Chapter Fifty-Nine

To Catch a Rat

On Jimmie’s way out of the museum, he saw Cat being helped into the back of an ambulance. She brushed the paramedics away and gave Jimmie a quick hug.

“What the hell did you get us into?” she whispered, thankfully ignoring his wet pants. “You said this had to do with Lester, and then I’m kidnapped by a bunch of activists wearing Cubs hats, and they’re telling me you have some tapes . . . ?”

His eyes darted from rooftop to rooftop. He knew that he was on thin ice—that this thing wasn’t over. While the president pretended that Jimmie had “led them” to Emma and the SJWs, they both knew that was a lie. If he said the wrong thing, was the Killing Everybody hero standing by to take him out?

“I don’t have the tapes,” he told Cat.

“What?” she said.

“They were destroyed in the shootout.”

“You made copies, though.”

He shook his head.

Her eyes widened. “So this was all for nothing—is that what you’re saying?”

“It’s not for nothing. I saved you.”

“The SEALs saved me.”

He said, “Well, I was just about to save you, when SEAL Team Sixty-Nine kicked in the door and started blowing holes in everything. I wish I’d had the tapes still, but your life is what’s important.”

“Why did you get me involved in this?”

“I thought you’d want to know what happened to Lester. I thought you’d want some closure,” he said.

“Bullshit. There was something in it for you. Let me guess: You needed somewhere to publish whatever was on that recorder’s hard drive, right? And now it’s gone forever because you were too stupid to make a copy.”

“You’re calling me stupid? You—”

He paused. He’d never mentioned the recorder to her. The SJWs hadn’t known it was a recorder either—everyone thought the interviews were recorded on cassette tapes. The only ones who knew about the recorder other than Jimmie and the Trumps were Lester and Emma . . . and Lester and Emma were both dead. Had the president enlisted Cat to suss out leaks too? Was he just playing them against each other?

“You . . . you’re right,” Jimmie said. “I’m stupid. A big dummy.”

Cat folded her arms. “You finally admit it. Now are you going to explain what’s going on? Give me a clue. You said this had to do with Lester . . .”

He decided to gamble.

“I know who killed him.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “He killed himself.”

Jackpot. For somebody who hadn’t known her ex-boyfriend was even dead, she seemed to have a very specific idea of how he died. And a very suspicious specific idea, at that.

Suddenly, Jimmie’s whole world seemed to be crashing down around him. Lewandowski wasn’t the last of the suspects in Lester’s murder—Cat had just added herself to Jimmie’s list. He couldn’t believe how blind he’d been. He’d been so focused on those who’d had rooftop access that he’d overlooked the obvious: The killer didn’t need a badge. Not if Lester had taken them up there. Was Cat the shadow he’d been searching for?

“I’ll explain everything,” Jimmie said, loud and clear enough for snooping ears to pick up. “But not here. It’s not safe. Meet me tomorrow night at nine. The Lincoln Memorial.”

“Right out in the open. How is that any safer than on a street corner? Maybe we should meet somewhere more out of the way. Like . . . your room at the Watergate?”

She gazed up at him. Even after an eighteen-hour kidnapping ordeal, she could still mesmerize him with those big, bold eyes. This time, however, he wasn’t buying what she was selling.

“It’s been compromised,” Jimmie said. “See you tomorrow. Oh, and another thing? Try to be a doll and not get kidnapped this time.”

She swung a hand at him, but he grabbed her wrist before she could slap him across the face.

“Still an asshole,” she muttered, struggling free.

To the casual observer, Jimmie’s comment about getting kidnapped would have sounded like an impossibly cruel thing to say. But he’d said it to provoke a reaction out of her, and damned if she hadn’t responded as expected.

Besides, Jimmie wasn’t expecting casual observers to overhear him. He was expecting trained ears to be listening in to their conversation. Not only was he expecting it, but he was counting on it. Sometimes, to catch a rat, you had to use a Cat as bait.