“I wasn’t.”
“Look at our friend J. Harris Mayer. He was never prosecuted. You’ll be ruined, Cal. Judge Peacham will be ruined, too. Even if people believe she wasn’t involved in your treachery, they’ll wonder how it could happen under her nose.”
“Bernadette doesn’t deserve that. We were separated -”
“That’ll matter? You’ll go down and your ex-wife will go down. And your girlfriends.” Jesse paused deliberately, for effect. “The media will trot them out one by one.”
More than angry, Cal looked tortured, but he straightened, sniffed like the high-powered lawyer he was. “Threatening me doesn’t change anything.”
“I’m not bluffing,” Jesse said.
“Drag me down and I drag you down. That’s the way it is.”
“Double-crossing me wasn’t a smart move.”
“Ditto. I won’t go to the feds with what I have on you. You won’t go to the feds with what you have on me. You’ve done worse, Jesse. You attacked a federal agent.”
“Good night, Cal. I’ll be in touch.” He tapped his pictures. “Just wanted you to know the score.”
Cal opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead marched down the hall, the crumpled photo of his blond lover in bed with him still in his hand.
Jesse waited in the dim light until Cal disappeared. The janitor pushed his broom toward the supply closet, and Jesse smiled at him, then went on his way, back to the parking lot, the heat, the smells of the city. His BMW was still faintly cool. He sat behind the wheel, remembering the night he’d taken the picture of Cal Benton and the very attractive, very corrupt aide. It probably hadn’t occurred to Cal that anyone would ever catch him in bed with her – that it was that big a deal, a little sex in exchange for him doing good by her. Sneak up to his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s place in the country, and not worry about the prying gossips in Washington.
Even if he couldn’t be tied to the blond aide’s death or blackmail, the scandal would sink Cal Benton, and it would sink Bernadette Peacham.
The man was a fool, but Jesse hated seeing the tight control he’d once had over their operation unravel.
The car cooled to a temperature more to his liking. He glanced in his rearview mirror and thought of Mackenzie Stewart in her pink swimsuit. The curve of her breasts, the shape of her legs. Would he have killed her last Friday?
Oh, yes.
Jesse glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Plenty of time, he decided, for a quick trip out to Arlington. Mackenzie was back in town. He wondered if she’d gone to bed yet, or if she’d be up, staring at his sketch and trying to figure out where she’d seen him before.
Nineteen
With just her desk lamp on in her darkened living room, Mackenzie peered at the eyes of the man in the police sketch. She couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Rook and how she should have just waved goodbye in the rain and distracted herself from her desire for him with a stiff drink.
Except she didn’t have any liquor in the house.
She had regrets, she decided. Not for herself – she’d be fine. She was fine, her body still humming, suffused with the aftereffects of their near lovemaking. Whatever it was that had gone on in the kitchen…
Her regrets – her fears – were for him. He was obviously in the middle of a sensitive investigation that involved people she knew. He was ambitious, driven, good at his work.
With a hiss of frustration, Mackenzie shook off that line of thinking, and said aloud, “Rook knows what he’s doing.”
That was what she should keep in mind.
She turned her attention back to the sketch. The drawing didn’t capture the strangeness of her attacker’s eyes. She tried to understand why she’d focused on them. Did they truly hold the key to why he seemed familiar to her?
Why had he attacked her and not Carine? Was it, at least in part, because he’d known Carine wouldn’t recognize him? But he hadn’t seemed concerned that Mackenzie would. He’d even taunted her, using her name.
Why?
The telephone rang – the house’s hard line. Since she was there only temporarily, Mackenzie hadn’t bothered getting a line in her name, relying instead on her cell phone for personal calls. She picked up.
“Burning the midnight oil tonight, are you?”
It was a male voice, hoarse and unrecognizable. “Who is this?”
Click.
Did he know she was up late, or had he just dialed her number at random? But she remembered the wrong number she’d received at Bernadette’s lake house over the weekend. Another coincidence she didn’t like.
She grabbed her gun and ran out to the porch. Was her caller watching her, stalking her? The air smelled of rain and wet grass, and the cloud cover made for a dark night. She walked down the steps, slick from rain, and out to the driveway, listening for the sound of a car – or a man hiding in the shrubs. She wouldn’t be thinking about squirrels and wild turkeys tonight.
She walked to the end of the long driveway. Streetlights cast eerie shadows, and nearby houses had living-room lights on, their residents, no doubt, enjoying a normal evening at home. The only cars visible were parked in driveways.
Was this man watching her from a hidden, darkened car?
She returned to the house, her slip-on sneakers soaked by the time she sat at the table in the kitchen. She kicked them off and reached for her cell phone, dialing Nate Winter’s number.
“Did you and Sarah ever get crank calls here?” she asked when he picked up.
“No. What’s going on?”
She told him about the call, skipping any mention of Rook’s visit. Nate didn’t interrupt. When she finished, she decided she didn’t want to sound paranoid, and added, “It could have been anyone. I’m not suggesting it was the man who attacked me.”
Nate was silent a moment. “Do you want me to come over?”
“And do what? There’s nothing to be done tonight. The caller didn’t use my name. On most occasions I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.”
“Mackenzie…”
“It’s okay. Sorry to disturb you.”
“Anytime,” he said softly. “You know that. But you’ve had a rough week. You need to give yourself time -”
“I just want to figure out where I’ve seen the man who attacked me. We need to find him before he hurts someone else. Because he will, Nate. I know he will.”
“If he does, it won’t be your fault. It’ll be his doing and his alone.”
“I had him. I had him, and he got away.”
“Then you didn’t have him, did you?”
She sat back, stung. And yet, she thought, she appreciated Nate’s clarity – his blunt honesty. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You’re not in this thing alone. Understood?”
“Yes, understood.” Still, she knew – as did Nate – that raising the alarm over as dubious and amorphous a call as the one she’d just received wouldn’t inspire confidence. “Say hi to Sarah for me. She’s doing well?”
“She’s heading over there tomorrow to mark out a new dig.”
“Alone?”
Nate didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said finally. “She won’t be alone.”
When Mackenzie hung up, she realized her wet feet were cold – surprising, given the relentless heat. She headed to her bedroom, wondering if she’d overreacted to the call. She’d been in the middle of studying the sketch, reliving the events of last Friday, and, admittedly, was a little off balance.
Not just a little.
Maybe it was the ghosts, she thought, pulling back the covers on her bed, and imagining Rook with her in the process. Damn near making love to him hadn’t exactly helped her get centered. What should she make of their relationship?
She sighed. “Nothing. That’s what you make of your relationship.”