Girl Three (23 page)

Michael gazed at the pictures, then folded the page and handed it back to Jessie. “So, maybe we’re ahead of whoever is sending these pictures,” he said, his expression tight. “That’s where we want to be.”

“I wish I could get excited about that, but I don’t have the energy right now.”

“You look like you could use some sleep.” He drew her to him and pressed her head to his chest.

Comfortable. Safe.
She could have slept there.

“You want me to stay and look out for you?” He combed his fingers through her hair.

Yes.
“Thanks, but no.” She’d get little sleep knowing he was in the condo with her, even less than she’d get if he weren’t. “But could you come in and look around? Check things out for me?”

“Sure.”

She led him inside and numbly followed him through the condo as he checked out the rooms with close attention. They ended up in the kitchen.

“Nothing much has changed since I looked over the place before,” he said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. At least not in here.”

She appreciated his concerned look. “I’ll lock myself in. And I have my gun.”

“You sure?”

She looked up at him with tired eyes and nodded. They walked out of the condo and into the foyer. Beneath the sparkling chandelier, Michael gave her a gentle kiss that felt more like to-be-continued than good-bye.

He opened the door and stepped outside. “Make sure everything is locked, then go upstairs and tuck yourself in. I’ll be around, and I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

Jessie gave him a weak wave, and watched him walk away, remembering how it felt to be in his arms, and wondering if she should’ve let him stay.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jessie took two Advil and a hot shower, thinking of Michael, yet unable to shake the image of the glimmering grille of the SUV. She couldn’t get her head around the idea that someone had tried to kill her.

She’d experienced an invisible threat from the stalker who’d seen her on television and become obsessed with her. He’d freaked her out and caused her to be more careful, but he had never confronted her. She silently thanked him, as crazy as that seemed. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have bought her gun and learned to shoot. She felt a little safer knowing that if she took dead aim, she wouldn’t miss her target.

Jessie got into bed, sore and exhausted, but wired. She couldn’t sleep without finding out what was in the files she’d stolen from Ian’s office.

Isn’t it kind of counterintuitive to commit crimes to solve one?
Michael’s question nagged at her conscience as she paged through Sam’s files. Just as Jessie had guessed, Ian had aspirated nineteen eggs from Sam, donated ten to Geneticell in the form of embryos, and retained nine for use as donor eggs.

For sale.

The idea repulsed Jessie, not in principle, but in practice. Sam’s eggs had been stored and put up for sale without her knowledge or consent. Her personal patient chart had led Jessie to file 03. From one file to the next, Ian had transformed Sam from a person to a number. To would-be parents with a hefty budget, Sam was labeled Girl Three. She was presented in a pretty package that included her credentials and several your-child-could-be-beautiful-like-me photographs. Affixed to the inside of the file in the front was a yellow sticky note that read
-4/9 EAB see file
, scrawled in Ian’s handwriting.

Jessie glanced at the page of pictures of Elizabeth outside Ian’s practice.

EAB—Elizabeth Amelia Briel.
Jessie had seen Elizabeth’s full name on her Wikipedia page.

The timing matched. Four of the nine eggs that Ian had retained must have been used when Elizabeth conceived Liam.

Jessie sat still for a moment, stunned by what she’d found. Something scratched at the back of her mind, prompting her to study the pictures once more.

This time, she looked beyond Elizabeth. In the last five pictures, Elizabeth was on the sidewalk leading up to Ian’s practice or on the front steps. But the first picture showed her farther away, on the sidewalk along Massachusetts Avenue, with Ian’s building in the background. The plate glass of the entry door shimmered in the glare of sunlight, but there was no mistaking the person who stood behind it, looking out.

Philippe.

…

Jessie awoke, surprised that she’d slept so well. She was stiff and sore, but her aches and pains reminded her that she was making progress. Things certainly could have been worse. She could’ve been killed last night, but she wouldn’t be deterred by the threat. Such a desperate move must mean she was getting dangerously close to finding Sam’s murderer.

Her plan to confront Elizabeth today had come together last night before she fell asleep. Even though Talmont was her top suspect, she couldn’t ignore her questions about the pictures she’d received. And knowing about Elizabeth’s affair with Ian gave her the leverage to get answers.

