Fatal Legislation

by Ellen Butler

  Yesterday, Mike reached out to a hacker informant he’d used in the past. The informant, a.k.a. LadyBlue, confessed she’d worked with NKBarbie in the past. Mike revealed to LadyBlue what the FBI believed NKBarbie’s role in Harper’s death had been and asked for her help. She said she’d have to think about it. So now Mike played a waiting game. Having dealt with informants in the past, he’d come to learn which ones needed a push and constant handholding, and which ones simply needed the facts and room to come to their own decision. LadyBlue was an independent thinker. There were moral lines she wouldn’t cross, and Mike was banking on the fact that she’d see the murder of a senator as one of those lines. It didn’t make the waiting any less torturous, but Mike was a patient guy and knew that sometimes you had to wait for a timid bird to come to you. If she didn’t reach out by Monday, he’d contact her again.

  “Whoa! It’s like a tickertape parade happening in that brain of yours. Don’t forget, I can read you. You’re on to something. What is it? You can tell me. I promise I can keep a secret.”

  His brows drew down, along with his mouth. “Yes, I’m well aware of your secret-keeping abilities. It provides me no end of heartburn.”

  “Hey!” She wielded the spatula at him. “I told you about the break-in.”

  “Yes.” He folded his arms. “But what aren’t you telling me?”

  “As a matter of fact, one of the reasons we’re eating here is because I have a whole bunch of stuff to tell you. I’ve got some leads for you.”

  “Why doesn’t that ease my worries?”

  “I have no idea.” She flipped the bread. “Can you go ahead and cut the quiche?”

  A few minutes later, they pulled their chairs up to the dining room table, where K.C. had set out placemats and silverware.

  “Tell me your news,” Mike said as he cut into his French toast.

  “First, what can you tell me about the train wreck? Was it simply an accident?”

  Mike’s fork paused on the way to his mouth. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Why are you being evasive?”

  He popped the French toast into his mouth. The bread melted on his tongue as he chewed the sweet goodness. “Do I taste almonds?”

  “Yes, I put almond extract in the batter. You’re quibbling.”

  “Oh, no, counselor, not quibbling.” He wiped his mouth to cover the grin.

  She wasn’t biting. “Was the train wreck an accident?” she said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler.

  “There has not yet been an official decision.”

  “In other words, the FBI is looking into it further?”

  “The vehicle—what’s left of it—is being investigated by the FBI. NTSB and the FRA are investigating the train and the railroad crossing gates, which were not down as they should have been when the train came through.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Occasionally. More than it should. Now it’s your turn. I can tell you’re bursting with news.”

  K.C. proceeded for the next half hour to fill him in on her interactions with Finley at the C2ARM event. “I’m telling you these folks were a little . . . cuckoo.” She swirled a finger next to her ear. “Have you heard of them? Does the FBI have a file on them?”

  “The crowns sound familiar. I believe we’ve got dossiers on the group and some of their leaders.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She continued her story, next covering Nick Ross and Karen Ferngull’s alleged affair and the breakup she’d heard at the Kennedy Center, and finished with Elise’s revelations about the Capitol Hill floating poker game.

  “While certainly titillating, I don’t see how their affair connects to Harper’s death. Nor am I impressed with your colleague’s implausible conspiracy theory.”

  “I know. I told him the same thing. It’s thin as phyllo dough. But I’m telling you, something smells fishy. This floating Capitol Hill poker game . . .” K.C. sighed and pressed a pair of fingers to her temple. “I spent the hours between two and four in the morning processing all of the information I’ve learned in the past few days. And while every piece has a perfectly logical and innocent explanation, something doesn’t sit right with me. It’s a math problem, yet every time I try to tally it all up, the abacus falls apart. I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. What am I missing? Think,” she hissed, tapping those fingers harder against her forehead

  Mike had continued to eat while K.C. told her story, listening with interest enough to humor her. When she mentioned her middle of the night insomnia, he’d looked closer, beyond the layer of makeup, and identified the puffiness beneath her lashes and the overall tension in her shoulders where he knew she carried her stress. He felt bad he couldn’t tell her about NKBarbie, but he could do his best to put her mind at ease.

  He pushed to his feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  Her eyes followed as, without a word, he came around the table and laid his hands on her shoulders and started massaging, his thumbs kneading the tissue at the base of her neck and spine. She moaned, letting her head drop forward.

  “First, you need to relax and eat. It looks like you’ve lost five pounds since I saw you last Saturday, and you’ve taken all of three bites out of your meal. Second, even though I can’t tell you what’s going on in Harper’s investigation, what I can tell you is that the lead I’m working is very promising. Off the record—”

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “Then let’s say ‘speaking hypothetically,’ we believe we’ve identified the hacker. It’s now a matter of locating him. There are literally dozens of agents, not to mention D.C. detectives, working on this.”

  “I know that.” She tilted her head, allowing him to dig into a thick knot below her left shoulder blade.

  “Now,” he asked, “I’ve known you for how many years?”

