Catherine yanked a length of towel from the automatic dispenser, doused it with cold water, and held the soggy paper to one cheek, then the other, cooling her flushed face while trying not to wet the escaping tendrils of her hair. Every muscle in her body ached. She realized she’d been clenching everything, trying to prevent fifty land mines from blowing up in everyone’s face.
And who was taking care of her? No one ever took care of her. Maybe it was her own fault. Every time Lanna talked about leaving, she’d ignored it instead of talking about it. She was a terrible mother. And look what happened.
Her husband started being distracted and distant and silent. Instead of trying to understand him, she’d ignored it, focused on work, figured he’d get over whatever it was. She was a terrible wife. And look what happened.
Now she was a terrible chief of staff, too, crying in the bathroom while the mayor’s political career was about to fall apart. To keep that from happening, she had to lie. And cover up what she knew about her own husband. Her career—and Tenley—were all she had left. Yes. It was her own fault.
She soaked the towel again, listening to the water gush from the faucet, wishing she could jump into the sink and swirl down the drain, lost and forgotten and swept away by the tides of Boston Harbor.
But Tenley. She still had Tenley. She would do everything in her power, starting now, everything, not to blow that. She’d be a good mother. Make up for her failings. She’d go to Tenley’s office, right now. Leave her a note. Arrange lunch. She looked at her face in the mirror, all blotches and red-rimmed eyes. Oh. Greg. Another sob escaped her. Poor Tenley.
“Mrs. Siskel?” Someone was pounding on the bathroom door. “Mrs. Siskel! Are you in there?”
Siobhan. What was she doing here this early? How’d she find her in this bathroom?
“I’m fine,” she called out, attempting to remove any trace of sorrow from her voice. She felt like grief was strangling her. But she could not let anyone know. She raised her voice over the sound of the running water. “Two minutes, okay?”
The meeting. Shit. She moved closer to the door but didn’t open it.
“Are Kelli and Ward waiting?”
“In their offices,” Siobhan said. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“I’ll call them, thanks so much, all good.” Catherine tried to sound cheery and normal. Exactly what she wasn’t. “All good,” she whispered.
Another lie.
* * *
Surveillance cameras? If Jane hadn’t been so distracted, she’d have pounced on that admission and moved into high reporter gear. Did they have the Curley Park murder on tape? Jane knew about the whole traffic cam controversy and the hullabaloo over the decision. Did City Hall have other cameras that recorded? There couldn’t be sound, because it was illegal in Massachusetts to record voices without permission. But you could record silent video. And if there was a person in charge of surveillance, there had to be surveillance.
But the call she’d just taken from Melissa had changed Jane’s entire day. She’d had to call Marsh Tyson, once again, explain she had family issues. He seemed understanding, said he’d assign someone else to the City Hall story, but who knew what he really thought.
She also had to tell Jake about Melissa’s call. Somehow. He’d just heard about this surveillance guy, and that was potentially critical. This was, too.
Standing on the threshold to Siskel’s office, Jane cleared her throat, needing to get his attention. All three turned to her. Ward annoyed, Kelli disdainful, and Jake concerned.
“Ah, Detective?” she said. “Sorry to interrupt, but ah, I’ve got to, uh, go.” Incredibly inarticulate, but her mind was racing so fast her voice couldn’t keep up with it. She hitched her tote bag over her shoulder, locking eyes with Jake. She had to let him know it was important, but she didn’t want the two pols to think he had anything but a professional connection with her. “Regarding the story we were discussing earlier. I do need to follow up with you about that as soon as you have a moment.”
“You’ll need to call the public relations department, Ms. Ryland,” Jake said. “Maybe in about ten minutes? I think the special duty officer will be there by then.”
Great. He understood. She’d call him on his cell in ten minutes. She tried to keep the fear and anxiety out of her voice and knew she was failing. How was she supposed to handle this? Melissa was waiting for her, and it seemed like—dammit. She looked at her watch.
“Eight thirty-five, then?” She tried to signal with her eyes, Please, Jake, we need to talk. “Right?”
“Everything okay, Ms. Ryland?” Jake asked.
“Sure.” She tried to make that sound like a lie. To him.
Jake looked at Riordan and Dahlstrom. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll just show Ms. Ryland to the elevator.”
