Girl Three (8 page)

Game on.

Michael searched the familiar faces, looking for any of the four who had been in the picture with Sam. He’d go all-in on a hand that had Helena and her husband, Ian, having information related to Sam’s death. Sam had been entangled with them professionally and personally, in a peculiar, codependent way that had now become even more suspicious.

With a glass of ginger ale in need of some Wild Turkey, Michael stationed himself near the entry—close to one of the bars and far from the guy playing the harp. Here, he could get a good look at who came and went, plus a view of Jessie when she arrived.

Nearby, the bartender uncorked a bottle of champagne and drained it into an army of flutes on a serving tray. The scent of alcohol hung in the cool, humid air.

Mourning—just another excuse to drink. And Michael was all for it. He counted on the alcohol to loosen some lips before he zeroed in on his marks.

Senator Elizabeth Briel crossed his line of vision, making his wait less painful. There were several reasons why they’d picked her as one of The Hill’s 50 Most Beautiful People, and her mid-thigh-length skirt revealed two of them. She was from Maryland, but she looked like a sexy Swede, all legs and loose blond curls.

A swift slap on Michael’s shoulder focused his attention.

“Enjoying the view?” asked a jealous-sounding man.

It couldn’t be her husband Philippe; there was no French twist in the accent. Michael turned, now shoulder to shoulder with Ian Alden.

You have to love it when your marks come to you.

Ian’s black suit, starched white shirt, and bright blue tie mirrored Michael’s getup. But Ian’s was probably double the price.

“You can get yourself in trouble gawking like that.” Ian sipped red wine from a half-full glass.

“I don’t see you averting your eyes,” Michael said with a grin that Ian didn’t return. “How’s the security system holding up?” Just before he’d been hired by Croft, Michael had consulted with Ian and Helena on the security plans for his medical practice and her lobbying firm. He’d met Sam one day at Alden & Associates after a meeting he’d had with Helena. She’d seemed like a wholesome go-getter who was smart and easy on the eyes. Most of his assessment had proven to be true.

“Security is one thing I can’t complain about,” Ian said. “And with all I’ve got going on in the lab, I might even need an upgrade.”

“Happy to help.”

Ian gazed around the room and raised his glass. “So this is Helena’s idea of a memorial.”

“Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you?” Michael asked.

“It’s better than suffering through a funeral.” Ian took a long sip of his wine.

“I meant Sam’s heart failure.”

“It’s hard to believe. She looked pretty healthy to me.” Ian swirled the wine in his glass, seeming mesmerized by it for a moment. “Her death has really shaken Helena and me.”

Michael couldn’t imagine Ian or his steel-souled wife being shaken by anything. They kept complete control over every aspect of their lives. From his practice to her lobbying firm, everything was run by tight protocol, everyone in lockstep. Sam’s death might have made them blink, but they’d be beyond the disruption by next week. Maybe they were over it already. Ian didn’t have the dazed look of someone genuinely grieving.

“It hasn’t gotten as much news coverage as I’d expected,” Michael said.

“We figure Croft is trying to manage the bleed in case rumors get started that Sam inherited her heart defect from both him and his wife. Could make the president think twice about nominating him when the time comes. It would be a lot of wasted effort to go through the whole confirmation process and have the guy drop dead.” Ian adjusted the knot of his tie. “But if that would keep him off the bench, I’m all for it.”

“So much for the Hippocratic Oath,” Michael said.

Ian sneered. “In his case, I’d defer to Darwinism.”

It was no secret that Ian worried about a reproductive assistance case making it to the Supreme Court, anything from in-vitro fertilization to gender selection. A bad decision could result in restrictive legislation that would derail his entire practice, not to mention his cash flow. Helena worked the lobbying angle to minimize the damage in case the worst should happen.

Michael shook his glass, hoping to coax some more ginger ale out of the ice cubes in the bottom.

Ian looked over his shoulder and down the vast Sculpture Hall, where people entered and exited. Something had caught his attention.

Michael followed his line of vision.

At the far end of the hall, Jessie stood viewing a sculpture of a young girl holding a conch shell. She was the only person who had stopped to appreciate the art. Michael was intrigued by her curious mind, and he wondered what else interested her outside of bioethics.

