“Which is where I come into play,” Caine said. “He makes large contributions to political campaigns in exchange for unethical favors.”
“Bingo,” Baird said. “Did Popkov aka Logan James make any specific requests when you met him in the alley?”
Caine smiled at Scottie. “We hardly had time to talk before our resident paparazzo scared him away.”
Baird appeared satisfied with her answer. “We checked with your assistant. As of a few minutes ago, your campaign has not received a contribution from anyone using any of the names on these passports.” He gestured at his computer. “According to your assistant, Logan James has made no further contact with your office. Has he reached out to you directly?”
“Most definitely not, Mr. Baird,” Caine said in an irritated tone.
“Needless to say, we have concerns for your safety, Senator,” Baird said. “We have taken measures to beef up your security.”
Caine peered at Baird over the top of her reading glasses. “I’m not worried about my safety, Mr. Baird. I’m surrounded by my Secret Service agents 24/7. But I am worried about Scottie. Are you offering her protection?”
“We can certainly do that,” Baird said.
“Good! Then I guess that means we’re done here.” Caine rose from the table, and everyone stood to leave. She pulled Scottie aside. “If I’m elected in November, I want you to call me. I will be looking for staff members with your honesty and integrity. You’re a breath of fresh hair in a complicated world full of corruption and hate.”
24
After the meeting adjourned, Scottie bolted for the front door with Guy hot on her heels.
“Wait, Scottie. You can’t just leave me here.”
“Why don’t you catch a ride with your best friend, Rich?” she yelled over her shoulder.
“But I promised Robbie I’d bring him back his car.”
“Fine, take it.” She tossed the car keys to him over her head.
She wove her way through the maze of cars parked haphazardly in the driveway. When she got to the street, she took off running, ignoring the dark clouds brewing in the west. Her legs ached with pent-up energy. She needed to cut loose and fly, to release the anger and hurt and humiliation.
She was half a mile down the road when Guy pulled up alongside her. “Look, Scottie. I know you’re mad at me, but at least give me a chance to explain.”
She slowed to a walk. “What’s left to explain? You’re a key player in the Republican Party. I get it. You were just doing your job, and the sex was your bonus.”
“You know that’s not true.” He leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in the car. It’s a long way back to the motel, and there’s a storm system moving in.”
She stopped walking and pondered the darkening cloud behind her. “Fine, but only because I don’t want to get struck by lightning.” She got in the car. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Then I’ll talk and you listen.” He started driving in the direction of the hotel. “But I don’t really know where to start.”
“Exactly. You’ve dug your grave so deep, nothing you can say will help you climb out.”
He glanced over at her. “Regardless of what Rich wanted, I’m the one who made the decision to go on this road trip with you. I never tried to hide my feelings for you.”
“Right, you tried to pick me up the first time we met at the Richmond airport, even though you knew I was married.”
He pounded the steering wheel. “You’re twisting everything around.”
“No, Guy, that’s your job. Twisting things around is what politicians do.”
He threw his hands up. “I admit it. I should have told you about my job from the start.”
“Well, duh!” She bared her teeth. “You’re such a liar. Even when you confessed to being a politician, you left out the most important part. You’re not just working on the campaign. You’re considered top brass in the Republican Party.”
His shoulders slumped. “Either way, my involvement in your investigation was a conflict of interest. I tried to tell you that, if you remember correctly.”
“An honest man would have tried harder. But you couldn’t walk away from the chance to bring the election to a screeching halt for the Democrats. Tell me, Guy, does being the Republican Party Hero come with a big fat promotion and raise?”
His face tightened. “You begged me, Scottie. You told me you had no one else to turn to. Someone had already ransacked your house. I wasn’t about to let you go off and get yourself killed, which would’ve happened last night if I hadn’t been there. Yes, I should’ve come clean with you from the start. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.” He drove into the motel parking lot and turned off the car. He shifted in his seat to face her. “The truth is, my feelings for you clouded my vision. The more time we spent together, the harder I fell for you. I haven’t felt like this about anyone in a long time. If ever. I had dug myself into a deep hole. I was terrified you would bury me when you found out the truth.”
“I’m not going to bury you, Guy. I just don’t want anything else to do with you.” She got out of the car, and as the first drops of rain began to fall, she dashed up the stairs to their room. She was gathering her belongings in her suitcase by the time Guy walked in.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing. I’m going to rent a car and drive home.” She went to the bathroom for her toiletries.
“That’s ridiculous,” Guy said, following her into the bathroom. “I’m driving right through Richmond. I can easily drop you off.”
“No thanks,” she said, zipping up her cosmetic case.
She tried to push him out of her way, but he took her by the arms. “You shouldn’t be alone right now, Scottie. The FBI has offered you protection. If you won’t let me help you, at least let them.”
She stared him down. “Because they didn’t do their job and Popkov is still on the loose?” She wrangled free of him. “I don’t need their protection. I’m leaving for Rio in two days, and there’s a good chance I won’t be coming back.”
