Chapter Six
A week later, Zoey stood outside the Shake Shack at Pentagon City, the shopping mall situated one Metro stop from the government building it was named for. Building was really a misnomer for the Pentagon considering it was the size of a small city that housed about fifty times more people than the West Texas town where she’d grown up.
Zoey had two more days of freedom before she started her new assignment, and while she was both excited and nervous at the prospect, she had more pressing issues to face. First up was defying all odds to find a place to live before she reported to her new assignment on Monday morning, and she’d enlisted the perfect person to help her.
Margaret Sharp showed up on time, exactly what Zoey would expect from a career officer’s wife. She’d first met Margaret when she was still very green after David had taken her under his wing. She’d spent many Sunday afternoons eating way too much pot roast and then playing pickup games of touch football with the entire Sharp family at her first base assignment, Fort Bragg. Margaret had regaled her with stories about all the exotic overseas assignments David’s career had taken them on, and later took credit for Zoey’s wanderlust, but at the time Zoey was just happy to have pseudo family to call her own. The ease with which she’d fit in amongst them almost made the pain of her own family’s indifference bearable. Almost.
“I love this place,” Margaret said. “But every time I think of it, there’s always a huge line. This worked out perfectly. I figure we can eat now before the crowds and then spend the rest of the day narrowing down the search for your new home.”
Home. The word sounded so permanent, so real. Zoey hesitated to entertain the idea this assignment might result in her staying in one place for any length of time long enough to consider it home, but the prospect was inviting. She’d spent her career moving from base to base and taking every deployment opportunity she could get. Roots were for people with spouses and kids. The only long-term relationship she’d ever been interested in cultivating was with the service, and a week ago she’d thought her affair with the Army might be coming to an end. Now that she was assured a more permanent assignment, the idea of setting down roots was actually appealing.
“I don’t need much,” she said. “A simple apartment, maybe with an extra bedroom for a study.”
“How about a townhouse? Colonel Peters is transferring to Fort Benning, and his place is up for sale. You’d have some of the benefits of living in an apartment—no yard work, neighbors close by, but you wouldn’t be tossing your money away on rent and you’d be building some equity. We’ve been out there a couple of times and it’s a really nice place. It would be perfect for you.”
Zoey fixated on “neighbors close by” and started to rethink the whole apartment idea. She’d lived her life in the close confines of the various bases she was assigned to, and until this moment, she assumed that was all she’d ever wanted, but that was before she’d turned on her peers and become a pariah on base. Even after she’d transferred stateside from Bagram, she’d noticed the whispers and side-eye glances from fellow soldiers at Fort Hood. Close quarters meant closer to rejection, and she could do without the reminder she was alone in a crowd.
“You know, I think I might like to look at something different. An actual house with a yard. I realize real estate can be a little off the rails here, but I have quite a bit in savings. I’m open to renting for now just to have a place to live, and then taking some time to find something more permanent if things work out for me to stick around.”
“House it is,” Margaret said. “We should be able to make this work.” She drummed the table with her fingers as she worked through the change in plans. “I’m thinking Fairfax or Vienna would be good places to start.” She reached a hand across the table. “And I have a feeling things are going to work out for you to stick around for a long time. David is so very happy to have you close by. He couldn’t stop talking about you after he got back from the party Saturday night. I swear he couldn’t be more proud of you if you were his flesh and blood.” The buzzer signaling their food was ready lit up and skittered across the table. “If you’ll pick up our burgers, I’ll run a few quick searches at MilitaryByOwner.”
Zoey complied, happy to leave the details to Margaret. She had no idea where Fairfax and Vienna were or what MilitaryByOwner was, but she was confident Margaret would make sure she found the amenities she wanted in close proximity to her new office. The only surprising thing about their conversation had been Margaret’s revelations about her husband. Zoey hadn’t been certain how to read Sharp’s reactions since she’d been called on the carpet two weeks ago, and she’d suspected her promotion was more for show than because anyone in Army command thought she deserved a reward. To hear he was proud of her, even if she didn’t hear the words directly from him was a welcome accolade, and she tucked the warm fuzzy away in case she needed a reminder at some point she wasn’t alone.
