“I’ll tell you everything, but first I need you to come get me. I’m somewhere in the Adirondacks.” I glanced at the couple in the car.
“Off Highway 30,” the woman supplied. “Near Upper Saranac Lake.”
I repeated it to Jamie, and he swore he’d be there as fast as possible. To my chagrin, the couple insisted on waiting with me. Despite their seeming kindness—the man called himself an old hippie—distrust kept me on the side of the road instead of in their warm car. Another hour passed, our conversation growing stilted, before headlights swept around the corner and I recognized my rental car pulling off the road.
I’d barely stood before Jamie was there. He swept me in his arms and clutched my head to his chest. When he released me, he looked at the couple in the car and shoved himself through the open window, hugging the old woman, thanking her profusely. Her cheeks turned pink, and I knew that was the kind of gratitude she’d been waiting for. Jamie always knew how to give people what they wanted.
On the ride home, as the car sailed over the mountains in the dark, I curled in the passenger seat and told him everything. When I was done, I pulled out the recording device from where it had been wedged inside my bra and set it in the cup holder. Such a small thing, holding such weighty evidence.
Jamie didn’t say a word when I told him Laurel was alive—only stared ahead, frowning into the darkness. I didn’t know whether he was shocked or could feel the sand moving faster through the hourglass like I could, time slipping full tilt. Maybe he could sense the inferno under my skin, no longer simmering but roiling. I almost asked him, but then I thought, No. Let him be shielded. One of us should be.
***
Jamie woke me when the light was still dawn-bright. His face was grim, and I could tell he hadn’t slept. “I’m sorry,” he said, hovering. “But there’s a lot I didn’t say last night that I need to tell you now.”
I sat up, realizing I was in our hotel bed, still wearing my forest-ravaged dress. I tugged at my ripped pantyhose, peeling them off. “I’m awake,” I said, unfastening the pearl buttons down my chest. “Talk to me.”
He sat on the bed and looked at me cautiously, like I was a vase balancing on the edge of a table. “I didn’t want to tell you last night, but Dougie found Greg Ellworth. You were right. He lives in the city and used to work in finance, at a trading company called Culver Brown.”
“That’s good, right? We can give that to the governor with the recordings.”
Jamie swallowed. “The thing is…Greg Ellworth works in politics now.”
My fingers stilled over the buttons.
“He works for Governor Barry, Shay. He’s one of his campaign managers.”
Alec Barry, our ally. The man who would help us bring down the Paters and use that to fuel his reelection campaign. I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“I never thought—” Jamie’s hand moved over the sheets but stilled before it reached me. “I’m so sorry. I thought he was a good person. I never thought to look.”
“I don’t understand.”
His hand curled into a fist. “The governor’s throwing a big party tonight. He’s going to announce a major reform initiative, the cornerstone of his reelection campaign. Rumors are it’s this huge policy package, and it’s going to change everything—health care, education, law enforcement, on and on. Supposed to be some great model other states can copy. Press is invited, DNC bigwigs, the whole nine yards. He’s holding it at the home of one of his biggest donors. If it wasn’t for you, Dougie never would’ve looked at who that was.”
I heard Don’s voice, echoing from the floor above: I have good news. Everything’s ready.
“He goes by the name Nico Stagiritis,” Jamie said. “Does that mean anything to you?”