The Intern(69)

Were there surveillance photos of Danny? The official documents from the case hadn’t mentioned any.

She fanned the sheaf of photos on the desk and gasped. These were not photos of Danny. They had nothing whatsoever to do with any drug case. They were of Madison herself, going about her life, in Boston and Cambridge. Getting coffee. Walking to class. With Ty. With her law review mentee. With Judge Conroy.

The night they went for sushi, the judge had been on edge, looking over her shoulder the whole time. For good reason, it turned out. They were being followed. One photo showed them running into the sushi place in the rain, another getting into Judge Conroy’s car. There were multiple photos of Madison entering Judge Conroy’s town house through the back gate.

Why? And where the hell did Nancy get these?

That question was answered by photos of Madison, all dressed up on the night of the reception, the night Wallace followed her home. There were shots of moments when she knew he’d been there. Her getting on the subway across from the museum. Walking with Hannah and that other girl when she felt him behind her. Accessing her dorm with the card key. She’d looked out the window and seen him there. He wasn’t just following her. He was taking photographs. And he’d started earlier than she knew. There were photos of Madison inside the event. Talking to Douglas Kessler. And that prosecutor, Andrew Martin.

Those photos could be used to incriminate her.

She’d come here looking for evidence against the judge. And ended up finding evidence against herself.

The envelope wasn’t empty yet. And the horror wasn’t over. Another photo was stuck inside. Pulling it out, she held it up, staring at the middle-aged woman with graying dark hair getting into an old Toyota on a rainy night, in her well-worn winter coat.

Mom.

That asshole wasn’t just stalking her. Her mother was in his crosshairs, too. She recognized that parking lot. The building in the background was the nursing home where her mother worked. He didn’t just catch a picture of Mom by accident while tailing Madison. He’d purposely followed her to work. She turned over the photo. There was writing on the back. “Yolanda Rivera, aged 52 years, works at Sunrise Senior Living, home address…”

Rage throbbed in her head, filling her ears with a sound like the inside of a seashell. She didn’t hear footsteps until they were right outside the door.

“Don’t blame me for your screw-up, kiddo. Hold on,” a voice said.

It was Nancy, and she was on the phone. Madison froze, listening to the jingle of keys, the scrape as one was inserted in the lock. The office was on the tenth floor, and windowless. She was trapped, with no way out.

“Hey. Wait a minute.… That’s weird, the lights are on in my office.… I don’t hear anyone. You think someone could’ve broke in?… You know I always lock it, Charlie.”

Charlie. She was on the phone with Wallace. And from the sound of it, she knew him well.

“You think I should call security?… I don’t have it on me. I left it in my desk drawer.”

She was talking about the gun. Madison thought briefly about grabbing it to protect herself and immediately rejected the idea. She’d wind up with a weapons charge.

“I probably just forgot to turn ’em off. But do me a favor, hold on while I check that nothing’s been disturbed, okay? It’s making me nervous.”

Madison stared in horror as the door handle began to turn.





26


The blood pounded in her ears as she advanced on the door, careful not to make a sound. It swung open.

Now.

Madison exploded through the doorway, slamming into Nancy, knocking her backward into the wall. Nancy’s phone flew from her hands, and Madison scooped it up as she ran, ending Wallace’s call. She hoped whatever he heard didn’t bring him running. But it probably would. She had to get out of here. She sprinted through the courtroom out to the public hallway. At the elevator, she jammed the button over and over. But it couldn’t come fast enough. She was hearing footsteps. Nancy? A security guard? Run. Turning for the stairs, she bolted down, half sliding, breath rasping in her throat. On the floor below, she forced herself to slow down. There were cameras everywhere in this building. Running like a maniac would achieve nothing but alerting the security guards that she ought to be stopped. Every cell of her body cried out to run, but she forced herself to walk all the way to the lobby, where she waved her intern ID at the guard on duty and exited through the employee door.

When she hit the frigid night air, she realized she’d left her coat draped carelessly over Judge Conroy’s desk chair, proof of her break-in. Idiot. Looking over her shoulder to see if Nancy was behind her, she stepped into the street. Brakes screeched. A driver leaned on his horn. No Nancy, but she’d almost been hit by a car. Heart jackhammering, she ran across the street toward the bus that waited at the curb, reaching the door just in time. It didn’t matter where it was going, as long as it was away from here, before Nancy brought Wallace down on her head.

Wallace. And Nancy? Was that really a surprise? She should have expected the two of them to be in league. Walking unsteadily toward the back of the moving bus, Madison clutched the manila envelope in one hand. Madison herself might be fair game, but they were following her mother. The photos were an abomination. She’d intentionally confiscated them. Nancy’s phone she’d swiped by instinct on the spur of the moment, to cut off the call before Nancy put Wallace on Madison’s tail. She pulled it out, wondering what to do with it now. A text had come in about five minutes earlier, its first line visible on the home screen.