What’s that intern doing with Kessler??? Charlie texted.
Who?
Your intern is with Kessler causing a scene.
Madison? There must be some mistake. She couldn’t get into an event like this to save her life.
Don’t BS me, my guy is looking right at her.
I’ll see what I can find out, stand by.
Andrew Martin was coming toward her. Their eyes met, and they veered away from one another. That wasn’t by any arrangement. Given the way she walked out on the DOJ interview, he probably thought that she wanted to avoid to him. She needed to change that impression, but not here, not now, not with so many eyes on her. Madison had been tasked with setting up a meeting with Martin on her behalf, but now Charlie’s spies would see her do that. The situation was deteriorating fast.
Shrill feedback on the PA system accompanied an announcement that dinner was about to begin.
Sorry, I don’t see Madison and they just said take our seats.
You’re doing this on purpose.
I’m trying to be helpful. Just give me time.
Heading for her assigned table, she crossed paths with Madison. She wanted to warn her off and tell her to go home without speaking to Martin. But the risk of being seen was too great. She looked right through her and kept walking.
Was that her? Charlie texted.
Who???
You just walked right by the intern.
Where? I don’t see her.
You’re lying to me, you’re fucked.
Kathryn tried not to appear alarmed as she took a seat at the courthouse table, shaking hands, greeting colleagues. The executive director of the Pro Bono League went to the mic to make welcoming remarks. Waiters brought baskets of rolls, poured wine, served the salad course. Her heart was pounding. Her phone buzzed again. Screw Charlie, she thought, but this time, it was Doug.
I’m not going down for them. Neither should you. Want to run away with me? Meet me at the Belvedere garage near Logan in half an hour but don’t let them follow you. I’ll have a plane waiting.
Shit shit shit. Charlie’s guy was monitoring Doug’s phone, reading his texts in real time. This was not the conversation they’d ordered her to have with him. There was no way to respond to his text without tipping them off. She wrote nothing. But Doug kept texting.
Remember Bermuda? You look so beautiful tonight. Say you’ll come with me.
She glanced over at the Bixby table and saw him staring at her. She did remember Bermuda—that legal conference years earlier, where they drank too much and fell into bed together. But Kathryn hadn’t loved him. Not that night, not ever. After a while, the guilt got to her, and she ended the affair. Doug was crushed. She had to crush him again now—to shut him up, to save his life. Glaring at him, she shook her head no. He threw his phone down and pushed his chair back, knocking over a water glass in the process. Chloe, sitting beside him, clutched his arm, looking concerned. He shrugged her off and made a break for the exit.
A guy in a uniform that read EVENT SECURITY followed Doug out the door. One of Charlie’s spies?
Her phone buzzed.
Recognize anyone? Charlie texted.
He attached a grainy photo of a woman boarding the T outside the museum, taken from some distance away. It was Madison. She could tell from the jumpsuit.
If you mean my intern, hard to say if that’s her. Too blurry.
I’ll get a better picture. Talk to Kessler yet?
Nope, he left. Guess your guy didn’t tell you.
She didn’t hear from Charlie after that.
Waiters served the main course. Kathryn had ordered the cod, but she was too nervous to eat. The executive director of the Pro Bono League must not have seen Doug leave. She launched into an introduction full of praise for his distinguished career. When she called him to the stage, there was an awkward pause. Heads swiveled in the direction of the Bixby tables. After a long minute, Chloe rose from her seat and glided to the mic.
“Good evening, and thank you for that lovely introduction. I’m Chloe Kessler, a second year at Harvard Law and Doug’s daughter. My father sends his apologies. He was taken ill and had to leave. But he asked me to speak in his place about the privilege and responsibility of pro bono work.”
This was the moment Kathryn had been waiting for. Chloe—young, blond, pretty, subbing in for her sick father—held the audience spellbound. With Charlie off chasing Madison, and his spy following Doug, it was her chance to disappear. She tucked her phone under a napkin. If they tracked her location, they’d think she was still at her table.
Walking casually into the ladies’ room, she peeked under the doors of the stalls to make sure she was alone. Before the event started, she’d stashed a go-bag with clothes and a wig inside the closed infant changing table, on the assumption that nobody would bring a baby to this event. She was right, or in any event, it was still there. In a stall, she stripped down. The items she couldn’t afford to lose were taped to her body, under the white tuxedo that she rolled up and hid at the bottom of the trash. Wincing, she ripped off the tape, stowing the valuables in a small backpack. Cash, passports, her gun, and two phones—one registered to Jenna Allen, the other a clone of Kathryn’s phone with geolocation features disabled. If it worked like she’d been promised by the guy who sold it to her, it would enable her to send and receive texts and phone calls without being tracked—by anyone, criminal or law enforcement.