Chapter Eleven
Rook’s phone started ringing at six a.m. She was on her way to the treadmill, located on the top floor of her townhouse, and for a second, considered ignoring it until she got in her exercise for the day. But the second passed and she checked the screen and took the call. “Good morning, Senator Newman.”
“Do you have any updates for me?”
Fine. She didn’t want to waste time on niceties either. “Matter of fact, I do. I spent last night reviewing the tapes of the morning shows and my team performed an analysis of the resulting press coverage. Your favorables are up five percent since the story broke. If we keep—”
“Five percent?” His voice rose. “I get a five percent bump when I kiss babies on the campaign trail. You can’t seriously think that’s progress.”
Rook rubbed her pounding forehead. “Senator, this isn’t a campaign for votes. It’s a campaign for your future and maybe even your liberty if the DA decides to open a criminal investigation. Every tenth of a percentage point we can elevate your image is a potential juror deciding you’re too nice, too sincere to convict on a manslaughter charge. Trust me when I say that we are making progress.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding more resigned than apologetic. “Jeanine is not happy about all this attention. The press is following us everywhere and they’re scaring the kids. I can’t get to my office without a Capitol Police escort.”
Rook searched for a solution, and something she’d seen on one of the news segments last night came to mind. “Didn’t Jeanine graduate from Columbia?”
“Yes. She grew up in Manhattan. Her parents still live there. But I don’t understand what that has to do with—”
“Bear with me a second.” Rook put the senator on hold and dialed Lacy on another line. “Lace, I know it’s early, but there’s some kind of women’s conference going on at Columbia this weekend. Farah Hamil is one of the organizers. I need you to contact Farah and get her to invite Jeanine Newman to attend. Small speaking role, not one where she’ll be subject to questions, just something to give her and the kids an excuse to be away from DC for a while. Get Harry to start working on her speech. Something along the lines of you can be a strong, modern woman and still stand by your man. I want to see copy by noon.”
“Got it. I have until noon to roll back decades of feminism.”
“Very funny.” Rook knew Lacy was kidding. Mostly. “If Farah balks, have her call me.”
“Will do. What time will you be in?”
“Not sure. This new case is going to have me running around for a few days.”
“The one from Julia?”
Rook appreciated Lacy’s discretion. “That’s the one. I’m not sure I need to involve the rest of the team right now, but I’ll keep you posted.” After Lacy hung up, Rook switched back to Senator Newman. “Your wife is about to be invited to speak at a women’s conference at Columbia. She’ll go and take the kids for a visit with their grandparents. In the meantime, you’ll go back to Ohio and schedule meetings with as many of your constituents as possible. You’ll do town halls and pancake breakfasts as if you’re running for office. You’ll answer every question that comes your way until the press is tired of talking about it or until some other story splashes across the headlines.”
“But I thought you didn’t want me talking to the press anymore?”
“I changed my mind. We’re going to divide and conquer. You two will represent like the power couple you are, and since you’ll be in two different places, the press will be spread thin. Every time you get a question about the case, you’ll give your stock answer and pivot to a pressing issue, like healthcare or the economy. Harry will work with you on exactly what you can and cannot say about the pending case. You’ll be so visible, the press will get sick of you. There’s nothing they like more than a slammed door because it means there’s something to dig for. You and Jeanine are going to show them everything and nothing all at once.”
“Are you going to be in Ohio with me or New York with her?”
Rook held back an audible sigh. “Neither. You don’t need a big gun if you don’t have to guard against big damage. Having me visible is a liability. Harry will be dedicated to whatever you need. Trust me, it won’t be long before the press is sick of you.”
Rook added a few more encouraging words to their pep talk and clicked off the line. A few miles at a fast clip on the treadmill provided a welcome release, and by seven thirty, she’d showered and settled in to eat breakfast and watch the morning news. She’d taken her first bite of grapefruit when her phone buzzed with a text.
Morning. Hope it’s not too early to text.
She smiled at Zoey’s message with its spelled out words and punctuation, and typed her reply. I’ve been up for hours. You?
Always. Hard habit to break. A few beats passed and then Zoey wrote: I was hoping to do that other interview offsite. What’s your schedule?