  “Urgh, please don’t make me do math right now.” She let out a groan of pleasure. “Ohhh, you got it. Right there, harder, dig deep. Uhhhh, yeah. Let’s just say since college.”

  “Fine. Since college, I’ve learned a few things about you. You’re very loyal to your friends and family. It’s part of the reason you got yourself involved in that museum mess a few months ago.”

  “I have no idea what you’re speaking about.”

  He rolled his eyes at her continued denial. “The other is, you tend to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders.” He pressed a thumb into another knot. “Both figuratively and literally. And, somehow, you’ve taken it into your head that it’s your job to find Harper’s killer, likely due to the fact that he . . . well, let’s not mince words, he died in your arms. Which, by the way, I’ve been meaning to give you the number of a psychiatrist who works with FBI agents. But, we’ll get back to that. As I was saying, you’re trying desperately to find a killer whom you haven’t the skills nor the tools to find. Neither is it your job to do so. Moreover, for some reason I cannot fathom, you’ve taken on Finley’s death as well, trying to connect the two through . . . what? This mobile poker game? Or was it because they were talking about proposing a new bill together? I’m confused. Where did you say the connection came in?”

  “Gee, when you say it like that, I realize either, A. I’m way off in left field. Or, B. You’re just being an ass. However, since you’re an ass who’s massaging the past two weeks of stress out of my body, I’ll let it slide and admit that you’re probably right. Harper and Finley’s death don’t have anything to do with each other. If” —she pushed his hands off her shoulders and turned in her chair to face him— “if you accept that there is a possibility that there is something dirty about this poker game.”

  “I will consent to the following: the poker game is certainly dirty. There’s no gambling in Virginia. But, as you know, the FBI tends to turn a blind eye to private games in people’s basements. There are far more pressing concerns than chasing down a bunch of spoiled, wealthy senators and congressmen who want to put their prize Cadillac in the pot.”

 
; “It was a Mustang. A classic 1965 convertible GT.”

  He cleared his throat. “K.C., I think you are off base here. You’re seeing conspiracies around every corner. Like I said, with the senator’s death and the break-in—”

  “Don’t forget being a prime suspect for the murder, myself, Agent Finnegan.” The sarcasm oozed off her tongue.

  “Now you’re getting defensive.”

  “Of course, I am. This is exactly why I worried about telling you all of this. That you wouldn’t take me seriously, pat my head, and tell me to ‘leave it to the professionals.’”

  “K.C.” Mike’s voice held a strong note of warning.

  “Don’t ‘K.C.’ me. Just like with that damn painting, I know in my gut.”

  “What painting? I thought you didn’t know anything about a painting.”

  K.C. reddened and glanced away. “There is something fishy going on.”

  He let it go. “Tell me what exactly is fishy.”

  “Well, what about what Nick said to Karen about her friends playing a dangerous game, and he hoped she’d insulated herself? If that doesn’t sound . . . suspicious, I don’t know what does.”

  Mike froze. “When did he say that?”

  “I told you. When I was eavesdropping on their conversation.”

  “No, you didn’t tell me that. You told me they broke off the affair. What were Nick’s exact words?”

  “What I just said—her friends were playing a dangerous game. He hoped she’d insulated herself.”

  “What friends?”

  “He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t in a position to ask for clarification. But Elise said Harper played poker at some lobbyist’s home. Maybe they were playing at Karen’s home . . . and . . . maybe something went wrong. Finley lost something big. Maybe to Karen herself.”

  Mike rubbed his chin and paced away.

  “Ha!” K.C. pointed. “See, now you’re thinking that it is kind of suspicious.”

  “It’s certainly . . . odd.”

  “Sus-pish-us.” She crossed her arms and gave him a squinty-eyed glare that actually made her look really cute.

  Mike bit his lips to keep from breaking into a grin which he knew would piss her off. “Okay,” he capitulated, “I’ll make you a deal. I will use some of my contacts—i.e. FBI resources—to look into this Capitol Hill poker game.” She opened her mouth, but Mike cut off whatever she was about to say. “And I will check out Nick Ross and Karen Ferngull. As government workers, we’ll have files on both.”

  “And if you find any red flags?”

  “It’ll be followed up.”

  “Fine.” K.C. turned back to her food, making a show of rearranging her napkin. “And don’t forget to check on that C2ARM group. Maybe they found out he ditched their plaque in the circular file and got offended.”

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  Her fork and knife paused above the plate. She rotated her head with raised brows.

  “I want you and your work friend to lay off this independent investigation you’ve been running. If, as you say, there is something behind all of this, you may be putting yourselves in danger.”

  “More danger than having a mobster attack me in the stairwell, or a merc for hire break into my home in the middle of the night?” she said with wide-eyed smartassness.

  Mike blanched, and he ground out, “That’s not funny, K.C.”

  Her face fell into contriteness. “No, it’s not.”

  “I need your word.”

  “Fine. If you promise to look into it. Then I will stop . . .”

