“You ever sleep at the studio?”
“At the studio?”
“Yes, ma’am. I asked if you slept at the studio. We didn’t see a bed there.”
“Well, um, I suppose I…”
Jake’s phone didn’t ring. But he pretended it did. “Excuse me for a moment, ma’am.”
He took the BlackBerry from his jacket, pushed a random button, put it to his ear. “Detective Brogan,” he said. He paused, nodding, as if someone were telling him something portentous. “Yes, I’ll tell her. Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Tucking the phone away, he shook his head, so very full of regret. “Bad news, I’m afraid, Mrs. Vick.”
Patti stood, eyes wide. Her shawl fell to the chair. “Bad news?”
“Your husband’s confessed,” he said. “If you’ll wait right here? We’ll come back and get you. I know you’ll want a moment to say good-bye.”
“He-?” Patti sank into her chair, blinking furiously, one hand fluttering to her throat. “But…”
“Stay right there. I’ll send someone to sit with you,” Jake said. “And then I’ll be back. I promise.”
“He knows?”
Jane-freezing, wet, heart pounding-watched Matt process what she’d told him. She could see his brain at work. Assessing. Deciding. What she’d said was not true, of course. But sometimes the only way to suck the power from a secret is to tell it.
Jane shifted one leg carefully, knowing she might have only one chance to get to her feet. She had to get away. He’d certainly killed Holly Neff. He’d certainly kill her, too. The chunky black flashlight was almost within her grasp. Her only possible weapon. If she could reach…
She waved a hand to distract him, get him used to motion. Trying to engage him. “I’m a reporter, Matt, right? I find out things. I dug out birth records, you know? This is such good news, isn’t it?”
She kept her eyes locked on his, adjusting her arm underneath her. I have to get up. Without startling him into action. The back of her head throbbed; her neck and shoulders ached. Not only with pain, but also with the tension of pretense.
“In fact, I was hoping to bring you two together. A big wonderful family story, like a reunion. You know? Right before the election. Father and son. Didn’t anyone tell you? Maybe your…” Jane paused. The letters engraved on the headstone. Two children. “Your sister?”
She saw him swallow. Both hands-empty-came out of his pockets.
“Tonight at headquarters, his private office,” Matt whispered. His eyes looked off in the distance. “At eleven. Is that when you-?”
“Yes, yes, exactly.” Jane nodded. Whatever. “When Governor Lassiter gets back from his event. It’ll be wonderful. So we really have to-”
“No,” Matt whispered. “No.” A cloud floated over the moon, deepening the shadows on his face. He pointed to Jane, one accusing finger. “I know you had photos. She told me you showed photos to-”
“Oh, gosh, ridiculous, huh?” Jane was almost on her feet. Smiling. Lying. Playing for time. “My editor thinks those are Photoshopped, can you believe it? Fake as can be. Wherever they came from, who knows. What some people won’t do to get attention.”
Matt took a step back. Considering? Believing her?
Jane put one hand on the pink marble. Slowly, slowly, hoisting herself to her feet. Thinking, for a yearning fraction of a thought, of her own mother. How much she still missed her. Loved her. Maybe-
“You must have loved your mother very much,” she said. Hoping she was right. Watching his eyes. Hearing his ragged breathing. Cars murmured past on the street outside the cemetery. A tentative wind rustled through the bare branches.
Matt was nodding.
“She’d want you to be happy,” Jane continued. Keeping her voice quiet. Not wanting to break the spell. “Tonight at eleven. Right? I can help you-”
“Do not move!”
The voice split the darkness, blinding lights blasted her, the glare so instantly intense she staggered backwards, almost falling again, grabbing the grave marker behind her, scraping one hand on the rough stone.
“Do not move, do not move, stay right there.” A grating voice bellowed over-over what?
Jane struggled for balance, shading her eyes, squinting, looking for-loudspeakers? Her hand was bleeding now, she could feel it, but that was okay, whoever this was would protect-
Footsteps, running, movement in the trees, more shadows. “This is security, we see you, do not move! We see you, and you’re now under arrest. Damn kids! Put your hands in the air! Now! Now! Now!”
The loudspeaker voices continued, threatening, commanding, piercing the quiet. Two silhouetted figures, men, came into view. One ducked behind the angel, as if taking cover. The other approached, cautious, holding something in his hand. A gun?
Matt gave her a terrified look. Whirled. And bolted.
“Yes, yes, I’m here, don’t shoot!” Jane yelled, waving both arms. Both guards were headed right for her. She pointed at Matt, still running, now almost to a car parked by the exit. “Stop him!”
69
Matt hit the accelerator almost before he got his car door closed, powered out of the cemetery, under the archway, away from the voices and the guards, away from Jane Ryland. What she’d told him. Could it be true? My father knows? That’s what Cissy was planning for tonight? He shifted, gears grating, turned onto the street, ignoring the stop sign, heading toward Boston.
He patted the seat beside him, risked a fast look under the dash. Where did he put his damn phone? His car swerved, crossed the yellow line, edging into the other lane. He steered back to safety, headlights flaring-too close!-in his side mirror.
“Asshole!” he yelled at the night as some jerk honked at him. Christ. He had to calm the hell down. He was fine. It was fine. He was out of there. And Cissy had told him to be at Lassiter headquarters at eleven.
For a family reunion?
He felt the beginnings of a smile. His first real smile in a long while.
He would make it. Just in time.
“Ma’am? Do you realize you’re trespassing?” The stocky man, wearing a dark nylon jacket marked PGSECURITY, growled at Jane, aiming his flashlight in her face. Her rear end and gloves soaked with mud, head throbbing, she’d watched the other guard race after Matt. He now trotted up beside his partner.
“Lost him,” he said. “What’s the status, McCray? Ma’am, we’re going to have to call the-”
“Oh, thank goodness you came,” Jane cried, holding out both hands, damsel in distress. There was the trespassing issue, sure, but she could explain. At least she was alive to explain it. And these two, pudgy and pudgier, weren’t so intimidating without the loudspeaker. Seemed they didn’t have guns. Only flashlights. “I was visiting a-”
“You not see the closed sign? It’s Halloween, ma’am. We’re closed.” The taller one pointed behind him. What looked like a microphone was clipped to his jacket, a miniature loudspeaker strapped over his shoulder. “You can’t be here, miss.”
“Oh, really?” Jane widened her eyes. Talking fast. “I thought it was open all the time. I was looking at the headstone, it’s so beautiful, in the moonlight… and then that guy came in, and I didn’t know what he was doing, and it was so scary, and then I tripped, you know, and-”
“Yo, McCray, check it out. She’s Jane Ryland,” the shorter one said. He waved his long-handled flashlight at her. “But with shorter hair. You’re on the news, right? What’re you doing here?”
“Leaving. Right now.” Smiling, smiling. “Like I said, I was visiting a friend’s grave. Is that okay? I’m so sorry. I mean, I didn’t know it was closed, and…”