Available anytime after noon. Rook hesitated before hitting send, pondering whether she should include anyone else from her team in the interview of Donny Bloomfield. She reasoned with fewer people involved he’d be more likely to open up, but a small part of her nagged that she just didn’t want to share her time with Zoey. This case didn’t appear to be a big one, but the fact that it came from the White House elevated its importance, and normally she would have held a team meeting to discuss it before she’d ever met with Zoey. But she hadn’t and she didn’t want to now. Rationalizing that her team had a lot of other stuff going on right now and she wasn’t merely trying to spend time alone with Zoey, she sent the message and impatiently waited for Zoey’s reply. She didn’t have to wait long.
Perfect. Meet me at McNair at one.
* * *
Zoey sat on the hard plastic seat on the Metro train, focusing her energy on ignoring Dixon’s grating voice. He’d been talking for the last fifteen minutes about how he’d wanted to be deployed, but someone stateside was always in need of his skills, so he’d had to serve his country here at home. He seemed to be working very hard to keep his tone from being defensive, but it was pretty clear he was comparing his own experience against hers—overseas, in combat zones—and failing to measure up. After the first few minutes, Zoey had started concocting fantasies, the most appealing of which involved her pushing him through the doors at the next stop and waving gleefully as the train pulled away. Pipe dream.
Next her thoughts roamed to Rook and their dinner plans. She’d spent the morning wavering about her yes to dinner, and she’d come close to texting Rook to say she’d changed her mind. If she had she wouldn’t have to spend the entire day in eager anticipation. How was she supposed to concentrate on interviewing Donny Bloomfield when all she could think about was hanging out at Rook’s place pretending to be entirely focused on their work when she was incredibly distracted by the mystery of Rook’s public and personal personas?
The train lurched to a stop at Waterfront Station, and she stood too quickly, almost falling into Dixon.
He grabbed her shoulder and steadied her with a grin. “You’ll get used to it.” She grimaced a smile of thanks and walked briskly from the train, leaving him to follow or not. She could get used to a lot of things, but she was certain he wasn’t one of them.
They walked a few short blocks to McNair where the sergeant at the gate checked their IDs and waved them through. A few minutes later, they were escorted into a classroom where Rook stood to greet them. Like every other time Zoey had seen her, Rook was dressed like she’d walked off the pages of a fashion magazine. Today she wore a slim, tailored black suit with a crisp pale yellow shirt, open at the collar. She looked dashing and confident, and Zoey was certain if good looks were a gateway to success, Rook’s clients got their money’s worth. She opened her mouth to say so before she remembered Dixon’s presence and bit her tongue. “You’re early,” she said instead.
“So are you. I just happen to be earlier.”
Rook barely gave Dixon a glance, for which Zoey gave a silent cheer. “Is Lieutenant Bloomfield on his way?”
Rook sat back down and shrugged. “So they say, but I don’t have your kind of pull around here. Maybe you should check with whoever’s in charge and see if they’ll give you more than a ‘wait here, ma’am.’ I don’t think I’ve been ma’amed so much in my entire life.”
“Welcome to my world.” Zoey paused, unsure what to do next. She’d spoken to the provost to arrange the interview with Bloomfield, but she didn’t know where his office was or even what he looked like. She started to pull out her phone to call him when Lieutenant Bloomfield came through the door.
Donny approached Dixon first and offered a salute. He had to know that she was the one who’d arranged the interview, but he deferred to the only male in the room, immediately losing points in Zoey’s estimation. When he finally turned and saluted her, he wore a cocky, fraternity boy grin and she braced for a confrontation. “Let’s get started, Lieutenant.”
“Sure,” he said. “The sooner you can clear all this up, the better off we’ll all be, right, Major?”
She ignored the implication that they were merely going through the paces to give his father a break and introduced Rook. “Ms. Daniels is here at the request of the White House. Anything you can say to us, you can say to her. Understood?” She watched him give Rook a once-over, his gaze lingering longer than she liked. She couldn’t tell if he found her attractive—he’d have to be dead not to—or if he was sizing up a challenge. Either way, she wanted to move this along.
“Tell us about the night at the Ivy Hotel. Was that the first time you used the services of the Lorraine Darcy Agency?”
“Wow, you really cut to the chase, don’t you?”
