Fatal Legislation

by Ellen Butler

  Josh’s brows knit with concern. “I can do this alone. Why don’t you wait in the apartment?”

  Deep breaths filled and exited my lungs. “It’s silly, I know. I mean, I should just get over it.”

  “Have you taken the stairs since that night?”

  I shook my head, wiping sweaty hands against my black skirt.

  “You’re not ready. Go wait in the apartment. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Will I ever be ready? Am I making it worse by waiting?”

  “Not necessarily.” His head tilted. “One day, you’ll be ready.”

  “Okay . . . then, I think . . . I think I’ll wait.”

  He nodded and the door closed behind him with a sharp thump. I paced the length of the apartment a dozen times before he returned.

  “Did you see anything?” I asked immediately.

  “A bent pipe stack, possible scuff marks, and a belay device.”

  “What’s a belay device?”

  “A piece of climbing gear used for rappelling. What did he take?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Senator Harper’s phone.”

  “Harper? The senator who just died?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “What do you have to do with it?”

  “He basically died in my arms as I tried to give him CPR.”

  Josh let out a low whistle. “Why’d you have the phone?”

  “Mine was dead and I couldn’t get cell service with his, so I tossed it on the floor along with everything in my handbag. When the paramedics came, I scooped it up by accident,” I said, pacing around the kitchen island.

  “What’s on that phone?”

  “No idea. Obviously, someone thinks something important is on there.”

  “What’s the play here?”

  I took three more turns around the island. “I think it’s time I called my FBI friend.”

  “The fellow I met in the hallway?”

  “The very one.” I dialed Mike’s number.

  To my surprise, he answered, “K.C.? Is that you?”

  “Houston, we have a problem.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “Are the police there?”

  “No. Remember the Silverthorne Security guy from a few months ago?”

  “Yes. . . .”

  “He’s here. And, well, um, do you think you could come over?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Now?”

  “It’s important?”

  I glanced to Josh’s frowning mien. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Okay. . . . I need to rearrange a few things on my schedule. I’ll text you when I’m on the way.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up. “Can you wait for a bit? I’d like you to show Mike what you found.”

  “No problem.” He crossed his arms, planted his feet shoulder width apart, and looked as though he could remain standing in the middle of my living room all night long if need be.

  “Why don’t you have a seat? Can I get you a drink? I’ve got coffee, diet soda, orange juice, water . . . ”

  He took a seat on my couch. “Coffee, please.”

  An awkward hour of making small talk with Josh passed before Mike arrived.

  Chapter Nine

  MIKE

  K.C., looking elegant in a long black skirt and tall boots, her chestnut mane tamed into a French twist, waited in the doorway with crossed arms.

  “What’s going on?” Mike leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned away and it landed awkwardly on her ear.

  “This isn’t a social call. You’d better come in. It involves some explanation.”

  He frowned and followed her. The scent of fresh coffee hung heavy in the air, and he would have asked for a cup except Karina said, “You remember Joshua?”

  All thoughts of coffee vanished as his eyes alighted on the bulky, ex-Navy SEAL and security specialist he’d met in Karina’s hallway one January night, not long after she’d been attacked. She’d suffered bruises and a dislocated shoulder. Her explanations for why it happened, who perpetrated the attack, and who hired Silverthorne Security to protect her had been unsatisfying, to say the least. They’d had a fight because Mike knew she’d been withholding information from him. The return of Joshua’s presence didn’t bode well, and Mike wasn’t thrilled to see him here again.

  “Agent Finnegan.” Joshua gripped Mike’s hand.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Shall we sit?” Karina asked.

  They stood in the center of her small living room, Karina between the two men, and neither moved to take a seat.

  “Okay, so, you remember when we talked on Monday . . . after the senator . . . you know.”

  Mike nodded and put his hands on his hips.

  “Well, I think I told you that I tried to use the senator’s phone, but it was locked and I couldn’t get cell reception?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “When I was scooping all my worldly goods back into my purse . . . I scooped up the senator’s phone by mistake.”

  Mike’s gaze shifted from Joshua to Karina. “And?”

  “And it’s missing.”

  His brows knit. “You mean, you lost it?”

  “I mean, it’s missing.” She drew a breath. “I think someone broke into my apartment Monday night and stole it off my kitchen counter.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Her lips pursed. “I wish I was.”

  “So what you’re telling me, you think someone picked your lock and broke in?” Mike shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t get around that floor bolt without using force. Did you forget to slide it down that night?”

  “Not the front door.” She shook her head. “I think he came in through my balcony. I . . . found it open in the middle of the night.”

  “What do you mean, you found it open? Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?” he snapped.

  She crossed her arms defensively. “Initially, I thought I hadn’t closed it all the way when I came in from the balcony that night.”

  Mike’s gaze darted from the back door, to K.C., and back to the ex-Navy man. “What does he have to do with it?”

  “I asked Josh to check the roof and see if there was any evidence someone rappelled from the roof onto my back deck.”

  “Jesus.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  K.C. grimaced and pressed a finger against her temple. “Josh, can you please take Mike up to the roof and show him what you found?”

