by Casi McLean
Her gaze met his. “It’s not like that. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It’s just that Alyssa’s death is still raw, and in emotional situations I react before processing enough to respond accordingly. I didn’t want you thinking I was out of touch.”
When she turned toward the lobby, Ash grabbed her hand, and an electrical shock jolted him enough to shoot a buzz down to his toes. Instead of drawing back and slinging his hand, he laced his fingers between hers and guided her down a side hallway. Dear God, what kind of spell did this woman have over him? “Sorry, I hesitated a moment thinking we might not want to go through the lobby…but on second thought, there’s no time like the present to display a romance between Alyssa and me.” He squeezed her hand.
Emily smiled, parting her full pink lips only slightly. “Of course.”
“I didn’t think you were out of touch, ya know. This pretense would be difficult under any circumstances, and I hate the thought of you having to deal with your sister’s death while mimicking her life.”
“I get that. But I assure you I’m fine. And believe it or not, I truly feel she’s with me…her soul, spirit or an apparition. Call it what you will, Alyssa is here.”
“Okay, then.” He paused at the rear exit and connected with her gaze. “From this point forward, you are your sister. The moment we walk out the door, tuck Emily into the background. Got it?”
“Yes.” She nodded, but her gaze stared through him, as if she struggled to catch up to the words she just uttered.
If he could do something…anything to soften the pain he could see haunting her, Ash wouldn’t hesitate to implement the cure. He could only imagine the depth of connection twins held…like losing a part of her own soul. But he admired her strength and tenacity.
“I have one request before we proceed. We’re heading to Georgetown University Hospital. Can we briefly stop where you found Alyssa? It’s on the way, right?”
“Yes.” He grasped the handle of her suitcase. “I see no harm in showing you the crime scene.” Opening the back door, he motioned for Emily to go ahead. “Now that’s settled, give me a crash course on what I should know about my girlfriend. What’s your favorite color…Alyssa?”
“Royal blue. My birthday is May 15th. My favorite TV show is Outlander. I love lobster and mac and cheese…the mountains over the beach, dogs over cats and boxers over briefs. Are you getting all of this?”
He chuckled. The royal blue coat Alyssa wore confirmed Emily’s answers. “I’m a quick study.” After placing her suitcase into the trunk, he opened the passenger side door. “Do we need to make a quick pit stop in McLean before we go to the hospital?”
“No. I’m sure I locked up before I left.” She fastened her seatbelt.
He closed her door then walked around the car to the driver’s seat. “Good answer. You know the place enough to answer questions?”
Envisioning Alyssa, Emily finger-combed her hair into a fat ponytail and secured a clip in place. “I remember wandering behind my house to the edge of the cliff. I sit there often and watch the river rush by. The sound of nature takes over the hustle and bustle of work and helps me relax.” She raised a brow and tilted her head. “Like always, I had my phone, but I slid on some pebbles and the darn thing flew out of my hand. It was so close…I never dreamed just a few steps down would be that dangerous, but I lost my grip and fell. The moment I realized I had nothing to grasp, I pushed off to avoid the rocks…then nothing.”
Ash bobbed his head. “Not bad. You’re a natural.” He started the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. “Ready for my information blast?”
Emily nodded. “Give me your best shot, and I’ll deduce the rest.”
“Favorite color, green, TV: NCIS LA, I love baseball, wine, and rock music…mountains over beach, dogs over cats and boxers over briefs. Are we good?”
“So far.” She smiled.
That little grin made his pulse race. God. His attraction couldn’t have worse timing. Ash had all but confirmed he’d spend his life as a bachelor––not that he didn’t love women and all the benefits that came with the package, but no one woman ever did it for him.
Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned toward the Whitehurst Freeway, deep in thought. His chosen profession wasn’t exactly ideal for cultivating a long-term relationship. When he did the math, he accepted the consequences. But if he was honest, he simply never felt an attraction he couldn’t shake off by the next date. What did this woman have that had his stomach doing flip-flops and his heartbeat racing? He caught himself smiling just watching her, and only God knew what prompted the surge of pleasure whenever he happened to brush against her. But was it right for him to have these feelings at this time in her life, or was she off limits?
