Collusion

by De'nesha Diamond

  “Usually colleagues,” Jayson said.

  “What? You mean like us?” she asked, smiling.

  “Not exactly like us.” He shrugged. “I like to think we’re more than colleagues.”

  Tomi’s brow lifted.

  Jayson’s face reddened. “Yeah. I like to think we’re good friends. Don’t you?”

  She grinned. “Of course, we’re good friends. I wouldn’t put up with half of your needling questions if we weren’t.”

  Jayson’s frown buoyed into a smile. “So are you going to call her?”

  “Who?” Jayson made a face and she remembered their original topic. “Oh. You mean Marion Parker. I can’t help but feel like I’ll be picking at a scab if I interview or do an exposé on Marion behind Abrianna’s back.”

  “You mean your non-friend’s back?”

  “All right.” She retrieved Marion’s social card and picked up the phone.

  “That’s my girl.” Jayson winked and waltzed off.

  Tomi’s hand tightened on the phone while she waited for the line to connect. The sinking feeling in her gut warned that this was a mistake—but she’d been on a roll in breaking the Reynolds murder and the Sanders confession story—she couldn’t let another reporter beat her to the punch for an exclusive on the Cargill Parker story. Abrianna would have to understand.

  * * *

  Dennis Holder waltzed into the Agency in his chief’s uniform and glanced around. “How is it that this is the place that I have to compete with for your time? It’s a little more than a—”

  “Don’t say it,” Castillo warned, smiling.

  Holder zipped his lips.

  Castillo’s attention returned to the caller on the phone tucked under her ear. “Yes. I faxed over the photos and information an hour ago. I’m checking to make sure that you received them. Yeah? Okay. Uh. Do you know about when someone will get back to me? Twenty-four hours? Okay. Thanks.” She hung up the phone, sighed, and then smiled at Holder. “You got something for me?”

  “Maybe,” Dennis teased, taking a seat across from her. “It depends on how much you want it.”

  “Oh. We’re playing that game again.” She laughed.

  “Hey, I’ll get it anyway I can with you.”

  “Should I break out the world’s tiniest violin for this conversation?”

  “I knew I wouldn’t get much sympathy from you.” He tossed over a folder. “Now tell me again why you’re looking into this Dr. Zacher guy again?”

  She snatched up the folder. “I’m looking into something for a friend. Is this it: name, address, and driver’s license?”

  “What can I say? The man keeps his nose clean, or better yet, I get calls from time to time to make sure that people from that T4S facility keep their noses clean.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Tell me what you’re working on.”

  Dennis’s sudden seriousness surprised Castillo. She leaned back in her chair and studied him. “You make sure their noses are clean. How come that sounds illegal?”

  “It sounds like I follow orders,” Holder countered. “The people over at that facility have some powerful connections. I don’t want you getting into something that’s way over your head.”

  “All you’re doing is making me more intrigued.”

  “I was afraid of that.” He sighed. “Dr. Zacher was swept up in the raid out at Zeke Jeffreys’s birthday party.”

  “Really?” She searched her memory, but knew it was futile. She had had a one-track mind that night.

  “The next morning, I received a call to erase all traces of his booking and another guy. A Ned Cox. I included his information in there as well. His record isn’t as clean. He had two DUIs back in college.”

  “And a drug bust,” she read from the folder.

  “I figure that he must not be high enough up in the organization to merit keeping his shit buried.” Holder studied her. “I mean it, Gigi. I don’t like the idea of you snooping around those people. I’ve heard things.”

  “Things like?”

  “Nothing good.”

  “Things like: having the power to make people disappear permanently?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I heard, too.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, Tomi arrived at the Parker estate’s gate in Bluemont, Virginia. The beauty of the place blew her mind. She had always heard good things about the handful of vineyards in the area, but never considered visiting the city that was an hour outside of D.C. She made a mental note to come out more often.

  “Can I help you?” a man’s voice crackled over the speaker.

  “Yes. I’m Tomi Lehane with the Washington Post. I’m here to see Marion Parker.”

  A long silence ensued. It was long enough for her to wonder whether Marion Parker had changed her mind about meeting. Then, the gate crept open, allowing her entrance. She drove through, still marveling at the place that screamed money. Abrianna grew up here?

  There was another car parked in the circular driveway, with government tags. Tomi pulled up behind it and climbed out of her vehicle. She wondered who else was there while she rang the doorbell.

  The door opened and a kind-faced gentleman greeted and allowed her entrance into the estate.

  Smiling, Tomi crossed the threshold into a gold-and-white atrium and gawked. Heading her way were two serious-looking gentlemen in standard-issue FBI attire. The butler wished the men a good day and reopened the door for them.

  Tomi’s mind raced to figure out what was going on. She waited until the door closed again before asking, “How long were they here?”

  “This way, ma’am,” the butler said, completely ignoring her question. He escorted her quite a ways across the immense home. She was shown into a salon and told that the lady of the house would be down in a few minutes.

  Minutes turned into an hour.