  “Follow me.” Joshua indicated with a tilt of his head.

  “Wait, I . . . I think I should go this time.”

  Joshua gazed down at her. “You sure?”

  “No, but I’ll give it a try. Can we take the elevator up to the sixth floor first?”

  “No problem.”

  Mike watched their exchange, puzzled, but didn’t comment. Once they filed into the elevator, he turned to her. “How was the memorial service?”

  “Sad. I sat next to Sandy, Harper’s Chief of Staff. She told me D.C. police came to the senator’s office yesterday asking questions and requesting his schedule. Sandy thinks there’s been foul play. The ME hasn’t released his body to the family.”

  Nobody responded, but he understood K.C.’s message. She wanted to let him know that she had another source of information regarding the senator’s death. Its delivery was innocent enough in front of Joshua. The guilt he felt for deceiving her last night remained a little cloud hanging over his head, but so far Amir had found nothing.

  They exited and followed Joshua to the stairwell, where he opened the door for K.C. Mike came to a halt as she stopped short, and he waited for her to enter.

  “You go first, Joshua.” She gripped the door frame, and when she looked back, her face had paled and a sheen of sweat covered it. “Can you cover the rear?”

  Mike’s frown deepened; obviously she hadn’t taken the stairs since that night in January. “Right behind you, K.C.”

  Bre
athing deep, she counted backward from ten. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Joshua climbed a few steps and glanced back.

  She remained standing in the doorway, staring up at the concrete and steel incline. Mike saw her mouth the words, “One, two, three.”

  Suddenly, she took off, barreling past a shocked Joshua as her heels pounded up the stairs. Mike bolted after her, shoving past Navy boy in time to see her grip the metal door handle and heave with all her might to stumble into the blessed sunshine. A tepid breeze drifted across Mike’s cheeks as he exited, and found K.C. bent at the waist, hands on knees, panting like she’d sprinted a marathon.

  “You all right?” He stroked her back.

  Her head bounced up and down.

  “It’ll be easier next time,” Joshua commented drily, walking past the pair.

  “Sure, sure.” She drew in a final breath and straightened. “Okay, where are we headed?”

  Joshua led the way to the northwestern side of the building and stood in front of a set of three pipe stacks.

  “I figure he tied on to this center steel pipe, it’s thicker than the other two. You’ll find indents where the rope rubbed off some of the grime. And see that black metal piece on the ground right there, with the loop? It’s part of a broken belay device. Considering the location, the intruder probably dropped it bagging up his gear. I didn’t touch it in case you can get a print off it. And if you look down here . . . ” He headed toward the side of the building.

  K.C. took stance a cautionary ten feet back from the ledge. Joshua waved her closer, but she shook her head. “I’m fine where I am.”

  Mike rubbed K.C.’s arm as he passed.

  “I’d wager those are scuff marks.”

  The FBI agent leaned over the ledge to see the black marks Joshua indicated. Mike had never suffered from a fear of heights, but it was still disconcerting to lean over and look down the six floors. The knee-high brick wall didn’t exactly provide a sense of safety. It would be far too easy to lean forward, get off balance and . . .

  “Climbing shoes are made high in carbon,” an unruffled Joshua explained, “to provide a bit of stick to help ascend. But they tend to leave behind scuffs.”

  Mike went down on one knee, gripped the low brick wall, and leaned further out. “How fast do you think he could have done it?”

  “Assuming she didn’t lock the back door? Five minutes. If he had to pick the lock, add another minute or two.” Joshua calmly described the break-in as if reading a soup recipe.

  Mike’s eyes darted around the rooftop, assessing the situation. “And, assuming he knew where the phone was.”

  “She left it on the counter.” Joshua shrugged. “He got lucky.”

  He nodded. “How long to ascend?”

  “I could make it up from her balcony in under two minutes. You can probably get rope fibers off the roof line on her balcony. Though I don’t know that they’ll tell you anything. Climbing rope can be bought online or at a sporting goods store.”

  “Why risk it? She could have woken up at any moment. There would have been other opportunities to grab the phone when she wasn’t home.”

  For a moment, Joshua didn’t answer. When he spoke, it was in a dispassionate voice that sent chills down Mike’s spine. “Maybe he didn’t want to risk her passing it to the police. And . . . he was probably prepared to deal with the possibility that she’d wake.”

  Mike glanced over at K.C. to see how she received the news. Her face, no longer red from her mad dash up the stairs, paled, and she rubbed her arms as if chilled.

  Mike stared fiercely at her. “I have to call this in. If what you say is true . . .”

  Her Adam’s apple bobbed as she gulped and nodded.

  “Come on, let’s go back to your apartment.”

  Both the men stared at K.C. She seemed to go a little green around the gills.

  “You look like you’re about to vomit,” Mike observed.

  “I might.”

  “Better to do it up here than in the elevator.” Joshua had the temerity to grin.

  She made a rude gesture and stomped her way back to the emergency exit.

  Chapter Ten

  Josh had been right, it was easier on descent. But that may have been because I was far more freaked out by the trained assassin who broke into my apartment to steal the senator’s phone than memories of an old attack.

