Silenced

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sean walked into Senator Jonathon Paxton’s office in the Dirksen Building without an invitation or an appointment.

“Mr. Rogan,” the receptionist followed him. “Mr. Rogan, Senator Paxton’s in a meeting.”

Sean opened the door. Paxton was on the phone. “I’ll see you then, Agent Armstrong,” Paxton said and hung up.

“Tell me the truth,” Sean said.

The senator said to the receptionist, “It’s fine, Ann. Sean is working on a project for me. Let me know when Agent Armstrong arrives.”

Ann left, closing the door behind her, though the concern didn’t leave her face.

Paxton said, “Hello, Sean. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Tell me about Ivy Harris.”

The senator narrowed his gaze. “Do I detect an implication in your tone that I have been less than truthful?”

“You’ll detect a hell of a lot more, and you’ll see it on the five o’clock news, if you don’t tell me the truth now.”

“Noah Armstrong informed me that Lucy was in a car accident. How is she?”

“Alive.”

“I don’t understand your hostility, Sean.”

“Stay away from Lucy.”

“What happened?” Paxton lost his fake politeness. “You come into my office with an accusatory tone and tell me to stay away from a friend?”

Sean barely resisted the urge to push Paxton up against the wall and pound the phony indignation off his face. His restraint came more from the fact that Paxton was twice his age than because he was a senator.

Sean glanced behind Paxton’s desk. There was a picture of Paxton and a young, dark-haired woman. Lucy? He stepped closer. No, it wasn’t Lucy. It was his daughter, Monique.

Sean walked around the large office, at the array of pictures on the walls and tables. He stopped in front of a framed photograph of Paxton and a much younger Lucy. She was about twenty, twenty-one—probably during her internship with the Judiciary Committee. Again, Sean was reminded that Paxton’s feelings about Lucy were complex. And, he considered, quite unhealthy.

“You realize your obsession with Lucy is sick.”

“I’m not obsessed, Rogan. I care about her. Yes, like a daughter. But I recognize that she’s not my daughter.”

“Three months ago you hired me to track down a woman named Ivy Harris, and now she’s in the middle of a murder investigation. She’s the reason Lucy was in the car crash today!”

Paxton seemed stunned. “I didn’t know—”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Sean backed away from the wall of photos. Paxton had weaseled his way into Lucy’s life for years, and Sean had tried to understand, but now Paxton was using him. Something was off about the senator, and Sean wasn’t going to be party to whatever chess game he was playing.

“Don’t try to con me,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of work for you these last few months, and I learn you had me track down a girl who someone is trying to kill. Is it you? Did you put a hit on her?”

“That’s ludicrous!”

“Don’t lie to me, Paxton. I’m telling Lucy everything. She needs to find this girl.”

“I don’t know where she is. If you would listen—”

Sean was too angry to listen to anything Paxton had to say, though the security-trained portion of his brain told him to shut up and pay attention. He said, “You’re waiting for Noah Armstrong? I’ll wait with you. I’m sure he’d love to know that you’re withholding information in a federal investigation. Do you want Ivy Harris dead?”

“Of course not. Are you going to listen to me or just accuse me?”

“I like the accusing part.” Sean had to get his temper under control, but he couldn’t resist jabbing the senator.

“I cannot discuss this here. I will come by your house tonight, when you’ve calmed down.”

“Tell me now, or as soon as Noah shows up, I’m turning over my files on Ivy to him.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Read the fine print. If I find out that a client has used me to commit a felony or to cover up a felony, all investigative material can and will be turned over to the proper authorities. The FBI wants Ivy Harris, I have information that may help them find her.”

“They already know she’s Hannah Edmonds.”

That information threw Sean off-balance. He had the police file on Hannah Edmonds’s suicide. There was no reason to think she was alive, but there had been no pictures of the real Hannah Edmonds to run facial recognition. “She is Hannah Edmonds or she’s pretending to be Hannah Edmonds?”

“She is Hannah. The FBI is in the process of confirming the information, but I’ve been in communication with her. I know she’s Hannah.”

“How?”

“That’s not important.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

“Noah’s coming here to talk about my former legislative staffer, Chris Taylor, who was murdered this morning, and specifically why Chris called me at eleven o’clock last night.”

