"That must have been an emotional moment for all of you."
"Very." Patrick dug his hands in his pocket as he looked around at the fifty-six columns representing the forty-eight states and eight federal territories unified at the end of World War II. "My grandfather was a tough guy—a stoic, silent, suffer-in-silence kind of man. He was gruff and cranky, and while he had a fierce love for family and country, he didn't express it very well. That day I saw a tear come out of his eye. It was the most shocking thing I'd ever seen. He wasn't a man who could cry, but that day he did. He didn't say anything about what he was feeling, but it was written on his face."
"My father didn't serve in that war, but he was a military man. Seeing the wall with all these stars of lost soldiers reminds me of his service. Sometimes I wish I'd known that man."
"Did he talk about his days in the Navy much?"
"Almost never. He got out of the Navy when I was a little kid. I knew him as the man who flew small plane charters. I guess I never asked him about his earlier life."
"Don't beat yourself up about it. I don't think most kids believe their parents even existed before they were born."
"That's probably true," she agreed, as they walked slowly around the memorial. "It's hard to be cynical here, surrounded by heroes and sacrifice. It reminds me that the job I do is supposed to support the job the soldiers do—protect our country and make it stronger."
"You're as patriotic as any of the men who fought in World War II, Dani, and I don't think you're cynical, at all. I wonder if that might change over time, though."
"I hope not. I'd like my work to matter. I'd like to do something that inspires people. I'd like to make a difference, the way you've done with your book." She paused. "I skimmed through it on my lunch hour today. It's really good. The research you must have done, the amount of investigative work, had to be staggering."
"I spent almost two years on that project."
"I can't imagine the risks you took to get to the truth. How did you even know where to start?"
"I had a source who risked his life to come to me. He'd read some of my investigative articles and thought I could give him a voice."
"You certainly did that. When is the movie coming out?"
"Who knows? It could be a year or more. Hollywood doesn't move fast."
"What were you going to work on next before you got caught up in your mom's story?"
"I hadn't decided. I was thinking about a few projects, but mostly, I was just catching my breath. It was a crazy two years. And, honestly, Dani, I was more responsible for writing up the information than discovering it all. I got more credit than I should have."
"You're being modest."
"Just honest."
She stared back at him, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes, as if she were measuring his words.
"Believe me, I'm not above bragging," he added. "But only if I have something to brag about."
"Good to know you have standards. Although, flirting with beautiful women to get information seems to be part of your arsenal."
"You mean Ann?"
"And Erica. She agreed to meet you for lunch tomorrow."
"I use what works. Ann and Erica are both women who like male attention."
"That's true. Although, I'd say in Erica's case, she likes everyone's attention. She's turned our office into her universe. She's the sun, and everyone else revolves around her, even Senator Dillon."
"What about Dillon's wife? Does she get along with Erica?"
"Funny you should ask that. Mrs. Dillon called me over to speak to her tonight. She mentioned that she misses some of the old faces on the staff, like Joe's. She asked me what I thought of Erica. She said she worried that Erica doesn't always have her husband's interests at heart and that she might have her own ambition driving some of her decisions."
"That's interesting. What did you say?"
"I was very diplomatic. I said I thought Erica was a hard worker, but beyond that I wasn't privy to what went on between her and the senator. I thought Mrs. Dillon seemed too interested in Erica and also a little worried, as if she wondered if there is something going on between Erica and her husband."
"Do you think that's possible?" he asked curiously.
"I hope not, but she does seem to have a lot of influence over him, and she is quite stunning, wouldn't you agree?"
"She's nowhere near as pretty as you, Dani."
She flushed at his words. "You don't have to flirt with me, Patrick. I'm already helping you, against my better judgment. So put the charm aside."
"I'm not flirting. I'm just being honest."
"You like that word honest, don't you?"
He nodded. "Yes, I do. Honesty is important to me."
"Well, if we're being honest, I should tell you that I really don't want to be part of any of this."
"But you can't seem to stay away from me," he said lightly.
"No, I can't," she said, giving him a helpless look. "And I don't know why. I want you out of my life because you're a complication I don't need, but I can't quite get there. I wasn't going to speak to you tonight, and look where we are."
His mouth felt suddenly dry at the sincerity of her words. "I can't quite get there, either, Dani. I told myself to stay away from you, but when I saw you at the gala—you took my breath away."
She swallowed hard at his words. "Everyone looks good in a dress like this."
"No, not everyone. You're beautiful, Dani. I don't think you realize just how pretty you are."
A breeze gusted, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. "Stop, you're embarrassing me."
He smiled. "Believe me, I can be more embarrassing." He stepped forward, stripping off his jacket. "You're cold."
"If you give me that, you'll be cold."
"With you standing so close, I doubt it." He placed the coat around her shoulders. The scent of her perfume wafted around him like a tantalizing dream. She was so close, and he was so tired of fighting temptation.
He leaned in and took the kiss he'd been dreaming about.