  Josh, claiming an appointment, put on his coat to leave, and I walked with him to the door.

  “So you’re abandoning me?” I tried to say it in a teasing manner, but in my current mood, the joke fell flat.

  “Cardinal . . . ” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into . . . but it’s . . . ”

  “I know.” I rubbed my temples.

  “If you need security, call me.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I’m serious.” His blue eyes pierced me. “Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  “Uh . . . thanks. But, I’m not sure I can afford you.”

  “We owe you one.” He started to walk away, then paused. “You keep your eye on the FBI when they arrive. Your boyfriend there might be concerned about your interests, but you can be damn sure his boss isn’t. You should consider getting a lawyer.”

  I weighed Josh’s words as I made another pot of coffee. Was he right? Whose side was Mike on? Even if he believed me . . . would his FBI boss? Was I being foolish and naïve to believe I could handle this myself?

  Mike made his call, and thirty minutes later, my apartment was crawling with G-men. Mike introduced them as they arrived, but it had been a blur. There was the Asian forensic guy dusting for prints—of which I doubted there would be any—and a short, thickset guy was out on my balcony tweezing rope fibers from the roof. Finally, a redhead with trendy, black glasses basically snooped through my apartment with a beeping piece of equipment. I followed him around like a faithful dog. Frankly, I felt more violated by the FBI than my secret intruder . . . except for the fact that I doubted the FBI planned to put a bullet in my head if they didn’t find what they wanted.

  About fifteen minutes after the first crowd arrived, Amir entered. His was the one name that stuck because of his handsome, dark Arabic look and the disturbing, penetrating stare he leveled at me upon arrival. He carried a heavy-duty laptop and requested to see my phone and computer.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I need to . . . check to see if a tracking app or malware has been uploaded.”

  I was beginning to think Josh had been right about the lawyer when my doorbell rang . . . again. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Right now, I have to find out what’s behind door number two,” I mumbled, pulling it open.

  I should really remember to check the peephole first.

  Standing on the other side was my kindly, but eccentric, neighbor, Mrs. Thundermuffin. Her normally white hair had been recently dyed varying shades of purple, from lavender at the scalp to a deep amethyst at the tips. She wore a sparkly red leather pants suit with fringe dangling off the arms that would have made Dolly Parton proud. It fit her tiny frame as though she’d been sewn into it. Although, the costume seemed incomplete without a cowboy hat.

  “Hello, Mrs. Thundermuffin. What can I do for you?” I pulled the door partially closed and stood tall in the opening to block her view.

  She rose to her tiptoes trying to peer around me. “Karina, dear, I’ve been hearing all sorts of noises and seen men in suits bringing up black cases. Do you know what that’s all about?”

  No way was I going to tell the complex’s biggest gossip what the FBI was doing in my apartment. In the inimitable words of Dr. Seuss, I thought up a lie and thought it up quick. “Yes, I’m . . . I’m considering installing . . . surround sound.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? Did the board approve that?”

  “It’s in the initial stages. I haven’t made my decision, and it comes with sound proofing.” I winked and whispered, “But it all depends on the c
ost.” A crash of broken glass met my ears. My shoulders stiffened. “I’d better find out what’s going on. It was good seeing you, Mrs. Thundermuffin. Love the new hairstyle,” I said, closing the door before she could ask more questions.

  Mike and Red were in the guest bathroom picking up pieces of a glass container I used to store cotton balls.

  “Sorry,” the young agent sheepishly murmured.

  “The FBI can reimburse you for that,” Mike grunted.

  I sighed, “Forget it. What exactly did you think might be in my guest bathroom?”

  “He’s checking for bugs.”

  “You mean like electronic monitoring? Really? Do you think that’s necessary? I thought you and Josh determined my intruder did a quick in-and-out job. Do you think he took the time to plant a bunch of bugs around my apartment?”

  Mike ran a hand through his short, dark, naturally wavy hair. “We want to be thorough.”

  “Fine. Just tell me how much longer you think this will take.”

  “Another hour? I’m not sure. We’re waiting for the agent in charge to arrive.”

  I glanced at my watch, three-fifteen. There was no way I’d make it to my meeting with ‘ole shiny head and Moore. “Red, you mind if I speak to Agent Finnegan for a minute?”

  He dumped the last of the large glass pieces into the wastebasket and shuffled past me.

  “Have you contacted the D.C. cops?” I asked Mike.

  “No. We’re not ready to read them in.”

  I mashed my lips together. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it sooner, rather than later.”

  “Why would that be?” he said in measured tones.

  “I’m supposed to go over my statement with them at four.” Mike’s mouth pinched, and his brows turned down as I spoke. “There’s no way I’ll make it if you’re still here for the next hour. I need to call them and tell them why I won’t be there.”

  “Who were you supposed to meet with?” he asked.

  “Detective Shinebocker and a Capitol Police officer, Moore.”

  “Were you planning to take counsel with you?”

  “Uh . . . it was on my to-do list.”

  Mike’s frown deepened. “I’ll call Shinebocker. You’d best call a lawyer.”