“Could he have known you came to me for information on him?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. As far as I know, he was out of the country when you and I were having our chat in the rain.”
She remembered his comment about sun-kissed cafés and roses and bougainvillea, and felt a surge of warmth, but it didn’t last. Uncertainty crept in, anger, frustration. It could all have been talk, utter bullshit, manipulation.
“I told Mike Rivera you were solid,” she said. “He knows it. We all do. Rivera just has his doubts about your impact on my life.”
“With good reason.”
“Ethan—”
“I’m sorry, Juliet. Sorry for everything.”
He gave up on his steak, took a small sip of his drink, his eyes shifting to an elderly woman making her way down the street on a cane, smiling broadly at no one in particular. He seemed transfixed. Juliet thought of their kiss, then quickly pushed it out of her mind.
“What happened today wasn’t your doing,” Ethan reiterated.
Juliet pictured Wendy scooping up traumatized fish and quickly took a gulp of water, but the wedge of lime somehow landed half up her nose. She almost dropped the glass, fighting tears, irritated with herself because she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t put together her questions, a time line—anything that would help her figure out what Tatro wanted and what it had to do with the man sitting at the table with her.
She pushed her glass aside. “I have no right to blame you for anything.”
“If Tatro wanted to kill your doorman or your niece, he could have done it yesterday. He didn’t have to wait until today.”
“You’re saying he wanted me, except that doesn’t make sense because I wasn’t there.”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just telling you what I know.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not telling me half of what you know.”
Their waiter stopped by their table to refill their water glasses, but took a step back in shock. Juliet made herself smile up at him. “It’s okay. We’re not—”
“You’re the federal agent whose doorman was murdered this morning.” He seemed both repulsed and fascinated. “But you got the guy who did it, right?”
She nodded. “We did.”
He glanced around, as if expecting Juliet and Ethan might have attracted some other violent offender, then seemed to catch himself. “What a hell of a thing, killing a doorman.” He took their dinner plates and retreated as fast as he could.
“We should go,” Juliet said.
Ethan nodded, checking his watch. “We’ve got an hour before I have to be downtown to chat with Rivera and Collins.”
She gave him a long look. “Like being a step ahead of me, do you?”
“I called Rivera from the airport. Just aiming to make your life easier.”
“Ha. Where are you staying tonight? Got that figured out?”
“I was thinking your futon.”
“Uh-uh. It’s still soaked from the broken fish tanks.”
He smiled at her from across the table. “How convenient.”
Ten
Mia’s cell phone vibrated in her coat pocket, its ring on mute, as she sipped a very hot latte at the Barnes & Noble on M Street in Georgetown, not far from her apartment. It was jam-packed this Friday night. She’d extricated herself from her office at eight—earlier than usual—and had decided to indulge herself, pretend she had a normal life. But in Washington, that would just make her boring.
The number read out as private. Not unusual, but her heart still jumped.
“Dr. O’Farrell. How are you this fine evening?”
She recognized the voice on the other end immediately. “Was that you last night? Threatening me, trying to scare the hell out of me—”
“I’m not sure where your loyalties lie. You’re conflicted. Your actions lack a clarity of purpose.” He paused, then added, “Don’t be surprised if people jump to the wrong conclusions about you.”
She bit back a sharp retort—she didn’t want him to hang up on her. “If you and I had a chance to meet, I might be able to alleviate some of your concerns.”
“Where are you now? Holed up in some dank D.C. office building?”
“Look—” Mia glanced around at the crowded bookstore, but no one was paying attention to her. An urgent cell-phone call in D.C. Big deal. “It’s time we met. You’ve made an extraordinary contribution to your country—”
“You were supposed to keep me in the loop about your Special Forces guy. He’s not the hero you all think he is. He has his own agenda.”
Mia frowned. “You were there? In Colombia when—” She stopped herself from saying too much. My God, she thought. Was he one of the kidnappers? Had he played her to that extent?