by T. K. Leigh
“We can’t turn it into an official investigation,” I reminded him in a grave voice. “Not yet. You know that.”
“I do,” he said solemnly. “And because it’s so complex, I’m having to listen to my gut and follow the leads I think are most likely to reveal more information. And, right now, that’s Cynthia Edelman…or Lauren Hall.”
I swallowed hard, instantly reminded of my dream a few weeks ago. “Have you figured out whether my father’s story is true, whether she’s just in hiding?”
“Not yet. I’m still working on that, as well as combing through cell phone photos from the car accident to see if I can figure out who she was looking at. I haven’t found anything yet, but I’m not going to give up. My gut tells me once I find out who she was looking at, this whole thing will blow wide open. Until then, I need to keep exploring other avenues.”
“Like what?”
“Like her pregnancy.”
I exhaled a tiny breath. “So she was pregnant.” I shook my head. How many other unwanted children had James Harrison fathered?
“Yes, she was. And here’s where it gets a little hairy. I pulled some strings, perhaps broke a few laws, but I was able to access her file from her pregnancy. Unfortunately, that’s where it ends. No record of a live birth.”
“The baby didn’t make it?”
“No record of a stillbirth, either. Nothing. It’s as if the pregnancy never happened, apart from the medical records I found.” He pinched his lips together, carefully considering his words. “I’ve started looking into other births around the same time to see if it was merely a clerical error, but I can’t shake the feeling in my gut that there’s something else going on here.”
“Like what?”
“I have no fucking idea,” he said very bluntly. “One day Lauren Hall was thirty-seven weeks pregnant. The next, she had no baby. If she’d decided to go the adoption route, there would still be a record, something. But there’s absolutely nothing. It’s almost like the baby disappeared. Like it never existed.”
I blinked repeatedly, trying to figure out where this piece of information fit into what my father had told me. “Do you think this is the secret she was being blackmailed over? Maybe she realized she couldn’t take care of the baby and abandoned it?” I asked, grasping at straws.
“It’s possible,” he answered, unconvinced. “But if that were the case, I should have been able to find some newspaper article about an abandoned baby, either alive or dead. There was nothing. And I looked.”
“So we’re still in the same place,” I commented, somewhat despondently.
“We’re not in the same place, Elle,” Blake assured me. “I’m making some advances, but with every new lead, I seem to open yet another can of worms I need to sift through to figure out what’s important and what’s just smoke and mirrors.”
I rubbed at my temples, my brain feeling like it was ready to explode. The past several weeks had been some of the best in recent memory. I was happy. I focused on Dante and our future instead of trying to get answers about the past. Maybe Dante was right. Maybe looking into this was tempting fate. Maybe the reason no one had been able to figure out what was going on was because it wasn’t time yet.
“I’ve got calls out to some of my contacts at area hospitals in both D.C. and Connecticut, considering she was at Yale during part of her pregnancy, to see if we can figure out what happened to the baby. I also have a few feelers out there on a possible location where Cynthia Edelman is hiding, so—”
“You can stop,” I interrupted.
Blake quickly shot his eyes to me, his brow furrowed. “But—”
“With all the dead ends you’ve run into…” I blew out a breath. “Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe I’m trying to find something that’s just not there. My father’s a politician, for crying out loud. He’s been on the national scene for thirty years. If he had any skeletons in his closet, someone would have discovered them by now.”
“Yes, but—”
“But I need to stop searching for answers I may never find.”
“You can’t ignore the fact that there’s something going on here.”
“I understand,” I answered in a calm tone. “But like you said, it could take months, years, to get to the bottom of this. You shouldn’t waste any more of your time. I know how thin you’re stretched here at the firm.”
“That’s true, but I’ll keep going if you think it’ll bring you what you’re looking for.”
Eyeing the time on the clock, I slowly stood, gathering my things. “I think I’ve already found that.” I offered him a genuine smile, feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I opened the door, pausing briefly. “Thank you, Blake.” Then I headed down the hallway and out of the office, hurrying down the street to meet Mila for our weekly Friday night get-together.
Just as I stopped at a crosswalk, I heard my phone ding. I pulled it out of my bag, even more reassured I made the right decision when I saw the Instagram post Dante had tagged me in. The photo was of our stunning tub in our en-suite. The bath was filled with bubbles, the focus on my legs propped up on the ledge. I couldn’t recall him taking this photo, but he must have snuck in one evening as I took a relaxing soak. I read the caption below.
“This is the very ecstasy of love.” - William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
I grinned, hurrying across the street and into the bar. I’d post something later, something meaningful that he’d see when he returned to civilization in a few days.
“Ellie!” Mila called out the second I entered the dimly lit space, waving me over to where she sat at the bar. I headed toward her, feeling invigorated.
“Hey, Mila,” I said in a breathy voice. I placed my phone on the bar and hung my purse on one of the hooks beneath it, then took off my jacket, resting it on the back of the bar stool. As I hoisted myself into it, I signaled the bartender, and placed my drink order.
