A Girl Betrayed (A Leah Mason suspense thriller Book 2) Page 5

  A young man in a fitted black silk suit was waiting by the elevator bank, his hands clasped in front of him and eyes trained on the older man.

  “Congressman Winters,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll show you to the boss’s suite.”

  Winters didn’t say anything, preferring to remain silent while they waited for the elevator. The door slid aside with a hiss, and the young man led Winters aboard. Moments later they were at the fourth floor. The door opened, allowing them off.

  At the fifth room along a marble tiled corridor, the younger man rapped three times.

  “It’s open,” a muffled voice called from inside. The escort twisted the handle and pushed the door open for Winters, who brushed past him as though he didn’t exist.

  A smiling man with a bald pate and eyes like a ferret rose from one of the suite’s easy chairs, hand extended. His green silk shirt was open at the collar, revealing a heavy gold chain and a thatch of black hair. “Congressman,” he said, grinning wolfishly, his eyes flat and humorless.

  Winters ignored his hand and glared at him. “My wife’s downstairs. This better be good.”

  Angelo shrugged and cocked his head toward a chair. “It is. This won’t take long. You’ll want that seat, though. Probably a stiff one, too. Still drink Chivas?”

  “Is this a social call? Because there’s a room full of people downstairs I’m expected to mingle with.”

  “You’re not nearly this rude when you’re asking for money. Take a load off. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Angelo moved to a bottle, poured two inches into a tumbler, and set it on the small coffee table in front of the easy chairs. He returned to his seat and thumbed a remote, and the big-screen TV on the wall blinked to life.

  “What is this?” Winters growled, easing himself into the chair and reaching for the drink. The screen flickered and a time-stamped image appeared, the lighting ghostly pale through the artificial filter of the lens.

  “You tell me,” Angelo said, his voice reasonable.

  Winters was framing an ugly response when he recognized the setting. His eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the drama on-screen play out. Halfway through, he downed the entire glass of Scotch and snarled at Angelo. “Turn it off.”

  “We aren’t even to the best part,” Angelo protested.

  “I said turn…it…off,” Winters snapped, rising from the chair.

  Angelo rolled his eyes and switched off the television, and then fixed Winters with a hard stare. Winters looked away. “What do you want?” Winters demanded.

  “You’re in a position to help me. And I can help you. Obviously it would be a disaster if this landed on some reporter’s desk, so I’m going to make sure that never happens. It’s your lucky day that I’m in your corner, Ed.”

  Angelo was a regular contributor to Winters’s election campaign – as well as those of a handful of his colleagues – representing interests for Winters’s state of New Jersey, who wished to ensure they had a voice in Washington. Usually he did nothing more than put in a thoughtful word for issues Angelo wanted to sway his direction, and the relationship had worked well…until now.

  “You filmed me,” Winters said.

  Angelo shook his head. “I did no such thing, Ed. What I did was save your ass. So sit down, shut up, and listen.”

  “How did you get that?”

  “Not much goes down in this town that I don’t know about. What’s important is that it landed in my lap, and I’m your friend. That’s the luckiest thing that could have happened. Otherwise, you’d be front-page news and sitting in a cell somewhere.” Angelo paused. “She was so young. Her whole life ahead of her.”

  “It was an accident,” Winters whispered.

  Angelo shrugged. “These things happen. Who am I to judge? The important thing is that I’m in a position to do you a favor. Your secret’s safe with me.” Angelo stood, walked to the bar, and carried the bottle back to the table, along with a second glass. He poured both a third full and toasted Winters. “To favors.”

  “How do I know you’ll keep this quiet?” Winters asked, reaching for the drink with a trembling hand.

  “I’ve got crap on half the people in Washington. Although I have to admit, this is one for the record books.”

  Winters took a swallow of his Scotch. “What do you want?”

  Angelo’s smile returned. “I do you a favor, you do me one every now and then. Simple. We scratch each other’s backs. Nobody ever sees your little film, and we live long and happy lives.”