The short drive across Key Bridge continued in silence. Ash inside his head, and Emily most likely envisioning the horror her sister must have felt as the crime scene unfolded all too real in front of her. Ash pulled up and parked next to the Old Aqueduct then got out of the car and wandered toward the clump of trees where Alyssa’s body floated only hours earlier.
After a long pause, Emily joined him. “Where?”
He angled his head toward the nefarious shoreline but had no words. Not even his reliable script had a line for this moment. He glanced at her, his heart breaking for her, and still he said nothing.
Emily stood in silence for at least five or six minutes, glaring into the water as if listening to a song no one else heard.
If they were to find Lyssa’s killer, from now until the sting ended, she needed to think, act, and breathe like her sister, for all intents and purposes, to become Alyssa. Perhaps staring into the icy Potomac River, she could come to terms with the prospect.
Turning to face Ash, she clasped her hand in his and finally spoke. “I’m ready. Let’s get these bastards.”
Chapter Ten
By the time Alyssa settled in to her hospital room, the sun was high overhead. The nursing staff, distracted with the changing of guard, took in stride the chief neurologist advising the incoming shift of the trauma patient she’d recently transferred to the private corner room on the seventh floor. They greeted their new patient, chitchatting as they skimmed her updated medical records on the tablet already attached to the foot of the bed. No one questioned Alyssa’s transfer, or her inability to remember how she miraculously survived a fall that plummeted her into the Potomac.
An hour earlier in the hospital morgue, Quint had duplicated Alyssa’s bruises using a henna-based dye. “What do think, Ash? Did I miss my calling? I’m a damn good artist if I do say so myself.” He shifted his gaze to her and pointed to her right arm. “I took the liberty of adding some adhesive residue and IV markings to further the illusion.”
“Perfect.” Ash remarked. But his eyes focused on Emily’s––no––Alyssa’s face, not Quint’s handiwork.
His stare made her heart skip a beat and warmed her cheeks. Now, he sat in a chair beside her, acting the doting boyfriend, relieved his paramour escaped the grim reaper. The setting, accurate and authentic, displayed a woman recovering from a tragic accident. But no one could fake that look, the emotion behind Ash’s stare, could they?
“Can I get you anything, sweetie? The doctor said no food restrictions. I could bring you some lunch.”
“No,” she blurted out before considering the suggestion. She didn’t want him to leave her alone. Not yet, anyway. “I mean I’m not hungry.” Breathe, Alyssa. She glanced at the door. “Wyatt will arrive in the morning. He doesn’t know I’m in the hospital.” If her brother didn’t hear from her, he’d take a cab to the Marriott and would be frantic when met with a front desk insisting Emily Rose never checked in.
“No problem. Brad offered to meet your brother at Reagan National then bring Wyatt directly here. We have everything under control. So, relax.”
She pulled her sagging ponytail into a tighter twist. “Good. Did anyone call my office and let them know why I didn’t come in today? I don�
�t want to be fired for not showing up.”
“Stop worrying. Everything is fine. I talked to them when you were…in treatment this morning.” He coughed into his fist. “When will you realize you fell in love with a reliable man?” He raised an eyebrow.
Emily gulped hard. Was he really dependable? Reliability would be a nice twist from her previous relationships. Wait. What was she thinking? The plan was a ruse. She wasn’t evaluating a possible new boyfriend. Why did her thoughts keep slipping from that reality? Ash was nothing to her other than a detective searching for Lyssa’s killer. He took the job seriously, but his behavior was simply an act. Emily slunk into her pillow, deflated at the entire situation.
Ash leaned in close. “Here, sit forward and let me help you get comfortable.” He fluffed a pillow then stuffed it behind her shoulders. “Better?”
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
Reaching for the remote on the bedside table, he smiled. “Good. Let’s see if there’s anything on TV. Maybe that will help you relax.” He pushed ON and the guide popped up on the screen. “God knows after what you’ve been through over the last twenty-four hours you could use a distraction, right?”
