“Well, no, I’m surmising, since he told me she’s quite shy, introverted, not at ease with people. Even a concert pianist, if she’s socially awkward, wouldn’t be comfortable as a politician’s wife.” Miles shrugged.
Mia said, “Otherwise what woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to be Alex’s wife? Have I filled in the blanks correctly, Miles?”
30
Mia
“No, I didn’t mean that, exactly.” Miles sighed. “But yes, Mr. Harrington is an impressive man.” Mia sensed a canned recording snapping on when Miles added quickly, “Mr. Harrington really cares about New York, Mia, he wants to make it better. Just take his budget for minority schools—”
She raised her hand to turn off the spigot. “Before you go on, Miles, let me set the record straight. Ms. Calley broke off their engagement, not Alex. Tell me this—did Alex already know I’d spoken with Juliet Calley?”
Miles grew very still. Nothing showed on his face, but his glasses started to fog up. Mia took another sip of her chardonnay. She felt sorry for him, but she wasn’t about to help him out of his lovely deep hole. He’d been sent to worm information out of her, and he should have known he’d be the sacrificial goat if things didn’t go well.
He cleaned his glasses once again, slid them back on. “He did, yes. I believe Ms. Barrett mentioned to him you might.”
Mia said, “I wonder how Ms. Barrett guessed? As I recall I didn’t mention my visiting Ms. Calley.” She smiled. “Oh well, I suppose word travels fast in their circle.” Mia wasn’t about to throw Juliet under the bus, and so she said easily, “Don’t make yourself crazy, Miles. Ms. Calley didn’t accuse Alex of kidnapping babies or running down people he didn’t like with his Jaguar.” Mia wondered if Miles would quote that line to Alex, and whether Alex would know she meant Jordan Jeffers. She wondered if Alex even remembered Jordan Jeffers.
Miles said, “Alex doesn’t drive a Jag, he drives an F150.”
Mia lightly tapped the heel of her hand to her forehead. “How could I have doubted that for an instant? Of course he drives an American truck. Does he haul away old furniture for his mom?”
Miles tried for a laugh, nearly made it. “You’re joking. You know some political opponents will do almost anything, say almost anything, if they catch a scent their opponents might have a weakness. And who wouldn’t be worried about an ex-fiancée? Mr. Harrington’s current fiancée, Ms. Barrett, she’ll make quite an impressive first lady of New York City, don’t you think?”
Mia took another sip of her chardonnay, slightly woody, as she liked it. “Oh yes, Pammie would surely make a fine first lady of the manor. She’s confident, smart, and after speaking with her, I think she’d do anything to help him win this election. Pammie and Alex Harrington make a fine team.”
The sarcasm hit him in the face, but he ignored it. “Good, I knew she’d impress you, she impresses everyone. She and Alex have agreed not to refer to her as Pammie, by the way. It’s too casual, not fitting for a first lady of New York City. Could you please not refer to her by her nickname in anything you write?”
Mia stared at him. “What? Mr. Harrington is worried about his future wife’s nickname? Voters would drop away if they heard it? Me? I think Pammie sounds all sorts of cuddly and fun and ready for a pillow fight. Pamela, on the other hand, sounds a bit stuffy, standoffish, makes her sound full of herself, don’t you agree?”
Miles Lombardy blinked owl eyes behind his black-framed glasses. “You know, Mia, what I think really doesn’t matter to anyone. What did you learn about Mr. Harrington from his former professors at Harvard?”
“Since Mr. Harrington sent me a list of names, I assume he fully expected the three professors to praise his eyebrows, so why do you ask?”
“I’m covering all the bases. You talked to some of the departmental staff, too, right?”
So Alex had heard she’d spoken with the departmental secretaries, a student’s best friends, if the student had a brain. How? Had one of them called him? She nodded, smiling. “Of course. Any good reporter would.” Mia looked at him squarely. “Listen, Miles, there’s no need to worry about Ms. Calley, for now. She was very neutral about Alex and his fitness to be the mayor of New York.” She saw relief flood his face, and then she added the spur, “All of you will find out exactly what everyone I spoke with said about Alex when you read my article.”