“You already talked to the police—and Lucy. Or does Noah have evidence that you’re a lying prick?”

“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Paxton was furious, but Sean detected his confidence was waning. He didn’t respond, just stared Paxton in the eye. Sean sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

I’m not going anywhere, buddy.

“I’m being blackmailed,” the senator said in a low voice. “And if it gets out, not only will Lucy lose her job, the media will destroy her.”

Sean laughed, certain Paxton was bluffing, trying to scare him into leaving so he could lie to Noah and not be caught.

“You think I believe that?”

Paxton straightened and tilted his chin up defiantly. In a low, even, prideful tone, he said, “I killed Roger Morton.”

Sean kept his poker face on, and posture casual. He didn’t move from the couch. He could hardly move without wanting to hit something.

Lucy was right. Paxton had killed Morton.

Carefully, he said, “True or not, it doesn’t hurt Lucy.”

“She knew.”

Was he trying to pin it on her? Destroy her reputation? “Like hell she did. If you say a word, I’ll destroy you. You won’t know when or where or how, but if you hurt Lucy, you’re through.”

But she’d known. Maybe not with hard evidence, but her instincts had told her Paxton was a killer. She was right.

Paxton sat across from Sean.

“She didn’t know at the time,” Paxton admitted, “but she knows now. She’s an accessory after the fact. Lucy can’t lie. It’s why she’s avoided me all these months. When she figured out what I had done, she left me a note. That note is missing.”

Sean didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t imagine that Lucy would put anything incriminating in writing, or that she would keep Paxton’s guilt a secret from not only the FBI but also from Sean. Not if she had proof.

“You’re lying,” he said. But in his gut, he knew something was wrong. He remembered how Lucy had avoided eye contact at the hospital. What had he asked her? What had made her hedge?

What had Lucy not told him?

“When Adam Scott killed my daughter, he kept her locket as a sick reminder of his perversion. The reason Roger Morton came to Washington, DC, was to bring my contact a box of jewelry that he was led to believe was worth a small fortune. But the box was recovered by the FBI.

“Lucy recognized the items for what they were—the sick souvenirs of a cowardly bastard. Monetarily, they were worth next to nothing. Emotionally, they are priceless. She gave me Monique’s locket with a note. It read, ‘I know the truth. This belongs to you.’”

“That doesn’t incriminate you or her.” Sean couldn’t help but think he was missing something, but on the surface, those two sentences meant nothing.

“In context, it means everything. I need to find out who stole my locket. I need to know what the blackmailers know. If they’re jerking me around, or if they have inside information. The FBI already knows about Ivy, and I’m going to give them another important clue.”

Sean put his hands behind his neck to give them something to do other than strangle Paxton. “You’re playing a fucking game when five people are dead?”

“That had nothing to do with me.” Paxton pounded his fist on the desk. Sean had never seen him lose his temper so abruptly. “I couldn’t have stopped those murders! As soon as I found out that Chris and Jocelyn Taylor were murdered, I called Noah Armstrong. He’ll know everything I do—”

“Except that you hired me to do the background on Ivy Harris.”

“I had to verify her story.”

Sean didn’t know what to think or believe. Paxton was a manipulative bastard whose penchant for playing God now affected the woman he loved.

“No one is going to believe Lucy knew you killed that bastard rapist. Mallory already confessed.”

“I’m trying to explain!” Paxton slowly rose from his chair and leaned over Sean.

“You think she got into the Academy because of the second interview?” Paxton grinned snidely and shook his head. “I made it happen.”

Before he could say any more, Paxton’s phone buzzed. He answered it. “Thank you, Ann. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for him.” He hung up. “Noah’s here.”

“Bring him in. See what he thinks.”

“Dammit, Rogan, you’re too stubborn for your own good.” He ran a hand through his thick gray hair. Paxton pointed to a door. “Go in there.”

“Why?”

“Can you trust me on this?”

“No.”

But now Sean was curious. He opened the door. It was a deep closet with plenty of room for someone to stand comfortably. He wondered how many people had eavesdropped from this small room.

He stared at the senator, torn.

Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.