Her mouth opened under his, and he deepened the kiss, moving his hands to her head, running his fingers through the silky strands of her hair as he tasted the sweet heat of her mouth. He felt like he could lose himself in her—a minute, an hour, a week could have passed for all he knew. It was just him and Dani, and nothing else mattered.
She kissed him back with a passion that matched his, her hands roaming his back as she pressed her breasts against his chest. He wanted so much more of her than just her mouth, but he couldn't break away from her lips. He had to keep kissing her, slanting his mouth one way and then another; he couldn't get enough.
Dani finally found a way out of the madness, putting her hands against his chest, breaking free of his kiss. As she stepped away from him with ragged breaths, he could see the desire in her eyes; the tangled strands of her hair, her swollen lips, her glittering green eyes made him want to move back in.
She put up a hand in defense.
He saw the plea in her eyes. Damn!
"Patrick," she murmured. "Look where we are."
"I don't care," he said, meaning it with all of his heart.
"We can't do this."
"Here or…"
"Anywhere," she said. "The way we kiss…it's too much. It's too intense."
"I thought it was perfect."
She grabbed his coat off the ground. At some point in the midst of their passion, it had fallen off her shoulders and onto the cement. "You should take this back."
"You think I'm cold now?" he asked dryly.
She tipped her head in acknowledgement. "Okay. Then I'll wear it." She put the coat on and then crossed her arms in front of her, making it seem like she'd put on a suit of impenetrable armor. "We need to remember why we're here, Patrick."
"Yeah," he said, seeing the resolve in her eyes and deep down knowing it was probably a good thing she'd called a halt before Ann found them rolling around in the middle of the memorial.
"I think someone is coming," Dani said.
He turned around to see Ann stop in the shadows at the edge of the memorial. "That's her," he said, heading in her direction.
"Who's this?" Ann asked warily, as Dani came up next to him.
"Dani Monroe. She's helping me figure out what my mother was working on before she died. She was with me when Montalvo told us about hummingbird. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her."
Ann stared back at him, her expression unreadable. "The last time I talked to anyone about hummingbird was eight years ago, and that person ended up dead."
His gut clenched. "You're talking about my mother, aren't you?"
"Yes. And the only reason I came here tonight was to tell you to back off. Don't go down this road. You will regret it."
"It's too late for warnings. I'm already on the road, and I have no intention of stopping. So tell me what the hell is hummingbird?"
"It's not a what, it's a who. And I can't tell you. I've never revealed a source, and I won't start now."
"Then why did you come tonight? You must want to tell me something," he said.
She licked her lips, then said, "I've been wanting to tell someone this for a long time, but I didn't know who would be willing to listen, to really hear me."
"Tell me," he ordered. "Because I want to know."
She hesitated for a long second. "I think your mother was murdered."
Ten
He'd had doubts about his mother's death, but hearing the words your mother was murdered said so boldly, without doubt, without hesitation, sent him reeling.
Even though it had been a surreal possibility in his mind, he hadn't really believed it. He'd thought that in the end he'd find out it was just an accident, that Rebecca's rumors were just rumors, that there was really nothing to know.
Dani put a hand on his arm, and he savored her steadying touch. He was more than a little glad she was by his side. He turned his attention to Ann. The woman looked over her shoulder, then back at him.
"Do you have any proof of this?" he asked.
"No. If I did, I would have given it to the FBI a long time ago."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, frustrated by her vagueness. "Be specific."
"Eight years ago, someone contacted me with a story. I was a reporter for the Washington Tribune at the time. This person said he'd seen the tip of an iceberg, and he wanted to warn someone, but it had to be the right person, and he didn't know who he could trust. He thought he would take a chance on your mother, but he needed an introduction. I had political connections, so he chose me to make that introduction."
"Why did you choose my mother?"
"Because she was in Texas, and she had a reputation for being open-minded, honest, and tough. I had covered her work for a couple of years. I thought she was the best choice. So I made a call to your mother to ask if she would meet with my source. She agreed. She met with him once and then two more times after she brought in Senator Stuart. The last meeting was the night before the plane crash."
He drew in a breath, forcing air into his tight chest. "Who's your source?"
"I told you I can't tell you."
"You have to tell me. You should have told the FBI what you just told me."
"I wasn't sure if I could trust the FBI. More importantly, my contact wasn't willing to go public after what happened. He was too scared. He'd also given the concrete evidence he had to back up his story to your mother, so he no longer had any proof in his possession. It would have been his word against some very powerful people. He told me he'd deny everything if I tried to bring him into it. He swore he'd disappear before he talked to anyone else. I tried to get him to tell his story to me or let me set him up with another contact, but he refused. He said he'd lost and they'd won, and that was it."
"And you just dropped it? Why? If it was that big, it would have made your career, Ann, so why didn't you push harder or do your own digging?"
"I spoke to my editor at the Tribune about what little I knew."
"Which is what?"
