by T. K. Leigh
I lifted my gaze back to his. “You think he was paid to do this?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. I also accessed exterior security cameras a few of the area businesses had. I found this.”
He held out a grainy black-and-white photo that appeared to be a video screenshot. I took it from him, scanning it. A small white sedan had rammed into the brick storefront of a restaurant, a scene of chaos. People were scrambling to safety, some of them with torn pants and cuts on their faces. And in the middle of the melee was a woman who looked alarmingly like Cynthia Edelman, her eyes wide in terror as she glimpsed over her shoulder. Everyone else seemed to be focused on the car that had careened into the building. Not Cynthia. Her attention was elsewhere.
I handed the photo back. “Do you have any other footage that would allow us to see what she’s looking at?”
He released a defeated sigh. “Not yet. But I’m working on it. She saw something, or someone, and it scared her. That could be the clue we need to blow this whole thing open.”
“And the rest?”
Blake turned his attention to the remainder of the papers in the file. “More accidents. A few suspicious packages left at popular restaurants or coffee shops, all places where Cynthia’s bank statements confirmed she had dined around the same time.” He shook his head, his shoulders falling. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I can’t say with certainty that someone was trying to kill Cynthia, but I do think someone was trying to scare her, send her a message.”
I nodded, my brain trying to compartmentalize this new information. “So she wouldn’t talk about what she knew.”
“It appears that way. With so many seemingly failed attempts on her life, I doubt anyone actually wanted her dead. At least by their hands. Did anyone else know she was in communication with Mr. Luciano? That she was going to share what she knew with him?”
“Only my father.”
He tilted his head at me. “When did she tell him?”
“I don’t know. All I know is Cynthia was blackmailed to cover up something going on at Barnes, but she was done remaining silent.” I grabbed the file, sifting through the police reports, noting the dates. “These go back a month before her death. She didn’t reach out to Dante until a few days before she died, just a day or so after she got that threatening email.”
“True, but I reviewed your notes. You indicated she noticed something suspicious going on, not only at her pharmaceutical company, but at others. A slight increase in deaths over a short period of time before they leveled out. Perhaps someone wasn’t happy with what she’d been able to figure out and hoped to scare her into silence.”
“But that was all she figured out. Other than that, she didn’t know what else was going on.”
“That could have been enough to raise someone’s concerns that she eventually would figure it out…or would share that information with someone who could.”
He pulled a photo out of the file. It had to be at least thirty years old, taken at some Capitol Hill function. Men were dressed in tuxedos, women in gowns, holding overflowing champagne glasses, all under the glitz of golden chandeliers. And in the center of the photo was someone who looked like a much younger version of Cynthia. She wore a long black gown in the style of that decade, her dark hair pinned to the top of her head, a few loose ringlets shaping her face. Her skin was milky against her plump red lips. And beside her…James Harrison.
“This doesn’t mean anything. This photo was taken thirty years ago,” I said, playing devil’s advocate to myself as my mind came up with dozens of scenarios of what this picture could prove. “Cynthia Edelman did a congressional internship for one of the republican members of the House of Representatives.”
“So you said, but when I looked into Cynthia’s background, I found nothing to indicate she did a congressional internship. In fact, I found her background to be extremely limited and sparse up until about twenty-five years ago.”
I furrowed my brow, heat washing over me. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Elle. I’m telling you. Cynthia Edelman’s real name is Lauren Hall.” He pointed to the familiar face in the photo, then placed a copy of a dated driver’s license belonging to Lauren Hall beside it. “This woman. And she wasn’t an intern for just any representative. She was an intern for none other than James Harrison. As you can tell,” he continued, placing photo after photo of Lauren Hall…or Cynthia Edelman…in front of me, many from events where she was on James Harrison’s arm. “They were photographed together quite often…” He lifted a brow.
“He’s always had an inclination toward the fairer sex,” I muttered, stopping just short of sharing what I knew about his relationship to Dante. “Do you think the secret she’s being blackmailed over is that James and Lauren had an affair?” I paused when I came to a photo of Lauren and James, as well as my father.
He looked so young, so happy, so full of life. His hair was dark and thick, long before the stress of the job turned it gray. While James was dressed in a sleek suit and crisp tie, my father was in stark contrast to the usual appearance of a politician — unbuttoned shirt, revealing a few tufts of chest hair, sleeves rolled up. He had a sort of Hollywood quality about him. That was what helped him get elected. He was devastatingly handsome with a smile you couldn’t help but swoon over. The people of California ate it up back then. And they continued to do so.
“I do. I looked into Lauren Hall’s background. She was a senior at George Washington during her internship, which was supposed to last until June. However, she left early in May. The following fall, she started at Yale Law. After her first semester, she took a leave of absence for medical reasons, but never returned. Over the next several years, she worked a few jobs in D.C., as a waitress, then a bartender. Then, twenty-five years ago, she vanished…at around the same time Cynthia Edelman made her first appearance as a first-year law student at DePaul in Chicago. Even so, the photos don’t lie. That woman in the photos and the woman we know as Cynthia Edelman are the same person.”