Ian gazed at her the same way Michael had looked at Elizabeth Briel. “That’s Jessica Croft,” he said.

“Sam’s sister.”

“Helena didn’t mention that she’s so…”

“So what?” Michael struggled to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

“Captivating,” Ian murmured.

Michael’s gut clenched. “Helena met her?”
At her office at 8:05 this morning.

“Earlier today.” Ian nodded, his gaze never leaving Jessie. “She said Sam and her sister were complete opposites.”

Just as Michael had hoped.

Jessie made her way down the hall toward them, pausing before each sculpture. It was easy to see why she’d caught Ian’s eye. Her red strapless dress accented promising curves, coming off as provocative yet tasteful, and the black shawl she wore had slipped off her shapely bare shoulders. Tendrils of her auburn hair fell from a casual updo. Her lips glistened with an understated, natural blush that enticed Michael more than any red lipstick ever had.

Of course Ian found her captivating. Any man would. Michael certainly did, and that would only make his job harder.

Jessie entered the Garden Court, glancing their way but not focusing on them. Michael watched her eyes. Not the uninhibited eyes he had seen when she was with Nina, but the mysterious eyes he saw in her television interviews. Pulling him in, pushing him away. He inhaled deeply, the air crisp and electric, as if there’d been a lightning strike. He popped a couple of ice cubes into his mouth and crunched loudly.

“My, my,” Ian said, his gaze following her as he took the last sip of his wine.

“What else did Helena say about her?” Michael asked.

Ian smirked. “Don’t get any fresh ideas, Gillette. Jessica Croft is way out of your league.” He winked at Michael and strode away toward the bar on the far side of the room.

Michael shook his head. He’d expected a dig from Ian. The guy probably couldn’t stand the fact that Michael looked better in his suit.

Jessie got in line at the bar nearest Michael, confidently standing alone. People glanced her way, but no one approached her. Some pointed while her back was turned and covered their mouths, whispering.

Michael crunched his last ice cube and figured he could use a refill. He wove through the crowd, keeping a bead on Jessie. Halfway to the bar, he hit a snag, a sturdy grasp on his bicep courtesy of Judge Ryan Croft. The man was probably desperate to find a neutral party in the group, much less a sympathetic one. Michael was neither.

“Sir?” Michael’s greeting was more of a question. A why-are-you-publicly-associating-with-me question. Especially with Jessie close by.

“What is Jessica doing here?” Croft asked, his words hushed and accusing, as if Michael could’ve kept her away.

“The same thing you are, I suspect. Paying her respects to Sam.” Although Michael would argue that Jessie’s were much more sincere.

Croft tightened his grip on Michael’s arm. “I suggest you dispense with your attitude.”

Michael swallowed a string of curses, his gaze never leaving Jessie, whose back was to them.

Don’t turn around.

“Helena Alden invited her,” Michael said.

“I would like to have known to expect her here.”

Michael looked Croft in the eyes. “Quite frankly, I didn’t expect
you
to be here. I planned to check in with you after the event.” He refocused on Jessie. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it would be detrimental for Jessica to see us together.”

Croft shook his head. “Relax, Michael.” His mouth turned up at one corner. “What makes you think you’re that memorable?”

Chapter Eleven

Jessie had to give Helena credit. She had arranged a memorial that felt appropriate for Sam.

A national museum and a who’s-who crowd. An opportunity to see and be seen. Regardless of the somber occasion, it was a social and political gathering, tinged with alcohol and possibility. Unusual for a memorial, but Helena had known Sam, whoever she had become. Even the Sam Jessie had known would relish being the center of all this attention.

The line at the bar moved too sluggishly for Jessie’s diminishing patience. She abandoned her spot and took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Jessica.” Her father’s voice crawled up the back of her neck and a tide of dread rose in her stomach. She pasted on a pleasant look and turned.

Her father leveled his gaze on her and gave her an unreadable smile, looking debonair in his tailor-made pinstriped suit. He swiped his fingers through his hair and glanced at the couple standing next to him.

“Nice to see you here tonight,” he said.

Jessie returned his pseudo-smile, wondering if he really meant that. She stayed silent, struggling to keep confidence in her eyes, the prolonged moment awkward.