He downed the rest of his beer in one draft and stared at her, mute.
Mia’s cell buzzed a text from Travis. Icicle cold here in Zurich. Drinks with big honcho of Lohman Pierce. He wasn’t pissed about anything, just wanted to touch base. All good. Love you, miss you like crazy, Travis.
A hammer of guilt slammed her head. The last couple of days had been so hectic, she’d forgotten to call Travis. She looked at her watch, realized it was getting late. She was surprised he was still awake. She was surprised she was still awake, too, given the hours she’d put in today. She slipped her cell back into her messenger bag, grabbed her coat, and scooted out of the booth. As she wound her scarf around her neck, she looked down at Miles. He didn’t look happy. She raised her voice to make sure he could hear her. “However this turns out, you’ve got a bright career ahead of you. Remember that. Good evening and thank you for the wine.”
Mia didn’t leave the blessed warmth of the restaurant until she was wrapped to her eyebrows. She pulled on her gloves as she stepped outside into the middle of a crowd, all of them looking for a taxi. She hadn’t called an Uber, hadn’t thought of it. She called now, was told it would be twenty minutes. She watched as taxis pulled up to take in people in front of her. She huddled in her coat, wrapped her arms around herself. No, this was ridiculous, she wasn’t going to wait for an Uber. She’d hike to the subway station on West Fourth near Washington Square, only three blocks up if she took a shortcut. If she hurried, she could call Travis from the station, and if the trains were running smoothly, she’d be home in under half an hour.
She made her way to Sullivan Street and headed toward Washington Square. The businesses in the neighborhood were closed for the day, the only light coming from the streetlights and from apartment windows. Mia walked fast, head down against the wind. She saw an occasional taxi, but of course they were already occupied. She paused next to a dark building, the NYU School of Law, when she saw two men on the corner passing something to each other, probably a drug deal. She walked to the other side of the street and kept trudging.
She heard a car engine, her first thought that it might be a taxi. She half turned, an arm raised to flag it down, but it wasn’t a taxi, it was a large dark sedan and it was coming fast, too fast. It swerved suddenly and drove straight toward her. Her heart jumped and a hoarse scream burst out of her mouth.
31
Mia
Headlights hit her full in the face, blinding her, and Mia stumbled back, tripped on the curb. She went down and rolled behind two garbage cans as the sedan jumped the curb and plowed into them. The cans bounced over her, the lids went flying, sending bags of garbage raining down. She covered her head with her arms, kept scrambling backward on her elbows. She heard the car engine revving, then the blessed sound of a man’s shout. He was running toward her, yelling, waving his arms at the car.
It seemed like forever the sedan didn’t move, until the driver slammed into reverse, dragging one of the toppled garbage cans with him, and roared away up the empty street. The man was panting when he came down on his knees beside her. “Are you okay?”
It was one of the two men she’d seen on the corner. Mia caught her breath, forced herself to breathe deeply until she stopped shaking. But she couldn’t stop her heart kettle-drumming or the nausea rising in her throat. She swallowed convulsively. She wouldn’t vomit, she wouldn’t. Okay, better. “Thanks for chasing him off.” How could that be her voice, all calm and together? When he helped her sit up, she kept hold of his arm. “I’m glad those garbage cans were full, and the bags didn’t burst open. If they’d burst, can you imagine what could
have come flying out? And on me? This is the wool coat my parents gave me for Christmas.” She sucked in a breath. “Sorry, I’m babbling. If you hadn’t been nearby I-I don’t know what would have happened. Really, thank you.”
Mia saw her rescuer’s face for the first time under a streetlight. He was dressed head to foot in leather with a heavy black leather coat, black leather gloves, and chunky black boots. He didn’t even look to be voting age yet. He stared down the street, shook his head. “You’re welcome. The moron was drunk, or maybe high on something, hallucinating, maybe. I’ve seen it before. He saw you, thought you were the devil or something. Do you want me to call an ambulance? 911?”
Mia did a mental check of her body parts, moved her arms, her legs. “No, I’m okay. You really think he didn’t just lose control?”