  “Blackmail,” Winters spat.

  “Saving your ass from justice. Or would you rather see it on the morning news? I’ll leave it up to you. Say the word and I can make it tomorrow’s main story.”

  “What do you want?” Winters repeated, but his tone was weary and he didn’t meet Angelo’s eyes.

  “You’re on a number of influential committees. Some friends of mine could use a hand with one of them.”

  “Now I’m doing friends of yours favors?” Winters demanded.

  Angelo savored his drink for a moment before speaking. “Ed, let’s get clear on this. I own you now. I call you at midnight on a Sunday at home, you’re happy to hear from me. I ask for a favor, you don’t get bitchy, you ask how soon I need it by, capiche? I won’t rub it in your face, but lose the attitude or this isn’t going to go well. So, yeah. My friends want a favor, you smile and do it. Same with me. Don’t like it? Go home and blow your head off, like a man – of course, your lovely wife and your grandkids will have to live with the film being all over the news for months, so that’s not a perfect solution, is it?” Angelo smacked his lips and leaned forward. “So we need a favor. A small thing. Some help on an upcoming vote. Nothing, really.”

  Winters exhaled in resignation. “What’s the vote?”

  Angelo sat back, his expression relaxed and jovial. “Now that’s more like it. Don’t worry, Congressman. This will be easy. In return, I’ll protect you like you’re my baby brother.”

  Winters tried again. “And the vote?”

  Angelo set his glass down and studied Winters for a beat.

  “We’re gonna help keep America safe, Congressman,” he said, and then cleared his throat and told Winters what he had to do.

  Chapter 8

  Napa Valley, California

  Leah glanced at her blinking fuel gauge when she hit the Napa city limits and swore. A quick check of her navigation system indicated a gas station on the way to the bed and breakfast, and she calculated that she’d still arrive in more than enough time for lunch. A text message from Heather had shared that she’d arrived the prior night and checked in, and had spoken to the owner and already paid for Leah’s room. The new plan was to meet there, drop off Leah’s stuff, and go to one of Heather’s favorite restaurants before hitting the wineries.

  Once off the highway, Leah crawled along behind other weekend warriors. The weather was idyllic, with only a few clouds in a sky so vibrantly blue it looked like a simulation. When she reached the station, she swung into the entrance and nearly collided with a neon green Lamborghini convertible. The driver, a dark-haired man who was talking on the phone, shot her an angry glare and then gave her the middle finger and roared out of the station with a squeal of rubber. Leah’s heart trip-hammered at the near miss, and she sat motionless for fifteen seconds before a terse honk behind her reminded her that she wasn’t alone in the access way.

  Leah was shaking when she got out of the car to fill up, partially from adrenaline and partly out of fury. A driver at the pump across from her shook his head and gave her a sympathetic grimace.

  “Jerks like that, huh? Think they own the road,” he said.

  “The car’s overcompensating for something,” she replied, and they both had a laugh at the Lamborghini driver’s expense.

  She topped off her tank, paid the attendant, and made her way to the B&B a half mile away, which turned out to be a rambling two-story affair that looked to be at least a century old. A
small parking lot to one side contained a half dozen cars, and Leah didn’t have to wonder which was Heather’s – the expensive imported sedan was easily triple the price of anything else on the gravel patch, and typical Heather.

  Leah parked beside it and slipped from behind the wheel. She retrieved her bag from the back of the SUV and texted Heather to alert her to her arrival. When she entered the cozy lobby area, a short man with thinning hair and black-framed glasses looked up at her from a newspaper just as Heather descended the stairway to one side of the reception desk.

  “There you are! Oh, my God! You haven’t changed a bit!” Heather gushed, holding out her arms as she crossed the room to Leah.

  Leah smiled. “Maybe a little more padding. But you look amazing,” she said, setting her bag down and embracing her friend.

