Mistress Read online

  “So that’s why you wanted me to do the forensic review of her computer,” he mumbles. “You figured there might be something like this on here.”

  Right. Hooray for me. “People will kill you for knowing this,” I say. “So go back to Chicago. In a couple of days, this will all be over, one way or the other. If I don’t survive this, then run with what you know. You can wait that long, can’t you? Nina’s not going to get any deader.”

  He argues the point. I don’t know if I’ve convinced him or not. But I do know that I have to get out of here, separate myself from him, and keep on the move.

  Chapter 95

  I leave Sean at the table and pass through the bar on my way out. I stop to take a gander at the bar’s television to get the latest updates. It’s the only thing the networks are covering.

  The news reports are saying at least six are dead from the blast and dozens injured. Four cops and two Secret Service agents, their faces plastered one by one on the television screen, killed in the line of duty. That makes seven law enforcement officials dead, including Ellis Burk. Add in Jonathan Liu, Diana’s brother, Randy, and Nina Jacobs, and we’re at an even ten.

  When is it going to stop?

  I fish into my gym bag for one of my prepaid phones. I get it out and start to dial when my eyes wander back up to the screen.

  Breaking News, the screen says, and I brace myself for yet more casualties from the explosion today.

  But it’s not about the SUV. It’s not about what happened in the capital today. It’s breaking news on the international front.

  Take a guess.

  Threatened by the discovery of a Georgian spy in their country, and days later by an attempt on the Russian prime minister’s life by a Georgian operative, the Russians have begun amassing thousands of troops and tanks on their border with Georgia.

  The UN is convening an emergency session of the Security Council. China’s ambassador to the UN is calling for multilateral talks and urging NATO to join in.

  Then President Blake Francis is on the screen, standing next to his wife, the wooden princess Libby Rose, in what looks like a taped recording from earlier today in the Rose Garden. The sound is muted but the closed-captioning is on.

  Our president is talking about Russia’s right of self-defense, and how NATO must proceed with caution in the face of Georgia’s provocation. Russia, like any other country, he says, cannot be asked to sit idly by when threatened.

  “Shit,” I say to nobody. It’s happening. The Russians are moving forward, and we’re lying down and letting it happen. Once we let the first country fall, it will be harder and harder to justify stopping their continued aggression.

  I’m running out of time.

  I walk outside and dial Anne Brennan on my cell. The next twenty-four hours are crucial for the Russians. Once they invade the first country, there may be no turning back for the United States. And the Russians know that. They’ll be desperate to stop me. SUVs shooting up the capital are probably out now, after today. But finding someone I care about and threatening her? Very much in. I don’t think they know about Anne, but I can’t count on what I think.

  And I admit, I just want to hear her voice. I could use a bit of comfort right now. I can smell her hair whenever I inhale. If circumstances were different, if I could even spend one more night with her—

  The phone picks up before one full ring. Weird.

  “Hello, yes, hello?” Anne says in a hurried, startled voice.

  “Anne, it’s Ben.”

  “Oh—oh, Ben. You’re—you’re not here, are you?”

  My spidey sense kicks up. Something in her voice, in her reaction upon hearing my voice. And how she answered so quickly. She was expecting someone else. And she sounds worried that I might be showing up at her place.

  I decide to play this safe. “No, I’m staying in Maryland tonight,” I say.

  “Oh, okay.” She takes a breath. A breath of…relief? What’s going on? Why doesn’t she want me to come to her house?

  “You okay, Anne?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m…I’m fine. I’m…I was just dozing off. I’m tired. I need sleep.”

  She was tired, but she answered the phone before one full ring? She doesn’t sound tired. Not one bit. She sounds nervous. Is someone there with her?

  “Well, no problem,” I say. “Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Good. Tomorrow would be great, thanks.”

  I punch out my phone and a wave of fear passes through me. She didn’t want me to come over. And she didn’t want to say why.

