Secretive Stranger

by Jennifer Greene

  Replays from last night had lingered in his mind all morning, fragile as silken cobwebs, magical as moonlight. A while back, Sophie had told him she couldn’t feel safe if she thought someone was going to disappear on her. The comment stemmed from her feelings about losing her parents. She’d felt abandoned, lost, alone. She’d learned young not to open the trust door. It was easier to keep the door shut than to risk being abandoned again.

  Cord had nothing like that in his background-except for Zoe. And Zoe had taught him precisely the same lesson. He thought he’d gotten the right woman, a woman who’d stand by him-and then: zap. First taste of serious trouble, she’s gone. He hadn’t opened the trust door since.

  Until Sophie.

  A gaggle of women passed, all headed for the gem exhibit. Everyone coming in was shaking off rain, groaning about the ornery weather. Cord picked up his sandwich, then put it down.

  His heart somehow started trusting Sophie, almost from the beginning. But everything about last night had been…startling. Beyond fantastic, but still startling. Who could possibly have guessed that beneath those god-awful clothes and oversize glasses was a sensual seductress who bared all and invited even more? When had he ever found a woman who seduced his head as much as his body, who made his blood run hot-and who confused the holy hell out of him?

  Abruptly, he saw both Ferrell and Bassett, as noticeable in the sea of tourists as apples in a barrel of oranges. They wore similar rain gear, carried similar mugs of coffee, had that ill-fitting suit-coat thing going on. Both of them shook off their wet trench coats, didn’t waste time, took seats on both sides of him.

  Cord filled them in immediately about the CDs he’d found, how his brother had them hidden, behind the back wall of a cabinet drawer.

  “Thank God,” Bassett said. “That’s exactly the evidence we needed. How many were there? Did you bring them all?”

  “No.” He added carefully, “I’m not certain that I’m willing to turn them over.”

  “That isn’t a choice you get to make.” The jowly detective took a pull from his coffee. “That’s evidence, cut-and-dried. The concrete link we need to connect the killer to your brother.”

  “I know.” Cord had thought it through all morning. “I don’t think there’s any question that the killer is connected to these home videos-either on the video, or a relative of one of the women. But it isn’t that simple to me.”

  “It’s very simple.” Heat climbed Bassett’s neck, turned his complexion dark.

  Cord said slowly, “The problem with turning over all of those CDs is that those CDs would then be public. I’d be happy if I knew which one was connected with my brother’s death. But I don’t. And my brother apparently did a fine job of threatening a lot of lives and reputations. There’s a lot of scandal in those films. Making them public could ruin a lot of people-without necessarily telling us who the killer was, or how relevant that evidence is to convicting the killer.”

  Before Bassett could suffer an attack of apoplexy, Ferrell leaned forward, with his usual amiable, calm expression. “I’d feel exactly as you do. Unfortunately, you have to trust someone with this evidence. It doesn’t solve anything for you to keep those CDs to yourself.”

  “Believe me, I have no interest in keeping them-”

  Bassett interrupted, all but snapping and yapping. “That’s good, because you’re not. You just keep in mind that I could lock you behind bars in two seconds if I needed to. You’re not going to get away with impeding an ongoing investigation. I’ll charge you with obstruction so fast it’ll make your head swim.”

  Thinking about Sophie, Cord hadn’t been able to eat. Dealing with a simple legal crisis, he reached for his sandwich again. “But you’re not going to do that,” he said calmly, “because you know perfectly well I’ve cooperated. And that I’ll continue to help. The only place I’m drawing the line is where innocent people could be hurt by this mess.”

  “Come on, Pruitt. No one on those CDs is anywhere near a definition of innocent.”

  The ham on rye was going down pretty well. “There’s a lot of miles between murder and someone behaving immorally, or making a mistake.” Cord unfolded a strip of paper from his shirt pocket. “These are the initials or words that were on each CD. There were no full names and dates. But take a look.”