Zoey stood behind a crowd all waiting to pick up their food, and her eyes were drawn to a copy of the Washington Post on the abandoned table next to her. The headline blared REPUBLICANS CALL FOR SENATOR NEWMAN TO RESIGN. She didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on politics, but like everyone else in the country, she’d heard the name and couldn’t resist skimming the story while she waited.
Youthful and dashing, Steve Newman was a big deal in DC. Having soared to a governor’s seat in Ohio at the young age of thirty-three, he’d foregone a third term to take his father’s Senate seat when the elder Newman met an untimely death at the hands of a shooter at a mall in Columbus. The younger Newman had been pegged as a Bill Clinton type, and as early as a month ago, his name had been floated as a potential standard bearer for the Democratic Party when President Garrett was forced to retire in two years. His path to success was one of the most watched spectacles in the country. And so was his demise.
Last week, a woman came forward, not to make a sexual assault or affair allegation as was often the case for a popular politician, but to say she’d been a passenger in a car that had plowed into a young woman one snowy night last year in downtown Columbus. This witness told the press the driver of the vehicle had been none other than Senator Newman, and he’d driven from the scene without even checking to see if the girl was okay. She died before help arrived.
Zoey shook her head. The woman might have lived if he’d stopped to call an ambulance. What had been so worth hiding that he’d chosen to flee the scene rather than face the consequences of his actions? He’d probably been drinking, she surmised, and like an echo of her thoughts, her eyes caught the next few lines of text in the article. Senator Newman strongly denied that alcohol played a factor in the incident.
“Senator Newman doesn’t drink, but that’s not the point. He was not responsible for this tragic death, and there is no credible evidence to support the allegation that he was,” said Rook Daniels, spokesperson for the senator.
Zoey dropped the paper back onto the table. She’d thought about Rook several times since their aborted date, wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t been summoned away, but she’d filed the missed opportunity under things best left undone. The sight of Rook’s name scattered her neatly tucked feelings in several different directions—curiosity, longing, regret—but something about the news story nagged at the back of her mind. She picked up the paper again and skimmed the rest of the article as well as the sidebar, and when she had devoured every word, she was certain the call Rook had taken the night they were at Meridian Park had been about this case.
“Is everything okay?”
Zoey looked up at the sound of Margaret’s voice and then over at the counter where a tray of food sat waiting. She had no idea how long she’d been standing here, reading the article, letting their food grow cold in the window. “Sorry, I started reading this article and got completely distracted.”
Margaret glanced at the paper. “It’s a sad story for everyone involved. That poor girl and now Senator Newman’s career is ruined over a snap decision made in the heat of the moment. I guess you never know when your entire world will spin out of control.”
Zoey nodded as she grabbed the tray of food. Apparently, Rook Daniels lived her life in the eye of the storm, and Zoey was grateful she hadn’t allowed herself to be swept away.
* * *
Rook tipped the coffee mug to her lips, but only a trickle of the caffeinated magic met her lips. She had no recollection of drinking the entire cup, but she was going to need a lot more if she was going to make it through the day. She swung her legs off her desk and trudged, zombie-like, toward the office kitchen, colliding with Lacy as soon as she reached the entrance.
“Lacy, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I could say the same to you. Last I checked you own a pretty nice townhouse, but I doubt you’ve seen it in a week. You look like hell, Rook.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, but seriously, it’s Sunday. Don’t you have family stuff?”
“I made pancakes and bacon for the kids and now Ron’s responsible for entertaining them the rest of the day. Blake’s already here. I called Harry and Eric and they’re on their way. You have a team for a reason. Let us help you.”