Her father tipped his highball—probably Scotch—toward the man and woman nearby. “Senator Thomas Talmont, Lorna, this is my other daughter, Jessica.”

Senator Talmont extended his hand, sizing her up with a furtive once-over. He reminded Jessie of her father, only about ten years younger. She guessed him to be in his late forties. He looked ex-military, clean cut and almost handsome. Jessie had seen him on C-SPAN, but she hadn’t noticed the fine scar that crept from his left temple down to his cheekbone. She gave him a firm handshake.

As the senator checked her out, the woman stared flatly at Jessie. “I’m his wife.” Her nuanced words staked an unnecessary claim. She tucked her short, dark hair behind her ear, then smoothed her dress where it pleated from being too tight across her hips.

“Sorry about your sister,” she said with little sympathy.

“Me, too,” Jessie said.

Senator Talmont frowned and shook his head. “She was a lovely girl.”

Jessie’s father winced as if he’d been struck by a renegade pang of grief. The somber moment passed. Talmont raised his near-empty champagne flute toward Jessie and tipped it. “Congratulations on your soon-to-be appointment to the Presidential Commission,” he said, as if he knew something confidential and couldn’t wait to tell it.

A match struck in Jessie’s chest, caught fire, and heat radiated to her face. She wasn’t accustomed to people knowing that much about her, and she didn’t really like it.

“The vetting process takes a while,” she said. “Nothing’s official yet.” She avoided looking at her father.

Talmont reached out and squeezed her bare shoulder, his hand warmer than it had been when she shook it. She willed herself to stand still.

“Just formality.” Talmont skimmed his fingertips down the side of her arm as he pulled away. “Yours will be the first of two Croft confirmations we’ll be celebrating this year.” He winked conspiratorially at her father and they drank.

Jessie was wary of their overconfidence. She looked from Lorna Talmont to the senator. “I’m sure Sam would’ve appreciated your being here.” She tipped her glass and sipped her champagne. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, then walked away.

Jessie had noticed that the whispers, stares, and finger-pointing increased as people saw her with her father. She headed away from him, toward the raised area around the perimeter of the room. As she reached the top of the shallow steps, she saw them.

Beyond the colonnaded doorway, the four of them stood on a glass-fronted balcony that overlooked the lobby. They faced her, in the same order they’d appeared in the picture, minus Sam. Senator Briel, Philippe Lesort, and Ian and Helena Alden, huddled with their heads together like a jury deliberating a verdict.

Senator Briel saw her first. Her gaze locked on Jessie and the others followed suit. Jessie walked toward them apprehensively, her steps sounding steadier than her legs felt.

Helena met her halfway, wearing a shimmery violet dress that was too festive for the occasion. “Sam would have been pleased that you came.”

Jessie nodded.

“Let me introduce you,” Helena cupped Jessie’s elbow, ushered her toward the group, and nodded at the man Jessie recognized as Ian Alden. “Jessica Croft, this is my husband, Ian.”

The picture Jessie had received had been taken at a photogenic moment for him. Tonight, he looked more pale and patrician. His blue eyes darted from Jessie to Helena, his furrowed brow creasing his otherwise youthful face. He took one of Jessie’s hands between both of his. “Such a shame about Sam.”

“We’re still in shock.” Elizabeth Briel pressed her hand over her heart with a flair for melodrama that was no doubt useful on the senate floor.

“Thank you, Senator.” Jessie didn’t bother to pretend she hadn’t recognized her.

“Please, call me Elizabeth.”

She looked like she had in the picture, her face fresh and pretty. She gestured toward the other man in the group. “My husband, Philippe.”

He took a confident step forward and extended his hand. Jessie shook it firmly.

“My condolences.” His green eyes glimmered. “Sam was a special girl.”

“She was,” Jessie said.

Helena stared into her empty glass, rolling its stem between her fingers. “Time for another martini.” She tilted her head toward the bar and lifted the eyebrow that wasn’t obscured by her hair. “Ian?”

She was two steps ahead of him before he shot the rest of them a sharp look and started to follow.

“Wait,” Jessie said, louder than she had intended.

Helena came to a dramatic stop, turned on her stiletto heel, and leveled a challenging gaze at Jessie.