  The two of them fell on the list faster than rabid dogs, enabling Cord to finish his lunch. Tourists ambled by in bunches, speaking every language on the planet, stopping for snacks between exhibits. Cord kept thinking that Sophie would really get off on this. The exhibits, the history. Everything about the Smithsonian. And for darn sure, all the people-watching potential.

  All too soon, the men returned their attention to him. They had become subdued in those few minutes. Bassett was the first to speak. “No way to be positive of anything from this little amount. But I suspect who the MM is. The wife of a senator on the Appropriations Committee.”

  Cord winced. “Not good.”

  “Definitely not good to imagine that video loose in the media. Also damn easy to imagine someone motivated to do anything-maybe even murder-to get that CD.”

  “That one, you can have.”

  That was exactly what Cord had been hoping to hear. “This just has to be a quid-pro-quo deal. If you can just verify that you have knowledge or suspicions about anyone linked to those words, then I’ll immediately give you the applicable CDs.”

  Bassett wasn’t through. “At least one other name springs out at me. Penny. That could well be a nickname for Penelope Martin. She’s a lobbyist for some kind of legal rights group. I believe she’s also a friend of your brother’s neighbor, Sophie Campbell.”

  Cord felt a fast chill chase down his spine. “Sophie has nothing to do with this.”

  Bassett rolled his eyes. “You know this how?”

  “Because I’ve been around her now. I know her.”

  “You don’t know her. You’ve been around her for a few days. Somehow, she’s miraculously been around a lot of people involved in this case. Penelope Martin is paid a damn good salary to swing senators’ votes. She’s slept her way to influence before this. Now we find out she was sleeping with your brother, too.”

  “Since you’re already aware of that, I’ll be happy to turn over that CD to you. As well as the MM one.”

  For the first time, Ferrell leaned forward, as if finally engaged in the conversation. “This is good evidence, Cord, but it’s not enough to convict or even arrest anyone. We still need you to watch Sophie. We still have every reason to believe she’s connected to this. Your so-innocent Sophie befriended at least one potential suspect in the case that we know of, and possibly more. Someone clearly believes she knows something important, or her place wouldn’t have been broken into. A lot of things point to her as having ink stains on her character.”

  “It’s not her,” Cord repeated.

  “We’re just asking you to stay alert. To keep looking, keep listening. We’re still in the middle of all this-there’s DNA coming back, prints, hopefully more evidence to uncover from the money you turned over, and we still don’t have the test results from the autopsy. She’s not the only person we’re looking at, but she’s still in the picture. Still part of the problem.”

  “I’m not having this conversation again with you guys. I won’t spy.”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Bassett said. “You don’t need to use that three-letter word if it puts your Jockeys in a twist. Just…be a team player. We all want the same thing. To find out who killed your brother.”

  Minutes later, when Cord pushed open the door, in a hustle to get away from them and out of there, the stormy morning had intensified. Rain poured down in slashing, slapping sheets, kicking branches and leaves and debris everywhere. It was only a short hike to the metro, but long enough for him to get chilled to the bone.

  Cord didn’t need a PhD to realize Bassett and Ferrell wanted something a lot bigger than his brother’s murderer. That was a given. Get ne
ar politicians and money and power in Washington, and ambition for more was always the story. He didn’t care what their problem was-and for damn sure, he didn’t care what their scandal was.

  But the connection to Sophie gnawed on his nerves with sharp teeth. He’d told them flat out that he refused to spy on her. But the reality was that he did need to stay close to Sophie-for her sake. To protect her. Because for damn sure the cops wouldn’t, as long as they believed she was on the wrong side of this story.

  Neither Ferrell nor Bassett, of course, would believe that any time Cord spent with Sophie was for her sake. They’d think he was playing ball.

  He was playing ball.

  Just not in their court.

  Only every minute since his brother was killed-ever since he met Sophie-he felt more and more as if he were tiptoeing on a high wire. And his feet were a clumsy size twelve.

  Chapter 7

  All day, Sophie felt akin to the circus acrobat who had to balance on a high wire.