Rook weighed her options. Normally, she’d have no qualms about calling in the whole team to work on a weekend, especially when it was a big case with a high-profile client, but she’d chosen to pull the overtime on this one by herself for a very good reason. “You know I’m working on the Newman case, right?”
Lacy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Rook, I read the papers, just like everyone else. It’s a case, just like any other. What do you always say? Personal is our business. Now we get to test that, so let’s get to work.”
She crossed her arms and her expression dared Rook to challenge her. The truth was, Rook did need her. The press requests alone for information about Newman’s situation had her buried, and Lacy was much better suited to sorting through and prioritizing who she should talk to and when. Every major network wanted to book the Newmans for their Monday morning shows, and she needed to make some decisions fast.
But she hadn’t wanted to involve Lacy. Holly, Lacy’s daughter from her first marriage, had been run down in the street and left for dead as she walked back to her dorm after a particularly raucous fraternity party. Lacy had to fight the police to find the perpetrator when all they wanted to do was blame her daughter, claiming her blood alcohol content was the reason she was in harm’s way. Her marriage had been ripped apart by the loss of their only child.
Lacy had come a long way since then. She’d remarried, had twins, and embraced a new life, but Rook knew her past grief always simmered just below the surface. Lacy had told her more than once that she viewed the work they did as a means of revenge—when they represented the good guys. But this wasn’t one of those times. Newman might have been a good guy in the public eye before—a champion of the disenfranchised, the poor, a change-maker—but his favorables had plummeted since this story broke, and Rook wasn’t sure she could save him no matter what she did. But she’d taken the case, so she had to try, and if trying was painful for the people she cared about, she’d shield them as best she could.
“Okay, to be honest, I could use the help.” Rook handed over a stack of notes she’d scribbled on various bits of paper. “Interview prep. If you could type that up and make it look like a semi-intelligent outline, I’ll be forever in your debt. The Newmans will be here at five, so I need it before then.”
“Are you doing the full rounds in the morning or are you putting all your eggs in one basket?”
“Jury’s still out on that, but I’m leaning toward the one basket approach. The Newman kids are home from spring break, and if I can get the whole family to go on camera with a female anchor, I think we’ll get the best spin.” She ran a hand through her hair. “If it isn’t too late.”
“I have to say, I was heartbroken when the story broke. He’s been quite a force in the Senate.”
“Tell me about it. Never would’ve seen this coming.”
“I’ll have this back to you in less than an hour.” Lacy paused in the doorway. “I’ll order up some food. Why don’t you grab a shower or a nap or both? You probably have another thirty minutes before everyone gets here.”
Rook shook her head, secretly happy for Lacy’s intervention. Her desk was covered with projects, and every single one was critical. She was a complete hard-ass when it came to evaluating which cases she would take on, but lately it seemed every single one was impossible to turn down. From old friends calling in favors to the rare instance, like this one, where her ideology demanded she give her client the benefit of the doubt. Her appearance at Addison Riley’s birthday party seemed to have rousted a few new clients despite the fact she’d spent most of the party flirting with Major Granger instead of networking.
She wondered what Zoey was up to. She’d sent her a text to apologize the day after their aborted date and she’d sent flowers to the hotel, but the florist had informed her Zoey had checked out, probably headed back to her base and whatever normalcy she could find after her week taking center stage on C-SPAN. Rook didn’t envy her the transition, but she did wish she’d had the full evening to spend with her. Rook had been drawn to Zoey despite her allegiance to the military, but considering how her work schedule had heated up over the past week, it was probably best Zoey was no longer in town to distract her.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen, smiling when she saw it was Julia. “Hey you,” Rook said. “Let me guess. Your party went so well, you’re planning another one.”
“You’re hilarious, although I did make a splash in Reliable Source and not on my boss’s behalf for once. Helena Andrews said Addison’s party was the ‘it’ place to be last weekend, which means I have a backup plan if my current career doesn’t work out.”
“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but the clock is ticking on your present position. You might want to go ahead and start marketing your event planning business to get a jumpstart.”