“I have a job to do.” Zoey didn’t bother to hide the growl in her voice, although she was walking a fine line considering this kid, arrogant as he was, was also the son of a four-star general who was about to become one of the most powerful people at the Pentagon. But she wasn’t used to subordinates being so informal and it was disconcerting. Nothing she’d witnessed from General Bloomfield would have led her to believe his son would lack discipline, but maybe being the youngest child in a military family was kind of like being a preacher’s kid. She decided to take a different tack, relaxing her posture and leaning in like they were old friends. “Look, I get it.” She waved her arm. “Being you can’t be easy. You have a lot to live up to, and I’m guessing there’s always someone riding you about fulfilling your legacy. Your dad’s a tough guy, and with the Senate hearings on his confirmation coming up, I bet there’s even more pressure than usual. Am I right?”
Donny shifted in his chair and looked around the room, everywhere but at her. She’d struck a nerve, but didn’t want to press too hard for fear the pain would send him running rather than get him to open up. Besides, there was no telling how Dixon might spin what she’d said when they got back to the office, and she didn’t need Bloomfield thinking she was running him down to his own son.
Spin. The word had become part of her lexicon since she’d met Rook. She’d hated it before, having considered it useful for nothing but covering up a lie or making something unpleasant sound exactly the opposite. But now she found she was developing spin of her own, already thinking about the way she would describe this interview to her superiors. She shot a look at Rook who nodded encouragement. “Lieutenant?” she said.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Sure it wasn’t,” Dixon broke in. “You were just having fun.”
Zoey gave him a murderous look and then caught Rook smiling at her, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. Ignoring them both, she pressed on. “Just tell me where you got the contact for the agency, if you or any of the others contacted them before, and what was your arrangement with them?”
He grinned. “If that’s all you want to know, that’s easy. One of the guys, I don’t remember which one, saw an ad online, you know, on one of those lonely heart, matchmaking sites. Pretty sure it was his first time and I’d never heard of them before. As for the arrangement, it wasn’t anything special. We invited some women to a party and they came. They drank and hung out with us. Some asshole thought we were having too much fun and called the cops. End of story.”
It was far from the end. Zoey opened her file and pulled out photos of the hotel room the manager had taken after the police were called. She wondered if the reporter from the Post already had copies of these and why he hadn’t run them yet. Probably waiting to see if he could get evidence about more senior officers partaking of all that the Darcy Agency had to offer and saving it for publication until after the president made his nomination of Bloomfield official. She spread the photos out on the table and pressed her finger on one depicting nearly a dozen liquor bottles in a pile by the side of the bed. “Is that part of what you mean by too much fun?”
“So now we’re in trouble for drinking?”
She ignored him and jabbed a finger at another picture of a lacy thong hanging from the lamp by the side of the bed. “You pay extra for the decor?”
“Guys having fun on a Friday night. Surely even you cut loose from time to time.”
“Absolutely. I make a point of it every time I return from a battle zone,” she said, a raw enjoyment at the blow she struck with the dig. The most combat he’d ever seen was probably in that hotel room. She let a few beats pass. “But I never have to pay for it.”
“Lucky you,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
She waited, thinking he would say more, but he clammed up. She had more questions to ask, but he probably wasn’t going to respond truthfully, so she chose the most important one, the one she’d been dreading. “Has your father ever used the services of the Darcy Agency?”
She heard Dixon stifle a gasp, but Rook’s face, to her credit, didn’t change from her neutral, I’m just soaking all this in, expression. Bloomfield, on the other hand, stood so fast, he sent his chair crashing to the ground.
“I hope you enjoyed this little outing, Major, because it’s going to be your last,” he said.
“Maybe so, but at least I’ll have done my duty.”
Donny shook his head, made a show of saluting Dixon, and marched out of the room. Zoey looked down at the table. Her knuckles were white from gripping the side, and she took a few long, slow breaths to calm down. Her role as a ball-buster was a complete facade, and once General Bloomfield heard from his son, she was probably going to be reassigned to a post in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her career, assuming she still had one.
“Well, that went well,” Rook said, breaking the silence.
“I should go talk to him,” Dixon said, staring longingly at the door.
Zoey snapped to attention. “You’ll do no such thing.” She could tell Dixon was practically foaming at the mouth to corner Donny and commiserate about her tactics in a ploy to find a way to suck up to Bloomfield Senior and undermine her command. “We’ll talk to him again, but not today. He’s a hothead and needs to calm down before we get any decent information out of him.”
“I agree,” Rook said. “Besides, there are other ways to get the information we need.” Before Zoey could press her on the point, she changed the subject. “Anyone else here we need to talk to?”
Dixon shuffled through his file. “Colonel Mitchell is on the list. He wasn’t there that night, but his name was on the list of possible ‘clients.’ He’s a professor in the, get this, Information and Cyberspace department. We asked him to come by yesterday, but he wasn’t available. Maybe he’s on campus today.”
