Girl Three (32 page)

“My resignation.” He closed the door with a thud.

Croft tucked his chin and shot Michael a speculative look, his brows lowered. “You said you needed coverage for today. You didn’t say you were giving up.”

Michael had prepared for Croft to belittle, badger, and manipulate him, but he’d made up his mind. “I’m saying it now. My contract states that you should be notified, in person, of my intent to terminate. Call my backup, whoever that is, and tell him he’s got a job.”

He walked into the living area, and Croft followed. Michael made a sweeping, nonchalant gesture toward the electronic equipment. “Everything’s still running to spec, so the new guy can just concentrate on Jessie—ca.” He pressed his lips together tightly, hoping he’d caught himself before Croft had noticed the familiar use of her name. Then he remembered that it no longer mattered what Croft noticed.

The judge shoved his hands into the pockets of his expensive overcoat. He nodded and paused for effect. “I never expected this from you.”

Michael tensed with resentment. “What
did
you expect?”

“Dedication, honesty, loyalty—”

“Based on what? A contract? A veiled threat that you’d blackball me in DC if I didn’t sign another contract with you? My father died, then Sam. You waltzed in and demanded that I get over it and get on with it, or move out of here immediately and risk my professional future. That’s a sure way to gain someone’s loyalty.”

As for honesty, Michael couldn’t defend himself. He’d shielded Jessie from Croft by underreporting her activities and omitting information he’d reflexively divulged about Sam. At times, he’d flat-out lied. And he’d no doubt made a mockery of the
refrain from developing a relationship
clause in Croft’s contract. Defied it both ways.

Physically, check.

Emotionally, check.

Croft stood silent, as if he were expecting more.

So Michael gave it to him. “And I’ve been on this job twenty-four seven since the last time you walked out of here.” He jabbed his finger in the direction of the door. “My dedication is not in question.”

Croft reached out and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. It took all of his discipline not to flinch. He’d stand here and listen to the man’s bullshit. Then he’d be free of him, and of Jessie.

Forever.

“She got to you, didn’t she?” Croft sounded more commiserating than judgmental, blindsiding Michael.

He fired through a split-second debate over whether to lie again or to tell the truth. An image of Jessie with Talmont flashed in his mind and he clenched his teeth. He gazed out the window, focusing on nothing.

Then he shifted his eyes to meet Croft’s. “Yes. Congratulate yourself. You set it up that way. And made sure that I’d never have a chance.”

The judge reacted with his emotionless courtroom expression. He squeezed Michael’s shoulder, then sat on the couch and tipped his head. “Have a seat, Michael. It’s time you and I got a few things straight.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Jessie had kept herself busy attending to the list she’d made—final things to get done before she could go home in not-so-good conscience. She’d taken some of Sam’s things to a charity and closed her last credit card account.

Now she treated herself to a solemn and peaceful visit to the National Gallery of Art, where she’d attended Sam’s memorial.

She stepped into the East Garden Court, an oasis now without all the people. The soaring glass ceiling and the massive marble columns contrasted with the delicate palm fronds and gilded cherub sculpture atop the trickling fountain. This was where she’d first met Talmont. She shivered, thinking of him brazenly grazing his fingers down her arm that night—right in front of his wife—foreshadowing circumstances that Jessie couldn’t have begun to imagine. She’d have to live with the things she’d done to prove he was a murderer. But all of it would be worth it when Nina called and told her that his blood type was a match.

She sank into one of the cushioned chairs grouped around the perimeter of the room, and checked her watch: 1:45 p.m.

Any time now, Nina. Please call.

She remembered seeing Helena here, meeting Ian, Elizabeth, and Philippe.

Calling Philippe was one of the last items on her list. Jessie hadn’t wanted to face him, knowing that Elizabeth had been cheating on him with Ian. She would’ve felt pressed to tell him, but knew she shouldn’t get involved. Now that Ian was dead, maybe their marital problems would resolve themselves. She wished happiness for them, and for Liam, whom she hoped to meet and get to know, as Elizabeth had offered. The child was all that Jessie had left of Sam.