  Anne’s in danger.

  I rush back into the restaurant. Sean Patrick Riley has just ordered another Budweiser. He looks up and appraises me as though I’m about to kiss him.

  “You sure you want in on this?” I say.

  He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I went from twenty years on the force on the south side of Chicago to chasing around cheating husbands. I could stand a little excitement.”

  “I need help, Sean. This could be dangerous. This isn’t a joke. You got a gun?”

  “Course I do.”

  “You got cameras? Zoom lenses, that sort of thing?”

  “In my car.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  He throws down his napkin. “Right outside.”

  “Then giddyap, cowboy,” I say. “I need you ten minutes ago.”

  Chapter 96

  Anne’s place is a straight shot up 15th Street, only about half a mile or so. We reach the intersection with T Street in the time it would take me to unlock the chain on my Rockhopper.

  Sean pulls over on the west side of the street. This is all residential housing around here, so we got lucky with the spot.

  He hands me an earbud. “Stick this in your ear.”

  Check. Like Jennifer Garner in that old Alias show.

  “Now put this around your neck.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a Bluetooth loop. You ever sync a Bluetooth up to your cell phone? Same thing, but put the loop over your head like you’re wearing a necklace and run the cord under your shirt.”

  I do what Sean says. He hooks himself up the same way. He’s excited about this. This is fun for him. I wish it were for me.

  “Now hook the plug into your cell phone. I’ll do it, too. Then we can talk.”

  I look over at Sean. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  He checks his revolver. “Sorry I don’t have a spare gun.”

  I wouldn’t know how to use it, anyway. I’d probably shoot my dick off.

  “I’m going to scout the place first,” I say.

  “I’m the one with the gun, sport. I’ll go.”

  But I’m the one with the guilty conscience. Enough people have died for something that’s my problem. If I can help it, I’m going to be in the line of fire before him.

  “I’m going.” I push open the door and step outside. Sean calls my cell phone and we do a test. We’re hooked up.

  “Hey,” he says to me before I shut the door. “When I was a cop, we had a saying. ‘Don’t get dead.’”

  I look at him, waiting for more. “That’s it? ‘Don’t get dead’?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Good advice, Sean.” And I’m on the move toward Anne’s house. I cut around the block to come up through the alley.

  Alias is my favorite of Jennifer Garner’s roles, though she was excellent in Juno. Didn’t love Daredevil other than the motorcycle, but she was smokin’ as Elektra.

  When I’m halfway there, Sean’s voice comes through my ear. “You said she answered real quick, like? And she sounded like she was expecting someone else?”

  “Right,” I say as I jog toward the alley leading to Anne’s back door and fence.

  I approach the back alley cautiously, my heart in my throat, moving as silently as I possibly can, walking on tiptoes and stopping after every single step to listen.

  I can see her place right n
ow…

  Can anyone see me?

  I jump at the sight of movement in the back of Anne’s apartment, the kitchen. Can’t make out the features, just a figure quickly passing by the shade over the window. Was it Anne? But if she were being held by somebody in there, she wouldn’t be walking around freely.

  I move a few more steps. I’m hiding behind someone’s garage now. It’s the last structure between me and the fence at the rear of Anne’s building, about ten yards away.

  Garner played slutty pretty damn well in the Arthur remake. I love it when actresses decide to branch out and play slutty. See Jennifer Aniston in Horrible Bosses—

  Focus, you moron. Once I move past this garage, I’m exposed, out in the open. The lighting isn’t great back here, but it’s good enough. If anyone’s looking, they’ll see me.

  Here goes nothing.

  I step out from behind the garage and tiptoe toward the fence, feeling as visible as a neon sign. If they’re looking, I’m a goner, so my money has to be on them not keeping a vigilant watch. They shouldn’t be expecting me, after all. I told Anne over the phone that I was miles away in Maryland.