I simply nodded, staring at two photos, one of a recent shot of Cynthia Edelman, the other of Lauren Hall standing beside my father. Despite the passing of years, it was unmistakable they were the same person. Even the mole on each of their cheeks was in the same exact place.
Based on everything I knew about James Harrison, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he had an affair with Cynthia Edelman, which caused her to leave her internship early. This had to be the secret they were all hiding. But was it worth killing over? I knew politicians who’d slept with their fair share of staffers and had their backs patted in congratulations. No one would care. Perhaps it was bigger than that. Maybe Dante wasn’t the only child he abandoned. Maybe there was another. Or maybe there was supposed to be another.
“This may be nothing,” Blake said, reading my thoughts. “We could be jumping to conclusions.”
“Trust me. James Harrison has a history of not being able to keep his dick in his pants. And the changed identity is a bit disconcerting.”
“Yes. Someone may have been aware of her connection to Commissioner Harrison and worried she’d use the access she had to him to open up whatever can of worms this is. Someone Ms. Edelman may have told about her findings in confidence.” He gave me a knowing look.
“My father,” I murmured, the evidence of him being behind it all seeming to pile up. “They served in the army together. They’ve been friends forever. James’ support helped him get where he is today…” I trailed off, a sickness forming in my stomach at the fact that my father made no mention of Cynthia’s real identity when he claimed to tell me what was going on, that he failed to say she was an intern for James Harrison. What else was he lying about? Did he tell me the truth about anything? “He said she’s still alive.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Cynthia. Lauren. Whatever the hell her name is.” I threw my arms up, then returned my eyes to his, apologetic. “I’m sorry
I didn’t tell you before. I guess that’s why I wanted you to look into whether there were any suspicious events leading up to her supposed death. My father said the suicide was just a façade to hide her. I wanted to know whether I could corroborate his story. And I guess you have, but based on the fact he failed to tell me who Cynthia really is and her relationship to James, I can’t help but think it was just another lie so I wouldn’t look any further into Cynthia’s death. When I pressed him about where she was hiding, he refused to tell me. In fact, he insisted he didn’t even know.”
Blake studied me for a moment, the wheels in his head spinning. He must have thought the same as me. Based on everything, there was no way my father wasn’t involved in some sort of wrongdoing.
“Say the word and I’ll take what I know to the FBI. I have several connections, people who I know won’t back down to pressure.”
I paused, contemplating, then sighed. “No, Blake. Not yet. I need more than just a bunch of circumstantial evidence.” I looked out the window, mentally sifting through everything. A voice reminded me this was much more than simply circumstantial evidence now. But there was still a part of me that wanted to believe I had it wrong, that we both did.
Straightening my spine, I stood, peering down at Blake. “There could be another explanation for all this. See if you can try to figure out where Cynthia’s hiding and what she was looking at in that photo. That may help.”
“I’ll keep going until you tell me to stop.”
I offered a small smile as I approached his closed office door. “Thank you.” Then I left, dazed, confused, mentally exhausted. Could this day get any worse?
CHAPTER TEN
“EARTH TO ELLIE,” MILA said in a sing-song voice as I pushed my Caesar salad around my plate.
I’d barely eaten a bite since it was placed in front of me ten minutes ago. I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was in knots. I felt off, and it wasn’t just due to lack of sleep. During law school, I’d pulled all-nighters regularly. But this morning, I’d been unable to focus on any of my clients. Instead, my brain was preoccupied with my father’s seemingly criminal activity, the harsh words my mother said to me, not to mention the status of my relationship with Dante. The more I thought about each of these things, the more sick with unease I became, unable to see any light at the end of the tunnel, unable to come up with any sort of path that would bring me what I wanted most — love, happiness, peace.
I snapped my head up, looking at Mila. “Hmm? What did you say?”
She returned her burger to her plate, then wiped her hands on her napkin. “That’s it. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I insisted, averting my eyes.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m just tired, Mila. That’s all. I only slept for maybe two hours last night. I can’t even tell you how many cups of coffee I’ve gone through this morning just to try to stay awake.”
“Then why did you go into work?”
“You sound like Dante,” I muttered under my breath, my irritation loud and clear.
“Uh-oh.” Mila straightened her back. “Do I sense trouble in paradise?” Then she laughed to herself. “That’s kind of funny, considering his name is Dante and one of the parts of The Divine Comedy is ‘Paradiso’.”
“Yeah. I figured that out on my own,” I replied in a curt tone, then quickly softened my expression. “I’m sorry, Mila. I don’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.”
“So tell Dr. Mila. Why are you frustrated?” she said in her best mock therapist voice. “How do you feel, Ellie?”
I threw my napkin across the table at her, biting back a laugh. Then I sighed, pushing the salad plate away.
“My mother called this morning and I made the mistake of talking to her.”
Mila’s expression instantly fell. She’d known my family long enough to understand nothing my mother had to say to me this morning, or any morning, could have been good. And she was right.