“To girls’ night,” Mila said once he returned with my glass of wine.
“To girls’ night,” I repeated, clinking glasses with her, a little bittersweet at the thought that we only had a few nights like these left before I moved to Italy. Of course, Mila said we could always FaceTime our girls’ night.
“So how was your first night without Dante?”
“Harder than I thought it would be,” I answered honestly. “I barely slept. You forget how used to sharing a bed you are until that extra warmth is no longer there. I’m sure it will get easier.”
“It will,” Mila assured me. “But that first night is always rough. I still toss and turn the first night Steve’s gone after he’s been home for a while. It sucks, but how can you miss them if they’re always there?”
“I guess I’ll drink to that.” I raised my glass once more, and she followed suit.
The next few hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye as Mila and I caught up. She told me all about Ashlyn’s new boyfriend from preschool, and I told her how preparations for the big move to Italy had been going. Despite my recent conversation with Blake, my father and Cynthia Edelman were the furthest things from my mind, which was where they belonged.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Mila after we’d been there a few hours. “Nature calls.”
“Of course.”
I scurried away from the bar. As I turned the corner into the back hallway where the restrooms were located, I got a weird feeling that someone was watching me. I slowed my steps, pausing as I approached the door to the ladies’ room. Glancing over my shoulder, I was met with an empty corridor.
I shook my head, tightening my jaw. “It’s nothing, Ellie,” I said to myself, but that didn’t do anything to stop the sudden chill enveloping me. Wanting to return to the normalcy I felt just moments ago, I pushed into the bathroom and went about my business. When I was done, I slowly opened the door, holding my breath as my mind raced with the thought of a man dressed in black standing outside, like the foreign arms that grabbed me in my dreams. But, just as before
, the hallway was empty.
Berating myself for overreacting, I walked back toward the bar, my steps a little quicker than usual. “Sorry about that.” I hoisted myself up into my chair again.
“No worries,” Mila responded, a bit jumpy.
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” she answered quickly, pretending to be interested in some hockey game on the TV screen hanging over the bar. I eyed her, wondering what was going on. “Are you sure you still want to do Sunday Brunch this weekend?” she asked in an obvious attempt to distract me. “I know it’s a bit of a hike for you from Malibu. I completely understand if you—”
“Of course, I do,” I interrupted. “I only have a few more weeks until I leave for Italy. I need to make the most of my time with you and the girls.”
“I know. I just thought you might have more important things to button up before leaving.”
“What’s more important than spending time with you guys?”
She avoided my eyes, tapping her nails against the wooden bartop. “I don’t know. Maybe other…things.”
I narrowed my gaze at her, studying her demeanor — her reluctance to look at me, her flushed complexion, her jittery limbs. “Okay,” I said, my voice stern. “That’s it. Spill it.”
She quickly shot her eyes toward me. “Spill what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
“I don’t know. It. Something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is.”
She parted her lips, about to continue her protest, then thought better of it, sighing in resignation. She knew how adamant I could be, especially when I felt strongly about something. I didn’t stop pushing until I got what I wanted.
“You got a text when you were in the bathroom.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I kind of read it.”
I furrowed my brow, not understanding what the big deal was. This was Mila. My best friend. We didn’t have any secrets. I told her everything. At least, I used to.
“Was it from Dante?” That was the only thing that made sense. But even if she caught a glimpse of our lewd exchange, she wouldn’t be acting like this. She’d be telling me how jealous she was, maybe even giving me a few ideas to spice things up in the bedroom, although Dante certainly had a very vivid imagination in that area. This was something different.
She slowly shook her head, retreating into her slender frame even more. “It was from that guy at your law firm. Blake. I’m really sorry, Ellie.” She paused. “You had him looking into your father?”
I grabbed my phone off the bar, unlocking the screen.
I know you asked me to stop investigating your father, but I found something I think you should know. Please, call me when you have a minute.
My mind raced as I rewound to the conversation I’d just had with Blake. I wondered what he’d found in the last few hours. Did he figure out who the off-camera mystery man was? Or where Cynthia was hiding? Why did I still care?
“Ellie?” Mila’s voice broke through my thoughts. I tore my eyes to hers, seeing the confusion on her face. “What’s going on?”
I stared at her worried expression, unsure what to say. I had to tell her something, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of lying to her. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling me it was time Mila learned the truth I’d been keeping from her since I returned from Italy.
I took a hearty gulp of my wine, steeling myself for what I was about to do, then faced her. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Mila,” I began, apologetic.
“We all have secrets.”
“I know, but this… This isn’t just a secret. This could ruin everything.” I shook my head, then drew in a long breath. “I told you how Dante knew who I was when I propositioned him.”
“Yes. How he approached you to get answers about his daughter’s death. That he thought James may be involved, and since you were about to marry into that family, you may know something.”
