62

Jane saw Kenna slap her cell phone closed. The woman stepped out of the elevator, alone. She looked both ways, then at the front door, then at Jane. The elevator doors swished closed behind her, framing her black-sweatered curves in glistening burnished silver.

“Alex? Gotta go. Call you right back.” Jane hung up and looked at her expectantly. “Hi, Kenna. So? What did you find? Where’s Rory?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Ryland,” Kenna began.

Her voice, almost a whisper, seemed uncertain. Unhappy.

What is all this about?

“Mr. Maitland says to tell you…,” Kenna continued. She stopped, looked at the floor, moved her black patent toe along a line in the pattern of the tiles. When she looked up, her eyes were welled with tears. “I’m sorry. He says to tell you there was nothing in the book. It was—a law book, the Massachusetts Code of Laws. It was just a book. And he says…”

Jane crossed her arms, waiting. Hiding a smile. Exactly what she and Alex predicted. This woman was the personification of lying. A terrible actress giving an absurd performance. And why was she living in Eleanor Gable’s house?

“And he says…,” Kenna repeated.

Then Kenna’s face hardened. She took a step forward, then another, her eyes darting, side to side. She grabbed Jane, putting one hand on each arm.

“Miss Ryland. I can’t do this,” the woman whispered, leaning close. When a wave of hair fell across her face, she flipped it away, fidgety. “Come outside with me. Just for one moment. Please.”

Suddenly letting go, Kenna hurried through the revolving door. Jane scooped up her belongings and followed. What the hell?

Kenna turned right, then right again down that little alleyway between the buildings, Jane trotting behind. A lone spotlight illuminated the latticed fire escapes zagging up one side and down the other. The headlights of passing cars flashed, intermittent pulses of light, as Kenna headed deeper into the alley.

Not a chance, Jane thought, stopping short. There’s no Bridge Killer, that was clear, but she wasn’t stupid enough to walk into a dark alley with anyone. Even a knockout blond source with tears in her eyes.

“Kenna?” Jane stayed in the light, one foot on the sidewalk, in full view of anyone on the street. Safe. Illuminated. She beckoned with one hand. Kept her voice low. “Let’s talk out here, okay? No one’s around.”

“Maitland,” Kenna said. Almost a whisper. She didn’t move.

Maitland? Jane looked up, scoping out the place. “There’s no windows from headquarters overlooking out here,” she said. “We’re fine.”

Kenna took a step, hesitant, closer to Jane. Then stopped, hands clasped in front of her, forefingers together, pointing. “I’ll say this once. And if you ever, ever tell, I’ll deny it.”

Jane nodded. What on—? “Of course. What?”

“We did find something. But Rory will pretend we didn’t.” Kenna’s chin came up, resolute, as if she knew she had irrevocably crossed some line. “He’s lying, Jane. He’s protecting Owen Lassiter. And I can’t … can’t … condone it. I signed up with Lassiter because I thought he was a good guy. An honest, trustworthy candidate. But he’s—I can’t work for someone who—who—” She gulped, the torrent of her words suddenly seeming to catch in her throat.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Jane said. Yikes. Now Jane was looking around, checking for Maitland. Or anyone. But they were alone. “What was in the book, Kenna?”

“It was a photograph of that same girl,” Kenna said. “The one you showed us. Only this one was—provocative.”

Jane’s eyebrows went up. Across the street, someone honked, and someone else honked back, battling for a parking space or something. Shut up. She didn’t want any distractions. She didn’t want Kenna to change her mind.

The woman’s lower lip trembled, and her now-mournful green eyes didn’t meet Jane’s. She touched her fingers to her mouth, as if it were difficult for her to let the words out. “You know. Sexy. Lingerie. Lace, that kind of thing. And the photo was signed. It said, ‘To Owen. With gratitude for a wonderful afternoon, and hopes for many more.’ I saw it. I guess Owen was … keeping it close to him. But Rory will never let on. He’ll never tell you. He left by the side door to avoid you. And that photo, he’s probably already destroyed it. He’d do anything to win this election. Anything.”

“Signed?” Now it was Jane’s turn to whisper. “With what name?”

A car whizzed by, then another, raking Kenna with headlights. She darted back into the shadows, then emerged. One step, then another. She looked into the street, wary, watching a car that eased by.

“What name?” Jane repeated. Come on, honey. Rory was already gone. And this woman—whoever she really was—was about to bolt.

“Holly Neff. N-e-f-f.” Her hand darted forward, grabbing Jane’s arm again. “I know you can keep a secret. I read about you. I know you protect your sources. Now you have to protect me.”