  “Ms. Lehane,” Marion greeted, floating into the room in a pale pink ensemble that belonged on the cover of a 1965 Vogue magazine. As before, her hair and makeup were perfect and polished. She carried herself as if she’d spent a lifetime in charm schools. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

  Tomi stood and offered her hand when Marion approached. “No problem. I wasn’t waiting long. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. You must be flooded with phone calls.”

  “Just the usual smiling Judases.” Marion glanced around. “Where is Abrianna?”

  Tomi forced out a lie. “Abrianna isn’t, uhm . . . quite ready to . . . see you . . .”

  “I see.” Marion’s gaze shifted away. “I guess I should’ve known better than to hold out hope. So much time has passed and . . . I’ve failed her miserably.”

  Guilt hammered Tomi. She had no right to exploit this woman’s pain. Yet she couldn’t leave.

  Marion recovered and asked, “Well, you didn’t have to travel all this way to tell me that my daughter hates my guts. A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”

  “Actually, I was hoping that I could get that interview.”

  Marion’s shoulders deflated as she reevaluated Tomi. “Tell me truly,” she said, “did you really pass my message on to Abrianna?”

  “Yes, of course,” Tomi lied, schooling her face to appear earnest. However, she suspected Marion’s sharp gaze saw through her.

  “Please. Have a seat.” Marion gestured for Tomi to reclaim her seat.

  “Thank you.”

  Marion glided to the chair adjacent to her as the tea arrived.

  Uncomfortable, Tomi shifted around. Had she entered a time warp? The house was filled with mannequin-like people, emulating human behavior. It disturbed her. “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Yes. It is lovely.”

  Okay, Mrs. Humble. “How long have you been married to Mr. Parker?” Tomi asked.

  “Some days it feels like forever.” Marion sipped from her teacup.

  “Really?” Tomi cocked her head. “Excuse me, but you don’t seem that much older t
han Abrianna.”

  “A true lady never tells her age,” Marion quipped.

  “Touché. But how are you holding up? I mean, with all that has been happening in the news recently with your family? First it was Abrianna and the whole president scandal, and now the allegations against your husband? It has to be taking a toll.”

  “I’ve discovered that there is nothing in this life that vodka and Valium can’t fix.”

  “Together?”

  “A lady never tells that, either.”

  They laughed before Tomi dove in. “Is there any truth to the government’s charges against your husband?”

  “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea. “Cargill is a model husband and an upstanding citizen in the community. I have no doubt that these horrible allegations will go away.”

  Tomi noted the conviction. “What do you know about the Dragons Templar?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never heard of it before it was printed in the paper. But I rarely believe anything written in the press. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Tomi dismissed. “Could your husband be a member of a secret society without your knowledge?”

  She shrugged, dodging Tomi’s gaze. “I admit that I don’t know every detail in my husband’s life. He’s a busy and important man. But no. He would never be a part of what they’re accusing him of.” Marion paused. “Personally, I believe that he, like my daughter, was framed.”

  Intrigued, Tomi leaned forward. “Your husband has enemies?”

  Marion gave a look that questioned Tomi’s sanity. “Powerful men have powerful enemies. However, in this instance, I believe these people are my daughter’s enemies behind this chess move.”

  “The White House?” Tomi asked. “You think that the White House—the former president—was behind your husband’s arrest?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the article you wrote angered someone powerful enough to tear down my family.”

  “Still. It’s an elaborate setup, don’t you think?” Tomi pressed.

  Marion smiled. “It always is, darling.”

  “And the children?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about that. It upsets me.”

  Tomi’s brows sprung up.

  Marion grew antsy. She was about to shut down the interview.

  “Why did Abrianna run away from home?”

  Marion’s ramrod posture slackened but then recovered.

  “Abrianna was a spirited girl. It’s not uncommon for teenagers to rebel against their parents. Unfortunately, she, uh, stumbled into a bad situation with that Dr. Craig Avery character. I’m sure that she suffered some irreparable psychological damages.”

  “Psychological damages?” Tomi echoed the sterile description.

  “I’m sorry,” Marion amended. “I know that you and Bree suffered horribly at the hands of that man. I don’t mean to belittle it.”

  “Why didn’t Abrianna return home after her bad situation?”

  Marion set down her tea. “This has drifted way into personal territory, more so than I’m willing to discuss with you or your readers. Please know that I love my daughter and I support her during this difficult time.” She stood. “Now. If you would excuse me, I have a busy schedule today.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Tomi shut off her voice recorder and stood. “I really appreciate you talking with me.”

  “I only did so in hope that you’d come with my daughter,” Marion stated bluntly.

  “Right.” Tomi gathered her things and then fell in step behind Marion’s careful strut out of the salon. They passed a room with a piano. “Do you play?”

  “I’m sorry?” Marion stopped and turned around.

  Tomi jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “The baby grand, do you play?”

  A genuine smile emerged, transforming Marion to near goddess status. “Why, yes. Do you?”

  “I used to play when I was a kid.” Tomi entered the room.

  “Really? How wonderful,” Marion said, impressed, following her.

  Tomi waltzed around and admired the instrument. “Music was my first love. I used to dream of being a concert pianist like my aunt Helena. She was a concert pianist back in the nineties.”

  “What happened?”

  Tomi stopped walking and gave her a look.

