Avery’s head came up. Inside the Court, she was safe. More importantly, Justice Wynn’s desk was here—and possibly some answers. She let her eyes well with tears, not entirely an act. “I’d rather not go home just yet,” she told her. “If you don’t mind.”
“I have more questions for her,” Vance interjected. “Agent Lee’s inquiries do require a response.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Lewis.” Avery thought again of the moment she discovered the body. “I found her. I panicked. I ran. I’m not proud of myself, but she was already dead.”
“We’re done for today, Major Vance,” the Chief said firmly. She slid a hand under Avery’s elbow, bringing the younger woman to her feet. “Return to your office until you’re ready to go. Mrs. Turner-Wynn has been busy granting interviews since your unfortunate meeting at the hospital. As the public is now aware that you hold Justice Wynn’s power of attorney, all calls are being directly routed to the communications team. If the doctors need you—”
“They have my cell phone number.”
“Good.” She patted Avery’s shoulder. “A car will be ready when you are. I’ve also arranged for a detail at your house.”
“A detail?” Which meant a federal agent following her to her meeting with Jared Wynn. “I don’t want one.”
The Chief gave her a stern look that echoed the one from Major Vance. “It was part of my compromise with the FBI. Until we learn what happened to Nurse Lewis, there will be a car stationed outside your apartment, and you will be chauffeured to and from the Court. Yours has been impounded. This isn’t negotiable.”
Avery started to argue, then stopped. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been sent to her room and told to stay there. With a short nod, she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left the office. She avoided the other clerks, whose late hours weren’t unusual for the end of term. Still, more clerks than usual had found reason to hang out near Justice Wynn’s chambers, rather than huddling in their offices over the latest queries from their judges. Collapsing into her desk chair, Avery allowed her head to loll against the seat, the morning’s nausea returning, accompanied by a piercing headache.
When her cell phone rang, she answered it primarily to stop the noise. “Yes?”
“Avery Keene?”
A man spoke on the other end of the call, his voice distorted and unrecognizable. Her gut clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “Yes, this is Avery Keene. May I ask who’s calling?”
“You must protect Justice Wynn. Don’t let him die.”
Suspicion hardened her tone. “Who is this?”
“A friend.”
Common sense told her to hang up and alert Major Vance or the FBI, but instinct kept her on the line. Perhaps he could shed light onto whatever rabbit hole she’d fallen through. “What do you want?”
“To assist you with your new job as guardian.”
“How?”
“I want to help you protect Justice Wynn.”
“Protect him from whom?”
“From anyone who tries to harm him.”
“A threat on the life of a Supreme Court justice is a serious matter.” Avery stood slowly, moving toward the door. As her hand touched the knob, she probed, “Who wants to hurt him?”
“Get him to the end of the term alive, Avery.”
“Why? What do you want?”
“We’re counting on you.” The phone crackled for a millisecond. “I will help. Watch for it.”
FIFTEEN
Avery’s apartment felt like an isolation chamber. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she checked her phone. The time read 11:18 p.m., and according to her plan, she still had twelve more minutes before she needed to head out. She paced in front of the mirror, checking her outfit—again. She’d chosen slim-fitting black jeans and a black tank top, both a nod to the swelter of DC nights and a bit of vanity. She’d inherited her father’s swimmer’s frame. Strong shoulders, long limbs, and excellent muscle tone. Rita had passed along her narrow waist and green eyes, but the dense fringe of lashes were definitely her dad’s. It was her light-brown skin and the naturally corkscrew hair that blended her parents’ tones and textures, and her complicated features—high cheekbones that arrowed toward a wide, strong nose; full lips with a cupid’s bow set in a narrow face.
Seeing too much, she instead looked down at the crumpled note from Jared Wynn. An hour ago, when she’d decided she’d had enough drama for the day, she’d crushed it into a ball and thrown it into the trash. But then her latest round of second thoughts had her fishing it out of the wastebasket.
Jamie Lewis was dead, and Jared might know why. And she’d learn nothing by hiding out in her apartment. Cursing, she pulled on a dark cap and tugged it low on her brow. She tucked her wallet into her back pocket and tied a black shirt around her waist. The black sneakers she wore made no sound as she locked her front door. She turned onto the main corridor and walked faster.
After striding past the row of front doors, she opened the egress window at the end of the third-floor hallway, which led out to a rickety fire escape. Avery climbed out and made her way down the steps. Taking the short leap to the pavement, she waited for a few breaths. When no one moved, she walked quickly to the front of the alley and checked her surroundings. The patrol car sat in front of her building, as promised. Head down, she rounded the corner and started down the street. On the next block, she found a cabdriver dropping off a fare.
“Time for one more?”
The cabbie shook his head. “I’m off the clock, miss.”
Avery slid into the backseat, then passed him a bill she’d pulled from her pocket. “Fifty bucks to take me to Kramers Books. I’ll be your best fare all night.” She glanced out the window, but she was alone.
Taking the fifty, the cabbie grinned. “Sure. What’s one more?”