She hadn’t thought about it until that very moment, but the idea of disappearing to someplace remote and tropical felt liberating. Be free, little birdie. Go forth and fly.
“What would you do then, become a beach bum?” Guy said. “You won’t be able to post any photographs, at least not under your byline.”
“I’m done with investigative journalism.” She tossed her cosmetic case in her suitcase and wheeled it to the door. “Maybe I’ll change my name and become a nature photographer. But whatever I decide to do, it won’t be for you to worry about.”
*
Scottie drove six hours through pouring rain as she headed north from Morehead City to Reagan National Airport in Washington. She returned her rental car, and then took the Metro to Guy’s apartment building in Logan circle where she retrieved her Mini and got back on the interstate, this time heading south to Richmond. With two restroom breaks, one trip through the drive-through at Chick-fil-A in Roanoke Rapids, work zone backups near Alexandria, and rush hour traffic north of Richmond, she arrived home just before six o’clock on Tuesday evening.
She was none-too-pleased to find an unmarked car parked in front of her house.
Two FBI agents greeted her on the sidewalk as she wheeled her suitcase to the front door. “Evening, ma’am. We’re with the FBI.” The taller of the two stepped forward. “I’m Agent Kennedy and this is my partner Nixon.” They simultaneously flashed their badges at her.
“Wait. Kennedy and Nixon. That’s a bit of a coincidence. You didn’t actually guard those presidents, did you?”
Nixon, who kind of looked like Richard Nixon with a nose that spread across his face and dark hair balding at both temples, was quick to say, “No, ma’am. We’re not that old,”
Scottie did the mental math. “Oh, right, my bad. That would make you at least eighty.”
&nb
sp; “We have orders to protect you, ma’am,” Kennedy said.
“Thanks anyway, but I don’t need protection,” Scottie said, searching her bag for her house keys.
“We can’t ignore orders, ma’am,” Kennedy said. “We need to search the premises before you enter the house.”
A vision of Mikhail Popkov lying in wait for her, hiding in her downstairs powder room, popped into her head. “I guess there’s no harm in that. I’ll warn you, though. I haven’t had a chance to straighten up since the last time these Russian mobsters ransacked my house.” She pushed the door open, then took a step back allowing them entry ahead of her.
Weapons drawn, Kennedy and Nixon made their way to the back of the house. Closing the door behind her, Scottie parked her suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and entered her immaculate living room. Will.
She texted her brother: I owe you one.
He responded right away: Actually you owe my cleaning service two hundred dollars. Consider it an early Christmas present. Are you home from your adventure?
Scottie: Yep. Just walked in.
Will: Cool. I’ll stop by on my way home.
Scottie: That’s not a good idea. I don’t want you tangled up in this mess I created for myself.
Will: I’m on my way.
Scottie: Seriously. I’m fine. The FBI is here to protect me.
Will: Leaving the office now.
Room by room, Kennedy and Nixon checked every inch of her house for intruders. They even had handheld gadgets to check for listening devices. Once they declared the house safe, Kennedy said, “We’ll be in the car out front if you need anything.”
Scottie walked them to the front door. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I’m really fine here by myself. My brother is on his way over. If it makes you feel better, I can get him to stay here with me. At least for the next two days, until I leave for the Olympics in Rio.”
The agents exchanged a look Scottie couldn’t interpret. “What time is your flight on Thursday?” Kennedy asked. “We’ll plan your transfer to the airport, to make sure you’re not followed.”
As much as she hated to admit it, Scottie liked the idea of having a private escort to the airport. She certainly didn’t want to drag Popkov and company to Rio with her. “Around six p.m., I think. But I’ll have to check and let you know.”
Kennedy jotted the information down on a small notepad he kept in his inside suit pocket. “If you will confirm your itinerary, we will have someone make the arrangements. Also, Baird has scheduled a meeting with our sketch artist for two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. He asked that you work with her by telling her whatever you remember about Popkov’s assistant.”
“I didn’t see that much of his face,” Scottie said. “He was behind me most of the time, but I’ll tell her what I remember.”
“In the meantime, we’ll have a team guarding your house around the clock,” Nixon said. “We change shifts every eight hours—at seven, three, and eleven.”
She cast a nervous glance at the house across the street, where her elderly neighbor kept tabs on Scottie through her upstairs bedroom window. “I’m sure my neighbors will love that.”
“Ma’am,” Nixon said, his tone solemn. “I think you’re underestimating the seriousness of the situation. Mikhail Popkov is wanted on murder and sex trafficking charges, and a whole host of drug-related felonies. We are not dealing with nice people.” He handed her a business card with one number printed on it. “The team stationed in front of your house will be in possession of this cell phone at all times. If anything arises your suspicion, you call this number.” He jabbed at the card with his long finger. “Even if you hear a scratching sound in your attic that turns out to be a mouse, it’s our job to check it out.”
“I don’t have mice in my attic, Agent Nixon, but I hear you loud and clear. You’ve succeeded in scaring the shit out of me. I’m pretty sure I won’t sleep for the rest of my life.”