Emily nodded as visions of her made-up event chain regarding Alyssa’s accident flashed through her thoughts. Where had that scenario come from? The words simply flowed from her mouth as if she’d shared the experience. God, she wished she knew what really happened. Perhaps the unsettling meme came from Alyssa. If only her sister would speak to her again…tell her what transpired…or weigh in on the sting. The thought of Alyssa drifting farther away made Emily’s pulse race, and her hands and feet tingle. She couldn’t bear losing the connection they’d always had.
Gazing out the window, she could see Key Bridge in the distance and estimated how far Lyssa must have drifted before Ash found her. McLean was several miles upstream, wasn’t it? An icy chill wrapped around her, numbing her extremities as she envisioned her sister’s lifeless body floating downstream with the current––or was the image Emily saw perhaps her own demise? To dispel the vision, she clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms.
Lyssa’s gatehouse property backed up to the Potomac River. The view was breathtaking, but despite the panorama, Emily couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling she had every time they walked toward the river, especially the last time she visited. The stunning sun setting through the trees cast a brilliant pink glow. Lyssa poured two glasses of wine and begged Emily to come with her and sit on the huge rocks to watch the sun dip below the horizon. Lyssa loved to gaze across the river and take in the vista but sitting on the edge of the cliff that evening sent chills rippling down Emily’s back. She couldn’t shake the sensation until they walked back toward the house. Now, she wondered if that eerie feeling could have been a premonition, warning her of Alyssa’s death.
Ever since kindergarten, playing the part of her sister had been second nature––but this time the game had consequences and the thought of stepping into her sister’s life as if nothing happened fisted her stomach. If only they could communicate. Emily felt Alyssa’s presence. Of that she had no doubt, but beyond sensing her sister’s spirit, she had no idea if Alyssa would encourage her to proceed or be angry as hell Emily put herself in danger.
Ash’s scheme made sense, though, so for now Emily would have to rely on her own judgment. She’d stick with the plan. No one would question Alyssa’s vague memory after such a dreadful accident. Convincing Lyssa’s colleagues she forgot their names would be easy. Severe concussions often caused amnesia. But becoming Alyssa and convincing people she lost memories Emily never possessed? Not so much.
With any luck Ash’s plan to coerce the murderer would compel him––or her––to come to the hospital. If Alyssa survived whatever the hell happened and the killer’s intent was murder, they’d certainly have a motive to finish the job.
Again, Emily turned her gaze to Ash. She had hoped bringing up the idea of extra sensory perception that morning might hit a familiar nerve. If he’d sensed anything during previous investigations as Quint implied, perhaps he’d share the experience. Of course, he might not attribute his extraordinary intuition to anything beyond his own intellect…that would be just like a typical male, would it not? She stared at the man sitting next to her. No. Nothing about Ashton Frasier was typical. Falling in love with this man would be so easy. She already loved everything she knew about him and physically she’d never felt such an intense attraction. Alyssa would definitely approve.
Alyssa…lowering her gaze, Emily’s thoughts returned to her sister. This wasn’t the time to lust after a man. She needed to focus on her scripted story and ready herself for a confrontation with her sister’s murderer. Ash’s only reason for being here was to solve the case and Emily owed him a debt of gratitude. She resolved to stay focused and in the moment. Ash risked a lot to set up this deception. So did Quint and Brad. Emily couldn’t help but wonder why. In her experience, people rarely put forth such energy for a total stranger. Their livelihoods, maybe their entire career, could blow up in their faces. If that happened, how could Emily come to terms with the fallout?
Chapter Eleven
Carlton Hughes slouched into the cushions of his leather sofa and swirled the remaining few sips of his ruby wine, contemplating the events of the last few days. The son of a bitch wasn’t supposed to kill the girl. Follow her. Find out if she has the damn envelope, and if so, retrieve the property. How hard was his assignment? If she suspected anything, he could have threatened her into minding her own damn business, but for God sake, he didn’t have to push her off a cliff. If a reporter gets wind of this murder, the media frenzy would create a domino effect that could spin out of control.
