Pamela yelled, “Wait! You’re saying Juliet was here? In New York? Why?”
Alex held himself stiff and silent, all expression wiped from his face. Mia said, “So you didn’t tell her about Juliet, Alex? You could confess your young man’s mistakes, and I suppose she might buy it, but no way could you explain away you and Kent roofieing Juliet and raping her.”
“They were going to marry! It makes no sense! Alex, tell her it’s crazy!”
Mia said to Pamela, “It’s true, Pam. Alex roofied her and both he and Kent raped her, two years ago. That was why Juliet broke off the engagement. She remembered what happened, Pam, but Alex didn’t care because he was sure she would never accuse them publicly, never blow up her family with so devastating a scandal. But once she found out Alex is not only a rapist, but a murderer, she was perfectly willing to help us.”
Pamela whirled on Alex, openmouthed. “Juliet? She’s not lying? You and Kent really raped Juliet?” She started shaking her head. “No, of course that can’t be true. They’re making this all up. You’d never do such a thing. Yes, yes, when you were young, you told me Kent talked you into some foolish mistakes, but Juliet? Kent couldn’t have talked you into raping Juliet. Alex, tell them you didn’t do that.”
Alex said between clenched teeth, “Of course it’s not true. Juliet made it up, as revenge because I dumped her two years ago. And now she wanted to ruin my career, and she helped them do it.”
He fell silent. Another ember popped in the fireplace. No one moved. Alex whispered to Pamela, “I knew how badly you wanted to be the New York mayor’s wife, and that’s why I trusted you, told you as much as I did.” He stared at her with new eyes. “So you tried to kill Mia? To keep her away from me? But why Kent? Damn you, why Kent?”
Pamela drew herself up. Even though Hoolihan still towered over her, she managed to look down her nose at him. “I am innocent. You, Detective, I will see you hounded out of the police force, I will sue this wretched city. I want to speak to my lawyer.”
Hoolihan nodded, said, “Pamela Raines Barrett, I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of Mia Briscoe and Kent Harper.” He read her her rights, his deep professional voice the only sound in the living room.
Epilogue
Sean
The Savich Home, Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
Sunday
Mama smelled like roses. Sean snuggled against her, felt her heart beat steadily against his cheek. She was home, here with him and Papa. She’d called him every single day, told him how much she missed him, and loved him, but it just wasn’t the same thing. He burrowed closer, felt her arm tighten around him. He was full of popcorn, worn out because he’d thrown a zillion pieces of popcorn to Astro until he told Papa his arm was going to fall off. Astro was already asleep, on his back, all four paws in the air, in front of the fireplace.
Sean heard an ember pop, felt his mama jump at the unexpected sound, give a quiet laugh. He heard her talk about someone named Serena, and she sounded sad. Then she said in her mad voice that even getting justice would never be enough, and he heard his papa agree. They were whispering now and Sean wondered if Papa was going to kiss her again. Sometimes he’d kiss her, then pick him up and kiss him, too, and Astro would jump around barking his head off, wanting a kiss, too.
Sean heard Papa say something about Olivia, and he recognized her name. He’d heard his papa speaking to her on his cell phone. At least he sounded pleased, and not so sad like Mama. And he said she was getting married to Mike on Aruba, wherever that was, and laughed.
Astro snored, Sean heard him, and smiled. “Mama?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I’m glad you’re home. Papa really missed you.”
“Did you miss me, too, Sean?”
Sean squeezed her as tight as he could. “Maybe I missed you more than Papa did. He said nothing felt right when you weren’t here. Do you know he gave Astro Cheerios?”
Sherlock laughed, whispered against his cheek, “Nothing ever feels right to me either when I’m away from you and your papa.”
Sean felt her kiss his forehead as he slipped into sleep.
Epilogue
Serena
Bainbridge, Maryland
Fairlawn Cemetery
One and a half weeks later
So many people were here to honor Serena, finally home now after seven long years. Classmates from Godwyn, Tommy Maitland and Juliet Ash Calley, law enforcement officers from Creighton and from New York City, FBI agents from the New York City Field Office, and FBI agents Sherlock and Dillon Savich from Washington, as well as most of the staff from the Guardian. Of course the media was out in force, not unexpected given the high profile of Serena’s accused murderers. Mia and Milo had made calls requesting the Winters family not be approached, and were pleasantly surprised by other news outlets’ agreement. Everyone else was free game.
Father Chillworth remembered Serena’s baptism in his eulogy, spoke to how beautiful she’d been when he’d first held her in his arms, so small, so precious, never crying. He would never forget how she’d stared up at him, smiling, he’d said so later to her parents. He’d watched her play basketball, heard her sing in the choir in her lovely soprano, and he’d heard her confessions when she’d come home from college, usually about her boyfriend and all the temptations, but saying Tommy had never pushed her. He saw Tommy Maitland standing next to her parents, beside him the most beautiful woman Father Chillworth had ever seen. She was supporting him, Father Chillworth thought, squeezing his hand. Or maybe they were supporting each other.
