke.”
“So, Kevin, tell me, what were you doing in that garage?”
Kevin slouched in his chair, his arms folded across his slender chest. Dressed in all black down to his Chuck Taylor sneakers, he stared at her, but said nothing.
A criminal background check hadn’t revealed much. Kevin was arrested six years ago for shoplifting a six-pack of Red Bull.
“Kevin, you could be in a lot of trouble unless you tell us what you know.”
Kevin shrugged. “Walking.”
She started to rise.
Christian stopped taking notes of the interview and put a hand on her arm. He asked, “Why did you happen to be walking in that garage at that particular time of night?”
“I was hoping to bump into the radio guy.”
“Why?” Jade asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I was supposed to bump into him.”
“And then what?”
Kevin sat up. “Okay. Look. This guy I met on the street gave me fifty bucks to wait for the radio guy to get off work. All right? He told me to bump into him literally—the guy said he would be watching me—and afterward, we were to meet at the Starbucks on the corner and he would give me another fifty.” Kevin slouched again. “Man . . . I guess this means I won’t be getting the rest of my money.”
“Which Starbucks?” Jade asked, knowing with a sinking feeling that there was one on every corner in San Francisco. Sometimes two.
Kevin told them.
Without a word from her, Christian left the room to send someone to check out the Starbucks. It was pointless. If TSK had ever been there, he was long gone. “What did the guy look like?”
Kevin surveyed the bare conference-room walls. Finding nowhere else to rest his eyes, he stared at Jade. “What’s in it for me?”
“Reduced jail time. What did he look like?”
“I can go to jail for this?”
Jade said nothing. The silence stretched for a few minutes. She had learned over the years that sometimes silence was the best way to make someone talk. A lot of people hated silence. She did not.
Her patience was rewarded.
“White guy. Blond, brown hair, but I’m not sure. He was wearing a baseball hat. Sunglasses even though it was starting to get dark.”
“Big guy? Little guy?”
“He was taller than me.”
“I want you to work with a sketch artist to come up with a facial composite of him.”
“If I help you, will you help me stay out of jail?”
Jade stood. “
We’ll see.”
Kevin laughed.
This guy bugged her. “What’s so amusing?”
“He told me I might get a visit from you, but he said not to sweat it. The FBI doesn’t have a clue.”
*
Two agents led Kevin away. Dante, Christian, and the rest of the task force came into the room, along with some local agents. Jade leaned back in her chair staring at the ceiling. She had been wearing the same gray pantsuit for two days. She craved a shower, and they needed to head to the airport soon. But she didn’t want to get up from this chair. She was drained: from the interrogation, from this case, from failing.
She lifted her head and turned to Max. “Well?”
Before Max had a chance to answer, Dante said, “You’re not ready, yet. You don’t have the experience to run a major investigation like this.”
Jade counted to ten.
Before she finished counting, Dante continued, “You’re always so damn impulsive. When are you going to start thinking before you act?”
Christian slashed his forearm down like a traffic cop.
“That’s enough, Dante.”
“Why can’t she defend herself?” Dante said. “Because she’s a woman?”
Jade banged both hands on the table.
Everyone froze.
The rage, building within her for months, exploded. “I’m impulsive? Weren’t you the one to suggest the West Coast? What is it with you? Is this all because I wouldn’t go out with you when I first arrived at the Bureau? Is it because others are starting to realize you don’t have what it takes?”
His eyes hardened. “Well, at least I didn’t need affirmative action to get into the Bureau.”
That was a lie. At the FBI Academy in Quantico, Jade recorded some of the highest scores ever for a woman. Her proficiency levels for firearms broke Academy records for both genders. A rare breed at the FBI—women accounted for nineteen percent of special agents, black women, a paltry one percent—everything she had accomplished, she had earned.
Her face burned. She didn’t hesitate. She took two quick steps toward Dante and punched him in the face. The pain in her hand barely registered as Dante went down hard. He touched his nose and stared at the blood on his fingers. He popped back up and came after her. Christian sliced between them, his body as immovable as an oak tree. The other agents, taken aback at first, recovered and grabbed Dante. Breathing hard, Jade and Dante glared at each other.
“Shit, you two,” Christian said. “Let’s tone it down.”
Jade would have smiled if she weren’t enraged. Christian never cussed.
Christian faced her. “We’re all frustrated.”
Still pushing against Christian, she lifted a finger and pointed at Dante. “You crossed a line. You were wrong for that.”
Dante’s face was flushed, more from embarrassment at being decked by a woman in front of his peers than exertion. A smile played at his lips.
“Have you ever thought, Ms. Thing, that you’re wrong for this?” He raised his arms to take in the interrogation room, the building, the Bureau.
Her life.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Washington, DC
Back in her office after the August recess, Whitney paused from catching up on her paperwork to enjoy the view outside her window. Hill staffers strode along the sidewalk to and from the Capitol. The tree leaves were still in full bloom.
She turned at the knock on her door.
Landon stood in the doorway.
“Yes, Landon?”
“I have something for you.”
