Discretion (35 page)

“I’m sorry, baby. She’s not here this morning.”

Olivia was quiet, and Jack could see the fear rounding her big green eyes. She was wearing the
Princess and the Frog
barrettes Anna had gotten her. He cursed to himself. Why did Olivia suddenly have to warm up to Anna just when things fell apart between them? Perhaps the two events were not unrelated. What were the lyrics to that old song? “Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” He wasn’t ready to tell his daughter that Anna wasn’t coming back.

Instead, he tried a straight bribe. “You can wear your new sundress.”

“Okay,” Olivia said quietly. She usually loved to break out a new outfit.

Jack sighed and headed to the kitchen. He’d make blueberry pancakes for breakfast, try to cheer her up. Now that he’d been kicked off the Lionel case, it wasn’t like he had to rush into work.

His BlackBerry rang as he pulled the Hungry Jack mix from the cupboard. A call from Samantha.

“I can’t talk about the investigation,” Jack answered. “In case you hadn’t heard.”

“I heard, and I’m sorry, but that’s not why I’m calling. Do you know where Anna is?”

Jack glanced at the clock on his microwave. “I’m sure she’s at her home, asleep. It’s six-fifteen
A.M
. How would I know where she is?”

“Oh, come off it, Bailey. I’m a federal agent. I can tell you two are together.”

“I’ll plead the Fifth on that one. Have you tried her office?”

“I called, but she isn’t there. She’s supposed to be at home resting by her phone, but I can’t reach her. And she has a stalker.”

A tight ball of fear condensed inside his rib cage. “Talk.”

“You’re recused from the case.”

“Talk, Sam.”

Sam told him what they’d found. Jack thanked her, hung up, and tried each of Anna’s numbers. No answer anywhere. He called Olivia’s nanny and tried not to let her hear the panic in his voice. But she must have; Luisa said she could be at his house in fifteen minutes. He strode back to his bedroom and threw on jeans and a T-shirt.

Twenty minutes later, Jack pulled his Volvo station wagon onto Wyoming Avenue and parallel-parked at the curb in front of Anna’s place. She rented a basement apartment in one of the elegant town homes lining this shady street. Jack had been here only a few times; Anna spent most of her time at his place. In retrospect, that was similar to the rest of their relationship. He had absorbed Anna into
his
life and made little effort to try to work himself into hers.

Not that she’d ever asked him to join her at happy hours with her friends. She was the one who’d wanted to keep things hidden. But if she’d asked him, would he have gone? Probably not. It would be awkward to be the homicide chief hanging out with the young prosecutors. He was happy for her to leave her youth behind and sit at his elbow, his partner in a decidedly grown-up life. That was probably part of what scared her about marrying him.

Jack set aside thoughts that had stopped being relevant as of yesterday. He just needed to make sure she was safe. Then they could proceed with their regularly scheduled breakup.

He strode up the walk and down the three concrete steps to her front door. The small, high window next to the door was dark. He pounded on the door and rang the doorbell. “Anna!” No one answered. She had offered him a key, but he hadn’t taken it. He never slept at her apartment.

He turned back the way he’d come. On the side of each step
leading down to her apartment was a small potted plant. Or, rather, pots holding the dried husks of former plants. Anna hadn’t been home enough this summer to care for them. He knew she kept a house key in one of these pots. He lifted each one out of its saucer and finally found the key in the third pot.

As he straightened up, he saw a gray-haired lady peering down from the next townhouse. He raised a hand in greeting, but that just made her scowl deepen. He shrugged and let himself into Anna’s apartment.

It was dark and quiet inside. “Anna!” he called. No reply. He walked through the living room. It had all the signs of a place that wasn’t in use. The plant in her high basement window was wilted and on the brink of extinction. The bookshelves on either side of her red couch were covered in dust. He walked past the galley kitchen and the little bathroom, both dark and empty. He hoped he’d find her in bed, sound asleep. Perhaps she’d slept right through her phones ringing. He pushed the door into her bedroom. Her bed was made, and everything was neat and untouched. He ran a finger over the striped comforter. It, too, was covered in dust. She hadn’t slept here.

The ball of fear bounced painfully around his chest.

