“I have a few witnesses who are willing to talk, but I need more.”
Witnesses. The word seemed to pulse red in the air. This couldn’t be true, so how could he have witnesses?
I realized he’d continued talking. “What?” I blinked at him. “Back up. What?”
“I said I need you, too. You’re going to wear a wire.”
“The hell I am.”
“You’re going to talk with your boyfriend,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said a word. “You’re going to get him to admit to you what he’s doing—and then you’ll see that I’m right.”
“You’re not,” I said. I would never believe that Jahn’s knights were into that kind of shit.
Kevin kept talking as if I hadn’t said a word. “And the reason that I know you’re going to do this is because it all ties back to you. You’re dating him, right? That has you mixed up in this mess, too. Not a good place to be, Angie. And it’s definitely not a good place for your father to be,” he added, the words sending a chill up my spine. “Not when he’s making a bid for the vice presidency. The press gets hold of something like this, and it won’t be pretty.”
“You unimaginable bastard.”
“I’m not the bastard. Evan is. Him and his friends.” He stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I want your answer then. And, Angie,” he said, “it had better be yes.”
I stayed in the chair as he let himself out, and I was still there hours later when Evan arrived. I didn’t even hear Peterson let him in. I didn’t even realize he was in the condo until he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.
I’d drawn a blanket around me, but even beneath the flannel, I was cold and numb.
“Are you sick?” Evan asked, leaning in to press a warm hand against my forehead.
I shook my head. “They want me to wear a wire,” I said, and I watched his shoulders droop with understanding.
“Kevin,” he said. “That goddamn little prick.”
“He says you’re into prostitution. That you’re violating the Mann Act. That I have to watch you—to spy on you. And he says that if I don’t, my father’s going to get dragged into this.”
He slid off the table to kneel in front of me, his expression gentle. “Baby,” he said. “We can fix this.”
I shook my head, then met his eyes. “This could destroy my dad.”
He looked at my warily. “What are you doing, Lina?”
“What I have to,” I said. “What I can.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to California, just like I planned. And I’m going to call Kevin on the way and tell him you dumped me and that I’m moving to Washington just like I planned. And that means that putting a wire on me wouldn’t do him any good. He’ll leave my father alone, and if you and the guys can get Destiny cleaned up fast enough, then I bet he’ll leave you alone, too.”
“Lina, shit.” He ran his hands through his hair, and his eyes looked wild and desperate. I kind of envied him that. I only felt numb.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” He took my hands and squeezed them tight. “You’re not being punished. This isn’t a case of the bad shit happening after you go a little wild. You don’t have to pay penance. We can work it out.”
I leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you,” I said. “And I know it’s not punishment. I do, really.” I pressed my palm to his cheek. “You of all people should get it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like what you did for your mom and Ivy. You made huge sacrifices for them, and you did it because you loved them. Well, I love you. I love my dad. And I can’t live with the thought of knowing that I didn’t do everything in my power to keep both of you safe.”
“Dammit, Lina—”
“No.” The word came out quick and firm and full of absolute conviction. “Please,” I said. “My mind’s made up. I know Kevin. I get him now. And he’s vindictive. If I stay, he won’t ever let up. You want to be safe for Ivy? You want everything you’ve given up to shut your operations down to actually matter? Then you have to let me do this.”
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with storm-gray eyes, so flooded with regret that I had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I stood up. “I love you desperately. And that’s why I have to go away.”
It felt good to be back in California with my mom and my dad, but I missed Evan terribly. And every time the pain got to be too much, I just reminded myself that I’d had a reason for walking away. For Evan. For my parents. And even a little bit for me, because there was finally something that I could do for them, even if they weren’t actually aware of the sacrifice I was making.
But I couldn’t completely bury myself, and so I sucked up my courage, sat my parents down, and told them that I didn’t want to work in Washington.
“I think it’s fascinating,” I said, “and I don’t regret my degree or the years I spent or any of that. But it’s not me.”
“Then why—” my mother began, but my dad pressed his hand over hers, gently silencing her.
“I always thought politics was more your sister’s fascination,” he said. He spoke blandly, but I saw the comprehension in his face, and I think that may have been the first time I truly understood how well-suited for politics my father was.
“She loved everything about it,” I agreed. “I like it. I think it’s interesting. But I don’t love it, Daddy. Not like you do. Not like Grace did.”
He nodded slowly. “What do you love?”
“Art,” I said, without hesitation.
He inclined his head. “I shouldn’t have even had to ask that. I think you were born with a sketchpad.”
“Too bad I can barely draw a stick figure.”
“Nonsense,” my mother said loyally. “You’re very talented.”
I laughed and hugged her. “I’m not,” I said. “But I can see talent. I’d like to maybe manage a gallery someday. Or work in restoration. I don’t know. To be honest, I’m not sure what all the options are. But I think I want to go back to school to find out.” I wrinkled my nose as I held my breath, trying to gauge their reactions.
It was my mother who spoke first. “I’ll talk to Candace in the morning—you remember Candace? She spent two years interning at the Louvre. If anyone knows the best schools to consider she will.”
I tried to say something, but couldn’t manage to talk with my throat full of tears. Instead, I just smiled like an idiot and looked at my father. He shook his head with mock sadness. “I’m going to owe some major favors on the Hill,” he said. “Congressman Winslow will never find an aide as competent as you would have been.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him.
And for the first time in almost eight years, I felt like it was truly me with my parents, and not me channeling the ghost of my sister.
“Have you considered moving back to Chicago?” my mother asked me days later as we wandered some of La Jolla’s galleries. “There are several good programs there, I believe.”
