“I have no idea.”
“Is that Detective Wallace?”
“This is a funeral I attended as a child, that I have no memory of. But you seem to know an awful lot about it, Ms. Lee. So why don’t you tell me?”
“Fine, I’ll lay the cards on the table. Our investigation of former Special Agent Greco led us to revisit the security clearances that he performed. Yours was red-flagged. Something very important was left out of your clearance, and it raises troubling questions.”
Lee drilled her with an angry gaze. Kathryn felt the floor shifting. They know.
“Eddie Wallace was a dirty cop who was murdered in a gangland-style shooting. We have evidence that he was also your biological father, which would make Detective Wallace your half brother.”
“This is intolerable. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Not to mention that you’re completely wrong. My father was a businessman, not some dirty cop with a gambling addiction.”
She leaped to her feet and gathered her things, every movement tight with rage. It wasn’t entirely an act. She’d been trapped since she was just a kid. And the people in this room, instead of helping her, were sitting in judgment. As if they would have been braver or stronger than she’d been when push came to shove.
Screw them. Fuck them all.
“Judge, please. Wait,” Martin said, alarmed now that he realized his advantage had been squandered.
“I’m an Article Three Judge with lifetime tenure. How dare you insult me this way. Your supervisors will be hearing from me. This meeting is over.”
She stomped out of the conference room, expecting them to run after her to try to change her mind. Part of her wanted them to do exactly that. But hurrying to the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that no one was there. Just ghosts from the past who refused to die.
17
After walking out on the feds, Kathryn went straight to the airport and caught the afternoon flight back to Boston. She’d left Brooke Lee and Andrew Martin with the impression that she would never flip, and she regretted it already. Striking a plea deal was sort of like romance. Playing hard to get could be an effective tactic, but only if you didn’t take it too far. She was afraid she’d pissed them off, when she might need them someday. Someday very soon, in fact, given how desperately she needed to get away.
On final approach, she watched the landmarks of Boston come into focus. The rain had stopped. The sun was setting. The Citgo sign flashed red, and the Bunker Hill Bridge was lit up like some prehistoric bird about to take flight into the purple sky. Most people seeing those sights would experience the warm glow of homecoming. She just felt the walls closing in. In Central Parking, she dragged her roller bag for miles, looking over her shoulder and listening with every ounce of concentration for the sound of footsteps behind her. She’d forgotten where she parked, apart from a vague recollection of facing out into open air, with a long walk to the nearest exit. Her car looked like a thousand others. A recent-model, mid-priced, white SUV with no identifying stickers or decorations. A popular car in a popular color, chosen for its ability to fade into the background and frustrate anyone who might try to follow her. Yet another worthless precaution undertaken to give her the illusion of control. Stupid ploys wouldn’t save her when they tracked her with advanced technology and the complicity of the people closest to her. Hell, with her own consent. Her worst enemy was herself.
She spotted a car that could be hers in a spot that looked vaguely familiar, held up the key fob, and pressed. The lights blinked and the doors unlocked with a soft beep. She couldn’t wait to be home with a glass of red wine and Lucy purring in her lap. Then she remembered—the intern was there. That would take some smoothing over if she didn’t want her ploy to turn into a fiasco. The girl wasn’t stupid. She’d already started asking questions. The whole thing was a mistake. It would’ve been smarter to just tell Charlie that she was going to DC. He didn’t believe her stupid ruse anyway.
As she opened the rear hatch, a wisp of cigarette smoke reached her nostrils, and she froze. She’d imagined it happening a million times, just like this. In the dark recesses of a parking garage. Someone stepping up from behind. A loud pop, then blackness.
“Kathy, what a surprise,” Charlie said, appearing from behind a pillar. “Funny, for someone who stayed home all weekend, you turn up right when the flight from DC is letting out. Here, let me get that for you.”
Her heart clutched as he snatched the key fob from her hand and heaved her suitcase into the trunk. She had a gun in her handbag. She ran through the pros and cons of killing him then and there. Pro: she hated his guts. Con: he was her brother. Pro: she’d be getting rid of him before he could murder her. Con: there were cameras watching, and he wasn’t worth spending the rest of her life in prison.