Situated in the heart of Dupont Circle, Kramers bookstore boasted twenty-four-hour service for bibliophiles, politicos, and food junkies addicted to a tart key lime pie. Avery stood outside on the still-busy sidewalk, as nerves coursed through her. Her adrenaline had been pumping ever since she’d arrived, rethinking her decision to show up.
This wasn’t the life she’d planned. Justice Wynn had snatched away her future and left her holding his fate in her clumsy hands. Agitated, Avery turned in the direction of the Metro stop, ready to leave and deal with the guilt. Justice Wynn wasn’t Rita. His life wasn’t her responsibility.
She stepped off the curb, and a strong hand clasped her shoulder.
“Ms. Keene?”
Spinning, Avery slid the knife from her pocket, and her thumb rested on the release. The streetlights cast Jared Wynn’s face into shadows, giving a saturnine appearance to the machete nose and prominent brow. Whatever of his features came from his mother, she decided, they had to be more subtle.
“Mr. Wynn.” She drew her shoulder from beneath his hand and inclined her head toward the bookstore. Returning the knife to her pocket before he noticed, she covered: “I thought I was supposed to meet you out on the patio.”
“Call me Jared.” He gave a dismissive shrug coupled with a quirk of lips that seemed reluctant to smile. “You looked like you were leaving.”
“I’m here.”
“Thanks for not stabbing me.”
Avery glanced at him, startled. “You saw that?”
“Old habit. I spent a little time in the military—naval intelligence. I’m trained to look for people trying to kill me.”
“I’m not.” Avery tucked balled fists into the pockets of her jeans, her fingers numb despite the warm summer evening. Her window of escape had vanished, so she might as well learn what she could. “Care to explain your note?”
“Let’s go inside first.” Jared pulled open the door, and the chattering inside enveloped them. With a touch to her elbow, he guided her thr
ough the teeming store. They went up a shallow set of stairs and out to the patio, where a server dressed in a T-shirt and khakis led them to a squat wooden table.
The table tilted slightly beneath the weight of the silverware and slim menus, and the waiter efficiently shoved a coaster beneath the errant leg. “Do you know what you want to drink?” he queried with polite disinterest.
“Diet Coke,” Avery answered.
“Chamomile tea,” requested Jared.
“Sure.”
The refined order seemed to Avery at odds with the unsmiling, almost stern face. He struck her as a guy more likely to carry a flask than to drain herbal tea from a china cup. Jared was dressed as he’d been earlier. Dark jeans molded to a lean frame. The white shirt had been exchanged for blue, but the dark work boots and the scowl on a face that could have been beautiful remained. Somehow, more years than he’d earned had etched themselves into the wheat-colored skin. Jared Wynn had maybe five years on her, but she could have sworn it was more. He sat stiffly, alertly, as though poised to run at the first cause.
Avery was determined to wait in silence until Jared revealed the purpose of this meeting, but before she could settle in the waiter reappeared with their drinks and took their order. “I’ll have your meals up shortly.”
Jared stirred the tea, seemingly lost in thought.
“This is your show,” Avery said. “What do you want?”
“I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
She gave a mirthless chuckle. “Then I’d advise you not to include dire warnings in your secret notes to strangers.”
“Sorry.” Jared lifted his knife and skillfully flipped the thin metal over and under scarred knuckles. After another pass of the knife, a habit he’d picked up in the Navy, he caught Avery’s impatient look. He began, clearly reluctant: “I hadn’t spoken to the judge in more than twenty years.”
“Since your mother died?”
“Since he sent me away and refused to see me.” Bitterness, long since submerged by resignation, surfaced briefly. Talking about his family had never come easy. “My mother died a few years after he was appointed to the Supreme Court. The day after the funeral, the judge took me to live with her sister in Maryland. He never came back.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, but there are dozens of theories. My aunt has always romanticized that I reminded him too much of my mom, his one great love.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
His laugh was short. “I think one has to be capable of love to pine away like that. My theory? The judge is a selfish, cold man who didn’t want the responsibility of raising a child. After he was appointed to the Court, he had the perfect life. Then my mom dies. With her gone, I served no practical purpose.”
“Did you ever try to make contact?”
“Every day for a year. I was quite insistent and pathetic as a child.”
“But nothing happened?”
“Every summer, I snuck down to the Court for the last day of the term, hoping to see him. Did it every year until I turned eighteen.” Before she could ask about how he gained access, he explained, “The clerk of court had been fond of my mother. So he always saved me a place.”
“What happened when you turned eighteen?”
“I begged my way over to his chambers. I saw him. He was arguing with someone, and I saw him look at me. He never even paused. I didn’t wait around after that. But I finally realized that I was eighteen years old, and I would never be a part of his life.” Jared rolled his shoulders once, a jerky movement quickly controlled. “The next morning, I joined the Navy and went off to see the world.”
When Justice Wynn was in the throes of a good fight, he barely paid attention to anything else. She didn’t know if he had even noticed Jared, let alone recognized him, but Avery still found herself appalled. She stopped herself from offering sympathy, asking instead, “How long were you in?”
