The Waterfall

by Carla Neggers

  “I don’t think of myself as blackmailing a United States senator. I think of myself as blackmailing a father who doesn’t want the world to know his son was balling a woman who wasn’t his wife, two weeks before he dropped dead on a Washington tennis court.”

  Jack felt a sudden, stabbing pain, a hot arrow through him. He took a shallow breath. “I want you out of my office. Now.”

  “I can arrange to have you see a sample of the pictures.” Mowery leaned forward on his chair, confident, his gaze as cold and calculating as any Jack had ever seen. “Go ahead, Senator. Call the Capitol Police. Have them haul me off. I’ve slipped the noose before. I’ll slip it again. And even if I don’t, the pictures go out.”

  “You smug, insolent—”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I won’t pay one single, solitary dime to you.”

  “Okeydokey.” Mowery got to his feet. He wore a light gray suit, fitting in with the tourists, lobbyists, press and staff floating around the Senate office building. The perfect Everyman. “Consider the first batch of pictures already on its way to various media outlets and to Lucy Swift, the wronged widow.”

  Jack couldn’t speak. His jaw ached from tension. The stabbing pain in his lower abdomen spread upward. He almost wished he could drop dead of a heart attack right here, right now. He’d watched his son collapse and die. It had been so quick, so unexpected. So easy.

  Colin. Dear God. What did a father owe his dead son’s memory? What did he, Jack Swift, United States senator, owe his son’s widow, his son’s children?

  And what did he owe the people of his state? Himself?

  “Remember, Senator.” Mowery seemed very sure of himself. “Sex scandals are always fresh, particularly when they’re about anyone or anything related to a powerful, sanctimonious, squeaky-clean senator.”

  “How dare you.”

  Mowery ignored him. “And, of course, no matter what the papers do, Lucy will know. You won’t be able to stuff that cat back into the bag once she sees her dead husband with another woman’s mouth—”

  “Stop. Just stop. Colin’s been dead for three years. Have you no decency?”

  “He didn’t. Why should I?”

  “It’s my decency you’re preying on,” Jack said, more to himself than to the man standing across from him.

  “Look, Jack. You can’t change what your baby boy did. You can’t change that I know about it and have pictures. You can only decide if it’s going to remain between us or if the whole world’s going to know.”

  “I could kill you with my bare hands.” Jack could hear his voice cracking; he sounded ancient, pathetic. He was a goddamn dinosaur. “Damn you, if I were younger—”

  “Well, my friend, guess what? You’re not younger. And you don’t have the pictures. I do. And,” he added pointedly, “I’m better at this than you are. I have contingency plans. You pay me or you lose. Period.”

  “I won’t sell my vote.”

  Darren laughed. “What would I want with your vote?”

  “And I won’t betray my country,” Jack said.

  “Jesus. That’s right out of a World War Two movie. Corny, Jack. Real corny. I don’t want your vote, and I don’t want state secrets. I want cash.”

  Cash. It sounded so simple. “How much?”

  “Ten grand. It’s not even enough to get the IRS interested.”

  Which meant it wouldn’t end here, today. Ten thousand was pennies to a man like Darren Mowery.

  Jack was silent, the pain eating away at his insides.

  Mowery dropped a piece of paper on his desk. “That’s where you can wire the money. With the Internet, it’s easy. Shouldn’t take two minutes.”

  “I know who you are. I can find you.”

  “So? I thought about doing this anonymously. You know, the altered voice on the phone in the middle of the night telling you to stuff twenty-dollar bills in a backpack and leave it at the Vietnam Memorial. I figured, nah, too complicated. Too likely you’d hang up and go back to sleep. This way, you know exactly who you’re dealing with.”

  “An arrogant lowlife who threw away his own reputation and career—”

  “You got it, Senator. That means I have nothing to lose. If I were still an honest man and you were my client, I’d tell you to pay the ten grand and cross your fingers.”

  He started for the door.

  Jack rose, his knees unsteady. “I want all hard copies of the pictures and all the negatives.”

