The Fixer

She gave me a look. “And I would have preferred it if you’d come to me.”

 

 

So we’re doing this now. The night before, she hadn’t yelled at me. She hadn’t dragged me over the coals.

 

“I did come to you,” I said.

 

“Don’t give me that, Tess.” Ivy set her coffee down on the counter, a little harder than necessary. “The second Vivvie told you what she’d overheard, you should have come to me. What were you thinking?”

 

I was thinking that Vivvie had confided in me, not Ivy. I was thinking that if I told Ivy—if I told anyone—Vivvie might take it all back.

 

“I promised I’d help her figure out what was going on.” I stared at the rim of my glass. “I keep my promises.”

 

“And I don’t,” Ivy said softly. She turned away from me. I could see the tension in her shoulders, her back. “That’s what this about? You’re punishing me?”

 

For leaving me in Montana three years ago. For cutting me out. For never telling me why.

 

“This wasn’t about you,” I insisted.

 

“The hell it wasn’t.” She turned back around. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? To Vivvie? To you, calling that number?”

 

“You told me I could come to you,” I said lowly. “With anything.” I swallowed. “So I came to you. Maybe not the way you would have wanted me to, maybe not as soon as you wanted me to, but, Ivy, I came to you.”

 

Those words hung in the air between us.

 

“Have you talked to the president yet?” I asked.

 

“I’m not discussing this with you.” Ivy crossed to my side of the counter and stood directly in front of me, too close for comfort. “You have no part in this. Is that clear?”

 

Crystal.

 

Ivy wasn’t done yet. “You can’t tell anyone what you told me, Tess. Neither can Vivvie. Until we’ve got a handle on it, until we know exactly who’s involved, we can’t risk drawing attention to either one of you.”

 

“Who’s involved?” I repeated. “You think it wasn’t just Judge Pierce and Vivvie’s dad. You think there might be someone else.” I paused. “The other number on the phone . . .”

 

Vivvie’s father had made sure that Justice Marquette didn’t leave the hospital alive. Pierce had paid him—or was going to pay him—to do it. What did that leave?

 

“The heart attack,” I said, thinking out loud. “For the plan to work, they had to get Justice Marquette into surgery to begin with.”

 

“I’m not doing this with you, Tess.” Ivy caught my chin in her hand and forced my eyes to hers. “If there’s something to be found here, I promise you that I will find it. I will keep you safe. I will keep Vivvie safe. I will make this okay. But I need you to stay out of it.”

 

“Have you told the president?” I asked again.

 

“What part of ‘I’m not doing this with you’ was unclear?”

 

“You haven’t told him, have you?” What was I supposed to read into that? “Vivvie’s father is the president’s doctor,” I said sharply. “Don’t you think he has a right to know the man might have homicidal tendencies?”

 

“I spoke with the Secret Service.” Ivy clipped her words. “Major Bharani is no longer assigned to the White House.”

 

The set of her jaw told me that was all she was going to say. When Ivy shut the door on something, it stayed shut.

 

“What’s going to happen to Vivvie?” I asked. That, at least, she might tell me.

 

Ivy’s face softened slightly. Her hand dropped to her side. “I’m working on it.”

 

“Working on what?” Vivvie appeared in the doorway. Her hair was wet, her face a mottle of bruises, but she held her head back, her shoulders out.

 

“Just the girl I wanted to see.” Ivy offered her a far friendlier look than the ones she’d been giving me. “If you’re up to it, I have a couple of questions for you.”

 

Vivvie’s eyes flickered briefly over to mine. “I’m up to it.”

 

“Tess?” Ivy arched an eyebrow in my direction. It took me a moment to realize that she was waiting for me to leave.

 

“But—”

 

“Theresa.” Ivy didn’t raise her voice, but the use of my full name spoke volumes.

 

“Go,” Vivvie told me.

 

“If you want me to stay . . . ,” I started to say.

 

“It’s fine,” Vivvie said quietly. “Just go.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 31

 

Vivvie wouldn’t tell me much about what she and Ivy had talked about. “Your sister’s just trying to establish a timeline,” Vivvie said when I asked her. “How my father got involved, when he got involved, how he and Pierce know each other, if they know each other.”

 

“And?” I said.

 

“And,” Vivvie hedged, “I answered her questions.”

 

She wouldn’t say anything else. My sister wanted me out of this. Ivy Kendrick excelled at getting what she wanted.

 

That night, Vivvie slept in my room again. The next morning, I woke up alone. She’s probably just downstairs, I told myself. I threw on clothes. No Vivvie in the living room. No Vivvie in the kitchen, the foyer . . .

 

“She’s not here.”

 

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