Zoey picked up her phone and dialed the provost to ask if Mitchell was available. She probably should’ve mentioned he’d come by her office yesterday and chewed her out, but she’d written it off to posturing on his part and forgotten about it until now. She’d wanted to wait until Louden got back with her about Mitchell’s file before pursuing an interview with him again, but Dixon was right, they may as well see if he was around while they were here.
The provost was in meetings off campus for the rest of the afternoon, but his secretary said she would take a message and have him call her tomorrow. Deciding they could wait one more day before poking the beast, Zoey told her that would be fine. “Mitchell’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. I guess it’s time to start working through the rest of the names on the list. Shall we head back to the office?”
“Actually,” Rook said, “I’m supposed to meet with Ms. Scott to update her about our progress and I’m sure she’ll want to hear from you directly. Perhaps Major Dixon could pull the files we need, and we could start in on the rest of the list tomorrow?”
Zoey looked at Dixon who was shaking his head no, which only made her want to do the opposite. Telling herself she was only agreeing to Rook’s plan to irritate Dixon, she said, “That sounds like a great plan. Major, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response, she followed Rook from the room, full of renewed energy at the prospect of spending the rest of the day with her.
* * *
Rook held the door to the car open and waved Zoey in, happy she’d managed to wrangle her away from the annoying presence of Major Douchebag. Clearly, Zoey found Dixon as annoying as she did, and she’d admired the way Zoey had put him in his place. While Zoey might feel it was her duty to put up with another afternoon being in a room with Dixon, Rook had no such allegiance and no one could pay her enough to suffer his presence any longer today. As she settled into the car, George asked where they were headed next. Shooting a look of contrition at Zoey, she gave him an address in Maryland.
“We’re not meeting Ms. Scott at the White House?” Zoey asked.
“Please don’t call her Ms. Scott. She’ll get a big head. And actually, we’re not meeting Julia at all. Not today, anyway.”
Zoey’s brow furrowed. “Any chance you want to tell me where we’re going?”
“We’re taking a field trip to the offices of the Lorraine Darcy Agency. I thought it might be fun to drop in and see what kind of women make otherwise upstanding officers act like fools.” She paused and stared at Zoey’s expression. “You look mad. Are you mad?”
“Mad is not the word. I guess I’m not sure why you felt compelled to lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie so much as a cover, a way to get you away from Major Marshall Dixon, who I’m hoping you find as annoying as I do.”
“Trust me, he’s not my favorite person by any means, but what if he asks me later about the meeting at the White House in front of General Sharp or Bloomfield?”
“He won’t. Guys like him—all that promise and nothing to show for it—don’t like feeling inferior and there’s no way he’ll draw attention to the fact you were called to the White House and he was left behind.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
Rook spent a moment considering how much to share. She’d had Eric dig into Dixon’s background for no other reason than she wanted to know more about the people she was working with, but Zoey was likely to take offense at the intrusion. What she’d found hadn’t been all that interesting. Dixon had graduated from West Point and served his required five years of active duty at Fort Irvine and Fort Polk, respectively. A West Point graduate relegated to two of the most despised posts in the service likely meant he’d always been as much of a douche as he was now. He’d started working at the Pentagon a year ago, and Eric hadn’t been able to find anything about why or how he’d gotten the reassignment. “Remember what I said about other ways to get information? Well, I did a little research. I like to know who I’m working with.”
“And what about me? Did you do a little research about me too?”
Rook swore she detected a hint of flirtation in Zoey’s voice, but she wasn’t sure she could trust her reactions where Zoey was concerned. She tested the waters with some mild flirtation of her own. “Maybe,” she said with a grin. “Is there something special you’d like me to know?”
“Where is this place we’re going?”
With the question, Zoey edged slightly away, subtle enough to deny, but Rook noticed it just the same. Okay, so they were back to business. She was going to get whiplash from the back and forth, but two could play this cat-and-mouse game. “Interestingly enough, the agency has an actual office in the business district.” She pointed out the window, recognizing the building from the pictures Eric had emailed to her. “It’s in that building over there.” She told George to park on the street in front, and when the car stopped, she turned to Zoey. “You ready?”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. What if we go in there and rattle the cage and one of them talks to the press? Wasn’t the whole point of this investigation to control the flow of information? Once we start asking questions of a bunch of civilians, there’s no putting that back in the bottle.”