“She said—”
“It doesn’t matter what she said.” Mila grabbed my hand in hers. “She loves this. She feeds off it. You should know that by now. The second she senses you’re happy, she gets all worried she won’t be able to sink her claws into you anymore and does whatever she can to retain control over you. That’s all this is. This is just Josh Bennett all over again.”
I swallowed hard at the mention of that name. Josh Bennett was my first serious boyfriend, or as serious as a boyfriend can be when you’re sixteen. He was starting quarterback, even though he was only a sophomore, was the most handsome and popular boy in school…and he liked me. We went out a few times, and he even let me wear his letterman jacket around school. When my mother found out what had been going on between us, she told me he couldn’t really be interested in me, not when there were prettier and more popular girls. I argued with her, but after hearing the same thing over and over for weeks, I finally gave in and broke up with Josh to save myself from the eventual heartache when my mother turned out to be right. I remember thinking he must be a great actor to fake the despondency and pain on his face when I told him. It wasn’t until after I delivered my valedictorian speech at graduation that we spoke again. All he said was that I broke his heart, that he never stopped thinking about me, then walked away. I hadn’t seen him since.
“Don’t let her ruin this for you, too, Ellie.”
“Maybe there’s nothing for her to ruin,” I insisted. “Maybe there isn’t a future between Dante and me.”
She furrowed her brow, studying me. “Okay. Hold up. Just yesterday morning, you were head over heels in love with the man. And that kiss last night…” She slouched against the back of the chair, fanning herself. “You can’t even pretend he doesn’t feel the same way about you.”
“I know, but there are so many complications surrounding a relationship between us. He lives in Italy. I live here.”
“And I guarantee he’d move here if it’s that important to you.”
“Like I told him this morning… I can’t ask him to leave his home, his family, for me. Not when we barely know each other.”
My voice grew louder and louder with each word I uttered, all the events of the day taking their toll on me. Nothing in my life had ever gone right. Why should I expect to find happiness now? The only thing that would make this day even more craptastic would be running into Brock. I glanced over my shoulder, almost expecting to see him walking through the door. It was a little unnerving that I still hadn’t seen him since I moved my stuff out.
When I confirmed Brock was not, in fact, about to be the icing on my shitty day, I returned my eyes to Mila, blowing out a frustrated breath, lowering my voice. “Maybe I’m not really in love with Dante. Maybe I just like the way he makes me feel when I’m with him. The way I can forget about everything and it just be us, no one else. Maybe that’s all Dante is. A way for me to escape the real world for a few days every now and then. Maybe that’s all he’s meant to be.”
“Ellie…” Mila grabbed my hand once more. I lifted my eyes to hers. “I may not have gone to Princeton or Harvard or Georgetown or wherever else your political royalty family gets their pedigree education.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “But I’m smart in other ways. I know love. And I know you. And I know you’re just scared. No one in your life has ever given you a reason to put your faith in them. You’re so used to people using you and tossing you aside, you think that’s all Dante’s interested in. But I’ll tell you something… The way you just described your feelings for Dante, the way you can forget about your problems, the way it’s just you two — two hearts, two souls…” She pulled her hand away, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she gave me a sanctimonious grin. “Well, my darling friend, that is love. I’d never seen you as upset as you were the day you arrived back at LAX in June. I hated having to watch you suffer all those weeks while you refused to contact him. Remember that pain, Ellie.”
I tore my eyes from hers. She knew exactly how to get to me, how to pu
nch me in the gut and open my eyes to feelings I wished I could hide. “I really hate you sometimes.” I swiped at the few unwelcome tears trickling down my cheeks. “You know that, right?”
She didn’t answer, continuing the conversation as if I didn’t speak. “You sat in horrific traffic, parked somewhere you knew your car would get towed, and twisted your ankle just to see him again. Now you’re willing to throw it all away a few days later because… What? You think your mother’s right? That you’re not good enough for him? That he’ll get bored with you and leave?”
I shrugged. “The thought has crossed my mind. Let’s not forget the reason he approached me in the first place. He just hoped I could help him find out what happened to his daughter, not because he was attracted to me.”
“But he’s still here, isn’t he? I get it, Ellie. Love is the scariest feeling in the world. But it’s also the most rewarding. Don’t push him away. Don’t turn him into another Josh Bennett. How would you feel if, a few years down the road, you ran into each other again and he told you he never stopped loving you, that he would have married you if you gave him the chance?”
“He doesn’t want to marry me,” I scoffed. “We barely know each other.”
“Then maybe that’s your answer. Maybe you need to finally get to know each other.”
I looked at Mila, absorbing her words.
“Because, so help me God, I cannot let you go back to being mopey, depressed Ellie. I love you, but I never want to see that Ellie ever again. I want to see high-on-Dante-Luciano’s-cock Ellie. Like, right now.”
A blush grew on my cheeks, prominent against my fair skin.
“I can only imagine what red carpet sex was like.”