Both Serena’s parents, Livvie and Gray Winters, stood tall, leaning into each other, their hands tightly clasped, their two surviving daughters hugged close. Father Chillworth talked of their devastating grief, their not knowing what had happened to their daughter for seven long years. He knew they would now find some peace, peace of a sort, though Serena’s death would always be a rent in the fabric of their lives.
The Winterses hadn’t wished to celebrate a mass, asked for only a graveside service. He hadn’t approved, but now that he saw the large, mixed crowd and the media, he knew it was the right thing to do. He met Mia Briscoe’s eyes, knew the role she’d played in finding Serena. Beside her stood a tall young man, obviously very close to her, his dark hair ruffled in the wind, and he was holding her hand. Good, she had someone there for her. He raised his hands and prayed. “—let your perpetual light shine upon her, and through your mercy rest with you in peace.” He looked directly at Mia Briscoe again as he ended with the ageless words that said so little yet meant so much. Simple words, both heartbreaking and comforting. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Tommy was grateful so many people were here for Serena, to celebrate her short life, grateful its violent end would finally land squarely on Alex Harrington and Kent Harper. He smiled at Gail Ricci, who’d flown from Rome to New York two days before, and now stood beside Mia, Travis Gilbert, Mia’s fiancé, on her other side, all staring straight ahead at Serena’s coffin covered with a blanket of white petunias, Serena’s favorite flower.
It was a cool early spring day, the sun bright overhead. Livvie Winters’s pale hand trembled as she gently laid a red rose atop the petunias. She whispered words no one heard before she turned into her husband’s arms. Serena’s two sisters hugged both of their parents.
Tommy stood over her coffin, said his good-byes with tears sheening his eyes, and laid his red rose beside the Winterses’. His father, mother, and three brothers formed a phalanx behind him, and Juliet stood beside him, holding her own red rose.
The line slowly moved until it was Mia’s turn. She looked down at the blanket of red roses that now covered the white petunias. She gently laid hers atop all the others and whispered through the tears streaking down her face, “I’m so sorry, Serena. You’ll be in my heart forever.” She turned slowly and was enfolded in Milo’s arms, then Travis’s. Most of the Guardian newsroom stood silent, ranging behind Milo.
When the service ended, Mia waited beside Gail and Sherlock for Travis and Dillon to get the car to take them back to the Winterses’ house. Sherlock lightly stroked her fingers over Mia’s face, wiping away tears, taking Mia’s gloved hands in hers. “You’re a formidable woman, Mia. It is my pleasure to have met you, to have worked with you. I only wish I had known Serena. She’d be so proud of you.”
Would she? What Mia knew for certain was that Serena would be her touchstone. She’d be forever the laughing girl walking with Tommy Maitland on Godwyn’s campus, their hands clasped as they swung their arms. She spotted Miles Lombardy, Alex Harrington’s senior staffer, standing alone beneath an ancient oak tree. She walked to him and took his hand. “Thank you for coming, Miles.”
He said quietly, “I am so sorry for what he did, what he might have continued doing if you hadn’t stopped him. Thank you.” He leaned down, lightly kissed her cheek, turned, and walked away through the rows of gravestones. Now, after seven years, Serena would have one of her own.
Beneath the brilliant blue sky, atop a hill close by, as Serena’s coffin was lowered into the ground, a lone bagpipe played “Amazing Grace.”
Acknowledgments
My continued thanks to the remarkable Angela Bell, FBI, Office of Public Affairs. You are always there for me with the right answer, the right person to fill me in on exactly what I need to know. Thank you.
To my right and left hand and half my brain, Karen Evans. I cannot envision life without you, so see to it, all right?
To all my amazing associates at Trident Media Group, particularly my agent, Robert Gottlieb, and the unsinkable Nicole Robson. Even in this very bizarre year when a pandemic blasted onto the scene and set the world reeling, no one at William Morrow and HarperCollins dropped the ball. My profound thanks.
About the Author
CATHERINE COULTER is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of eighty-seven novels, including the FBI Thriller series and the Brit in the FBI international thriller series, cowritten with J.T. Ellison. Coulter lives in Sausalito, California, with her Übermensch husband and their two noble cats, Peyton and Eli. You can reach her at [email protected].
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Catherine Coulter
FBI Thrillers
Deadlock
Labyrinth
Paradox
Enigma
Insidious
Nemesis
Powerplay
Bombshell
Backfire
Split Second
Whiplash
KnockOut
TailSpin
Double Take
Point Blank
Blowout
Blindside
Eleventh Hour
Hemlock Bay
Riptide
The Edge
The Target
The Maze
The Cove
A Brit in the FBI (with J.T. Ellison)
The Last Second
The Sixth Day
The Devil’s Triangle
The End Game
The Lost Key
The Final Cut
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
P.S.TM is a trademark of HarperCollins Publishers.
vortex. Copyright © 2021 by Catherine Coulter. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-300410-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-300408-5
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