Key Witness

by Christy Barritt

  “I just want to check every lead.”

  The senator’s gaze locked on his. “I trust you won’t let anything happen to Elle.”

  “I’ll give up my life to protect her if I have to.”

  * * *

  Elle rapped on the door to her mother’s bedroom and heard “Go away” from the other side. She pushed open the door anyway. “It’s me.”

  Her mother said nothing, so Elle stepped inside. She spotted her mother sitting in a chair by the window, staring absently outside. The room was dim and too large to feel comfortable. The only light came from the rays of the early afternoon sun that filtered in through the gauzy window shades. Elle crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair across from her mom.

  Her mother’s face was absent of tears. Her eyes weren’t even red-rimmed. But her absence of emotions said far more than weeping would have.

  Elle touched her mother’s hand, trying not to flinch when she noticed the coolness of her skin. “How are you?”

  She continued looking out the window, not breaking her gaze for even a moment. “Another allegation.”

  Most people didn’t see this side of her mother. She appeared so strong whenever she was in public, putting on the perfect facade for everyone watching. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “Marriage isn’t all that it’s made out to be, Elle. I gave up years ago. I just hate the embarrassment this brings to the family.”

  Elle’s heart lurched. Certainly marriage could be good, couldn’t it? Not all unions ended in heartbreak and brokenness. Sadly, Elle was beginning to believe her mom’s words more with each passing moment. Nearly all the marriages she’d seen had dissolved over time. Dissolved was probably too nice of a word. Most had ended with a tragic—but figurative—explosion.

  “I hate that this hurts you, Mom.”

  “He claims they’re just friends. It doesn’t even matter.”

  What did Elle say? What were the right words, words that would bring healing and not pain? “Is it worth fighting for, Mom?”

  Her mom jerked her gaze toward Elle. “Is what worth fighting for?”

  “Your marriage.”

  She stared at Elle a moment before scoffing. “I’m way past that, Elle. I gave up hope about my marriage a long time ago.”

  Silence stretched between them. So maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. Elle didn’t know what was, though. Everything that came to mind seemed like a platitude, and the last thing she wanted was to cause her mom any more pain. She’d had enough of that in her life already.

  “What can I do?” Elle finally whispered.

  Her mom shook her head. “Nothing. You should go help your dad with damage control.”

  “He sent Bentley to do that.”

  “Then go relax. Or try to, at least. All this stress is going to make your hair turn gray prematurely.”

  Elle had bigger things to worry about than her hair turning gray. She tried to pull herself together as she dragged herself downstairs. Somehow, she’d always seemed to make herself the mediator, the one who tried to smooth things over. She tried to stuff her feelings down deep in order to address everyone else’s. But, at the moment, they all threatened to spill out. Maybe it was the allegation against her father or Jimmy’s murder or the bank robbery. Maybe a mix of all those things. For some reason, she just felt ready to break.

  She sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile as she stepped into her father’s office. She felt everyone’s gaze on her, but the only person she dared to look at was Denton. His warm brown eyes studied her as they often did.

  Was Mark Denton trying to figure her out? Good luck with that.

  She cast aside her emotions, her questions, her fear and pulled herself up to full height. “We need to formulate what you’re going to say in your statement to the press, Dad.” She glanced at her father. “Has anyone heard from Bentley yet?”

  Brianna stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “He just left to go up to Northern Virginia a couple hours ago. He should be there in another hour. We’re waiting to hear back from him before we proceed.”

  “Smart thinking. Let’s go ahead and draft a statement that we can revise later.”

  Damage control. Between her rocky family life and her sister’s murder, it was almost like she’d been training her entire life to do this job. Sad, but true.

  “Brianna, how about if you and I go into my office to work on that. We’ll let the rest of the staff worry about how this happened. We’ll figure out how to handle it.”

  They headed down the hall and began working on drafting a press release for the next two hours. Elle tried not to let her mind slip to the issues and worries that kept begging for her attention. She tried not to think about Jimmy and the threat on her life. She attempted to not think about the allegations against her father. But in between writing an official statement, her mind wandered there.

  Denton made himself comfortable in a chair by the door, a laptop in front of him. He tapped away, doing something unknown to Elle. Every once in a while he’d scan the room. His gaze would focus outside the window. Still on the lookout for anyone planning an attack.

  At quarter past six, her father stepped into the room. Good. Maybe he’d heard from Bentley. She stood from her seat at the paper-covered table, smoothing her outfit as she did so, and stepped toward him. “Do you have an update?”

  Her father’s grim gaze made her tense. He stood rigid and his breaths seemed to come faster than normal. The news wasn’t good, Elle realized. Had the woman in the photo threatened to go to the media? Refused to sign a confidentiality agreement? Implied there had been more to their relationship?

  Her dad rubbed his hands together and lowered his head. “Bentley went to Nancy’s apartment.”

