I’d imagined he’d be neater.
Jack moved with care as he skulked down a hallway and disappeared around a corner. I held my breath, listening for movements. I stayed there for a few seconds more before hurrying across the threshold.
He expected me to stay outside when all the good stuff was happening inside? Like that was going to happen.
A cloying musky stench hung thick in the entranceway’s stale air. Holding my nose, I continued down the same short hallway Jack had taken and found myself in a small living room at the back of the house. That’s where I found the source of the odor. A heaping pile of dirty laundry started on the hardwood floor in the living room and spread onto an end table and over the back of a brown leather sofa.
So Jack was a class-A slob. I could live with that . . . probably.
Before realizing what I was doing, I’d already gathered up a few dirty shirts and a scattering of magazines from the floor. A loud crash from the front of the house jolted me back to the dangerous situation at hand.
A man shouted. Glass shattered.
I dropped the dirty clothes as I charged toward the noise.
There was another shout.
And a vile curse.
I grabbed a large ceramic lamp, ripping it from its outlet. Nadeem was a highly trained killer. Not that Jack was lacking in those skills; those deadly skills were something about him that filled me with both fear and excitement. But I wasn’t willing to take the chance Jack might get hurt.
I ran down the hallway, leapt over a half-empty laundry basket, and burst through a door that led into a small office.
By the light of the streetlamp shining into the room’s lone window, I could make out the shadowy figures of two men as they fought. Fists flying. Heads ducking. They seemed evenly matched.
But that still didn’t explain why Nadeem would want to break into Jack’s house.
“Nadeem!” I held the lamp like it was a baseball bat that I was prepared to swing.
Both men looked up at me in surprise.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
Before I could get an answer, Jack’s fist connected with Nadeem’s jaw. The assistant curator dropped to the ground like a sack of topsoil.
“What did you do that for? I was trying to question him.” I dropped the lamp on the floor and knelt down next to Nadeem.
Jack joined me. “He hit me first.”
While I grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair to tuck under Nadeem’s head, Jack unzipped Nadeem’s black jacket and dug around in any pocket he could find.
“Plus he broke into my house.”
“You have a point there.”
Nadeem groaned.
“He’s unarmed,” Jack reported.
“Then what did I see in his hand back at the house? It looked like a gun.”
“I don’t know. Maybe this?” Jack handed me a heavy flashlight that was lying on the floor.
“That might be what I saw,” I said, turning the flashlight over in my hand.
Jack sat back on his heels and rubbed the side of his head where I’d hit him earlier that evening.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, feeling kind of guilty for that.
“Hey! Who’s in here?” a man’s voice seemed to echo through the house. “Why is the door wide open? And the electricity, is it switched off? Jack? Dan?”
Jack muttered, “I didn’t want it to happen like this,” under his breath as he helped me to my feet. He then called out, “Back here!”
A uniformed police officer came barreling into the room. He shined his flashlight in my face. I held up my hand to block its bright glare. “Oh! Sorry, Jack. I didn’t know you had company.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You never have company.” He had the same dark hair and general sculpted features as Jack’s. “I’ll . . . I’ll just make a quick sandwich and get out of here.”
Nadeem groaned and rolled around on the floor as he started to regain consciousness. Jack pressed his foot on his chest and growled, “Don’t move.”
The flashlight’s beam jerked to illuminate Nadeem’s face as it twisted in pain. “Wait a minute. What’s going on here?” The officer flicked his bright light over the room. Like the rest of the house, the office was a mess, with papers scattered all over an antique oak desk and on the hardwood floor. The top drawer of a file cabinet was open. A crystal trophy lay smashed next to the large oak desk. “What happened in here? It’s a mess.”
How can you tell? This room looks just like the rest of the house. I had to bite my tongue not to say it. But really, have some pride in where you live.
Jack toed Nadeem, who was now fully conscious but had (wisely) decided to stay put on his back. “This jerk broke in and tossed the place.”
The officer pulled out his handcuffs. “Do you want me to arrest him?”
“Not yet.” There was a wild gleam in Jack’s eyes that made my heart pound, and not in a good way. He rested his booted foot squarely on Nadeem’s chest again and pressed. “Why don’t you take a walk around the block?” He paused a beat. “Take Casey with you.”
Nadeem let out a cry of distress.
“I’m not going anywhere.” With a wide stance, I planted myself like an invasive weed. I wasn’t going to budge from the spot where I stood on the room’s hardwood floor. I was determined to discover what Nadeem was doing firsthand.
“Oh, ho! So you’re Casey?” The officer shined his flashlight in my face again. His grin widened as he looked me over from head to toe. He nodded his approval. “Nice.”
“Shut up,” Jack grumbled.
“And you are?” I asked at the same time.
“I’m Frank, of course. Jack’s brother.”
“His brother? Your brother is a cop?” I looked at Jack as I asked it.
“What? Jack hasn’t mentioned me? Jack, I’m hurt.” Not so hurt that he didn’t chuckle and wink at me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m coming off a long shift and seriously need to get something to eat.”