  And Heather did look good. Her hair was perfectly styled and expensively cut, her light makeup artful, her jeans and rugby shirt casually elegant the way she wore them, and her body Pilates-toned and her hips enviably slim. Heather squeezed Leah for a long moment, and then released her and stepped away. “It’s been too long, Leah. We have so much to catch up on.”

  “I love the place,” Leah said, looking around, aware of the clerk watching them over the top of his spectacles.

  “It’s a favorite,” Heather agreed, and turned to the man. “Jeremy, this is Leah – my guest for the weekend. You have her key?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Of course. Here you go, young lady. Just sign the register and I’ll show you to your room.”

  Leah approached the desk and signed where indicated, and accepted a key with a number etched into it. “I can find it myself,” Leah said. “2C can’t be that hard, right?”

  Jeremy looked over the counter at her bag. “Need help with that?”

  Leah shook her head. “Nah. I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

  “Breakfast is from seven to ten thirty, in the dining room,” he said, pointing to a doorway to his right. “You’ll smell the coffee through the whole house.”

  “Great. I look forward to it.”

  Heather checked her gold Rolex and motioned to the stairs. “Let’s get you settled and then go to the restaurant. We have one o’clock reservations, which I had to pull strings to get. They’re usually booked weeks in advance.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The room was the size of Leah’s entire apartment, and the bed looked ample and inviting. Leah set her bag beside it and smiled at Heather, who was waiting in the doorway. “This is gorgeous.”

  “My secret getaway. Back when I lived here, I used to come for special occasions with my mom or the girls. It hasn’t changed in ten years.”

  “Thanks for taking care of the room.”

  “It was my bright idea. Least I could do.” Heather checked the time again. “Ready to rumble?”

  “Sure.”

  The restaurant was ten minutes away, and the stylishly outfitted host bent over backward to greet Heather like she was a long-lost relative. He led them to a table by a window and winked at Heather as he handed them the menus. “Best seat in the house,” he said proudly.

  “Thank you, Tommy,” Heather said. “You’re always too good to me.”

  “I make up for it with the others,” he quipped with a smirk. “Can I bring you something to drink while you’re looking over the menu?”

  Heather smiled at Leah and turned to him. “A bottle of Kistler Chard sounds dreamy right now. Something to clear the road dust from our throats.”

  “Be right back with it,” he said, and spun to fetch the wine.

  Leah took in the adjacent tables, where obviously prosperous couples dined on elaborately presented dishes with the self-satisfaction of the pampered. Heather fit right in, she thought, with her twenty-thousand-dollar watch and hundred-thousand-dollar car. Although they were the same age, Heather looked five years older, with a hard edge she’d acquired since college – an edge Leah didn’t understand, given her lack of responsibility and boundless leisure time.

  “So you’re famous now,” Heather said. “I can’t tell you how proud I was when I saw your article. Although I would have thought that would have been scary to put out there, considering the subject.”

  “I wouldn’t say famous. Maybe notorious,” Leah demurred.

  “Nonsense. I saw the articles. You’re a star.”

  Leah smiled. “Fifteen minutes of fame.”

  A waiter arrived with a bottle of white wine and opened it with an adept pull of the cork. He poured a half inch for Heather, who tasted it and declared it perfect. He half filled both their glasses and then took their orders: poached salmon for Leah, New Zealand lamb for Heather. When he departed, Heather held her glass out to toast.

  “To old friends.”

  Leah clinked her goblet with Heather’s, took a sip, and smiled. “Wow. I’m going to have to switch from Two-Buck Chuck.”

  “It’s a special occasion. Why skimp?”

  They discussed Leah’s new living arrangement and the story of how she’d wound up working in Emeryville, and by the time the meals arrived, the bottle was almost empty. Heather held up a finger to the waiter, and he appeared with a fresh one midway through lunch. Leah’s glass was still half full from the last pour, but if Heather noticed, she didn’t show it and continued to drink steadily while Leah nursed her wine.