"That the information concerned a defense contractor, MDT."
His gut tightened. Why did that company keep coming up? It couldn't be a coincidence.
"The owner of the Tribune played golf with Alan Packer," Ann continued. "I was ordered to drop the story unless I got hard, irrefutable evidence. I thought something might come up during the crash investigation, but nothing did. It was ruled an accident. The case was closed, and I had nothing except a bad feeling and a source who wouldn't talk."
"So you're saying he had something on MDT?" Dani asked, breaking into the conversation.
"I believe so. Based on the news that came out last year about their security lapses, I think my source saw similar problems eight years ago."
"Who else knew about your source?"
"No one. We used the code word hummingbird for the meetings."
"But Rico Montalvo knew the code word."
She nodded. "I didn't know he knew anything about it until you told me he gave you my name."
"What about my mom's chief of staff?" he asked. "Someone else must have known."
"I spoke to your mother directly. I went to the salon where she got her hair done, and I talked to her in the parking lot. I never contacted anyone on her staff. If she told them, I didn't know about it."
"When was the last time you spoke to your source?" Dani asked.
"It was probably a month after the crash. He was running scared. He gave me a number. He said if I ever found someone he could trust again, to give him a call. Otherwise, he was done trying to save the world; he was going to save himself."
"And you never found anyone else?" Dani challenged.
"No. To be honest, I stopped looking. I was scared, too. I was pretty sure whatever my source told your mother was what got her killed, and I'd already shown a bit of my hand to my boss. I was afraid I already knew too much."
"You have to call your source," Patrick said. "Tell him Jackie Kane's son wants to meet him. If he trusted my mother, he can trust me."
"I'm not sure he'll come out of hiding after this long. He still just has what he knows, no backup proof."
"You should remind him that five people died, probably because of what he knew," Dani interjected. "And now that Patrick is digging into it all again, even if you don't tell him who your source is or set up a meeting, Patrick will probably still find him. He's a very good investigative journalist."
Patrick was touched by Dani's passionate statement.
"I'm well aware of who Patrick is." Ann's gaze narrowed on Dani. "Who are you again?"
"Dani Monroe," she replied.
"Maybe a better question is—who do you work for?"
"Senator Dillon."
Ann looked shocked at Dani's answer. "Are you serious? Why the hell are you talking to me then? Talk to him."
"You think Senator Dillon knows something about this?" Patrick asked.
"I'd be shocked if he didn't. He's part of that good-ole-boy network in Texas. The Packers are his friends. They give him a lot of money." She paused, giving Dani another sharp look. "Does he know one of his staffers is looking into the crash?"
"No," Dani said.
"I didn't think so. You're walking a dangerous line. We all are. Just talking about this now is not a good idea. I shouldn't have come."
"But you did come. I think you want to help, Ann," Patrick said. "And I think you want your story—the one you would have had eight years ago if my mother hadn't died."
"I do want that story," she admitted.
Her ambition would only help them. "You can have it if you help us."
"I'm sure you're going to write it yourself."
"I'll give you an exclusive if you hook me up with your source."
She stared back at him, and he could see the temptation in her eyes. "I hate to have anyone else's blood on my hands. I felt guilty about your mother, about my part in getting her involved."
She took a deep breath, then nodded. "I'll try the phone number he gave me eight years ago. There's a good chance it won't work, but if it does, I'll tell him you want to speak to him."
"Good."
"Give me your number. I'll be in touch."
He rattled off his phone number. Ann took it down and then disappeared into the shadows.
After she left, he paced around in a small circle, adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream. Ann Higgins had just delivered a bombshell. Could she back it up? Would he finally have the opportunity to speak to someone who knew what had happened and who was responsible? He wished he could do something now. He felt restless, charged up, impatient, but he was going to have to wait again, and it was frustrating as hell.
"Are you okay, Patrick?" Dani asked, as he came to a halt in front of her.
"I don't know."
"What are you thinking?"
"That this could be the big break I've been looking for, but there are parts of it that don't feel right."
She nodded, worry in her green eyes. "I know. Why did a reporter as ambitious as Ann drop this story in the first place? Why would she hold on to a phone number for eight years? Why didn't she go to the FBI, to anyone else, with the story? Was it really just fear? Was she that afraid?"
"Your questions echo mine," he said with a confused shrug.
"We should go. We can talk about it in the car." She looked over her shoulder. "I feel like it's important that we leave now."
He could see that she felt spooked and why not? He felt much the same way. He'd just been told that his mother had been murdered. An icy chill swept over him. If that was true, how had no one known? How had eight years passed without anyone digging deeper into the crash? He felt a crushing wave of guilt that he hadn't done anything before now. He was an investigative reporter, for God's sake.
"Why didn't I ask questions?" he said. "If not right after the crash, why not later, six months down the road, or a year, or three years, or last month? How did I just let my mother's death go without demanding more answers?"
Summer Rain (Lightning Strikes Book 3) Page 12