“Can’t say, but I doubt it. There’s nearly a full moon, and that’s when the wackos come out of their caves. Good thing your coat’s so heavy, or you’d be all scratched up, or worse. My name’s Lex—my friends call me Lex Luthor, you know, like Superman’s nemesis.”
“Sure, I always rooted for Lex as a kid. Didn’t seem fair Superman had all those powers.” She blinked. Where had that come from? She shut up. Her brain was tripping with adrenaline.
Lex helped her stand up. Thankfully, her legs held her. “Thank you,” she said again and shook his gloved hand. “I’m Mia Briscoe. I don’t suppose you saw his plates, or at least the make? Those headlights pretty much blinded me.”
“Not really. I was more concerned about whether you were all right.”
“Not much point in calling the police, then, I guess. By the time they get here, he could be well on his way into New Jersey. I know I wouldn’t hang around. Where’s your motorcycle?”
“Motorcycle? You won’t catch me on one of those death traps, not in the city. I was just walking back to my apartment, met up with a friend. Oh, I get you, you mean all this hard-rock leather? I wear it for Roz, my girlfriend, she really gets off on black leather. The more I wear, the luckier I get. I don’t get hassled as much in bars, either. You headed to the subway?”
At her nod, he said, “I’ll walk with you, might as well make sure no more morons are out in the neighborhood. You sure you’re okay?”
No, I want to throw up. But she made herself nod again. Mia took another step, weaved, stopped. “Lex, I think I’d better call an Uber. I don’t think I’ll take a chance with the subway, I might fall on the tracks.” She paused a moment, shook her head. “I’ve never thought of myself as a weak-kneed wuss before. It’s humiliating.”
Lex waved away her words. “Forget it, you’re entitled. I’ll stay with you until they come. It’ll all make a great story for Roz. Hey, I’m glad those garbage bags didn’t burst open too.” He patted her shoulder, and they sat side by side on the curb to wait for the Uber.
When a gray Lexus pulled up beside them six minutes later, Mia gave Lex her card. “If you’re interested in an internship or maybe a job at the Guardian, give me a call.”
Lex stared at the card a moment, gave her a big smile. “Roz’ll like this, too.”
Mia confirmed her address with the Uber driver and settled in, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. Low-level nausea still hovered, too close. She took deep, even breaths and the nausea eased enough for her to text Travis. Nearly hit by a drunk driver. Feeling shaky, but everything’s fine. Don’t worry, Talk tomorrow?
Thirty-five minutes later, Mia stood naked in front of her bathroom mirror, staring at bright purple bruises on her arms, her shoulders, her chest. She looked over her shoulder, saw her back looked like a multicolor flag and the bruise on her butt something like Australia. If she hadn’t been wearing her thick coat, what would she look like now? Would she even have gotten up? She took three aspirin, looked in the mirror again at the pale face staring back at her. She looked like oatmeal. It was a drunk idiot or a druggie. Wrong place wrong time. It’s New York, get over it. It’s no big deal since I’m not dead.
She pulled a warm flannel nightgown over her head and eased her aching body into bed, pulled the covers to her chin. No more nausea, thank goodness. Mia lay there not moving, waiting for the aspirin to kick in, the only light her bedside lamp. She couldn’t stop reliving the shock of the headlights, tripping over the curb, those wonderful garbage cans, pushing desperately backward to get away from the car. It was when she pictured how the car had come at her that it hit her—What if Lex was wrong? What if the driver wasn’t crazy drunk or drugged out? What if he was trying to hit her on purpose?
Oh, shut up. Lex was right. Full moon, too much booze or drugs. But once she thought it, she couldn’t let it go. Had Alex Harrington tried to kill her? Was it because of what she’d found out, what she might prove? Someone she’d spoken to had called him, Miles Lombardy had confirmed that. It made sense he’d found out about the photos, that she knew about his ear. Maybe she’d been followed. Alex could have known exactly where she was since she was with his chief staffer. Could it mean Juliet was in danger, too?
Mia sat up, pulled her cell out of the charger, and dialed Tommy Maitland.