  No matter what she tried to do, fate seemed to yank her off balance in an unexpected direction. Obviously, she’d had no choice to leave Cord this morning and go to work, but her interview with Inger Henriks was originally only scheduled for two hours. Instead, it had dragged on for five.

  “My family,” Inger had told her, “they were always saving the American fliers. Flyboys, we called them in the war. Our house was in the harbor, Helnaes Bugt. That was the thing. You know, Denmark has a border with Germany. So the flyboys would come in the dark, run out of fuel, drop in the water like flies. We’d fish them out, feed them, hide them. Did the Swedes do this? Did the Finns? No. It was us, the Danes. Always us. I was proud of this, we all were, but still. I was just a child. We had this dangerous secret in our lives, where if anyone had overheard us whispering, we could be caught. My family were fishermen. And I was just a girl who wanted to believe in fairy tales and dreams. Instead, I was afraid every day. Secrets-this is no way to live.”

  The stories had gone on and on-each of them heart-touching, compelling and powerful. If it weren’t for Cord, she’d have been thrilled to spend the extra hours. She loved her job, especially loved this project, and felt enriched by every one of the elderly women she’d had a chance to interview.

  It was just…there was Cord. Also a murder and the break-in and the mess of blackmail Cord’s brother had been involved with-but that stuff was just, well, danger. Troubling and scary and all, but hardly as momentous as making love with Cord last night.

  Nothing could be that momentous. Not for Sophie.

  She couldn’t get home until midafternoon, and by then she was frazzled, soaked from the mean, cold rain and out of breath. Cord wouldn’t be there until later. The plan was to scour Jon’s apartment, open every ceiling tile, pat down every floorboard. But she had much to do before then-starting with changing clothes, copying her interview tapes to her home system and buckling down to some serious translating work.

  Her cell phone rang before she’d even taken off her coat…and Caviar was all over her with demanding meows. The cat had something shiny in its mouth-a trophy, like a bottle cap-and clearly wanted her to value the treasure. Sophie tried yanking off her jacket, petting Cav and responding to her sister at the same time.

  “I haven’t talked to you in a week, and I’ve been worried to bits about how you’re doing. I was out on the water and just couldn’t get a connection.” Cate’s voice was as forceful and vibrant as Sophie’s was soft.

  Cate was thirty, and had carved out a career as an adventure chef, which meant, as far as Sophie could tell, that her sister got to travel to every exotic place on the planet. Cate had cooked her way from Madagascar to Antarctica to halfway up Everest-rough-and-tumble places that Sophie had never gone or aspired to go to. But that was Cate. “You sound different from last week,” her sister said suspiciously.

  “Well, I’d hope so. I was a wreck when I talked to you last. I’d just found my neighbor’s body.”

  Cate listened to the latest rundown of events, but then interrupted again. “There’s still something different in your voice. There couldn’t be something really unusual in your life-like a man-could there?”

  “No. Well, yes. I mean, not exactly…” Sophie wanted to stare at the phone in exasperation. How was it her sister could smell a rose in a patch of peonies? “Yes, there’s a man in my life, but it’s not how it sounds. He’s related to my neighbor. So it’s not as if we met in the usual way.”

  “Soph, if you waited to meet guys in the usual way, you’d be a virgin at ninety-five. Like your current work project. You talk to old ladies and spend the rest of the time huddled in front of a computer. Guaranteeing you won’t meet any men.”

  “That’s so unfair. And untrue,” Sophie began. She tried to sit, but Caviar climbed on her lap, tried to cuddle under her neck, batted her face when she failed to give him her complete attention.

  “Just tell me straight. How far has it gone?” Cate waited all of three seconds, and when Sophie didn’t respond that fast, she burst out, “Well, hell, that far? You?”

  “What do you mean, me? You’ve been known to leap into bed with a guy who rings your chimes.”

  “But that’s me, baby. Not you.” Cate dropped the teasing note altogether. “That’s the thing, Soph. We’re both always waiting for a fire. Waiting for our lives to blow up, in some way we can’t possibly foresee or control. So I pick men for a day, never give them a chance to stay. And you steer clear of anyone you can feel close to. It’s really the same coin, just two different sides of it. We’re both always ready to have to jump out a window at a moment’s notice. But suddenly you’re coloring way, way outside your lines.”