The Association couldn’t afford a scandal. Not now. They’d invested far too much into Carlton’s election. A backlash even remotely tied to him would not only destroy his career, the repercussions would setback a dynasty four decades in the making, leaving a stream of carnage in its wake…including the secret society’s primed candidate. Damn it to hell. Thanks to Ben and the prick he sent to follow that insignificant non-entity, Carlton’s whole future teetered on the edge of disaster.
Likely, the manifest fell victim to a garbage heap now rotting in the city dump as opposed to the pile of damaged messages in the hands of a lowly intern, who probably wouldn’t even notice the addition, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have a clue what she found, let alone the value. Shit. He shoved the empty wine bottle off the table with the swipe of his hand, sending glass shattering across the marble floor.
Chest tightening, he stood, and wandered outside to his deck then stared into the sparkling swimming pool below, now rippling with glints of light reflecting off the full moon. Still fuming at the situation, he challenged his memory to conjure the innocence he once held as an intern, bursting with dreams of changing the world. Starry-eyed youths harbor such ambitious expectations.
It didn’t take long for Carlton to discover the ugly truth scurrying through the scum beneath Capitol Hill. This was not his forefather’s government. Big pockets wrote the rules. Those with the guts to challenge the status quo rarely survived. Washington D.C. thrived on money and power. You either fed the crocodiles or got eaten, and Carlton learned early on to embrace the slough.
Of course, he never planned on making a deal with the devil. The perfect image of a president––handsome, refined, and articulate––he simply fit the façade. At first, The Association lured him into their copious web, showering him with champagne wishes and caviar dreams. What stray dog wouldn’t have followed them home? They set him up to be their perfect Manchurian Candidate.
By the time he realized their intentions, he had already sold his soul. He could never walk away. If he tried, they’d take everything…his family, his home and if they spared his life, he’d be politically and financially ruined. Once he crossed the proverbial line, there was no turning back. Never did he imagine he’d trade his integrity for an immortal position writt
en into American history.
His youthful exuberance blinded him from seeing through the elitist smokescreen. If he had, would he have walked away from temptation? He wanted to believe he would have taken the highroad…but the reality was…probably not.
In truth, Carlton scarcely recognized the transformation. The Association dangled illusions of grandeur in front of him for years and he repeatedly snatched the bait like a child accepting candy. When he finally recognized the conspiracy, they had already bought and paid for him under the guise their agenda would change the world for the better.
Now, they owned him. His name on The List proved what he denied for years. A flash of heat slithered around his neck and squeezed as he ruminated. He tilted his head side to side to release the sensation. The Association groomed him to be the prime presidential candidate and cleared his path every step of the way. He would become President, no matter the cost to win. They would make it so.
Carlton Hughes would become the first of a breed of presidents who would do their bidding…but not the last. No one could stop them because no one knew they existed until they were in so deep they’d never climb out. Those who tried mysteriously disappeared or had a fatal accident. He shivered at the thought of how The Association manipulated him. They created the monster. Once elected, he would become a real-life puppet, placed in office to do The Association’s bidding regardless the cost to “We the people.” Unsuspecting voters would never imagine, let alone believe, America’s government could be bought…or that POTUS could be breached, let alone mutated into a pawn for an elitist World Order.
With the election only a few months away, a scandal like this would blow the lid off Carlton’s career, and despite the blood-money funneled into assuring the election results, The Association wouldn’t hesitate to make him the scapegoat to save their elite asses. Their pockets ran deeper than any he ever imagined. Foreign nationalists investing in high-stake favors now determined policies. They already owned enough of the Congress to keep the balance in their favor. Even worse, the group had their fingers dipped into every federal department in Washington. They used propaganda to convince pundits they’re doing the right thing for their country when they resist, fudge, or manipulate the rules. The same propaganda they feed through the media to convince the mass population whatever they wanted them to believe.