  “That’s pretty old-fashioned. I could have them on computer disk by now. Truth is, Senator, with what we can do on a computer these days, they could be fakes.” He went to the door, turned and winked. “Transfer the ten grand into my account.”

  He left.

  Jack staggered back to his chair. For thirty years, he had refused to succumb to cynicism, venom, temptation or arrogance. He did his best. He was honest with himself and the people he represented. That was all he’d ever asked of himself, all he’d ever expected anyone else to ask of him.

  Now, he was facing an impossible choice.

  If Colin had cheated on Lucy, she’d have known about it. That was Lucy Blacker. She looked reality square in the eye.

  But this was her secret to keep, Jack thought. His son was dead and deserved to rest in peace. His widow and children deserved to go on with their lives. Maybe the affair was part of the reason she’d moved to Vermont.

  Mowery hadn’t gone to Lucy with his sordid blackmail scheme because she wasn’t the senator; she didn’t have the power, the reputation, the money that Jack had.

  But what did Darren Mowery really want?

  Ten grand was a small price to pay for his family’s peace. Giving in to a blackmailer, Jack thought, was the bigger price.

  If he was lucky, it would end here. But Darren Mowery hadn’t walked into Jack’s office because he was lucky. He wanted something, and Jack doubted it was ten thousand dollars.

  When Darren Mowery walked past her desk in Senator Swift’s outer office, Barbara refused even to look up. She didn’t dare meet his eye. He was so brazen! Her stomach muscles clamped down painfully. He’d warned her that he believed in the direct approach.

  So, the deed was done.

  Barbara did her meditation breathing. She wasn’t very good at it. Even at home, with her eyes shut and scented candles lit, she found it difficult to focus on her inhaling and exhaling, to let her obsessive thoughts quiet.

  She was not to contact Darren. He would contact her when he felt it appropriate. Even if she wanted to, she had no idea how or where to reach him. That wasn’t important, she told herself. It wasn’t that she trusted him or felt she had enough hold on him—she simply didn’t care if he made off with all their profits. She didn’t care about the money for what it could buy. She wanted to see a frightened, desperate Jack turn to her for help. She wanted him to understand just what she meant to him.

  Let him suffer for taking her for granted. Let him learn.

  She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Oh, God! She wanted her life back. She wanted to be herself again. If only she’d never said anything to Jack. If only she’d stayed home this past week and hadn’t bothered Lucy to relieve her own tension.

  Oh, but it had felt good! And if Lucy came crying to Jack, so be it. Barbara could turn it into another lesson. The only danger was if Darren found out.

  And the police.

  Acid rose in her throat.

  “Good Lord,” a staff member said. “What’s Darren Mowery doing here?”

  Barbara looked up as if she’d been deep in concentration. “Oh, you know the senator. He’ll give anyone a few minutes of his time to make their case.”

  Her colleague shuddered. He’d been on Jack Swift’s staff almost as long as she had, but he wasn’t indispensable. “The guy gives me the creeps.”

  Barbara returned to her work. It was routine, nothing stimulating. She’d once been so ambitious, determined to become the senator’s chief of staff, possibly his press secretary. Secretl
y, she’d hoped he’d run for the presidency.

  She’d had so many goals and dreams. Somehow they had gotten away from her. Now here she was, in danger of becoming the sort of woman she loathed. Obsessive, secretive, in love with the boss. She was pathetic.

  Except she wasn’t.

  Her alliance with Darren was a show of strength. It demonstrated a great belief in herself, not cowardice.

  When he finally emerged from his office an hour later, Jack looked perfectly normal. He was so understated and mannerly, not a bombastic ideologue. He wasn’t a rabble-rouser, which sometimes allowed people the mistaken belief he had weak convictions. The premature deaths of his wife and son only added to his mystique, his appeal. He was the last senator in Washington anyone would think could be the victim of blackmail.

  He came to Barbara’s desk. Her heart jumped.

  But there was no sign of fear or even distraction when he spoke. “Barbara, I’ve decided to spend the August recess in Vermont with Lucy and the kids.”

  “You’re not going home?”

  “It’s an easy drive to Rhode Island. I’ll manage.”