In a city like Washington, there were few things more useful than true, damning, supposedly confidential information. But Sam had had access to way too much of it, and had used it the wrong way. Jessie was certain that was what had gotten her killed.

She had to be careful not to make the same mistake.

Today, she took her car, unwilling to risk walking predictable routes. Her GPS led her to the Capitol complex, where she lucked into a metered parking spot a block from the Dirksen Senate Office Building. As she sat in the car, watching and waiting to see if she’d been followed, or if any of the few tourists or Hill workers who passed looked suspicious or threatening, her phone trilled with a text message. She pulled it from her purse and got that tingly, butterfly feeling when she saw Michael’s number on the screen.

Hope your shoulder is okay. You + me this afternoon at 2? Pick you up at Sam’s place.

Jessie texted back:
I like your math.

She put the phone away and scanned the area one more time. Satisfied that she was safe, considering the tight security of the Capitol Police, she stored her gun in the center console and got out of the car.

Shivering in the ungodly cold, she walked up Constitution Avenue. She passed the Russell Senate Office Building, the oldest and most prestigious of three in the complex. It was stately and Beaux-Arts beautiful. The Dirksen Building, a seven-story marble-faced bore, stood next in line. Jessie opened one of the bronze doors at the south entrance and stepped inside.

After passing through security, she took the elevator up one floor. The door slid open to reveal several people waiting. Two young men who looked like staffers stood talking quietly. Standing a few feet away from them, Elizabeth busily typed on her phone. She looked up and caught sight of Jessie, her eyes flickering with curiosity and caution.

“Hello, Jessie.” She shook her head as if it was quite a coincidence to see Jessie there.

Jessie walked out of the elevator, and the staffers stepped in. “Senator Briel—just the person I came to see.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted guardedly from Jessie to the staffers. “You guys go ahead,” she said with a polite, dismissive gesture. As the elevator door slid closed, she turned her attention to Jessie. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I know you’re busy, but I was hoping to chat with you about Sam.”

“I…” Elizabeth looked as if she wanted to say no, yet couldn’t risk it. She shrugged. “I was on my way to a committee meeting, but I guess I could spare a few minutes.” She silently led Jessie around the corner into the adjacent hall where she and her staff occupied a suite of offices spanning the length of the long, paneled corridor. They entered the reception office through the only open door along the hallway.

Two large desks and a small sitting area crowded the reception room, furnished with dark wood, navy carpet, and gold brocade draperies. The décor wasn’t what Jessie had expected to see in Elizabeth’s offices. Clearly, redecorating hadn’t topped her agenda.

One of the desks appeared in use but was unattended. A fresh cup of coffee steamed beside an array of files and memos. At the other desk sat a round, middle-aged woman, dressed to match the room. She glanced curiously over her half-moon reading glasses at Jessie and Elizabeth.

“An unexpected guest,” Elizabeth said to the woman, yet she didn’t introduce Jessie.

“Can I get you both something to drink?” the woman asked.

“No, thanks. We won’t be long.” Elizabeth tipped her head toward the adjacent room. “Come on back.”

She led Jessie through several administrative offices and a small conference room, each connected to the next by a door, all in the dull theme of the reception area. The awkward layout suggested that the senator’s office had, year after year, outgrown the original space and taken over the entire length of the building.

Elizabeth’s office was the last room in the row, and the only one that had been redecorated. It was freshly done in light yellow and cream, and accented with crimson drapes and pillows. She stood at the door as Jessie entered, then closed it with a
click
.

“Have a seat.” Elizabeth waved her hand toward a damask-covered couch.

Jessie sat at one end. Elizabeth settled at the other, surprising Jessie by not sitting behind her maple desk.

“I wish I could’ve been there when you came by the condo the other night,” Elizabeth said. “Philippe misunderstood my schedule.” She unbuttoned the tailored jacket of her skirt suit. “I would’ve liked to have had more time to talk with you about Sam.”

“Philippe was kind to invite me. And I really enjoyed seeing his photos of Liam.”