  The waiter reappeared to remove their plates, and Leah shifted the subject from herself to Heather. The entire lunch so far had been about Leah, which was making her increasingly uncomfortable. “So tell me what you’ve been up to,” Leah said. “No kids, handsome hubby…seems like you’ve got it all.”

  Heather looked away. “Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.” She took another swig of wine. “I want kids, actually, but Richard doesn’t want to start a family until he’s got time to spend with his children.”

  “That’s responsible. And you’re still young.” Leah sat back. “How do you fill your time? You aren’t working, are you?”

  Heather laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “No. I closed the shop – it wasn’t worth the effort to keep open. Nowadays I do a lot of philanthropic stuff. Charities, that sort of thing. Volunteer for events, raise money – all the sorts of things a good venture capital wife is supposed to do.”

  Leah’s eyes narrowed. “Are you happy?”

  Heather drained her glass and set it down too hard on the table, drawing stares from nearby diners. “Is anyone? Choose your poison, isn’t that right?” She sighed. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Leah didn’t know how to respond and so chose her words carefully. “What’s wrong, Heather?”

  Heather’s eyes welled with moisture, and she fished in her purse for a tissue to dab at them with before signaling to the waiter by pointing to her glass. Leah frowned. “Maybe you should slow down?” she said, earning a dark look.

  “Richard’s cheating on me is the problem. One of the problems. There are more.”

  The tension was palpable as the waiter approached. Heather eyed her glass for a moment and exhaled softly. “Just a glass. Whatever the house chardonnay is.”

  “Right away,” he said, looking to Leah. “Another for you as well?”

  Leah shook her head. “No, thanks. A bottle of Perrier, please.”

  He went in search of their drinks, and Leah hesitated before speaking. “How do you know he’s cheating?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “I followed him. Even took pictures. I think he’s been doing it for a while – it’s just who he is.” She replaced the tissue in her purse. “I could manage if that was the only thing. It gets worse.”

  “I…I’m so sorry, Heather,” Leah whispered.

  “I went into this knowing what to expect, Leah. I knew he had a wandering eye. But I was willing to accept it for the lifestyle, and because I thought I could tame him. I did…for a while. But tigers don’t change their spots.”

  “Stripes,” Leah corrected.

  Heather chuckled. The waiter ret
urned, set their drinks down, and hurried away. Heather regarded her glass like it was a live snake before tasting it. She grimaced and pushed it away. “So he’s cheating,” she repeated. “But if that was as far as it went…”

  “What could be worse?” Leah asked.

  “I…I think he plans to divorce me. I wouldn’t have thought so, but over the last few months, money and stocks have been disappearing from our accounts. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Leah.”

  “I don’t know much about divorce law, especially in California,” Leah said.

  Heather shook her head. “Not about the law. About figuring out where the money’s going. I think he’s draining everything so we’ll have nothing left when he files. He had me sign some documents on the house a couple of months ago, which is what got me started checking everything. It was for a new mortgage, where he pulled out all our equity. Millions. I asked him why we needed to do that, and he said it was the top of the market, and with interest rates at nearly nothing, that put the bank at risk rather than us if it lost half its value – that it was cheap insurance. But I think that was a lie. Richard’s always been good at that. Lying, I mean. I can never tell. Even after all these years…” Heather’s voice trailed off.

  Leah brushed bread crumbs from the table before she spoke. “I wouldn’t be much help, Heather. That sounds like something a good private investigator would do, not a journalist. I’d hire one.”

  The lines in Heather’s brow deepened. “No. I don’t want someone else poking around in our affairs – someone I can’t trust. It’s too personal. And…it’s possible that not everything Richard’s done is completely legal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Before he started the fund…he was doing deals, helping put money together with companies that needed it, arranging funding for credit lines. He would joke that if most knew how creative he was, he’d be serving hard time. I’ve never forgotten that. I don’t think it was a joke anymore.” She laughed again, an edge of hysteria to it this time. “So I’m married to a liar and a cheat who’s trying to screw me, and not in a good way. Want some dessert?”