“Trust me. I have a plan.” Rook climbed out of the car and held out a hand. Zoey hesitated at first but then grabbed on and followed her. The building was older than she’d expected, architecture from the early seventies with nicks and blemishes in the facade that spoke of being left behind for newer, fresher office space. Somehow Rook had thought the high dollar escort service would be in one of the fancier, trendier buildings that had popped up over the last year, but maybe high dollar was a relative term. As they walked through the doors, Rook said, “Let me do the talking. Just stand there and look gorgeous.”
Zoey bristled at the remark, and Rook felt like a heel, wondering how often people assumed Zoey’s good looks outweighed her sharp intellect. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble. If anyone asks if you were here, you can deny you said anything to anyone, and say it was all me. Fair enough?”
“Let’s do this thing before I change my mind.” Zoey took off without waiting for a response.
The registry in the lobby listed the Lorraine Darcy Agency offices on the tenth floor. They were the only two people on the elevator on the way up, but they rode in silence. Rook felt like every time she opened her mouth, she risked pushing Zoey further away, which was probably for the best, but the quiet between them was noisy with unanswered questions. Thanks to Eric’s skills, she knew all about Zoey’s lifetime of service, but she knew little about her life outside the Army. What kind of things did she like to do? What were her favorite foods? What kind of women did she like to date and why wasn’t she with someone now?
That last one was high on the list, but she supposed she could guess the answer. Zoey probably liked women who were as committed to duty as she was and she wasn’t dating one of these women because she had impossible standards. Rook realized she had no real basis for the supposition, but she’d bet the entire big ass retainer she’d made from Senator Newman that she was right.
The elevator stopped and Rook stepped out, leading the way. Contrary to what she’d told Zoey, she didn’t have a plan in mind, but experience told her there was no substitute for a surprise visit. They walked down the well-worn carpeted hall to Darcy’s suite, and Rook noted several vacant offices along the way.
“I guess I never imagined prostitutes having office space,” Zoey said. “I mean what could they possibly use it for? Interviewing applicants? Training?”
Rook placed a finger over her lips and whispered, “You’re hilarious. Don’t you dare make me laugh before I go in.”
“Before you go in? Don’t you mean ‘we’?”
“Sure, but remember the rule.”
“Right, no talking without your permission.” Zoey rolled her eyes and pointed at the door. “Are we going in or not?”
Rook pushed through the door and quickly realized they wouldn’t be talking to anyone at the Lorraine Darcy Agency today. The large open area was littered with haphazardly placed furniture and desk phones. File cabinet drawers stood open, their emptiness apparent from yards away. Rook spun in place, looking for something, anything to give her a clue that this space had been the headquarters for a group of escorts, but all she saw was the same kind of detritus that could have been left when a CPA or some other equally boring business moved out.
Zoey knelt and picked up an envelope off the floor. She read it and then handed it over. “You think this means anything?”
Rook took it from her, letting her fingers linger on Zoey’s for a few seconds longer than necessary before she reluctantly pulled away. The envelope had been slit open cleanly and the contents slid out easily. Rook skimmed the page twice before handing it to Zoey.
Zoey thumped the paper with her finger. “This is an eviction letter.”
“Yes,” Rook answered simply, her brain churning. “Look at when it’s dated.”
Zoey traced the typewritten words. “That’s the day after the incident at the Ivy.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” Rook answered. She didn’t know, but she had some ideas. “Maybe someone reported their little run-in at the Ivy to the building management.”
“But that’s not what you really think, is it?”
Rook shook her head, surprised Zoey was able to read her so well. “It’s logical, for sure, but I kind of doubt the management of this particular building cares who does what as long as they have the opportunity to rent out the space.”
“Good point.”
Rook grinned. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who needs people to say nice things to fuel your ego.”
“My ego’s fine, thank you very much, but it’s always nice to get compliments from smart, accomplished women.”
“Are you always this smooth?” Zoey asked with a skeptical tone.
“Hardly ever, but don’t tell anyone because I have a reputation to uphold.” She reached for the envelope to turn the conversation back to business. “Don’t go all rules and regulations on me, because I’m taking this with me. It feels like a clue.” As her hand touched Zoey’s again, she let it linger this time. The letter might feel like a lead in their investigation, but the charge she felt whenever Zoey was near was a signal of something else entirely. Something she wanted very much to explore.