  I walk along the brick wall on the side of her building. Anne has a window in her bedroom. The shade is drawn, but there’s no light behind it. That room is dark.

  I silently creep forward. There is light coming from the front of the house. The shade on the window isn’t drawn. If I stand on the balls of my feet, I might be able to see in. But will they see me?

  Only one way to find out. I slowly rise from my crouch.

  “So that sounds more like she’s waiting to hear from someone.”

  I jump at Sean’s voice in my ear. I’m not used to this spy stuff.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack!” I whisper.

  “I’m saying, it sounds like she’s waiting for someone, either for a call—”

  “Or for someone to drop by in person. Good point. Watch for cars, okay? Any car would have to travel north up Fifteenth, past you. Got your camera ready?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I take another breath. I stand up slowly, raise up on my tiptoes—

  “She’s by the window.”

  I jump back down. “Jesus, Sean. What?”

  “She’s by the front window, looking out over Fifteenth. I’m out of my car and I got an angle with my zoom lens. The lady’s looking out the window. She’s waiting for someone, Ben. Believe me. She’s looking down the street. She’s waiting for a car.”

  Then so will I. But not here in the alley. Too conspicuous.

  I do a crab walk forward a few steps toward 15th Street, so I can see the front yard of the building next door to Anne’s without revealing myself to Anne. As I remembered, there’s shrubbery bordering the small parcel of grass in front of that apartment building. Most of the buildings around here have some kind of small grassy lawn, and most of them put up some shrubbery or garden on it. There isn’t a whole lot of cascading acreage here in the U Street Corridor, so any plot of grass, no matter how tiny, usually gets dolled up.

  That shrubbery isn’t much, but it’s about three feet high, which should be enough. If someone’s really looking for me, they might spot me. It’s a risk. But hey, I left risky back in the dust long ago. I’ve been walking a tightrope for days.

  “Tell me when she’s not standing by the front window,” I say. “I’m going to stake out a spot, but she’ll see me from the front window.”

  A pause, but not a very long one.

  “Go. Go fast. She’s pacing around, and she’ll be back at the window soon.”

  I dart from my position and almost dive behind the shrubbery next door. I must have looked ridiculous doing so. And I probably look ridiculous now.

  “Nice swan dive,” says Sean.

  But I made it.

  Now let’s see who comes a-callin’ on Anne Brennan.

  Chapter 97

  Several cars pass by on 15th. Each time, Sean signals me. Each time, my pulse ratchets up. Each time, the car keeps going—false alarm.

  The winner of the surprisingly-good-at-slutty thing is Glenn Close—not on anyone’s list of supermodels, but Dangerous Liaisons and Fatal Attraction? Seriously. I think it’s her cheekbones.

  “Maybe she’s just waiting for friends to hit the clubs,” says Sean in my earbud.

  “No, this is no social call. She was too nervous,” I say into the grass. I’m still facedown, afraid to move lest I attract Anne’s attention. But I’m obscured behind the shrubbery, I think, and, more important, I’m north of her and she’s looking south, waiting for some car to arrive from the only direction it could travel on this one-way street.

  Anne Hathaway should try slutty. She’s done sexy but not slut—

  “Coming your way, coming your way. A black sedan. It’s moving slowly.”

  Okay, focus, Ben. A black sedan. Maybe a government vehicle.

  Maybe a billionaire’s vehicle.

  “She sees it, too. She’s grabbing her purse. Now she’s heading for the door.”

  I rise slowly, sitting on my knees, using my hands to part the shrubs and get a look at the street. “Tell me if I’m sticking up over the hedge,” I say.

  “You’re good, you’re still hidden.”

  “Use that camera, Sean. Snap everything you can. I’m not sure I’ll have a view.”

  “Will do.”

  The good news for me is that this parcel of grass where I’m hiding is elevated, raised off the sidewalk, so I can see over the car parked outside Anne’s building.