Elizabeth smiled. She picked up a framed picture from the table next to the couch—Liam wearing a sailor hat aboard the
J’aime L’eau
. She skimmed her fingers over the glass. “We adore this little fellow.”

“I can see why.”

She returned the picture to the table. “Philippe said you had some questions about Sam’s involvement with the Hope Campaign.”

Jessie wasn’t certain how much Elizabeth knew about Sam’s extortion scheme, and she couldn’t make assumptions. “Sam and I had grown apart over the last couple of years. I’m dealing with a lot of guilt over that, and trying to find out what I missed.”

Elizabeth bunched her glossy lips. “That’s got to be difficult.”

“It is. I’m learning things I might have been better off not knowing.”

“Oh?”

Jessie almost enjoyed her act. No doubt Philippe had told her about Jessie’s suspicions over Sam’s death. If he hadn’t, Elizabeth had gotten the information from Helena or Ian, so there was no need to waste time filling her in.

Elizabeth snuck a look at her watch.

“I know you don’t have much time, so I’ll get right to my question.” Jessie leveled her eyes on Elizabeth’s. “Is Liam my nephew?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Elizabeth didn’t flinch, and she didn’t glance away. She didn’t even bother to look startled. Instead, she looked stricken.

“I can’t begin to relate to your pain,” she said, “and I understand wanting to grasp any hope of a connection to your sister. But your question is preposterous.”

Jessie could see how Elizabeth had won several elections. Empathize, look distressed-yet-beautiful, deny.

“I have evidence that Ian retained some of the eggs that Sam thought she’d donated to Geneticell and used them as donor eggs. Tell me how four of them became yours and one of them became Liam.”

“It’s a shame,” Elizabeth said, “that your grief and your guilt have driven you to concoct such a patently false scenario. There’s not much more I can say except that I’m sorry about Sam, too. And I have a meeting to get to.” She stood and smoothed her skirt.

Jessie had hoped that Elizabeth would be truthful with her. She understood that Elizabeth felt threatened, but she had to consider what she’d done to Sam. Jessie’s chest tightened. Although she was prepared, she truly wished it hadn’t come to this. “Then I’ll have to ask Philippe. And when I do, I’ll be sure to tell him about your rendezvous with Ian last night at his practice.”

Elizabeth blinked several times and took a step backward. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re delusional.”

Jessie reached into her purse, pulled out a plastic baggie, and held it between her and Elizabeth. Inside the bag, a single jeweled button glinted in the light—a vintage flower of pink cabochons set in silver.

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked. Her tone said she knew exactly what it was.

“The button that’s missing from the blouse you wore yesterday. More specifically, last night. It’s lovely, and unique.”

Elizabeth gave Jessie an incredulous look, her face paler than it had been a moment ago. “I have no idea where you’re going with this. I don’t have a blouse with buttons like that.”

Jessie put the baggie in her lap and took the glossy sheet of pictures from her purse. She unfolded the page and handed it to Elizabeth, who returned to her seat on the couch.

“Have a look at the third picture,” Jessie said.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted from Jessie to the page of photos. A barely noticeable raise of her eyebrows told Jessie that she’d seen the picture of herself wearing the blouse in question. She stared at the page for a long moment. “I don’t know where you got these pictures or why you have them. But the date-stamps show that they’re nearly two years old.” She folded the page, placed it on the cushion between them, and jutted her chin. “I gave that blouse to Sam last year.”

Elizabeth’s strategic move blindsided Jessie. Quick and cunning and completely Machiavellian. How naïve of Jessie to think that Elizabeth would admit the truth without a nasty fight. The woman had beaten an incumbent senator in a celebrity-death-match election and come out polling like Snow White. Jessie must look like a flyweight to her.

“Your constituents might swallow your twisted stories and lies,” Jessie said, “so save them for your reelection campaign.”

Elizabeth tried the silent treatment, forcing Jessie’s next move.

Jessie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She felt a little sick over having to go all in and maybe lie a little herself. “I was there,” she said calmly. “I saw you with Ian, heard it all.
My beautiful Elizabeth, my sexy senator.
”