  “Oh. That. I see.”

  “Yeah. Some of that irreparable psychological damage.”

  Marion glanced away.

  Tomi sighed. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to take up more of your time.” She backed away, but then her gaze swept across a horde of silver-framed pictures sitting on top of the piano. Several were of a young, barely smiling Abrianna. “Wow.” She picked up one. “How adorable.”

  Marion joined her by the piano. “Yes. Abrianna was eight years old in that picture. She didn’t want to smile because she’d lost a tooth that summer.” She sighed. “Still. The camera loved that face. So photogenic.”

  Tomi agreed. She cast her gaze among the other photos, which appeared to be a timeline of Abrianna’s childhood. However, one picture stood out, a young black boy. “Who is this?” Tomi picked up the frame, but Marion plucked it out of her grasp.

  “That’s Samuel—my son.” Her eyes shimmered as she set the picture back onto the piano.

  “I didn’t know that Abrianna has a brother.”

  “She doesn’t. Samuel passed away very young.” She turned.

  “He looks like you,” Tomi noted. “He was your biological son?”

  Marion sighed. “Yes. He was. Now if you—”

  “What happened to him?”

  Marion folded her hands and stared, clearly debating whether to answer. “A gun accident.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s one of the reason why I won’t allow one in my house anymore. They don’t keep families safe. Now this interview is over. I really must insist that you leave.”

  43

  Kadir woke to a ringing phone. After cursing the caller, he peeled open an eye.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Abrianna buried her head beneath a pillow and then bumped him with her ass, urging him to hurry.

  “I take it that you’re not a morning person,” he grumbled, sitting up. “Or an afternoon person,” he amended after seeing the time on the clock. When he reached for the phone, it stopped ringing. The call was sent to voice mail. Grumbling, he plopped down. He’d catch whoever it was later. Right now he shifted his attention back to Abrianna’s lush ass.

  She moaned when he cupped a firm cheek in his hand. She even emerged from beneath the pillow when he peppered kisses down the curve of her spine.

  The phone rang again.

  “Damn it,” they swore together.

  “Jinx,” Abrianna called.

  Kadir slapped her ass and left her with a good sting while he rolled over to answer the phone. “Hello.”

  “We need to talk,” Ghost said.

  “I’m good, man. Thanks for asking,” Kadir said sarcastically.

  “No time for niceties, man. When can you get your ass down here?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Why? What’s up?”

  “Some explosive shit, man,” Ghost said. “Is your girl around you right now?”

  Kadir frowned. “Yeah.”

  “Then go somewhere else in the apartment so I can drop some knowledge in your ear.”

  That didn’t sound good. “All right. Hold on for a moment.” Kadir removed the phone from his ear, planted a kiss on the back of Abrianna’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m going to make some coffee. You want some?”

  “Sure. If it comes with some scrambled eggs and bacon, that would be great.”

  He chuckled. “It’s past lunchtime and all we have is cold pizza.”

  Abrianna groaned, disappointed.

  Chuckling, Kadir peeled out of the sheets and then shuffled to the kitchen. He tucked the phone back underneath his ear and resumed his conversation. “All right, man. This shi
t better be worth my ass leaving a beautiful woman in my bed. What’s up?”

  “Remember I told you that I was going to do some more digging into your girl and why the fuck T4S wanted her so badly?”

  Kadir’s dread intensified. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I ghosted around their system, but I didn’t know what the fuck to look for, you know what I mean?”

  “Okay.”

  “So I went back to where I saw the extraction order, and it came with what I thought was a random set of numbers, but after some digging, the numbers aren’t random at all. They are ID and clearance numbers. Basically the employee who authorized the extraction order. You with me so far?”

  “Yeah. So who ordered it?”

  “A Dr. Charles Zacher.”

  The name hung over the line for a few seconds before Kadir asked, “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

  “I didn’t know who the muthafucka was either until I dug around some more. It was easier after I got his ID and clearance number. I can open all his files now. And guess who has a whopper of a file.”

  Kadir glanced over his shoulder. “Bree?”

  “Bingo. Her and that reporter chick. It was a risk, but I made digital copies of everything that I could find. Kadir, it’s wild, man. You need to get to the bunker and take a look at this shit yourself.”

  Kadir’s curiosity skyrocketed. “Can you give me a hint?”

  “Only that we were right about everything. Abrianna Parker isn’t what she appears to be.”

  “I thought you were making coffee?”

  Kadir jumped and spun around.

  She chuckled at his reaction. “Okay. You’re guilty of something. Who’s on the phone?”

  “Uh, Ghost,” Kadir said.

  “Ghost? Uh-huh.” She smiled as she took the phone from his hand. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Bree,” Ghost said overenthusiastically. “What’s up?”

  “Not much. I’m trying to figure out why your boy is acting so strange.”

  “Well. There’s your problem,” Ghost joked. “It’s not an act.”

  “Good to know.” She laughed and handed the phone back to Kadir. “Stop being weird.” She shook her head and exited the kitchen.

  Kadir waited until he heard her shut the bedroom door before placing the phone back under his ear. “All right. I’ll see if I can make it over there somehow.”