And that brought her back to one last thing she wanted from Philippe.

She got up and walked out onto the promenade, pulled her phone from her purse, and called him.

“Hello.” He managed to sound despondent with one word.

“It’s Jessie.”

“It was nice to see you at Helena’s…nice of you to come. I went to Quebec on business and came back to…” He cleared his throat but didn’t continue.

“I’m sorry about Ian. It’s hard to lose a friend.” She knew she had nothing to gain by telling him just what kind of friend Ian had been, so she didn’t.

“How could you be sorry about Ian after what he did to Sam?” Philippe’s accent couldn’t save his words from sounding bitter.

Even Philippe seemed to believe that Ian’s death was a suicide, that what he’d claimed about him and Sam was true. But Jessie couldn’t argue with him until she got the news from Nina about Talmont.

“Both of their deaths were senseless and tragic,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment. “Rumor has it that you’re heading back home.”

“Soon. But I’d like to see you before I go. The truth is, I need a favor. One last thing you can do to help me settle my commitment to Sam.”

“Whatever you need.”

She closed her eyes, hoping he meant what he’d said.

“Jessie, what is it?”

“You can give me the lockbox that you keep in your darkroom. And all of the pictures and SD cards associated with Sam and her extortion scheme.” She chewed on her thumbnail. “I want to destroy them.”

After I use them as evidence in my case against Talmont.

“Fair enough,” he said after a moment. “I’ll bring them to you tonight.”

By six o’clock, Jessie had heard nothing definitive from Nina. During a quick call around three, Nina had told her that she’d try to have some solid information by tonight, even if she had to stay late. Jessie knew better than to badger her for updates. When there was something to tell, she would call.

Jessie paced the living room in Sam’s place, jittery with expectation and nerves. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and made sure it was powered up and getting a signal. Seeing Philippe would be a welcome diversion from the wound-up waiting, the constant worrying and what-ifs.

She slid the phone back in her pocket and peeked out of the blinds that covered one of the front windows, looking for Philippe. Moonlight reflected off the snow, lighting the night with an eerie blue-white hue. No one passed on the sidewalks or the street.

Her phone clanged and vibrated, every alert mechanism activated. She yanked it from her pocket and glanced at the screen, expecting to see Nina’s name.

But on the screen was a number she’d dialed just once, one she didn’t want to remember but might never forget.

Talmont.

Disgusted with herself for what she’d started, she let the call go to voice mail. But the new-message signal didn’t come. She closed her eyes and exhaled just as a wind-chime riff alerted her of a new text message from Talmont.

She read the message, disgusted by its one loaded word.

Tonight?

The doorbell rang.

She decided not to respond to Talmont, put the phone away, and walked over to the intercom. She stopped short before pressing the button.

What if it was Talmont, not Philippe?

She pushed the button with a shaky finger. “Philippe?”

“Expecting someone else?”

She’d never been more relieved to hear his voice.

He came in looking dashing in a gray wool overcoat, his long hair windswept. But there were stress lines on his face that she hadn’t noticed before, and a tired pinch around his eyes. Worse than that, he was empty-handed, without the pictures of Sam.

He kissed her cheek and narrowed his eyes. “You look a little pale.”

She could depend on brutal honesty from Philippe. “Why thank you, Counselor, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He grinned. “You still look lovely,
chérie
. But it’s been tough going for you, I can tell.”

“This place is getting to me,” she said. “Not just Sam’s place, but the whole city, the atmosphere. All the death and deception.” An image of Elizabeth and Ian came to mind. Had Philippe known about their affair, or did he know now? Would he ever know that Liam was not biologically his? Few people would look at a man like him and feel pity. But Jessie knew what few people did, and she felt sorry for him.

“Get your coat, then,” he said. “I’ll show you a side of this city I’ll bet you haven’t seen. I need to swing by the yacht club and check on the
J’aime L’eau
, then we’ll get the pictures on the way back. After work, I stopped by to check on Helena and Elizabeth. I didn’t even take time to go by the condo, and I still got here late.”