  “Okay...”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “The door was open, but no one answered. When Bentley stepped inside, he saw Nancy on the kitchen floor. Dead. Murdered.”

  SEVEN

  Murdered? That puzzle piece didn’t fit with the rest. Denton stood, a sense of foreboding haunting him. “Manner of death?”

  The senator’s gaze, suddenly weary, locked with Denton’s. “Bentley said there was blood. A lot of blood. And a knife on the floor. The police are there now, gathering evidence. Bentley has to stay until they finish questioning him.”

  “Did he give you any other details?” Denton’s mind raced through the possibilities, the connections, the links.

  “Bentley guessed, based on the way he found Nancy, that she’s been dead...for a couple days. That’s based purely on the way he found her, the state of her body. He’s not an expert, mind you.”

  “When was the last time you were up in D.C., sir?” He didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to cover every angle.

  The senator’s gaze snapped toward to Denton. “You’re not implying that I’m behind her death, are you?”

  “No, sir. But the media might. I just want to know what we’ll be up against.”

  Elle stepped forward, lines evident at the corner of her eyes. “You haven’t been up to D.C. in a week, right?”

  Her father’s gaze shifted ever so slightly. Most people would have missed it, but Denton didn’t. “When did I have time to go up there? Life has been in overdrive lately with the campaign.”

  The senator had been there. The questions were when and why? Denton would save them for later, when Elle wasn’t around. She’d already been through enough. Denton didn’t want to burden her further.

  Denton grasped Elle’s elbow. “It’s even more urgent now that we keep you guarded. Three people have died.”

  Her face lost all of its color. “They’re not connected.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Her fingers went to her temples again and th
is time she rubbed her skin there. “That’s crazy. Why would a bank robber who’s angry with me kill someone who was photographed last week with my father? It wouldn’t make sense.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  Elle shook her head. “You’re wrong. There’s no connection.”

  “Elle, everything is a possibility right now.”

  “Dad—” She stopped midthought and shook her head as if coming to terms with her ideas.

  He raised his hands. “I know nothing about this. I told you. I haven’t spoken with the woman in a week. I certainly know nothing about her death.”

  “How would someone know about that photo? It was taken before the bank robbery.” She sank into a chair. “This is getting creepier and more confusing by the moment. I don’t like it.”

  Denton sat beside her. “No one does. But we’re checking out every angle. The FBI will probably be called in, and they’ll put all their resources into figuring this out.”

  Elle said nothing, but he could tell she was still turning her thoughts over and over.

  She was right about one thing—the pieces weren’t fitting together, especially if that photo was taken last week before the bank robbery.

  He didn’t believe in coincidences. So just what were these madmen doing?

  * * *

  Elle lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had too much on her mind, too many unanswered questions and unresolved fears to sleep.

  Finally, she threw off the covers and pulled on a robe over her pajamas. Maybe a midnight snack would give her just enough sustenance to help her drift to sleep. If not, at least she’d break out from the prison of her thoughts for a brief moment.

  She opened her door and listened. Nothing. Good. Hopefully she could slip out without being heard.

  She tiptoed through the hall and down the stairs. In the kitchen, she poured a tall glass of milk and grabbed two leftover cookies. The massive windows in the kitchen—at one time a favorite aspect of the room—now felt intruding and dangerous. Instead of settling at the breakfast table, she tucked her cookies into a napkin and turned to go to the library.

  She gasped at the figure leaning casually in the doorway.

  Denton. Wearing jeans, a white shirt and a holster around his shoulders. Elle swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The man had never looked better.

  She quickly came to her senses, remembered that he was off-limits, on more than one level. “You wear that thing to bed?” She pointed to his holster.

  He smiled. “Maybe.”

  She held up her snack and shrugged. “I tried to be quiet.”

  “I’m trained to be alert.”

  “I should be thankful, then, because it proves you’re adept.”

  “You needed me to prove it?”

  She started past him, catching the scent of his cologne. She didn’t realize she even liked the smell until that moment. “I didn’t say that, but a little assurance is always nice.”

  “I see how it is. I’m going to have to prove myself to you.” He nodded. “I can respect that.”

  “Don’t mind me. I don’t trust easily. It comes with the lifestyle.”

  He nodded toward her cookies. “Hungry?”

  “Since you’re up, why don’t you grab something?”

  “I don’t mind if I do.”

  She paused and waited for him to snatch a couple cookies. He popped one in his mouth as they started back down the hallway. “Good stuff.”

  “Shirley, our cook, makes the best.”

  “Shirley Black. Fifty-one. From South Carolina. She’s worked for your family for fifteen years. Not married. No kids.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I know all about everyone in this household, from your dad’s advisors to your cook and even the people from the cleaning company who come three times a week.”

  “You did your research.”

  “Did you expect any less?”

  “Of course not.” She veered off into the library, one of the smaller rooms in the house—and one of the few with no windows. That gave her a moment of security, a temporary measure of peace.