A single picture frame sat on the nightstand next to her bed. He picked it up. A rare photo of Anna and him taken earlier this summer. Olivia had grabbed the camera and surprised them by taking a good shot. Jack and Anna sat on a park bench at the zoo, his arm around her shoulders. He was pointing to the camera and smiling, and Anna was beaming up at his face with pure adoration.

He wondered if he’d ever see that look on Anna’s face again. He wondered how he’d make it through the months and years ahead if he didn’t.

He had been too harsh with her at Main Justice. She had been wrong, but his reaction hadn’t been fair. However much it upset him to be contradicted in front of the DOJ officials, Jack knew that there was something that was bothering him more.

He’d been upset about Anna’s reaction when he mentioned marriage. He had known for the better part of a year that he wanted to
marry her. But could he blame her for not wanting to become a wife and stepmother after six months of dating? It was a huge step. If she needed time, he should’ve given it to her.

He went into the kitchen, scribbled a note on a Post-it, and stuck it on her dusty coffee machine. Pictures of Anna and her friends adorned the face of the refrigerator. Jack’s eye fell on a picture of Anna, her friend Grace, and some other young AUSAs goofing off at Poste, drinks in hand. The last time Anna had gone to one of those happy hours, Jack had given her a hard time for coming home late and had lectured her against drinking with work colleagues. He knew firsthand the direction that could go.

Thinking back on it now, he felt somewhat ashamed of his reaction. Of course young AUSAs were going to go to happy hours after work. He’d done the same thing when he was younger. What had really bothered Jack—although he’d never mentioned it—was the fear that Anna would end up flirting with some other guy. Jack was too old to go out like that anymore; he had Olivia and too many other responsibilities. But that didn’t mean Anna should miss this part of the bonding between young prosecutors.

As Jack stepped into the living room, he was greeted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Sir, raise your hands where I can see them!”

A uniformed MPD officer stood in the doorway. He looked to be about twenty years old, blond hair in a buzz cut, nervous sweat on his forehead. He had one hand on the front doorknob as the other unsnapped the holster on his Glock.

“It’s okay, Officer,” Jack said, walking toward the policeman. “My girlfriend—that is, my ex-girlfriend—lives here.”

“Stop where you are!” the officer shouted, fumbling to draw his weapon.

The cop looked terrified. Hands trembling, he pointed the gun at Jack’s heart.

45

L
ost in thought, Anna barely noticed the man coming up behind her on the sidewalk. She was preoccupied with the search warrant and her breakup with Jack. And so she committed Eva Youngblood’s cardinal sin: She let her guard down.

The morning was hot already, but Anna’s hair was pulled back into a wet ponytail, which helped stave off the heat. She hadn’t gone home to sleep in the two hours since Samantha and the team had driven off. Instead, she’d gone back to the U.S. Attorney’s Office and showered in the gym. She was wearing the same suit, but at least she was clean underneath. After another night without sleeping, she needed caffeine.

She was headed to the Building Museum, which sat kitty-corner to the U.S. Attorney’s Office. The giant redbrick structure was one of the most beautiful and underappreciated museums in the District. Although its exterior was modeled after a sixteenth-century Roman palazzo, American Civil War soldiers marched across a stone frieze. Inside, the atrium courtyard was the size of a football field, five stories high, with open arcaded galleries all around. The tall ceiling sat atop colossal yellow Corinthian columns delineating a huge carpet patterned with red and gold designs. A fountain sprayed in the middle. There were exhibits hidden in rooms lining the outside of the atrium.

But no one went to the Building Museum at seven
A.M
. for its exhibits on architecture. They went for the coffee shop tucked into a corner of the atrium. The space provided a beautiful respite from an otherwise gray neighborhood.

Anna nodded to an obese, sleepy security guard sitting inside the front door. His eyes were at half-mast, and he barely seemed to notice her. She headed across the atrium to the coffee shop, debating whether she’d spring for a latte.

When Anna got inside the little coffee shop, frugality won its usual victory over taste, and she ordered a plain coffee. After she poured in a dollop of milk, she turned and walked back toward the atrium, where a few tables were set up outside the coffee shop. She almost ran into Brett Vale. She stifled a scream.

What was the LD doing here? While a search warrant was being executed on his home twenty blocks away?