Jessie couldn’t say no. Going with Philippe would distract her until Nina called. She’d get the SD cards and the pictures of Sam. And she wouldn’t be here if Talmont came by, expecting to pick up where they’d left off last night.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Jessie gripped the edge of the passenger seat as Philippe whipped his Lexus SUV into a parking space—too fast for the slippery conditions.

Under the half moon, the Capital Yacht Club didn’t look as dazzling as its name or as dubious as its reputation. More than several notorious legislators who lived aboard their boats here had been convicted of various crimes, including disorderly conduct, taking illegal gifts, and bribery.

Philippe came around the Lexus and opened her door. “This parking lot is a mess.” He took her hand, turned it over, and looked at her palm. “Just about healed.”

She nodded. “Almost like new. Maybe a little scar.” Nothing like the ones she had on the inside. She stepped out of the SUV and into a sea of dirty slush.

He took her arm and led her along a metal-mesh security fence to a locked gate. A rectangular white sign hung on the gate, plain except for the name of the club in small font and a giant, bright red
D
.

“Do you know about the D Dock curse?” he asked.

“Yes. How many of your infamous D Dock neighbors are under federal investigation, indicted, or doing time?”

He smiled wryly, shrugged, and unlocked the gate. “I lost count.”

Beyond the fence, houseboats, speedboats, and luxury yachts were battened against the winter, bobbing in the choppy water of the Washington Channel. Sharp-edged plates of ice floated on the surface, and the air was tinged with a briny scent.

Jessie shivered.

They made their way down D Dock, their footsteps sounding hollow on the pier’s wooden planks. Gusts of wind lashed at them, whipping in one direction, then another. Chimes clinked and gonged.

The marina was a maze of watercraft and decking, the nautical version of a cube farm. Jessie couldn’t imagine living cramped inside a boat, only yards from the neighbors—especially in the winter. But lights burned and shadows stirred in several boats along D Dock, and in the docks beyond.

She reconsidered when the
J’aime L’eau
came into full view. Philippe gestured proudly toward the sleek luxury yacht, moored at the end of the pier because it was too large to fit in an average slip. The yacht swayed in the murky waves.

“Wow,” she said, wide-eyed until a wind gust thrashed her hair across her face. She anchored it with her hand. “She’s beautiful.”

Philippe’s proud expression almost matched the one she’d seen every time he mentioned Liam. Jessie just couldn’t look at him the same way, knowing what she did about Elizabeth and Liam.

“The snow looks good on her, but I prefer the sun.” He stepped onto the boarding ramp, steadied his stance, and held his hand out to her.

“Permission to come aboard?” She playfully followed protocol, trying to hide her skittishness. A good gust or sudden swell could send her plunging into the icy channel.

He nodded. “Careful.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand. He gripped tightly and pulled her aboard behind him. They got their feet beneath them and walked along the gangway to the deck, stopping at a bank of tinted sliding-glass doors that spanned the width of the yacht.

Philippe unlocked the center door and slid it open. They stepped inside and he flipped on the lights.

Now Jessie understood how people could live aboard a boat. The
J’aime L’eau
could have been lifted straight off the pages of
Architectural Digest
. Streamlined teak furnishings, ivory upholstery, walls of windows with a view of the water shimmering under the moon. Across the channel, the lighted dome of the Jefferson Memorial glowed in the darkness.

“This is plain decadent,” she said as the yacht subtly tilted from side to side.

“Let me show you around.”

They took off their coats and he led her through the finely appointed rooms—a nursery for Liam, a chef’s kitchen. He saved the master cabin for last.

She stepped inside and turned away quickly.

“Are you all right?” He cupped his hand on her elbow.

“This is where Sam…seduced…” Jessie couldn’t even say
the senators
without thinking about last night with Talmont. She recognized the details of the room from the pictures. Art Deco wall sconces cast soft light on the king-sized bed, where pillows in sea-foam green, sky blue, and taupe were stacked several deep against an ivory suede headboard.

“You’re right,” Philippe said, his tone contrite.

“Can we go back to the main cabin?”