“Oh, you’ll sleep alright. Just not until this evil bastard is behind bars.”
25
Will arrived at her door ten minutes later with a twelve-pack of Blue Moon beer, a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, and his phone glued to his ear.
“Who are you talking to?” She relieved him of his burden, and walked the beer and wine back to the kitchen.
“I’m on hold with Chanello’s,” he said, following her. “I’m starving. Do you want pepperoni or sausage?”
“Both.” Scottie opened a beer and handed it to Will. “For a moment there, I thought you were calling Mom and Dad.”
He dropped to a bar stool. “I did that on the way over here. Lucky for you they’re boarding a plane for Anchorage. Otherwise they’d be sharing your bed tonight.”
Scottie smacked her forehead. “I forgot about their anniversary cruise. I meant to order flowers for their stateroom.”
Will held the phone away from his mouth. “We still have time to do that tomorrow.”
Scottie filled a wine glass to the rim with Chardonnay. “What did you tell them?”
“Only what I know, that you’d gotten in over your head in one of your investigations. I assured them they had no reason to worry since the FBI is acting as your personal bodyguards.”
“I’m sure they’re freaking out.”
“Of course,” Will said. “As you might imagine, Dad was spouting lists of names of people who might be able to help and Mom was praying.”
“So much for their Happy Bon Voyage. Poor Mom and Dad can’t even celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary without worrying about their troubled child.” Will shot her a look and she added, “Sorry. Let me be sure to make the distinction. Their troubled daughter, I mean.”
When the pizza person came on the line, Will recited their order, waited for the amount, and hung up.
“Wonder if my bodyguards will let the delivery man come to the door,” Scottie said.
“Depends on which delivery guy it is. If it’s the one I’m thinking of, he might enjoy being frisked.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She left him sitting by himself at the kitchen counter and walked to the windows in the adjoining room, staring through the plantation shutters to the courtyard.
Will got up and followed her into the other room. “So…” He dropped down in the leather chair, and kicked his feet up on the ottoman. “I assume this current drama has to do with the photographs you took of Senator Caine. Tell me everything, and don’t leave out the part about the sex and heartbreak.”
Scottie jerked her head back, away from the window and toward him. “How’d you know?”
“Seriously? Your cheeks are all rosy, and the spark has returned to your eyes. You’ve been walking around here like a zombie for as long as I can remember. Whoever he is, he made you feel something again, although I’m getting a vibe that that something might not be bliss.”
She sighed. “I can’t get anything past you.”
“Nope. You never have been able to hide your feelings from me.”
“I have this creepy feeling someone is watching us.” She closed all the shutters in the room, and then sank down to the sofa opposite him “I’ve really done it this time, bro. As if my life wasn’t already messed up enough with my screwed-up marriage. I started a gang war with a Russian Mob boss.”
Will sat up straighter in his chair. “I think you need to begin at the beginning.”
She told him the whole story, from meeting Guy in the airport to her close encounter with Popkov in Beaufort the night before. “It’s all your fault, Will. You told this little birdie to go forth and fly, and look where it got me.”
“Pu-lease, Scottie. I didn’t mean for you to take on the Russian mob.”
The doorbell rang, and she went to answer it with Will on her heels.
She thought she knew them all by heart, but Scottie had never seen this particular delivery person. Small in stature, he looked like he was fifteen, more a boy than a man, probably a VCU college stude
nt going through late puberty.
“Dude.” The delivery boy pointed at the unmarked sedan at the curb. “That guy in that car right there asked to see my ID. Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Will brushed Scottie aside and reached for his wallet. “You’re fine. It’s my sister they are here for. She’s under house arrest for a crime she didn’t commit.”
The delivery boy cast her a wary look.
Scottie took the pizza box from him. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been locked up in his cage too long.”
Will gave the delivery boy thirty dollars and told him to keep the change. “Geez, thanks,” the boy said, backpedalling down the sidewalk. “Y’all have a nice night now.”
Setting the pizza on the kitchen island, Scottie and Will dug in as though they hadn’t seen food in days. Scottie peeled a piece of pepperoni off her slice and popped it in her mouth. “Okay, so let’s hear it.”
“Hear what?” he asked, stuffing half a slice of pizza in his mouth at once.
“Your reaction to the story I just told you. Just as you can read me, I can tell when something’s on your mind.”
“Let’s forget about the Russian mob for a minute.” He took a gulp of beer to wash down his pizza. “Aside from the fact that he lied to you, which we’ll get back to in a minute, is this guy, Guy, a good guy?” He took another large bite of pizza. “Like who names their son Guy.”
Scottie hesitated, nibbling at her pizza. “I thought so at first, but now I’m not so sure. I’m having a hard time being objective about him after he lied to me.”
“See,”—he pointed his crust at her—”that’s my issue with this whole thing. He didn’t actually lie to you. He just withheld a vital piece of information about himself. And I gotta say, Scott, I probably would’ve done the same thing in his shoes. Hell, any man with an ounce of ambition would’ve done the same thing.”
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