He crossed the room and handed her a slim, gift-wrapped package. He cocked his head, smiled. “Happy Birthday.”
“You remembered.”
“Of course. It’s a little late, though.”
She started to open it.
He raised his hand. “Wait! You can’t open it until after the election.”
“Then wouldn’t it be an election present?”
She flipped the package back and forth, eyeing the note stating what he had just said. By the weight and feel of it, she could tell it was a book.
“I’m intrigued,” she said and placed the book at the corner of the desk. “Sit down. We need to start prepping for the debate.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Arlington, Virginia
Jade steadied her hand and sighted her target, the outline of a man fifty yards away. She slowed her breathing. A calmness came over her. She stopped breathing and fired. She exhaled.
Fall was her favorite time of the year in Virginia. The days of ninety-degree-plus temperatures had finally abated. In college, however, she dreaded fall and the onset of pre-season, when all her basketball team did was run sprints and long distances in preparation for the upcoming season. She could run all day on the court, but believed running should be a means to an end and not an end onto itself. Like shopping.
A tingling sensation slinked down the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. She turned. Max. She removed her earplugs.
He gave her what she took for a smile.
“When you weren’t at the basketball court or the dojang, I thought I might find you here.”
“You should have been a detective.”
“Must have missed my calling. Nice shot.”
She glanced at the target and shrugged. She put the earplugs back in, set herself, and went through her breathing ritual again. She fired five more times.
Max pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and moved toward her. He stepped across her to tap the SmartPad. She lifted her safety goggles, removed her earplugs again, and shook out her hair.
The target stopped about fifteen feet away. Six shots. All through the heart.
Max smile-grimaced again.
“Remind me never to make you mad.”
She tried not to smile but failed. “I’ll try.”
He waited.
She scowled and gazed down at her .40 Glock 23, running her hand along the barrel. “I lost it.”
“Yep.”
“I let him get to me,” she said, smoothing the top of her hair. “I’m so sick of his little comments.”
“Dante takes pleasure in getting to you. You played right into his hands. But that’s not where you lost it.”
Jade avoided Max’s eyes and said nothing. She knew what was coming.
“That interview. It wasn’t like you. You didn’t even try to build a rapport with the subject.”
“The killer is going to strike again. Soon.”
“Which is why you need to get your act together. Forget about Dante and focus on what’s most important. The case. You don’t always need to be in ‘prove’ mode. You don’t need to prove yourself anymore. To anyone. Just because you ask for help, doesn’t mean you’re not in control. You’re the best. Act like you’ve been there before.”
“My college coach used to say that all the time.”
“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t root for the underdog. You always want the best team to win.”
“I like to win. What more can I say?” She glanced around the range and back at Max. “This guy is always one step ahead of me.”
“He’s one step ahead of us.”
Max touched her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Jade, you’re a beautiful, strong, intelligent, and amazing woman.”
She tried to move her head, but he held firm.
He continued, his voice soft. “You’re no longer the bullied, overweight kid with glasses.”
After a moment, he let go of her chin. She stepped back from him and pushed the button to send the target back out.
Max started to walk away, but stopped and turned. “Leave some targets for the other shooters, okay?”
He hesitated, and left. She didn’t watch him go.
Her phone vibrated against her hip. She answered.
“You can’t let Dante bother you,” Ethan said, without preamble.
“What is it, Dante Day?”
<
br /> “What?”
“Never mind. Ethan, I can’t work with him.”
“He’s off the task force.”
“He undermines my authority. He creates dissension. I don’t trust . . . Wait . . . What did you say?”
“He’s off. I’ve re-assigned him.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said. “Now, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
Wary, Jade said, “What?”
“Relax.” He hung up.
She reinserted the earplugs and pushed the goggles back down.
Jade sighted the target, telling herself it was wrong to pretend it was Dante. She held her breath and fired. She kept firing until the chamber was empty.
She didn’t need to bring the target closer. All the shots went straight through the heart.
This was how she relaxed.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Arlington, Virginia
Early on a Saturday morning, Jade and Landon strolled through the park near her house. She realized others had had the same idea. With the high humidity of summer finally breaking, the distinct sound of basketballs dancing on the pavement reached them. She loved that sound. It was music.
They arrived at the refurbished basketball court, the white lines painted fresh, the new rims and nets, a gift from a current Wizards player who grew up in the neighborhood.
Landon, wearing a t-shirt and baggy gym shorts, stopped a few yards behind the backboard and started stretching. Jade, in black sports tights and a sleeveless white Adidas shirt, dribbled onto the court and nodded at some guys on the adjacent court with whom she played occasional pick-up games.
She began shooting close to the basket to warm up. She went into the same shooting routine she had used since she was a young girl: shoot a couple of bank shots on each side, a couple of shots straight on, and then back up a few feet and do it again. She kept doing this until she was a foot behind the three-point line. She didn’t miss many. After she had warmed up, she didn’t miss any. When she was finished, she walked off the court to stretch, flipping the ball to Landon as he came toward her. He didn’t catch it cleanly.
