Sitting cross-legged on the bed in Val’s guestroom, Kat’s computer in her lap, Stacey stared at the screen and bit her lip. The white background of an e-mail stared back at her, the Seattle Times in the “To” field. Attached to the e-mail were the contents of Kat’s entire “Insurance” folder—texts between Norman Barrister and Gino Dinapoli that proved they’d conspired to break the law, including murdering people. But the real gem was the video showing Norman, Gino, and Kat in a three-way sex session that had Stacey’s jaw on the floor.
She wasn’t surprised Kat would do such a thing; Stacey knew better than anyone the mastery with which her ex-girlfriend had used sex to trick people into making bad decisions. The real shocker was what the video represented—unequivocal proof Delilah had lied about her family’s involvement with Gino. There was no way she could claim the Italian criminal had been terrorizing her family when her husband was caught on tape getting some backdoor love from that same criminal. It might not result in jail time for Delilah, but it would certainly ruin her career.
Her best friend had been gracious enough to let Stacey stay with the Carressa-Shepherd family, until she could rebuild her life from the wreckage left after five years lost in a fetid fantasy with Kat and Northwalk. The fact that Val trusted Stacey enough to invite her friend into her home, after everything that went down with her mother, brought tears to Stacey’s eyes. She’d saved Max’s life, Max had saved Val’s life, and now Val was saving her life. And that’s what Cassandra had meant by choosing love.
Too bad it couldn’t have been true with Kat. Stacey’s heart tightened thinking about all the things that could have been between her and the woman she had loved. Kat’s own hubris had been her demise. At least she’d left Stacey one gift, if unintentionally, before she died—her laptop, blessedly untouched by the intense firefight in the Northwalk mansion. Stacey had grabbed it just before Sten burned the whole place to the ground.
Saying a silent thank-you to her dead girlfriend—the last time she’d ever do so—Stacey hit Send.
* * *
With the hood of her sweater pulled over her head to hide her identity—and the cuts and bruises on her face—Val sipped her latte and smiled at the television on the wall. She’d never get tired of watching the local news play shaky footage over and over of Delilah Barrister running away from the cameras, the caption “Ex-Seattle Mayor and Congresswoman Delilah Barrister Resigns over Husband’s Sex Scandal” emblazoned underneath. Finally, Delilah was getting her comeuppance. Only a few days ago, Val would have insisted it wasn’t enough, given the death and destruction the ex-mayor had left in her wake. But she’d had a taste of what unbridled anger and vengeance were like, and she didn’t want any more. Delilah’s humiliation and crushed political aspirations were enough.
It was definitely better than watching yet another news report on the latest freaky event to befall the Carressas. Val had told the police about the sophisticated criminal ring—of which Eleanor Fatou had been a member—who’d stabbed her nanny and kidnapped the Carressa children with the intention of extorting her and Max for money. But she took the fight to them, she explained, and got her children back herself. It was mostly true. The police bought her story in so far as it was so bizarre, they couldn’t come up with any other rational explanation to contradict her. They hadn’t connected the burned-down mansion in the woods to her yet; hopefully it would stay a grisly mystery. If anyone in the department was still on Northwalk’s payroll and suspected the truth, they kept their mouths shut and quietly began updating their résumés for new illegal employment.
Danielle had disappeared, and Val doubted she’d ever see the woman again. That was fine with her. Val had enough family; she didn’t need someone to call “Mother” anymore. As for Sten, he’d disappeared as well, but he could go anywhere he wanted now, finally free of Northwalk’s chains. Despite all the terrible things he’d done, she was happy for him. She knew better than anyone the caustic effects of being forced to live a life you didn’t want. Maybe now he could find some peace, and be less of an asshole.
Val checked her watch and hurried to finish her drink. She’d promised to meet Max and the kids at the hospital so they could visit Jamal as he recovered from his stab wound, and there was no way she’d be late this time. The twins insisted on giving their nanny pictures they’d drawn of him and his future wife, a doctor named Natalie, who currently tended to him. Val couldn’t offer a plausible explanation for how the kids could know such a thing, but it didn’t matter. Jamal was family now.
Groaning from her many injuries, Val pushed herself to her feet. Before she could step away from the table, a familiar voice behind her said, “Congratulations.”
It took Val a second to register the woman sliding into the seat across the table from her as Delilah, nearly unrecognizable in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a camouflage baseball cap with a ponytail sticking out the back. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap as if she still sat in an executive leather chair in her Congressional office.
“I underestimated you,” Delilah said, a tight, mirthless grin on her face. “I didn’t think anyone could take down Northwalk, but rumor is they’ve suddenly gone silent, and I assume the world has you to thank, given what I’ve seen.”
Val lowered herself back into her seat. “I used to see you becoming President of the United States and then starting a nuclear war, because you shouldn’t be in charge of a buffet line, let alone an entire country. Now you’ll never hold political office again. So I really don’t give a shit what you’ve seen.”
Delilah leaned across the table toward Val, and her grin warped into a frown that radiated hatred. “I don’t think that’s true, because you know what I see in my visions? You. Always you. My entire existence has been dominated by your fucking life. I know where you’ll be, what you’ll eat, who you’ll sleep with. I know everything you’ve ever done or will do, like a book you hate but are forced to keep reading.”
For a moment Val was speechless. That’s what Delilah saw? Made morbid sense, given how the ex-mayor had inexplicably outmaneuvered Val for the last five years. But she hadn’t been able to stop the career-destroying video from leaking, because Val didn’t know who’d sent it or where it had come from. For once, her ignorance had been an advantage.
Surprising herself, Val didn’t feel a surge of rage or anxiety at Delilah’s shocking revelation. Instead, she laughed. “You’d have to be a serious sex addict to see my entire life. I can’t imagine the chafing.”
Delilah’s frown deepened at Val’s dismissive reply. She leaned back and assumed her icy, prim posture again. “I might never make it to the White House, but I’m not the only person with ‘Barrister’ for a last name. My son is finishing up law school now. He’s taken a real shine to politics and is talking about running for city council after he graduates. Are you sure I’m the President Barrister you saw in your vision?”
Aw, shit. Val hadn’t considered that. The familiar, sickening call for action began its siren song in the back of her mind. As she stared Delilah down, imagining all the ways she could hunt and eliminate anyone with the ex-mayor’s last name, the coffee-shaped clock on the wall caught her eye, and the song was silenced.
Val stood again, gathering up her trash and pushing her chair in with such nonchalance that Delilah’s glare broke into a look of confusion.
“This chat’s been nice, but I have somewhere important to be. If you want to keep obsessing over me, go ahead. But you’re only wasting your time. The future doesn’t care about you, Delilah. I don’t care about you. Remember that the next time you make the beast with two backs—whatever you see has nothing to do with you.”
Val turned her back on Norman’s widow, tossed her empty coffee cup away as she walked out, and didn’t look back.