Mortal Faults

34

Abby waited in the restroom until she was sure Andrea had lured the FBI guys into the food court. She didn’t want to be spotted by the feebs. It was always possible that one of them would remember her cameo appearance in the Rain Man case.

Besides, she really did have to pee. She had kind of a nervous bladder today. Nervous everything, in fact. She felt like she was hopped up on some designer drug that had her thoughts racing and her body humming.

When enough time had passed, she left the ladies’ room and returned to her car. She was driving the Mazda, since she didn’t anticipate any undercover work, except the small deception necessary to get past security at Jack Reynolds’ house. Her fake press pass was in the glove compartment, along with a camera, notebook, and pen-a journalist’s tools of the trade, or so she assumed.

Reynolds’ address was unlisted but easy enough to find in the Internet databases she used. He lived in a gated community in Newport Beach. Abby was relieved to find Wanda Klein listed in the gatehouse logbook.

The guard directed her down a long, sweeping curve of immaculately landscaped homes. Reynolds’ house was the last one on the right. The barbecue was already underway; parked cars clogged the cul-de-sac and the courtyard driveway.

She found a space, assembled her paraphernalia, and hiked to the front entrance, where a female staffer and two men in suits were posted. The men had the look of off-duty cops moonlighting as private security. She gave her name as Wanda Klein. The rent-a-cops confirmed that she was on the media list, then scanned her with a handheld metal detector. Wanda gets wanded, she thought. Having anticipated the screening, she’d left her gun in the car.

The staffer handed her a new name tag, which she was supposed to wear around her neck along with her press pass. “Now just wait here, please, while I get Mr. Stenzel.”

“That’s not necessary. I can find my way around.”

“I’m afraid he insists on personally escorting reporters at events like this.”

Great. Abby waited as Stenzel was paged. She wondered if Reynolds had told him to expect her.

Apparently he had. She saw Kipland Stenzel approaching at a fast clip, a false smile plastered on his face.

“Ms. Klein,” he said, offering her a perfunctory handshake. “I’m glad you were able to make it. Any trouble finding the place?”

Abby matched his phony smile with one of her own. “I never have any trouble finding things. I’m a regular bloodhound.”

With a certain deftness he had managed to pull her away from the cops so they could speak more privately. His expression altered instantly from a counterfeit smile to an entirely genuine scowl.

“I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running,” he said quietly. “But please understand that you will not get away with it.”

“What makes you think it’s a scam?”

“Everything you do is a scam. You’re a lying, manipulating little bitch.”

Abby cocked her head, curious about this outburst. “Kip, are you mad at me for quitting on your boss?”

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it. I just want you to be aware that I am looking out for the congressman’s interests.”

“Good for you. Now may we get going?”

“I have half a mind to throw you out and tell Jack you never showed up.”

“That wouldn’t be smart. I came here because I have something to say to your boss. Something he needs to hear, involving Bethany Willett.”

Stenzel did a fairly good job of looking nonplused. “Who?”

“Maybe you know her as Andrea Lowry.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“I’m referring to the onetime, illicit relationship between Ms. Lowry nee Willett and the congressman.”

“There was no relationship.”

“I’m afraid there was, whether you know it or not. And maybe you don’t. It was well before your time. What are you, like, fourteen years old?”

“Insults won’t get you anywhere.”

“How about threats? Either I meet with the congressman or I track down a real reporter and do my talking to him.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “Your career depends on keeping a low profile. You’re not going to get yourself in the headlines.”

“I’m more than happy to be the anonymous source behind the scenes. Just think of me as Deep Throat.” Abby frowned. “On second thought, I want a different nickname.”

“It would be a serious mistake to go that route, Ms. Sinclair. The congressman is not somebody you want to cross.”

“Why not? Will he send some of his motorcycle compadres after me? Or does he only use the Scorpions when getting reacquainted with old friends?”

“You’re raving.”

“I guess you won’t mind my raving to the press. Here’s the bottom line, Kip. You don’t run this show. I do.”

Stenzel hesitated, his face a tight mask. Then he turned to the two cops. “Did you pass the metal detector over her?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do it again. Slowly.”

The cop with the wand frowned but did as he was told.

“Afraid I’m packing heat?” Abby asked Stenzel, smiling.

“I’m just taking every precaution… Ms. Klein.”

“We can’t be too careful where the congressman’s safety is concerned.”

“No. We can’t.”

The cop confirmed that she was clean.

Stenzel nodded curtly. “Come along.”

Abby was right behind him. “Kipster, you couldn’t lose me now.”