Witnesses. The word seemed to pulse red in the air. This couldn’t be true, so how could he have witnesses?
I realized he’d continued talking. “What?” I blinked at him. “Back up. What?”
“I said I need you, too. You’re going to wear a wire.”
“The hell I am.”
“You’re going to talk with your boyfriend,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said a word. “You’re going to get him to admit to you what he’s doing—and then you’ll see that I’m right.”
“You’re not,” I said. I would never believe that Jahn’s knights were into that kind of shit.
Kevin kept talking as if I hadn’t said a word. “And the reason that I know you’re going to do this is because it all ties back to you. You’re dating him, right? That has you mixed up in this mess, too. Not a good place to be, Angie. And it’s definitely not a good place for your father to be,” he added, the words sending a chill up my spine. “Not when he’s making a bid for the vice presidency. The press gets hold of something like this, and it won’t be pretty.”
“You unimaginable bastard.”
“I’m not the bastard. Evan is. Him and his friends.” He stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I want your answer then. And, Angie,” he said, “it had better be yes.”
I stayed in the chair as he let himself out, and I was still there hours later when Evan arrived. I didn’t even hear Peterson let him in. I didn’t even realize he was in the condo until he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.
I’d drawn a blanket around me, but even beneath the flannel, I was cold and numb.
“Are you sick?” Evan asked, leaning in to press a warm hand against my forehead.
I shook my head. “They want me to wear a wire,” I said, and I watched his shoulders droop with understanding.
“Kevin,” he said. “That goddamn little prick.”
“He says you’re into prostitution. That you’re violating the Mann Act. That I have to watch you—to spy on you. And he says that if I don’t, my father’s going to get dragged into this.”
He slid off the table to kneel in front of me, his expression gentle. “Baby,” he said. “We can fix this.”
I shook my head, then met his eyes. “This could destroy my dad.”
He looked at my warily. “What are you doing, Lina?”
“What I have to,” I said. “What I can.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to California, just like I planned. And I’m going to call Kevin on the way and tell him you dumped me and that I’m moving to Washington just like I planned. And that means that putting a wire on me wouldn’t do him any good. He’ll leave my father alone, and if you and the guys can get Destiny cleaned up fast enough, then I bet he’ll leave you alone, too.”
“Lina, shit.” He ran his hands through his hair, and his eyes looked wild and desperate. I kind of envied him that. I only felt numb.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” He took my hands and squeezed them tight. “You’re not being punished. This isn’t a case of the bad shit happening after you go a little wild. You don’t have to pay penance. We can work it out.”
I leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you,” I said. “And I know it’s not punishment. I do, really.” I pressed my palm to his cheek. “You of all people should get it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like what you did for your mom and Ivy. You made huge sacrifices for them, and you did it because you loved them. Well, I love you. I love my dad. And I can’t live with the thought of knowing that I didn’t do everything in my power to keep both of you safe.”
“Dammit, Lina—”
“No.” The word came out quick and firm and full of absolute conviction. “Please,” I said. “My mind’s made up. I know Kevin. I get him now. And he’s vindictive. If I stay, he won’t ever let up. You want to be safe for Ivy? You want everything you’ve given up to shut your operations down to actually matter? Then you have to let me do this.”
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with storm-gray eyes, so flooded with regret that I had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I stood up. “I love you desperately. And that’s why I have to go away.”
It felt good to be back in California with my mom and my dad, but I missed Evan terribly. And every time the pain got to be too much, I just reminded myself that I’d had a reason for walking away. For Evan. For my parents. And even a little bit for me, because there was finally something that I could do for them, even if they weren’t actually aware of the sacrifice I was making.
But I couldn’t completely bury myself, and so I sucked up my courage, sat my parents down, and told them that I didn’t want to work in Washington.
“I think it’s fascinating,” I said, “and I don’t regret my degree or the years I spent or any of that. But it’s not me.”
“Then why—” my mother began, but my dad pressed his hand over hers, gently silencing her.
“I always thought politics was more your sister’s fascination,” he said. He spoke blandly, but I saw the comprehension in his face, and I think that may have been the first time I truly understood how well-suited for politics my father was.
“She loved everything about it,” I agreed. “I like it. I think it’s interesting. But I don’t love it, Daddy. Not like you do. Not like Grace did.”
He nodded slowly. “What do you love?”
“Art,” I said, without hesitation.
He inclined his head. “I shouldn’t have even had to ask that. I think you were born with a sketchpad.”
“Too bad I can barely draw a stick figure.”
“Nonsense,” my mother said loyally. “You’re very talented.”
I laughed and hugged her. “I’m not,” I said. “But I can see talent. I’d like to maybe manage a gallery someday. Or work in restoration. I don’t know. To be honest, I’m not sure what all the options are. But I think I want to go back to school to find out.” I wrinkled my nose as I held my breath, trying to gauge their reactions.
It was my mother who spoke first. “I’ll talk to Candace in the morning—you remember Candace? She spent two years interning at the Louvre. If anyone knows the best schools to consider she will.”
I tried to say something, but couldn’t manage to talk with my throat full of tears. Instead, I just smiled like an idiot and looked at my father. He shook his head with mock sadness. “I’m going to owe some major favors on the Hill,” he said. “Congressman Winslow will never find an aide as competent as you would have been.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him.
And for the first time in almost eight years, I felt like it was truly me with my parents, and not me channeling the ghost of my sister.
“Have you considered moving back to Chicago?” my mother asked me days later as we wandered some of La Jolla’s galleries. “There are several good programs there, I believe.”