  “Snooping?”

  She tsked. “Investigating.”

  Good lord, this woman was persistent. “When you’re not a professional, we call that snooping.”

  Her mouth pinched up. “When you act like an ass, we call that, ‘unlikely to get laid.’”

  His face lifted. “Really? Today?”

  “Not today. Ass.”

  “Hm. I wonder . . .”

  The squinty eyes were back, but Mike simply stared her down. Subtly, he licked his lips and gently ran a finger down her arm.

  Her mouth twitched. “Do you think it ethical to sleep with a murder suspect?”

  “You’re not a suspect.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He cleared his throat. Although he wasn’t investigating her, he hadn’t gotten a definitive answer from McGill when he asked about Karina’s status in the case. McGill had left it at “person of interest” and suggested Mike keep an eye on her. “Make sure she doesn’t leave the country,” he’d said. After that, Mike stopped asking and pursued NKBarbie with a single-minded determination.

  He plopped down into his seat at the table and ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose we should wait until this case has been cleared up.”

  “Actually . . .”

  He looked up with hopeful anticipation.

  “Never mind. I guess you’re right. We should wait until my name is completely cleared. God forbid the papers get a hold of the story. What tabloid fodder—I can see the headlines now: FBI Agent Sleeps with Senator’s Murderer.” She made a grand gesture, as if the headline was emblazoned across a marquee. “Which, by the way . . .” Her gaze snapped back to him. “I’ve been wondering why the vultures haven’t been at my doorstep since you announced Harper’s death was murder. Why didn’t one of them dig up my name?”

  “None of the records are public until the case is closed.”

  “So, after the arrest, or after the trial do they become public?”

  “After trial.”

  “Whew. That’s a load off my mind. It’ll be old news by then.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Hm, I don’t know. You’re looking pretty hot today . . . maybe . . .” She looked down at her ratty sweatshirt and brushed at an old stain. “On the other hand, I can see why you’re not tripping over your own two feet to carry me off into the bedroom.” She brushed aside a stray hair, tilted her head in just that way, and grinned at him.

  His work phone buzzed with a text message. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

  K.C. shrugged as he left the table to check his encrypted Blackberry. The text came from LadyBlue.

  I’m in. NKBarbie will be at Blackhats in the Big Easy Con in New Orleans next week. I’ve arranged a meetup. He’s confirmed he’ll be there. I leave on Tuesday. The meet is set for Wednesday. Use this number to reach me.

  Mike couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was LadyBlue in, she’d set NKBarbie up for them. Wednesday. They’d have to start getting things together to arrange the sting. There was already a contingent of FBI folks planning to attend the hacker con. If he hadn’t been on this case, he would’ve been there too. As it was, he’d already transferred his conference registration to another agent.

  Mike replied to LadyBlue.

  Yes, we can make it happen. Will contact you soon with the details.

  He turned to find K.C. ignoring him and tucking into her meal. He hated to cut their date short. They were getting so little time together these days. Once this case was over . . . he made a silent promise.

  “You’re not going to like this. I have to go. Work.” He held up the phone.

  Slowly, she chewed and swallowed. “Now?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said with regret. “I’ll be going out of town for a while.”

  “Where? Can you tell me?”

  He debated for a moment. “Louisiana. I can’t tell you anything else.”

  “This is it, isn’t it? The lead you’ve been following? It’s panned out? Ooh, I can tell by the shine in your eyes. You’re excited. Well, don’t worry about me. Go get ‘em, Tex.”

  “Tex?”

  “Would you prefer pard-ner? Sheriff? Super Agent?”

  “I prefer Mike.”

  “Go get ’em, Mike! Yehaw!” As she spoke, she jumped onto her chair, circling her hand overhead, looping an invisible lasso.

  It was so darn cute and comical, Mike couldn�
�t help the silent laughter that shook his shoulders. This was the spontaneous, fun K.C. he remembered from their college days. Like the time she’d taken the dare to sing “There’s No Business Like Show Business”, à la Ethel Merman, on the table at Taco Bell, at two in the morning, in exchange for a burrito. She’d been out of cash and had post-study-group munchies. It was good to see the kookiness come out as if it’d been lurking beneath the surface of the highly polished D.C. lobbyist. Especially considering the recent stress she’d been under.

  “When did you suddenly come from Texas?” He gripped her at the waist, helping her off the chair. Without shoes on, her nose came right to his chin.

  “Dunno. It seemed appropriate. You know, to pump you up, like football coaches and military leaders do before combat. I’m trying to be supportive here.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Now is the time for you to kiss the hero before sending him off into battle.”

  And she did just that, leaving him with a kiss that would send even the most hardened of heroes into the fray with renewed energy and confidence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Just as I put the last dish in the washer, my phone rang. Rodrigo’s smiling face stared back at me. I guess he couldn’t wait for a report until Monday.

  “Hello, Rodrigo.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  I pressed the start button, and the dishwasher began its gentle hum. “Not particularly.”