“Some days that actually sounds like a perfect plan. What are you doing right now?”
Rook’s ears perked at the abrupt change of subject and she answered cautiously. “The usual. Helping the oppressed.”
Julia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I need to see you.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Today.”
Rook looked at her antique Rolex. “I have a meeting at five, but you’re welcome to stop by if you can get here before then.”
“Yeah, it’s not a drop by and see you kind of thing. I’m sending a car for you. I’ll have you back in plenty of time for your meeting.”
Rook wasn’t in the mood for cloak-and-dagger even when she wasn’t exhausted, but she resisted the urge to tell Julia no, partly because she was curious and partly because she didn’t have the energy to argue. Julia wasn’t known for taking no for an answer which was precisely why she made a perfect chief of staff. “Fine, but I’m warning you, I’m tired and grumpy, so be prepared to make this worth my time.”
“If you can be ready in fifteen minutes, I’ll even guarantee you a sandwich. The car will be waiting downstairs.”
Julia clicked off the line before Rook could respond. She was still holding the phone when Lacy poked her head in the door. “We’re ordering Thai. You want me to get you something?”
Struck by the coincidence, Rook shook her head. “Actually, I have to run out for a little bit.” She hesitated, pondering whether she should mention where she was going before she recalled she didn’t know. Rather than share the vague details she did know, she glossed over the particulars. “Quick errand and I won’t be long. I’ll grab something while I’m out.” She pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and strode to the door, ignoring Lacy’s curious stare. “See you in a bit.”
The big black SUV waiting at the curb with the motor running told her what she needed to know. Whatever Julia wanted to see her about was official business. Julia wouldn’t have sent feds to get her if she’d been asking for a personal favor. While Rook was glad her friend didn’t need her services to get out of a personal jam, she braced for the blowback when she turned down the request for help. President Garrett seemed like a nice guy, but the White House was a behemoth, and no way was she going to get caught up in a bureaucratic maze.
She had a twenty-minute ride to practice saying no. She spent part of that time marking the route, and it didn’t take her long to realize the driver, a man of few words whose expression she couldn’t make out because he wore dark aviators, was purposely driving in circles. Whatever Julia wanted, she didn’t want anyone to know she’d summoned Rook on official business, which suited her just fine. If word got out she was working for the White House, chances were good a lot of potential clients would seek help elsewhere figuring she’d be too consumed with a bigger case. Sure, there might be a long run benefit, but she wasn’t interested in taking the chance.
They were near Dupont Circle when the SUV pulled to the curb. “This is your stop,” Mr. Not-Talk-Much said as he reached back and handed her a folded piece of paper. Rook grasped the note and pushed her door open, waiting until she was on the sidewalk before reading the contents.
Bookstore. By the travel guides.
She crammed the note in her pocket and glanced around at the buildings until she spotted the bookstore, silently vowing to end this treasure hunt if Julia wasn’t waiting inside. She nodded to the cashier by the door and wandered through the shelves as if she were a curious customer. She heard Julia before she saw her.
“Rook Daniels! Oh my God, it’s good to see you. What have you been up to?”
Rook resisted looking around to see if they had an audience because it was pretty clear Julia was playing to one. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to play along, a bit. “Nothing special. How about you? Oh wait, I forgot, you’re running the world. Guess they gave that most likely to rule the world award to the wrong person in our law school class.”
Julia playfully slapped her arm and then slipped her hand through it. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at Addison’s party. Do you have time for coffee? I’d love to catch up.”
Rook recognized the play-acting for a cover and looked at her watch even though she knew it was a rhetorical question. “Sure.”
“Great. They have a place here.” Julia didn’t wait for a response, instead leading Rook by the arm to the back of the store where a few scattered tables and an espresso machine constituted the cafe portion of the establishment. On a normal day, Rook would have suggested they bag this place and partake at one of the better known coffee shops this area boasted, but the faster she could hear what Julia wanted, the faster she could turn her down and get back to her real client.
