Girl Three (12 page)

As people elbowed their way around occupied barstools and tables, Jessie caught glimpses of Helena and the congressmen across the room. Her demeanor was different around the men. Some of her hard edges seemed softer. She chatted up the politicians, leaning in close, toasting them with another martini. The men seemed captivated.

Never underestimate the power of in-the-flesh, in-your-face cleavage.

Jessie scanned the room for the waitress, becoming weary of the strange surroundings, the pseudo-artwork, and the peculiar cast of characters—exhausted businessmen, baby-boomer singles, a grizzled old man. There was also Senator Talmont, at least a couple of congressmen, and a lobbyist. Even an elderly woman, drinking a piña colada and reading a romance paperback.

Through the crowd, Jessie caught a quick glimpse of a man sitting alone at one of the pub tables across the room, near the door.

He was the type of guy people noticed whether he wanted to be noticed or not—unforgettable for many reasons, not the least of which was his face. And she had seen it twice in the last twenty-four hours. Once at Sam’s memorial, and again now.

Even from a distance, she had no doubt he was the same guy she’d seen, because few men could pull off his look. He had refined features and a straight nose. Designer stubble tempered his strong jawline and a shadow on his chin hinted at a slight cleft. His sun-kissed, light-brown hair tousled in layers from a messy middle part down to a-little-too-long.

Warmth rose in Jessie’s face. For a moment, she had a clear view of him through the crowd. She guessed him to be her age, give or take a couple of years. Lean and muscular, dressed in black jeans and a gray mock turtleneck, he looked fine-tuned and masculine. Drinking a draft beer, he exuded pure, casual nonchalance. But Jessie wasn’t sold. A focused energy radiated beneath his veneer. He was paying close attention, just as he had been at Sam’s memorial, his eyes alert and appraising, often settling on her.

DC was a small town in some respects, but half a million people lived here. Another half million poured in daily for work or to visit monuments and museums. Jessie considered the odds that she would see Mr. Unforgettable again. She’d be crazy not to ask him about Sam while she had the chance.

The crowd shifted and the waitress walked toward Jessie, blocking her view. A pang of anxiety shot through her and she stood, hoping the guy wouldn’t leave. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she wanted to meet him…and also ask him about Sam. She handed the waitress the fifty. “Keep the change.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Jessie ducked around her, peering toward the door.

Her guy hadn’t gone anywhere, and he was looking at her dead-on.

She held his stare, yet fought a surge of self-consciousness that tempted her to look away. Awkward seconds ticked by before he acknowledged her with a slow nod. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes settled.

Jessie stumbled through a martini-infused deliberation over what to say to him as she made her way past the people at the bar, her pulse quickening. When she reached his table, she stepped out of the aisle.

He sat straight on a high stool, one of his long legs outstretched. He leveled his confident gaze on her, his eyes a riveting light gray-green and loaded with questions.

A shadow of doubt crept into her mind. She was the one with the questions.

“I think you knew my sister,” she said.

Chapter Fifteen

Michael struggled to keep his look steady. He took a swallow of his near-beer, wishing it had the maximum alcohol content now that he was face-to-face with Jessica Croft. He set the mug down precisely on the dampened ring on his cocktail napkin. “That’s an unusual hello.” He almost smiled.

“Sorry,” she said. “The martini stole my manners. I’m Jessica Croft—”

“You’re Sam’s sister?”

“Was,” Jessie said ruefully. “And for some reason, I think you knew that. I saw you at her memorial last night.”

And remembered me.

He held up his hands. “Guilty on both counts. I was there, and I know who you are. I’ve seen you on television. I just didn’t want to come across as a psycho-fan.”

Jessie smiled, her golden eyes sparkling.

He reached out to shake her hand. “Michael Gillette.” He’d considered using a fake name, yet knew that it would further complicate things. Jessie was already associating with people who knew him by name. If he hoped to gain any credibility with her, he had to be honest about his identity—even if he lied about everything else.

Jessie flipped her hand palm-up, revealing several cuts with blood dried across them in glossy streaks. Guilt twisted in Michael’s gut. He hadn’t been far behind her when she’d fallen on the sidewalk, but when she did, he had quickly slunk into the shadows.