  Barbara saw now that he was a little off, not quite himself. Of course. He was a strong man, and he’d want to hold on as long as he could before confiding in anyone, even her. But Vermont. This was not a good development. Darren must have triggered an urge for Jack to see his grandchildren.

  “J.T.’s been wanting to show me his favorite fishing spots. Madison…” He breathed in, nodded to himself. “Yes, August in Vermont. That’s what I’ll do. Do you mind, Barbara?”

  “Mind what?” She wondered if she’d missed something, or if Jack’s encounter with Darren was making him obtuse.

  He ran a hand through his gray hair, and only because she’d known him for so long could Barbara detect his agitation. “I’d like to rent a house in Vermont, close to Lucy. Could you make arrangements?”

  She smiled through her agony. This wasn’t going at all as she’d calculated. “Of course.”

  “And don’t say anything to Lucy just yet. This is so spur-of-the-moment—I don’t want to disappoint her and the children if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason.”

  Like blackmail? Barbara quickly grabbed a stack of papers, as if she had a million things to do and Jack was just giving her one more easily handled detail. “I understand. I’ll start making calls right away.”

  “I think it might be better if you went up to Vermont yourself,” he said.

  “What?” She felt so thickheaded, unable to follow the logic of his thinking. Why didn’t he pull her into his office and beg her to help him with Darren Mowery’s blackmail scheme?

  “We don’t have much time before the August recess, and you’ll need to rent a house and get it ready rather quickly.” He smiled, looking a bit less distracted. “Unless you’d rather not seize this as an excuse to get out of sweltering Washington for a few more days.”

  She made herself laugh. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’ll tie up a few loose ends here and be off. As I recall, there are several vacation homes above Lucy’s house. I’ll see if one’s available to rent.”

  Jack seemed to relax. “Thanks, Barbara. I knew I could count on you.”

  Did he? She wondered if this was a start. Or maybe this was just a way to get rid of her while he coped with blackmail. Why have her around, adding to the pressure on him? Perhaps it was an excuse to get her out of town.

  Barbara felt sick. She’d thrown herself at him, poured out her soul. They were pretending nothing had happened, but he knew it had, and she knew. She’d broken the bond of trust between them by saying out loud what she knew they both were thinking. She’d hoped blackmail would jolt him out of his denial about his feelings toward her. Barbara, I’m so sorry. I need you. You know I do!

  Instead, it was off to Vermont with her.

  But this was her job as his personal assistant, she reminded herself. She handled the odd details of Jack Swift’s life as a senator, a grandfather and a father-in-law.

  He couldn’t know that by sending her to Vermont, he was sending her back into the lion’s den.

  She would leave Lucy alone. She had to. If Darren found out, he’d kill her.

  “Barbara?”

  She smiled. “I was just thinking that Lucy could have picked a worse place to live than Vermont. It’ll be fun going up there for a few days. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Lucy plopped a colander of freshly picked green beans on her lap and sighed happily. Two normal days. She’d been to the hardware store to replace the glass in her dining room window, she’d patched the hole in the wall, she’d reported back to Rob Kiley that she hadn’t found any firearms or ammunition in her son’s possession or anywhere on her property. He likewise reported that Georgie was “clean.”

  And after a busy day of office work, she and Madison and J.T. had picked beans.

  “Do you think Daisy made Sebastian pick beans?” Madison asked, joining her mother on the porch.

  Lucy grabbed a handful of fresh, tender beans and started snapping off the ends. “I don’t think anyone’s ever ‘made’ him do anything.”

  “Well, his horses were beautiful.”

  That, Lucy allowed, was true. Beautiful horses, mutt dogs, no electricity, no running water. Sebastian Redwing had never been an easy man to figure out. Luckily, she didn’t have to. He was in Wyoming on his hammock, coughing dust.

  While Madison helped with snapping beans, J.T. was making himself scarce. It was a warm, fragrant, perfect Vermont summer evening. In a way, Lucy thought, asking Sebastian for help and having him turn her down so unceremoniously had been cathartic, forcing her to dig into her own resources. She really was on her own.

