The Intern(61)

“Miss Rivera. I’m surprised to see you here. You have something to say to me?”

She was struck speechless, her mind filling up with an image of a room in the U.S. Attorney’s Office, windowless, full of evidence boxes, with an enormous bulletin board featuring photos of the suspects. Judge Conroy’s picture was in the center, with pieces of string stretching between her and the co-conspirators: Wallace, Logue. And Madison.

His eyes scanned the room, alert for threats.

“You’re afraid. And for good reason. We shouldn’t talk here. Call my office,” he said, and walked away.





23


Madison fled the MFA like she’d seen a ghost, with Martin’s words echoing in her ears. You’re afraid. And for good reason. Did that mean she should fear arrest? Or something worse?

The Huntington Avenue T station was above ground, right across from the museum. A train pulled up and opened its doors, beckoning her to escape. She ran for it, barreling into the empty car and collapsing into a seat. With shaking fingers, she pulled out her phone and deleted Andrew Martin’s photo. Having it in her possession felt dirty and incriminating, like—yes—a bag of drugs. She wanted it gone. She looked over her shoulder to make sure that Martin hadn’t followed her. There was no sign of him.

But just then a pale man with red hair stepped into the halo cast by a streetlamp. Lighting a cigarette, he looked up, deliberately making eye contact with her.

Wallace.

Her stomach plummeted. As the tone sounded indicating the doors were closing, he took a deep drag, tossed down the cigarette, and boarded a car somewhere behind her. She got up to run. But it was too late. The doors had shut.

Maybe that’s what Martin meant. She was right to be afraid, because Wallace was coming for her. Fuck. Where could she go to get away from him? Not back to Judge Conroy’s town house while the judge was still at the party. The place would be dark and empty, nobody there but the cat. She couldn’t go home to Mom, obviously. That would put her at risk. The only option was her dorm. There were lots of people around. If she could make it there, she’d be safe.

The doors opened at Park Street. She took off for the Red Line like she was running for her life. The thunk-thunk of footsteps behind her must be him. The stilettos she’d borrowed from the judge were slowing her down, and he gained on her through the maze of tunnels—narrow, low-ceilinged, lined with blood-red tile like something from a house of horrors. Thank God she wasn’t alone. A train had just let out, and a number of people passed by. It sat on the platform, exhaling stale air, growling. She plunged through the doors and collapsed into an empty seat. As the train pulled out of the station, her eyes darted nervously. He hadn’t made it into this car, but he could be in the next one.

At the Mass General stop, most of the passengers exited. The train picked up speed and passed under the Charles. It was dark outside the windows, and she felt trapped. There were only two other people in her car, and they were glued to their phones, unlikely to help if he came for her. There weren’t even doors between the cars to give her a false sense of security. Three more stops to Harvard Square. She got up and stood by the doors, her hand sweaty on the strap as the car bucked and swayed. When the doors opened at Harvard Square, she ran. Up a ramp, through the turnstiles, up one escalator, then another, not looking back until she hit the misty, diesel-smelling night.

He wasn’t behind her. Had he given up? The Starbucks was just a few steps from the exit. She could duck in there. But the interior was lit up like a Broadway stage, the people inside spotlighted for all to see. Better to slip away into darkness while she had the chance. Though, if he caught her alone at night in the emptiness of Harvard Yard, she’d be in trouble.

The door to the Starbucks flew open with a blast of coffee-scented air. Two people emerged, law students, one of whom had been in her Civ Pro class last year. What the hell was her name? Think.

“Hannah!”

The girl turned, looking confused. They were nodding acquaintances at best.

“Madison?”

“How’s it going? Long time, no see.”

“Uh, I’m in your Securities Reg class. I sit behind you.”

She fell into step beside them. “Right. Are you feeling ready for the final?”

“No, I’ve still got a ton of studying to do. What about you?”

She kept up the chatter as they cut through Harvard Yard, sticking to her companions like a barnacle on a ship, alert for footsteps behind her. But the damp night and wet trees muffled the sound. At Langdell, Hannah and her friend peeled off with a firm goodbye, heading for the library. Madison got out her card key and ran the rest of the way to her dorm, swiping the key with a pounding heart. She was in. As the door locked behind her, she took a deep breath. If Wallace had followed her here, he’d be looking for a way in. Sneaking in behind a student swiping their card. Or flashing his badge and demanding admittance. Wallace had cop written all over him, though, and her gut told her that a bunch of law students would at least ask for a warrant. She hoped. It would slow him down.

Climbing the stairs, walking down the dingy hallway, she realized that she’d been missing this old dump. It was home, not the glitzy town house. As she unlocked her room, the familiar smell of carpet cleaner and books made her want to turn back time. To before Danny’s arrest, before she’d ever met Judge Conroy, to when things were simpler. She wanted her life back. The blinds were open. He could still be out there. She couldn’t turn on the light for fear that he’d see which room was hers. Creeping to the window, reaching for the cord, she looked out.