Gently, he grasped her fingertips and took a closer look. “Ouch,” he said. “How did that happen?”

She left her hand in his a beat longer—soft and warm, but unyielding—then pulled away. “On my way here, I thought someone was following me—”

“Why would someone be following you?”

Jessie scrunched her face as if she thought she sounded ridiculous. “Never mind.” She gave him a self-conscious look and put her hands in her coat pockets. “How did you know Sam?”

He tipped his chin in Helena’s direction. “I was doing some security work for Helena and Ian a while back. I met Sam at Alden and Associates.”

“Security work?”

He nodded. “Been my career since grad school—most of it in the Secret Service.” He traced an invisible design on the tabletop with his fingers. It helped to keep him from staring at her. “I’m a security consultant now.”

“So you met Sam at Alden and Associates.”

“A couple of years ago.” Michael drank the last of his beer, then stuffed the soggy cocktail napkin in the mug. He considered asking Jessie to have a seat, but decided it would be too risky. He’d already stepped over Croft’s keep-your-distance line. “When Sam needed some security advice, Helena referred her to me.”

“What kind of security advice?”

He smiled at her halfheartedly, hoping to mask the lies that were about to come out of his mouth. “Easiest job I’ve ever had. She wanted me to look for hidden cameras and listening devices in her condo. I’m not sure why she worried about that type of thing, but the place always checked out.”

“Always?”

“Both times she hired me.”

“Do you have a card?” she asked, as if she were thinking about having him sweep the place again.

He took a business card from the pocket of the overcoat draped across the stool beside him, and handed it to her. “I’m really sorry about Sam. She seemed like a nice girl.”

“Thanks.” Jessie examined his card. She looked up and lowered her eyebrows. “When did you leave the Secret Service?”

“A couple of years ago.”

She put his card in her purse.

Michael imagined the hell that would break loose if Croft somehow found it there.

“I realize it’s a huge organization,” Jessie said. “But I had a friend from college who was an agent. He worked on details for some pretty high-profile people. Maybe you knew him.” She shook her head, a sorrowful look on her face. “Even if you didn’t, you’ve probably heard of him.”

“Maybe,” Michael said, thinking it unlikely, since there were over three thousand Special Agents in the Service.

“Wes Kelley?”

She might as well have punched him. He took a few seconds to think of what to say. “Wes was my best friend. I was there when…” Michael tried to block out the sound of gunfire, the vision of Wes slumped in front of a third-world dictator, blood gushing from his neck where a bullet had punctured his carotid artery.

“Oh, God,” Jessie whispered. She reached out and clutched his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

Michael pressed his lips together. After a moment, he said, “It’s still a tough road. You knew him at UVA?”

She released his forearm and nodded. “He and a couple other baseball players lived in the apartment across the hall.”

Michael nodded, feeling a little blindsided. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Jessie could’ve known Wes. He knew they’d both gone to UVA around the same time, but hadn’t thought to associate them.

Jessie had to be expecting him to say something else about Wes, but he couldn’t. Michael met her gaze and was gripped by the sincerity in her eyes. He wanted to ask her about her times with Wes, to reminisce about his friend, and probably laugh a little. Wes’s antics had always kept him laughing, even though their jobs had been serious. But he didn’t think he could handle that, Croft’s contract wouldn’t allow it, and Jessie had somewhere to go.

He checked his watch, then stood and put on his coat. “I’m sorry, I have to leave.”

Confusion flashed in her eyes, as well as—dare he hope—disappointment. He pulled a ten from his pocket and slid a corner of it beneath his beer mug. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He leaned toward her and lightly touched her back, catching the scent of citrus and tea that he remembered from her room at the inn. “I’ll keep a lookout for you on TV.”

He left the restaurant and faced the bitter-cold night wind.

She had known Wes.
Something told Michael that Jessie could relate to his grief. Grief that had become raw again after the deaths of his father and Sam. No doubt Jessie lived with similar heartbreak, considering all the loss in her life.