“Long enough.”
“Care to be more specific?”
“Not really.”
“Why not? What? Were you a SEAL or something?”
“Or something. I was a boring analyst. Then I came home and put my training to use. I run a consulting firm doing computer and electronic security.”
“An analyst in naval intelligence? That’s not boring.”
He shrugged. “Not exactly.”
“What, exactly?” Nothing in the trim, hard man before her suggested physical weakness. “What was wrong?”
“I was up for a fairly special promotion. They ran blood tests and a DNA panel. The doctors told me I’d tested positive for a congenital defect I inherited from my father. A sleeping killer in my brain that will render me as useless as the judge one day.”
“Boursin’s syndrome.”
“Yes.” When he saw the look of pity, Jared shook his head. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” he commanded. “Listen, we’re all going to die sometime. I just happen to have a good idea of what will kill me, if not when.”
Avery wiped all expression from her face, exorcised it from her voice. “I talked to Justice Wynn’s doctors. There’s no cure.”
He stretched an arm across the table, his fingers splayed close to her. “Not yet.”
Avery’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
This was his opening. Jared leaned forward and lowered his already raspy whisper. “The judge believes there is a gene therapy under development that could cure me.”
Avery frowned. “Dr. Toca didn’t mention a protocol.”
“Because it’s not on the market. According to the judge, there’s a company that has figured out which genes are killing my brain, but they need access to a certain technology to continue trials. The potential delivery system is proprietary and in the hands of an overseas company. It’s called a restriction enzyme sequence. And it’s manufactured by—”
“Advar. The GenWorks merger.”
Jared visibly stiffened. “So you know about it. Advar’s biogenetic technology, if coupled with GenWorks’ pharmaceutical research, could save my life.” Jared took a quick glance around the room and leaned toward her. “President Stokes is trying to kill the last hope I’ve got.”
A cure, she thought dazedly. “Could the merger save your father?”
Jared hesitated over the lie, then shook his head. “No. It’s too late for him. But he does know about what’s happening to me. He told me about GenWorks and Advar. About you.”
“What? He was in contact with you?”
The waiter materialized beside them and set a plate of French fries in front of Avery, with a hamburger for Jared.
When they were once again alone, Jared explained, “Yes, he told me that if anything were to happen to him, I should find you.”
“But…why?” The question had been hovering in her mind for hours. “If he reached out to you about his illness, why give me his POA and not you?”
“I don’t know.” Jared bit into his burger and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I hadn’t been in contact with the judge since that day at the Court. Then, one evening, about four months ago, he appears at my apartment. Tells me he needs to talk to me.”
“Did you?”
“No. I slammed the door in his face. An hour later, I left my apartment on my way to a bar or something. Anything. And he’s just standing in the hallway. Waiting.”
“You talked to him, then.”
“No. He followed me to a bar on the corner. Just waiting for me to acknowledge him. Three hours later, when he wouldn’t go away, I cursed him. Still he didn’t say a word.” His voice softened as he spoke. “Finally, I told him to sit down. He looked like he could fall over. We shared a scotch, and I asked him what he wanted after all these years. I assumed he’d come to say he was sorry.”
“He apologized?”
“The judge? Of cours
e not.”
That didn’t surprise her. “What did he say?”
“He told me he was dying.” Jared pushed his plate aside. “Said he was trying to help me, but that it was complicated.”
Complicated? Rigging a Supreme Court verdict to allow a merger was more than complicated, Avery thought edgily. It was grounds for impeachment and damned near impossible. As was telling anyone about the status of a Supreme Court decision. “He told you he planned to vote in favor of the merger?”
“At first, he didn’t tell me much at all. But we’ve stayed in touch. Turns out he’d followed my career from the minute I enlisted. He wanted me to understand the course of the disease. Then, over the past few weeks, he started hinting at more, rambling on about international problems and ‘the tiny minds of tiny men.’ I did do intelligence work, and I’m not bad with research. A few searches and the right questions, and finally, I confronted him. Asked if his solution had anything to do with the president’s block on the GenWorks merger.”
“He told you about the case?”
“Not fully. He still played coy. All he’d say was that he was working on a solution. But he dropped enough hints to know I’d go looking. I found the cases, and I know about GenWorks’ biogenetics work, but not much else. I’m guessing that’s where you come in.”
“I’m not sure what you want. What he thinks I can do.”
“I don’t know either.” He lifted his tea. “This court decision about GenWorks. Is it final?”
The fact that it wasn’t was the source of gossip in the Court. Rumor had it that Justice Wynn held the deciding vote, but he’d refused to sign on to the Chief’s opinion yet. No one knew why not, and Avery knew better than to ask. Instead, she shook her head. “The Court will continue to issue rulings until the end of the month. But I can’t reveal the status of court proceedings. Don’t ask me.”
His jaw tightened. “I have to ask you. We’re talking about my life. About my father’s life.”
“You said he can’t be helped.”
While Justice Sleeps Page 12