A wave of gratitude washed over her, almost tears, as she turned away from the office. She felt Jake behind her.
“Jane, what?” he whispered.
“Gracie,” Jane said. “Melissa called and—”
Jake reached for his radio. She put out a hand, stopping him. “No,” she said. “That’s the thing. Melissa called to say that Lewis had called Robyn—you following this?”
Jake nodded.
“It seems like there’s some sort of ridiculous battle over Gracie, between Robyn and Lewis, which Lewis decided to solve by taking her. Problem is, Melissa had no idea there was a battle. And now—”
“Is she okay? Is Gracie okay? Where are they?”
“Yeah, apparently she’s okay. Lewis took her—” Jane shook her head. “I don’t know. According to Melissa, he told Robyn he was ‘taking Gracie far, far away,’ and she’d ‘never see her daughter again.’ It’s all about the wedding and Daniel, and then she said he said—ah.”
She jabbed the elevator’s Down button, jabbed it again. She’d get out of here, grab her car, head for Melissa. “Hate this,” she said. “Why do elevators never work?”
“Honey,” Jake whispered, “tell me what happened.”
“Okay. Apparently Robyn talked him off the ledge. I have no idea where they are, but now he’s promised to give Gracie back.”
“Great.”
“To me,” Jane said. The elevator was finally arriving. Forget the chance to land a job at Channel 2. Gracie came first. The rest would work out. It was not about her. It was about Gracie. If she was part of the solution, so be it.
“To you what?” Jake said.
“Melissa said that Robyn told her—” She paused, reading his expression. “I know, but that’s all there is. Robyn said Lewis told her at first Gracie’d never see Robyn or Melissa or Daniel again. Even threatened to leave the country and take Gracie with him. But when Robyn said she was calling the police, he gave in and agreed to give Gracie back. But only to me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jake said. “Or insane.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jane said.
* * *
Jake could see the fear in her eyes, as well as the determination. Being a reporter was kind of like being a cop, but without the badge or gun. Or training. Or backup. Jane always asked the right questions, always listened to the answers, and never made snap judgments. Had a good instinct. But—just like some cops—she sometimes wanted to be a hero. And this was no time for that.
“No way, Jane,” he said. “I don’t care what some crazy-ass moron is demanding. If he’s taken Gracie without parental permission, that’s—shit. Let me think about this.”
Jake could hear the elevator laboring toward them. “What are you supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know, exactly. Go to Robyn’s. He’s supposed to call at ten with instructions.”
“Do you know where they are? Lewis and Gracie?”
“I know nothing,” Jane said. “At all.”
The elevator doors slid open. Her expression changed. “But what can I do?” she said. “I have to help. I’d never forgive myself if … and you know? Maybe they’re just having a ridiculous argument. Maybe the guy is scared. Trying to come up with a way to save face. Who knows why anyone does anything.”
Jake had a murder to solve, maybe two, and two still-unidentified victims. Was Jane right? Who knew why anyone did anything? Fear was a powerful motivator. Revenge, greed. Jealousy. Sorrow. Love.
Jane entered the elevator, turned to him. When the doors closed, she’d be gone. The hallway was empty, office doors along the corridor closed, and dark.
He slammed a hand against the thick rubber edging of the elevator door. Leaned close to her.
“Jane, I’m serious.” He saw a flicker of a smile cross her face, the first he’d seen in the last fifteen minutes. “Okay, fine. But I mean it.”
The doors struggled to close, thumping and insistent. He held them open. Leaned in even closer, supported by his arms against the demanding doors, his body in the hallway, his head close to hers. He couldn’t control her. It was part of the reason he loved her. But he could try to keep her safe. He would kiss her, he would, damn the hallway and damn City Hall.
Two young women approached, coffees in hand, chatting. They looked at him inquisitively, as he stood holding the door. He smiled at them—nothing to see here, move along—to indicate all was well. But the moment had passed. It was probably for the best.
“Do not,” he said, straightening up, now holding the door with just one foot, “do anything without calling me. Somehow, I’ll come with you.”
“Will you?” she said. Her smile got bigger. She reached out, touched his cheek. “Promise?”
He burst out laughing, wondering if she’d done that on purpose. The doors closed and she was gone.