Sleet fell in shimmering sheets on the dreary concrete buildings and empty streets of Federal Center. Foggy patches of light hung beneath the streetlamps and barely made it to the ground. Michael crossed the street, the sound of his steps drowned out by the hiss of wet tires on the nearby highway overpass. His phone vibrated with an alert that Jessie was making a call. He snatched it from his belt and listened to her now-familiar voice.

She’d opted to take a cab instead of the Metro. He couldn’t blame her.

Michael walked halfway up the block and ducked beneath an awning, keeping a watch for Jessie’s cab. And for Jessie. He buttoned his coat and brushed off the melting sleet that had beaded on the wool.

Within minutes, a cab whisked by and pulled to the curb in front of the Market Inn. Jessie came out of the restaurant, her head bowed against the wind, and got in.

Michael stared at its taillights until they became indelible red blotches that he would still see if he closed his eyes.

Chapter Sixteen

Jessie hadn’t expected her curiosity about the guy in the bar to lead her down a rabbit hole. Michael Gillette had left her with more questions than answers, just as she’d feared when she first looked into his eyes. She replayed their conversation in her mind as the cab’s windshield wipers swept noisily across the glass.

His answers had seemed straightforward, but Jessie sensed he was more complicated below the surface. He’d revealed an emotional standoffishness when he’d left abruptly after she mentioned Wes Kelley. And where had that come from? She hadn’t seen Wes since college, even though they’d been pretty good friends, and they had fallen out of touch over the years. News of his job with the Secret Service had come through mutual friends and the alumni magazine, as had the tragic story of his death. And Michael had been his best friend.

I was there…

His grief had seemed fresher than three years old, and she’d felt an uncharacteristic urge to comfort him. What was behind his enigmatic façade?

Jessie wanted to find out, but a rogue feeling of fear zipped through her. Had he been romantically involved with Sam? He’d described their relationship as professional and casual, and Jessie had no reason not to take him at his word. After all, it made sense that Sam would hire him to check out her condo for hidden cameras and listening devices. There was no telling what ulterior motives their father had when he’d offered it to her, and Sam had duped him into giving her the place. Maybe she’d had reason to be cautious. And maybe Jessie did, too. Her father had wanted her to stay there. It might be a good idea to have Michael go over the condo again.

The driver stopped the cab at 601 Pennsylvania Avenue, the address Philippe had scribbled on the back of his business card. Jessie paid the fare and got out. Sleet pelted down, hissing as it cast a glaze over the city. Reflections from the stoplights wavered in freezing puddles of green, fleeting yellow, and red. The roads and sidewalks had become treacherous, but she wouldn’t let sleet keep her from meeting with Philippe and Elizabeth.

She quickly ducked inside the terracotta stone building on the corner, only to find herself in The Capital Grille. There hadn’t been an obvious sign out front. The hostess explained to Jessie that Philippe’s condo building was part of a residential, retail, and office complex that shared the same address and took up half the block. She directed Jessie to another corner of the complex.

Outside, Jessie squinted against the sleet, looking up 6th Street where a red-brick condo building loomed ahead on her left, soaring fifteen stories high and crowned by a spire. She quickly realized how far she had to walk, and she wished the cab had dropped her off somewhere closer. Jessie rushed up the sidewalk, the incline slick beneath her feet. She bowed her head against the sleet, passing shadowed alcoves where several homeless people hunched beneath layers of blankets and plastic tarps.

A siren wailed in the distance.

Halfway up the block, she passed the entrance to an underground parking garage. She glanced inside, where all was quiet in the exhaust-hazy bright light. Even the attendant’s booth was empty. She refocused on the sidewalk, stepping carefully as her eyes readjusted to the dark.

From a dim recess, a bulky figure lumbered out in front of her and stopped, facing her and blocking her way.

Seized by panic, Jessie sucked in an icy breath. The man wore a black hooded coat, and his face was a shade lighter. All she could see were the yellow sclera of his eyes.

She backed away, then darted right on a sliver of sidewalk between the man and an SUV parallel parked on the street. Her foot slipped. She teetered but regained her balance.