“While you’re at it, could you get the lights back on?” Jack called as Frank left, leaving us in darkness again.
“Your brother works with the police?” I rounded on Jack to demand. “Why haven’t you been using your contacts with him to get us information about the murder investigation?”
“Different jurisdiction. Frank is over in Arlington.”
The lights flipped on. And we all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, including Nadeem.
“Hello? I’m still down here.” He waved his hand at me while completely avoiding Jack’s glare.
“And you!” I said to Nadeem. “What were you thinking? Why in blazes would you break into Jack’s house?”
“I didn’t think he’d come home so early.”
“We followed you here,” Jack said.
“Ah.” Nadeem shook his head slowly from side to side. “I’m getting too old for this. And rusty, apparently.”
“You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it’s not!”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be to you.” With the back of his hand, he thumped the boot still holding him down. “Lover boy has you so wrapped around his little finger that you can’t see the danger that’s right there in front of your nose.”
Jack huffed and lifted his boot. He then reluctantly helped Nadeem to his feet. “What danger?”
“You.” Nadeem poked Jack in the chest. Nadeem’s halting, nervous speech pattern was gone, replaced by an authoritative tone that demanded attention. “The danger you pose to Casey.”
“Me?” Jack looked taken aback. “You’re the one who’s lying and skulking around.”
“I didn’t want to believe it, but really, Nadeem. Things don’t look good for you. You’re the one who had the best opportunity to kill Frida.”
“You think I killed Frida? Casey? I’d never hurt anyone!”
“Really?” I said. “I heard you were a
trained assassin.”
“I’m retired.”
“You don’t deny it?” My hands started to shake. I clasped them behind my back to hide my sudden nervousness. “And you didn’t step out of retirement even for a moment after Frida found out you were going behind her back to find Jefferson’s lost treasure?”
“What? No! I’m not—”
“Then what were you doing here, in my house?” Jack demanded.
“I was searching for proof, a piece of evidence I could use to prove to Casey that you’re trying to hurt her. Casey, hear me out,” he quickly added when he saw I was going to step in to defend Jack. “Jack has been lying to you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Jack never lies.”
Nadeem refused to back down. “Ask him. Why didn’t he tell you that he was also in the gardens when Frida was killed? If he’s so innocent, why didn’t he tell you that?”
My confidence wavered. Jack might not lie to me, but he had a long-standing habit of not telling me everything he knew. His running off to meet with a crazy ex-girlfriend at the drop of a hat being a prime example.
“If that’s the truth, why are you sending me threatening text messages? Why were you trying to post a threatening message on my front door tonight?”
“I’m not sending them.” He said the words so smoothly, so calmly.
“I caught you in the act of posting that note on my door less than three hours ago.”
“About that”—he had the good grace to look uncomfortable—“I wasn’t posting the threat. I was removing it.”
“If you were taking it off my door, why run?” No wonder Nadeem had retired from the spy business. He was a terrible liar.
“I wasn’t running from you. I was following the woman who put it there. I followed her to a bar called The Underground. That’s where she met up with her lover, who also happens to be your Jack.”
After Nadeem had made that accusation, I’d expected I was going to have to fling myself between the two like a medieval maiden desperate to keep her rivals from killing each other. A small jolt of disappointment zinged through my chest when it didn’t happen.
“Simone.” Jack said her name with a curl of disgust. “I should have suspected she was behind those hateful messages. As I already told Casey this evening, she’s my ex-girlfriend who can’t seem to accept that our relationship ended a year ago.”
“I hope you’re not going to believe him! He was meeting this woman in a bar, probably to plan new ways to manipulate you.”
“And they kissed,” I added. “I know. I was there.”
“She kissed me,” Jack insisted, with a rare note of panic in his voice. I didn’t do anything to reassure him, not while the devil kept whispering in my ear, Let him stew.
“Think about it,” Nadeem continued while Jack flexed his jaw muscles. “Jack has always been at the center of any trouble you’ve gotten into.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” I said. “He’s helped pull me out of trouble.”
Nadeem shook his head in protest. “Answer me this, then. Before you met Jack, how much trouble did you get yourself into?”
That was easy. After my mom’s death, I’d grown up and spent my adult life in the garden. It wasn’t until I’d moved to D.C that I turned into a living magnet for murder.
But there had been a time long ago when danger and death were a part of my life. I closed my eyes. A flash of a gun burst through my memory. “I watched my father kill another man.” My voice cracked. “A year later, my mother was murdered. I watched her die.”
Jack put his arm around me. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories, Casey. I just wanted to point out that it wasn’t until you met this guy that bad things started to happen . . . again. Why? Why is he dragging you into danger? I thought if I dug through his files, I might find something to explain what he’s up to, something I could bring to you to prove that Jack’s not good for you.”
“And did you find anything?” I asked, knowing he hadn’t. Jack had nothing to hide.
“I didn’t find anything only because I didn’t have time to look.”