  She hadn’t been in this room for a while but little had changed. Books lined three of the walls and a massive fireplace adorned the fourth. Two couches faced each other in the center of the room, atop an expensive oriental rug.

  “I used to love coming in here when I was girl. My sister and I would play library and would take turns as librarian.” Her smile faded as Emily’s picture came to mind. What she wouldn’t give to have her sister here to reminisce with.

  “It was a rough day.” Denton sat on one couch, and Elle sat across from him. She set her milk on the table between them before pulling her legs underneath her.

  “You can say that again.”

  “You holding up okay?”

  She shrugged, breaking off a piece of her cookie. “Define ‘holding up.’”

  “Keeping your sanity. Holding on to hope that things will get better. Finding peace in the middle of the storm.”

  She frowned thoughtfully before taking another bite of her cookie. “I don’t know. I know that I don’t like living like this.”

  “Come on now. Is it that bad having me around?” He flashed a winsome grin.

  “Believe me, it’s not your company that bothers me. It’s why you’re here. Last week my biggest worry was whether or not my father would be reelected. Now I’d just like to survive to make it to the election. I kind of thought I’d had my quota of crazy in life and that I had some kind of pass for the next decade or so. I guess life doesn’t work like that, does it?”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if it did?”

  “Yeah, it would.”

  Silence stretched for a moment. Denton leaned forward and picked up a photo album from underneath the table. He flipped it open. Pictures from one of her father’s fund-raising galas filled the pages.

  Elle’s heart twisted at the sight of the pictures. “Dad has a big gala every year. There’s one tomorrow, now that you mention it.” She shook her head. “It feels like it should be a month until then. Time has gotten away from me.”

  He flipped the pages. “Looks like fun.”

  She shrugged as memories tugged at her. She didn’t want to remember some of the moments that had transpired at those fund-raisers. They were too gut-wrenching. “It’s fun if you like rubbing elbows with people who think they’re more important than they are. Don’t get me wrong—they’re powerful and rich and many of them are generous. But it’s all about schmoozing and networking and I’ll-rub-your-back-if-you-rub-mine.”

  “Not your scene?” Denton glanced at her, the glow from the fireplace casting shadows across his gaze. Something about the way he looked at the moment made Elle want to reach up and touch the stubble at his cheek. She kept her hands firmly on her milk and cookies instead.

  She shook her head, turning her attention back to his questions and away from his dashing good looks. “No, not my scene. Just a necessary evil.”

  He grinned and turned another page. “Fancy-schmancy events wouldn’t be my scene, either.”

  “I actually prefer being around small groups of good friends. Crowds make me feel suffocated and slightly overwhelmed.”

  “You’re the opposite of your father, then?”

  She let out an airy laugh. “Most would say that. I try to put on a good front, though.”

  “I don’t know. I can see some of the same determination in your eyes. Crowds may not be your preference, but you’re good at being surrounded by people.” He paused on a picture. He pointed to it before casting her a questioning glance.

  Elle caught a glance at the snapshot and froze. The very subject she’d hoped to avoid, the subject that still made her gut squeeze. So much f
or keeping the conversation at a surface level. She cleared her throat. “I thought I’d gotten rid of all of those pictures.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  She glanced away from the picture and at the fireplace for a moment, watching the flames dance and crackle. Its warmth heated her cheeks and should have made her feel cozy and at ease. Instead, her throat felt dry and achy. She licked her lips before looking back at Denton. “Ex-fiancé, not boyfriend.”

  “You were engaged?”

  “Until about eight months ago. Sometimes I think our breakup hurt my father more than it hurt me. He saw Preston as his protégé, I suppose.”

  He moved the book away and leaned against the couch, draping an arm casually along the back. “What happened?”

  She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Long version or short?”

  “Not as many details as you’d give your girlfriends but more than you’d give a stranger.”

  She had to smile at that. At least Denton didn’t pull any punches. She respected that. “Preston and I met at one of my father’s fund-raisers. He was—is, I should say—a brilliant businessman. He starts companies then sells them, makes a bundle of money, and moves on to start new businesses. He was fun and exciting. He fit right in with my family and we had a whirlwind romance, as they say.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Yeah, there’s a ‘but.’ The ‘but’ is that he lived for the next venture. Not only in his career, but in his relationships. He had what some people would call a wandering eye. I tried to justify it at first, say it was just a guy thing. Then he cheated on me.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her heart thudded as she remembered those eye-opening moments when she’d realized their relationship was anything but ideal or perfect, when she’d realized it was filled with heartbreak and that she had to make some decisions that would affect the course of her future.

  “Yeah, ouch. Preston apologized profusely afterward and promised to never do it again. I decided to give him another chance and that’s when I came across some text messages from other women. Who knows how many women he’d been cheating on me with? One day I realized I couldn’t live the rest of my life with someone who acted like that. As much as I treasure forgiveness, it wasn’t worth losing my self-respect.”