“Supreme Court hopeful Edmund Pierce was found dead in his Phoenix home this morning.”
Pierce’s picture stared out at me from the screen. You’ll get your money when I get my nomination. I could hear Pierce saying those words. I could see it.
“While no official word has been released in Judge Pierce’s death, early reports suggest an aneurysm.” The news anchor on the screen had a naturally serious expression, perfect for delivering this kind of news. “Pierce was rumored to be the front-runner for President Nolan’s nomination to the Supreme Court following the death of Chief Justice Theodore Marquette earlier this month. No word from the White House yet on how this might . . .”
Someone changed the channel, and just like that, we were back to Clark Gable. I set the card in my hand down and made for the lobby and the closest exterior door. Bodie saw me go by and followed me out.
“Pierce is dead,” I told him, waiting until the door had slammed shut behind me and I’d sucked in a breath of fresh air to force out the words.
Bodie narrowed his eyes. “Heart attack?” he guessed, his eyes darkening.
“Aneurysm.”
Bodie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He took a cigarette out of the package, rolling it back and forth between the tips of his fingers.
This is too much of a coincidence, I thought. I could tell from the look on Bodie’s face that he was thinking the same thing: in all likelihood, Pierce hadn’t died of an aneurysm any more than Justice Marquette had died because of unforeseen complications during surgery.
“Vivvie thinks her father might have been murdered,” I said, studying Bodie’s reaction to those words.
“Vivvie’s a smart girl,” Bodie replied. In other words, he thought she was right.
“I need to call her,” I said. “I need to call Henry.”
“Easy there, slugger.”
“This isn’t a joke, Bodie.”
He threw the cigarette down on the ground and crushed the tip underneath his toe. “I ain’t joking.”
I knew that. “Who’s doing this?” I asked him quietly.
“Your sister would tell you to stay out of it.”
She’s not my sister.
“But as far as I can tell,” Bodie continued languidly, “you’d take being told to stay out of it as an invitation to frolic gaily in a field full of it. All it, all the time. You and Ivy are too much alike.”
I turned into the wind, determined not to flinch.
“Who’s doing this?” Bodie repeated my question. “If you assume the good doctor’s death wasn’t a suicide—and I think, at this point, that’s a safe bet—I’d say we’re looking for someone with military training. Special Forces, most likely, possibly military intelligence.”
Bodie’s phone rang. Ivy. I knew it was her, the way you know the protagonist of a horror movie really shouldn’t go down into that basement. Bodie took the call, then nodded at me to go back inside.
I made my way back down the hall toward my grandfather’s room.
I’d say we’re looking for someone with military training.
I thought about the fact that Ivy had been at Camp David that weekend. She’d pointed out just how much I didn’t know—who’d taken the picture, who’d been standing right outside the frame.
Who else was there the day Bharani and Pierce met? My breaths got slightly shallower. Was Adam? Adam’s father was the one who’d organized the retreat.
Had Adam been at the Keyes Foundation gala?
I’d say we’re looking for someone with military training. Bodie’s words dogged my every step. Special Forces, most likely, possibly military intelligence.
Adam was Air Force. Adam worked at the Pentagon.
No. I rounded the corner. There was an orderly outside my grandfather’s room, his arms stacked high with blankets. Adam isn’t involved. He’s not. One of the blankets tumbled off the orderly’s stack. Trying not to think about Adam—or Ivy or Pierce or any of it—I bent to pick up the blanket.
“Here—”
The orderly surged forward, slamming blankets into my face, cutting off the flow of air to my lungs as he pulled me tight against his body. Not an orderly.
Not Adam. That should have been a relief—but it wasn’t. Too big to be Adam. Too tall. I struggled. Too strong. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. The man who wasn’t an orderly was going to kill me. I was going to die, smothered to death feet away from my grandfather’s door.
I tried to kick my heel into my captor’s shin. Then I felt a pinch in my neck.
And then everything went black.
CHAPTER 55
I woke with no feeling in my wrists and a throbbing at my temples. At first, all I could see were my own feet, bound at the ankles with transparent zip ties. My shoes had been removed.
So had my clothes.