  I see the black sedan pull up by Anne’s building. I listen to the hum of an engine idling. There’s absolutely no reason why anyone in that sedan would be looking in my direction, and according to Sean they wouldn’t be able to see me anyway, but none of that stops my heartbeat from kicking into full throttle.

  I hear Anne’s front door open, then the clack of her shoes bounding down the small set of stairs.

  The sedan’s rear passenger door opens and, as I’d hoped, the overhead dome light comes on, bathing the interior of the vehicle in light. A man in a dark suit gets out and frisks Anne before she gets in the car. Then she almost dives into the backseat, greeting the person sitting back there with a full-on, passionate kiss.

  Anne Brennan is kissing someone, and it’s not me.

  “Jesus Christ, is that who I think it is?” Sean cries.

  The guy in the dark suit closes the rear door and gets in the front passenger seat. A moment later, the interior light evaporates and the car is dark again.

  “Should I follow the car?” Sean asks.

  I let out a breath, my chest burning. “No,” I say.

  The car drives off briskly. I release the shrubs.

  And my brain releases a flurry of thoughts.

  Operation Delano…worse than a sex tape of the president…Delano…

  Shit. Of course. I’ve been so stupid.

  “Ben, did you see inside that car? Is that who I think—”

  “Yes,” I say, falling down to my haunches. “That’s who you think it is.”

  Chapter 98

  Sean Patrick Riley and I sit in his rental car outside my fleabag hotel. It’s been three hours since we left Anne Brennan’s house. Three hours for me to process what I saw in the back of that sedan.

  And three hours to figure out what to do next.

  “You’re sure about this plan?” Sean asks me.

  I sigh. “No, but I can’t think of any other. I have to do something.”

  “No, you don’t,” Sean says. “Who put you in charge of saving the world? If I were you, I’d get as much money as I could out of that Russian billionaire, cut whatever deal you need to cut with the feds, and move to some island. But that’s just me.”

  The guy makes a good point.

  “And this whole plan of yours depends on the video,” Sean says.

  “Right. Now that I know what’s on it, I can make this plan work.”

  He grunts with disapproval. “You m
ean now that you think you know what’s on the video, you think you can make this plan work.”

  That’s a bit more accurate, yes.

  “I mean, you’re just making an educated guess, Ben. And if you’re wrong, you’re basically fucked.”

  “Just worry about your phone call,” I say, changing the subject. “You’re sure you have the phone number?”

  He groans. “I do. I’ve already read it back to you.”

  He’s not used to someone giving him directions. That’s probably one of the reasons he stopped being a cop and became his own boss as a private eye.

  “And you’ll use an untraceable phone,” I say.

  He waves me off. “Yes. Yes, already. Don’t worry, Ben. I’m capable of making one damn phone call.”

  I nod. We are quiet for a moment. At least Sean seems to be enjoying the excitement. Me, I have acid burning a hole in my stomach.

  “If your plan doesn’t work,” Sean informs me, “you’re done. They’ll arrest you and bury you in a hole. You can make all kinds of wild accusations, but you won’t be able to prove them.”

  All that is true, of course.

  “And that assumes you survive, the odds of which are fifty-fifty at best, in my opinion.”

  Never tell me the odds, Han Solo said in Star Wars as he navigated around the oncoming asteroids.

  “Then my plan better work,” I say.

  Chapter 99

  I stretch my arms to release some nervous tension. I’m in my boxers, staring at a stained wall in my dingy hotel room, holding in my hand a cell phone that Sean Patrick Riley gave me last night, about to make a phone call that could change everything.

  The calm before the storm. Rocky, looking into the mirror before he entered the ring against Apollo Creed. Tom Cruise, before he cross-examined Jack Nicholson at the court-martial. Mikey in Swingers, before he summoned the courage to call that girl from the bar, Nikki, which ended in Mikey leaving her seven or eight voice mails in a row, each one more disastrous than the previous one, before she picked up and told him to drop dead.