He picked up on the second ring, surprise in his voice. “Mia, isn’t it late for you to be calling?” At her silence, his voice changed to what she called his FBI voice, lower, more controlled. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right.” She rushed through her evening of drinks with Miles Lombardy, her walk to the subway, the sedan coming out of nowhere toward her, her rescue by Lex Luthor, yes, that was his name. “I’m making myself crazy, Tommy. I mean, Lex was probably right, wasn’t he? A crazy drunk? Or a hallucinating druggie?”
Though Tommy was silent, Mia could nearly hear him thinking. He said finally, “Sure, it’s possible, but . . . is there something you haven’t told me?”
She let out a breath. “There’s a whole lot that’s happened in the last couple of days. Even if the car tonight hadn’t nearly hit me, I still would have called. Are you sitting down?” She started with what she’d seen at the rave, her suspicions after she spoke with Kent Harper, still the gamer with his sword, about Juliet Calley and Alex Harrington’s lacrosse coach at Bennington Prep confirming his earlobe was torn by a lacrosse stick. “I know it all sounds circumstantial, Tommy, but here’s the thing—once Juliet Calley admitted Alex, her fiancé, and Kent, had roofied and raped her, together, I have no doubt they killed Serena.”
Mia closed her eyes. She knew how deeply he felt the pain of Serena’s loss, felt his rage at knowing Serena had been murdered and no one had ever paid. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I shouldn’t have just blurted it out. I know this is a fist to the gut.”
“No, no, it’s okay, just a huge surprise. What’s going on, Mia?”
“Listen, Tommy, until tonight I thought Alex Harrington didn’t have any idea I suspect him, or at least of what, exactly. And now a car has tried to run me down. Again, Tommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He said finally, his voice calm, “It’s been seven years, Mia, and now when I think of Serena, I try to remember how much we meant to each other, how much fun we had together, how much we enjoyed each other, but it’s become blurred with the passing years, just warm vague memories. I can’t even see her face clearly anymore. I still speak to her parents sometimes and it throws me back, of course. It’s still very hard for them. It’s a giant hole in their lives. For me, it’s been mixed with anger that I haven’t been able to find anything. Then Gail’s daughter finding the photos, Gail sending them to you, and now what you’ve discovered, Mia, it’s hard to take in, but thank you.
“And to think we’re talking about a candidate for mayor of New York City.” He paused. “Mia, listen, Harrington could have easily found out you attended Godwyn University and the years you were a student. He could suspect you were at the rave. You met him recently. Could he be afraid you recognized him?”
“We never me
t, Tommy. We never even got close at the rave. But I suppose it’s possible. But why would he care enough to try to kill me? Why would a man in Harrington’s position try to kill someone who had nothing she could prove?”
“Think of where he finds himself. He finds out about the photos Gail took that night, the photos you’ve been showing around, the questions about his torn earlobe. That would spook him, scare him. Of course he wouldn’t expect you to print anything without more proof, but even a rumor of what you think he did would derail his campaign in a magic second. Worse, if you could prove any of it. So tell me, do you really believe the driver of the sedan who tried to run you down was some anonymous drunk or addict?”
“I want to, Tommy, I really want to, but . . . no.”
Tommy was silent a moment. “You’re sure you’re only bruised, no concussion?”
“I’m bruised all over. I look really funny actually, but I’m downing aspirin, and it’s not too bad now.”
“I can’t come up, Mia, I’m too close to finishing up a case here in Washington. But I know someone who can help you, someone who can protect you until I get there. And she’s in New York this very minute.”
32
Olivia
New Safe House
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday night
Olivia hummed as she slathered on body cream, brushed her teeth, checked out her bruises from the airbag. Not too bad, she’d been lucky. She’d certainly had worse. She smiled at herself in the mirror and chanted, “Mike is alive, Mike is alive.” She’d have shouted it out if Gay wasn’t watching TV in the living room. She did a little skip and gave the mirror a high five.
No sooner had she stretched out beside Helmut on her new bed, this one hard as nails, than it hit her. What about Andi? Why hadn’t she called? Had the Frenchman gone after her? She dialed her number with shaking fingers. “Andi? Olivia. Tell me you’re safe.”
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