The man had disintegrated significantly since she’d interviewed him in the Rayburn Building two days ago. His slicked-back silver hair had broken free from the constraints of hair gel and was sticking out in multiple cowlicks around his head. Stubble dotted his jaw. His white button-down shirt had sweat stains under the armpits.

Vale smiled at her. It was a faraway smile, as if he saw something the rest of the world couldn’t and was proud of this ability. Anna found it disturbing. She took a step back.

“Hi, Anna,” he said, stepping forward to close the distance she’d created.

“Ms. Curtis,” she corrected. She stood her ground. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting a cup of coffee. Like you.”

She knew he didn’t work or live anywhere nearby. She glanced across the long lobby to where the sleepy guard sat at his desk. There wasn’t a metal detector or X-ray machine at the entrance, as there were at many museums. Vale could have brought anything in. She tried to catch the guard’s eye, but his face drooped toward his chest. He was sleeping.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “But I can’t talk to you. You’re represented, so we can only talk with your lawyer present.”

“You mean Singleton? Lionel’s pawn? What a joke. I fired him.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. More important, she didn’t like the vibe she was getting off him. He wouldn’t do anything crazy in a public place, right? Except he’d killed Caroline McBride at the Capitol. Anna had no idea how crazy he could be.

Her purse vibrated with a series of short bursts. Her BlackBerry was probably the most diplomatic way out of this uncomfortable situation. She would fake an emergency and hightail it out of here.
“Please excuse me,” she said. She brushed past him and went to one of the tables and set down her coffee. While she dug through her purse, Vale stood exactly where she’d left him, watching her intently.

Anna pulled out her BlackBerry and saw that the buzz was from voice messages landing in her in-box. The calls must have been made while she was in the gym shower, blocked by the lead walls of the National Security section. She scrolled through her call log: two from Samantha and one from Jack, but just one message, from Sam. Was Jack calling because he missed her? She would deal with her personal life later. She checked Sam’s message.

“Anna, this is Samantha. You’re not going to believe this. Vale was stalking Caroline, just like we thought. Now he’s stalking
you
. Call me right away.”

A shot of adrenaline sparked through her gut. She turned around to see where Vale was—as he slid up next to her. He smiled at her.

“So,” he said. “You guys find the killer yet?”

Anna jumped back. “We’re following all available leads.” She swallowed back a lump of fear. “I’m sorry, but like I said, I can’t talk about it.”

“I can help you, you know.” Vale again walked into the space she’d vacated. “I have more information you’ll want to hear.”

“Uh-huh.” Anna abandoned her coffee and walked toward the entrance of the museum. She shot a glance at the guard, fifty yards away across the open courtyard. Still sleeping. Should she run or shout? She didn’t think she could outrun Vale.

“About Madeleine Connor,” Vale continued. “It wasn’t a suicide. She was murdered.”

Anna wanted to get away from him, but she wished she could record what he was saying. Her BlackBerry was in her hand. Keeping Vale’s pale blue eyes fixed with hers, she fumbled with the keypad, trying to call back Samantha.

“What makes you say Madeleine Connor was murdered?” she asked. She tried to compose her face into an innocent, interested expression.

“I saw it. Not the murder, but right before. I have proof.”

Anna hit the green
send
button on the BlackBerry.

“We’re a good team,” Vale said, smiling. His breath smelled stale. She wondered when was the last time he’d brushed his teeth. “We get each other. I’ll be your source, like Deep Throat. Solving crimes by day, doing . . . other things by night.”

He reached out and lightly stroked Anna’s shoulder. She flinched, pulling her shoulder away from his touch. She could hear the BlackBerry down by her waist as her phone call rang to Sam’s cell. She walked a little faster. She and Vale were halfway to the museum entrance.

“Who are you calling?” Vale asked, looking down at the BlackBerry in her hand. His voice grew suspicious. “You’re not calling my lawyer, are you?”

Anna heard Sam’s tinny voice pick up on the other end of the line.

“Anna? Are you okay?”

Anna drew the phone to her ear and spoke with fake cheer. “Hi, Agent Randazzo, it’s Anna. I’m at the Building Museum, and Brett Vale is here. You remember Brett, right? From Congressman Lionel’s office?” She forced a smile at Vale.