  “I did. I admit it. It’s probably nuts.” And just when she was getting into a real heart-to-heart with Cate, the buzzer for the front door interrupted.

  “I don’t know whether it’s nuts or terrific,” Cate grumbled. “I just think I should fly over there. Anyone messing with my baby sister better know there’ll be hell to pay if he hurts you.”

  “Cate. Come on. People get hurt all the time. It’s life. Nobody can save anybody else that.”

  “Horse hockey. I’ll strangle him if he isn’t good to you. And damn it, I have to go-but I expect a complete report before next week. And I’m calling Lily, so she knows what’s going on. What’s this guy’s name?”

  Caviar tried to trip her en route to the door, and she almost dropped the phone. It would help if she weren’t galloping. She hadn’t expected Cord to get here until closer to the dinner hour, but just picturing him on the other side of the door had her pulse doing the jazz riff of a love song.

  “Cord,” she said automatically as she opened the door, only to find Penelope Martin there instead. She motioned her friend in, still trying to end the call and handle Caviar at the same time.

  “I heard you say Cord’s name,” Penelope said a few minutes later as she made herself tea. “That’s why I stopped by. Finished a little early on Capitol Hill, and I just kept thinking how troubling this has all been for you. I wondered if the police had any leads on the person who broke into your apartment.”

  The stop by was a surprise, but Sophie told herself she might have expected it. Penelope inhaled gossip the way an alcoholic buzzed for the scent of scotch, a requirement every day, more valued than air. As always, Penelope looked groomed to the gills, doing the navy and white thing today-except for the flash of red in her ears. Sophie suspected Pen would consider rubies a justifiable expense to enable the patriotic color scheme.

  “The police haven’t found a single thing?” Penelope echoed with total disappointment. By then they both had mugs of tea; Sophie had scrounged up some not-too-stale snickerdoodles and run in and out of the bedroom, shedding her flannel skirt for jeans and a black sweater. Only, then she decided to run back in and change her bra-not that she was certain something would happen with Cord tonight.

  That reality suddenly drowned her upbeat mood. She really didn’t know how Cord
would greet her tonight. How he’d feel about last night. How he’d feel about her. If he’d regret what happened between them.

  “Sophie, you mentally wandered off again. Did you even hear me?”

  Of course she’d heard Penelope. She was just too busy having a nervous breakdown to concentrate. And suddenly she was feeling particularly dumb and vulnerable because she’d changed to the yellow froth of a bra that she shouldn’t have bought to begin with, it was that frivolous and sexy and silly and…

  “Sophie.”

  And he’d probably take it as invitation. Which wasn’t what she meant. Or maybe it was. She scraped back her hair, feeling completely exhausted. “I don’t know what the police have found, Penelope. Except that I think Cord believes-and so do I-that his brother’s death wasn’t as simple as an accidental fall. He’s been trying to go through Jon’s apartment, but he’s working, so he has to fit it in a few hours at a time. There’s no way he can do it quickly.”

  “So…he’s just getting started? Has he found anything good so far? You know what I mean. The scoop on Jon and his women and all the stuff we always talked about. Jan’s been on pins and needles, wondering whether Jon kept something from the time they slept together.”

  Sophie started to respond, then hesitated. “For sure, there was nothing about Jan. Cord met Jan and you and Hillary that one time. So he knows we’re friends, so I think he’d have mentioned it if he found something related to any of us. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

  Caviar pawed at her knee, showing off some treasure of a toy again, giving her the excuse to drop her eyes. She felt bad, not being totally straight with Penelope. A week ago, she’d have freely told what she knew. Now everything was different. It wasn’t a matter of not trusting Penelope or anyone else. It was about fearing what the murderer believed-about Jon, about her, about Cord. About who really had access to the blackmail evidence-or thought they did.