“Who asked you to come search my house? Don’t tell me you were just being a protective neighbor, because we both know that’s BS,” Jack demanded. “Who made you Casey’s protector?”
“No one.” Nadeem raised his hands as if swearing he was telling the truth.
Jack raised a brow. “No one? You just happened to move into Casey’s downstairs apartment. You just happened to get a job at the White House in the department right across from hers. And you just happened to start following her around and acting like her self-appointed protector.”
“When he puts it that way, it does sound unbelievable,” I agreed. The more I thought about how Nadeem had made himself part of my life, the angrier I got. “What’s going on here? Who are you, Nadeem Barr? Why are you butting into things that have nothing to do with you?”
“I did it because he knew I’d gotten the White House position. He asked me to keep an eye on you and keep you safe!” he sputtered with frustration. “I would do anything for that man. He’s saved my life more times than I could count. I’d walk through fire for him.”
“Who?” Jack demanded before I could.
Nadeem thrust his finger toward me. “Her father.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Turn a corner and meet your fate.
—EDITH WILSON, FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES (1915–1921)
“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” Nadeem said. He plopped down in the desk chair and propped his head up with his hands.
Had I heard Nadeem correctly? Did he really say my father had sent him? A man who had abandoned me? A man I never thought (or hoped) I’d ever see again?
“When did you last see him?” I had to know.
Nadeem shrugged. “This afternoon.”
“In D.C.?” Everything that followed was a jumbled blur. “Call the police,” I remember saying as Jack suggested we move this conversation to the stinky living room. “We need to call the police and report what’s happened here.”
“I’m more interested in getting to the bottom of things than in pressing charges.” Jack turned to Nadeem. “Does her father think Casey is in danger?”
“We both do. For the past several days Casey’s been getting those threatening notes tacked to her front and back doors.”
“I have?” I shook my head, hoping to chase away the dizziness and growing panic pressing harder and harder on my chest. “If my dad is in town, I’d put my money on him putting the notes on my doors.”
“It was Jack’s girlfriend,” Nadeem insisted.
“Why should I believe you?”
“I saw her do it.”
“And I know my dad,” I countered. “I know too much about his past. He should be in jail. Is he still in D.C.?”
Nadeem looked at me for several moments before answering. “Yes, he’s in the area.”
“What else?” Jack demanded as we walked down the hallway to the living room. “It can’t just be the notes.”
“I haven’t seen any threatening notes,” I said at the same time. “Just the text messages.”
“I’ve been removing them before you see them, that’s why,” Nadeem said. “Your father noticed the first one and took it down.”
I grabbed my throat. “He—he’s been to my house?”
“That morning when you thought you saw me on your back stoop, you said the man you confronted ran into my apartment,” Nadeem said. “The man you saw dressed in the trench coat was your father. He was taking down the threatening note.”
“Why?” My throat felt like it was closing up. “Why was he at my house? What does he want from me?”
“Your father wants to protect you, Casey. After he found that first one, he started to worry. He asked me to keep an eye out and track down the perpetrator posting those notes.” He turned to Jack and sneered. “And imagin
e my surprise when all this trouble gets tracked back to your not-so-trustworthy lover and his leggy girlfriend.”
“Tell me he’s not talking about Simone,” Frank said from the kitchen.
“The model? I thought you put an end to that relationship ages ago.” A man dressed in a blue EMT uniform emerged from the kitchen and pushed a glass of water into my hand. “Hi, I’m Dan. We met several months ago, but I doubt you remember. I suppose you’ve already met that big lug hiding in the kitchen, Frank. Jack and Frank are my brothers. We all live here.”
“Thank you,” I said before I sipped the water.
“Sorry about the mess.” He scooped up armfuls of living room detritus and carried it off to another room.
“You can’t deny it,” Nadeem said to Jack. “Because of you, Casey’s life is in danger.”
Jack, I noticed, was pacing. He looked . . . worried. “Does Mr. Calhoun agree with your assessment? Does he blame me for Simone’s threats?”
“No, he’s got this crazy idea that you’re good for Casey. But how can that be when all you do is lead her into trouble?”
My father knew about Jack? He knew about Jack’s crazy ex-girlfriend before I did? The room started to get fuzzy.
“Has someone called the police yet?” I asked. The buzzing in my ears grew louder.
“About Simone?” Nadeem asked.
“No. About my—my—”
“Casey?” a distant voice called to me. “Casey.”
I opened my eyes to find Jack kneeling next to me on the floor. He was cradling my head in his lap. He brushed his hand through my hair.
“What . . .” I had started to ask what had happened, because I knew I couldn’t have swooned like a weak-kneed romance novel heroine—someone must have hit me over the head—but what came out was, “What’s that awful smell?”
Jack picked up a dirty sock that was lying near us and tossed it across the room. “This is why I never invited you over here.” He cast a disgusted look at his brothers, who were watching from the kitchen. “They’re pigs.”
Dan oinked.
“Now that you know your father is in D.C.”—Nadeem crouched down next to me and put his face into my line of vision—“he’ll want to meet you. I can arrange it.”
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