“That’s only part of the story,” I began. “That phone call I told you I’d overheard? The man who told him James wasn’t responsible? He did say who he thought was responsible.”
“Who?” Mila pushed, although I could sense a hint of reluctance on her part.
I swallowed hard. “My father.”
Her shoulders deflated as several emotions seemed to cover her expression — sorrow, confusion, dread, frustration, and fear. “What evidence did this guy have that your father was involved?”
I took another long sip of my wine, then ran Mila through everything I’d learned. The emails my father sent Cynthia Edelman, who then supposedly died from an apparent suicide on the night she was scheduled to meet with Dante. The surveillance photos I found in Brock’s office showing my father walking into Barnes Pharmaceuticals just moments before her time of death. Learning that Cynthia Edelman used to be known as Lauren Hall, who worked as a Congressional intern for James Harrison when my father was first elected to the Senate. Seeing my father pull up in front of a dive bar in Encino, where he met with Cynthia’s former husband, Brian. My father’s insistence that Cynthia wasn’t dead, that they needed to fake her death in order to save her life. Hiring Blake to look into my father. How he’d found several suspicious events around the area of Barnes Pharmaceuticals to substantiate my father’s claim that someone may have been targeting Cynthia. Then the bombshell that thirty years ago, she’d gotten pregnant with who we assumed was James’ baby, but there was no record of a baby ever being born.
“Do you think that’s the secret your father mentioned he couldn’t tell you? That Cynthia had a baby James tried to keep hidden? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I just don’t see how it’s connected to everything else. How could an unplanned pregnancy be linked to a chemotherapy drug that might have killed a child? That’s what I don’t understand. And Blake has hit one dead end after another while looking into this. Just when I think he’ll find something to prove beyond a shadow of doubt that my father is the mastermind behind whatever this is, he finds something to substantiate my dad’s claims that he was just trying to keep Cynthia safe, that he’s not involved.”
Mila studied me for a moment, her brows gathered in, her lips formed in a tight line. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve picked up a few things from Steven. One of the things I’ve learned is even when people are lying to you, there’s some truth hidden there. The hard part is separating the truth from the lies. But once you do, it opens doors.”
“So you think my father’s lying to me about his lack of involvement in whatever took Dante’s daughter’s life, but is telling the truth about Cynthia being alive?”
“I think he’s telling you the truth…” She paused, then added, “about everything. I don’t think he’s involved.”
“But the emails,” I argued. “There was footage of him in those libraries. And of his car in the parking lot. How do you explain that?”
She shrugged. “I can’t. I just don’t think he has it in him to do something like this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just a feeling I have. I’ve known him most of my life. Has he always been the best father? Certainly not,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But there were moments he was. I saw it. Like when he beamed with pride during your valedictorian speech at graduation. When he promised not to tell your mother that you pierced your belly button during our trip to San Fran. When he came to pick us up from a high school party where we both drank way too much Smirnoff Ice.”
I briefly smiled, the memory forcing a sick taste to return to my mouth. It was the first time I drank that stuff, and I hadn’t touched it since.
“You seem to forget all those moments, Ellie. You tend to focus on the bad. Believe me, I know the bad has certainly always outnumbered the good, particularly where your mother is concerned. But those moments when it was just you and your dad, he acted like your father. And I believe he would do everything in his power to keep you safe, to keep anyone he cared for safe.”
“But
—”
“I never told you about his reaction when you didn’t walk down the aisle on your wedding day, did I?”
I slowly shook my head.
“I don’t think anyone else noticed it, but when I came back and told everyone you weren’t in the bridal suite, the look on his face…” She bit her lower lip. “He was relieved, Ellie. Everyone else seemed to be enraged, particularly your mother, but Francis… His shoulders fell and he looked up at the ceiling, as if murmuring a prayer of thanks. I don’t think he ever wanted you to marry Brock. I think he knew what kind of evil he hid with that wholesome persona he always gave off during campaign speeches and formal dinners. I think he’d tried saving you from Brock for months, maybe even years, but your mother’s influence over you was too strong.”
She straightened her spine, looking forward once more as she took a long sip of wine. “So no, I don’t think your father’s involved, even though all the evidence certainly points to that. But I do think someone may want the world to think he’s behind it all.”
I immediately shot my gaze to hers. “What are you saying?”
“I think someone may be setting your father up to take the fall.”
“Who?”
“Let’s think about this for a minute. Your father is a senior-ranking senator from California. He wasn’t supposed to win that first time, yet he keeps winning re-election. He’s publicly stated he has no intention of retiring or seeking a run for the White House, that he was put on earth to serve the great state of California, and as long as he keeps getting the nomination, he’ll keep running. I could only imagine how that would make someone with incredible political ambitions feel.”
“Brock?”
She simply shrugged.
“But there’s two Senate seats in every state. He doesn’t need to try to frame my father just to have the opportunity to run for his seat, which there’s no guarantee he’ll even win.”