  Colin couldn’t have known, she thought. When he’d extracted her promise, Sebastian Redwing had been a different man from the rude burnout she’d found in Wyoming.

  “Mom,” J.T. yelled from inside, “Grandpa’s on the phone!”

  “Bring the phone out here.”

  Madison dropped a half-dozen snapped beans back into the colander. “Can I talk to him?”

  Lucy nodded. “Of course.” J.T. ran out with the portable phone, deposited it in her lap and jumped off the porch, taking all the steps in one leap. Talking to their grandfather, Lucy thought, always perked up both her children. He would never let them know he disapproved of their mother’s decision to move them out of Washington. But he’d let her know, in his subtle, gentlemanly way. She got the message. He hadn’t lasted in Washington as long as he had by being wishy-washy.

  “Hi, Jack,” she said into the phone. “What’s up?”

  “I had a minute and thought I’d give you a call.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  “How are you?”

  “Madison and I are snapping beans on the front porch.”

  “Sounds idyllic.”

  She laughed, but she detected a slight note of criticism mixed with an unexpected wistfulness. “I don’t know about idyllic. How’re you? How’s Washington?”

  “I’m fine. Washington’s hot.”

  “It’s summer. Let’s talk again when the cherry blossoms are out there and it’s mud season here.”

  “J.T. said you had a good trip to Wyoming.”

  “It was quick, but we enjoyed ourselves.”

  “Did you stop in to see Sebastian Redwing?”

  Lucy paused. Did Jack know about her promise to Colin? Was he suspicious that visiting Sebastian meant trouble? He didn’t sound suspicious, but then, he wouldn’t. Jack Swift knew how to keep his emotions in check better than most. “Yes,” she said carefully. “It made for an interesting field trip with the kids.”

  “I gather they’re not going to camp this summer.”

  They hadn’t gone to camp last summer, either. “I don’t see the need, given where we live and what I do.”

  Lucy kept her tone light, deciding to take his question at face value and not read any criticism into it. But she knew it was there. Her fa
ther-in-law would never openly criticize her parenting skills, but she knew he thought his grandchildren’s upbringing lacking. That Madison and J.T. could kayak, canoe, hike, swim in an ice-cold stream, pick their own vegetables, climb trees, fish and wander in the woods of Vermont was all well and good—but they weren’t learning sailing, golf, tennis. Their occasional lessons at the town rec department didn’t count.

  “They need their own lives, Lucy,” Jack said softly.

  Lucy was taken aback, but forced a laugh. “That’s what they tell me every time I insist they clean their rooms. ‘Mom, I need my own life.’”

  “Do you think Colin would have wanted them raised in Vermont? Snapping beans, running through the woods—Lucy, it’s a hard world out there. They need to be ready.”

  “Colin’s not here, Jack, and I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Of course, you are. I’m so sorry.”

  He was sorry, but he’d said what he felt. He was a man without a wife or son, and Lucy had taken his grandchildren off to Vermont. She wasn’t raising them the way he and Eleanor had raised Colin. Lucy understood, but wished he could simply say he missed having them right there in Washington instead of implying she wasn’t a good mother.

  “Forget it, Jack. Look, Madison and J.T. would love to see you. Any chance you can get up here during the August recess?”

  “I hope so.”

  “We’d like to sneak down to Rhode Island for a few days, if you’re available. And Madison’s looking forward to her trip to Washington this fall.”

  Lucy glanced at her daughter, who was listening intently to every word. If there was a way to use her grandfather to convince her mother to let her do a semester in Washington, Madison would jump at it. But as much as he might disapprove of Vermont, Lucy was confident Jack would never undermine Lucy that way.

  “She’d love to stay longer than a three-day weekend,” Lucy said. “Here, would you like to talk to her?”

  “Yes, thanks. Great talking to you, Lucy. Oh, by the way, Sidney Greenburg sends her best.”

  Lucy interpreted this to mean Sidney and Jack were still seeing each other. She hoped a relationship might take some of the focus off her own shortcomings, and the edge off his loneliness. “Thanks. Tell her the Costa Rica trip is coming along—she wants to be the first to sign up.”