They ordered at the counter and took the table closest to the back of the store. Rook caught sight of a tall guy in a navy suit, standing a few feet away and she jerked her chin in his direction. “Do they go everywhere with you?”
“No, thank God. I’d go insane. Or quit. Probably quit.”
“So are they here because I’m a badass?”
“You’re not as badass as you would like people to believe. They’re here because what I want to talk to you about is very sensitive and they can give me a heads up if they think someone might be listening in.”
Rook couldn’t help it. All the clandestine activity had her mildly curious, but she feigned nonchalance. “Gotcha. So, what’s up?”
“What I’m about to tell you is top secret. Not classified top secret, but between you and me top secret. Even if you turn me down flat, which you won’t, I need your word that whatever I say won’t go any further than this table.”
Rook raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear not to divulge your secrets.” At the sour look on Julia’s face, a sense of dread flashed through her and she leaned forward and whispered, “This isn’t about Addison, is it?”
“No. God no,” Julia hissed. “Throw some salt over your shoulder or whatever. I can’t believe you even said that.”
Thankful her gut feeling had been wrong, Rook pressed on. “Then what is it?”
“A group of students at McNair got caught with some high dollar escorts at one of their parties.”
Rook scanned her memory. McNair National Defense University was located on the army base with the same name at the confluence of the Potomac River and the Anacostia River. “Isn’t that a grad school? Higher level training for warmongers and the like?”
Julia stuck out her tongue. “Don’t be an ass. It’s a highly regarded master’s program for ‘joint professional military education.’”
Rook put up her hands in surrender. “Fine. But I don’t get why a bunch of quote unquote professionals hiring escorts should be on your radar. Unless…Wait, is one of them related to the president?”
“No. That I could handle. I mean, it’s not like he’s ever going to run for anything again. One of them is General Bloomfield’s youngest son.”
Rook took a minute to process the detail. She generally prided herself on staying up-to-date on all the scuttlebutt in the Beltway, but it was simply impossible to keep up with everything and she had a tendency to focus on the things that naturally captured her interest. The military wasn’t one of them. Still, the name Bloomfield sounded vaguely familiar. “Bloomfield. That’s one of the guys Garrett is considering to replace Daniger, right? Head of the Joint Chiefs?”
“That’s right.”
“How have I not heard about this development?”
“I’m thinking that up to now the press has been distracted by the Nine Tech hearings.”
“‘Up to now’?”
“Yes. Arnie Wilkins from the Post has started digging around, but we’ve managed to hold him off. We’ve back-burnered the Joint Chiefs’ announcement, but Daniger’s ready to move on and we can’t leave the position vacant. Not with everything going on in Syria right now. Once we announce his replacement, everyone’s going to start digging.”
“And Bloomfield’s one of the guys in the running?”
“He’s not one of the guys, he’s the guy. Garrett has already settled on him.”
“Well, that’s easy. Get him to unsettle and go with your second choice.”
“Not happening. Garrett has known him forever. He promised Bloomfield the position and thinks going back on his word because of his son’s indiscretion is a show of weakness. By all accounts Bloomfield himself is as clean as they come.”
Rook sipped her coffee, her brain churning. Julia hadn’t brought her here, under Secret Service protection, to tell her all of this was a foregone conclusion. There was more; there had to be more. The key was whether she wanted to ask and potentially dig into a situation she had no interest in pursuing. She tapped her fingers against her leg while the silent standoff between them played out.
Julia broke first. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”
“If I ask, it implies I have some interest in getting involved. Which I don’t. I have plenty of work, and it sounds like you have this little matter under control.”
Julia glanced around and then hunched closer. “You’d be wrong.”
Rook had known Julia a long time. A veteran campaigner and a fearless political advocate, Julia didn’t scare easy, but Rook spotted a trace a fear in her eyes. The question was, could she resist knowing what had put it there?