WASHINGTON, D.C.
THURSDAY
It was a beautiful day in Washington, not too hot, perfect for another walk she really didn’t want to take, but Delsey had no sooner gotten back to Griffin’s condo than he’d called her, told her he knew if she stayed inside she’d only brood. Take a taxi back into the middle of Washington, get out and walk, he’d suggested, look at all the monuments, enjoy all the people, and while she was walking he suggested her best payback was to write a song about how rotten Rob Rasmussen was.
So here she was, on K Street, walking with hordes of tourists and government employees, humming a few bars of her new song, spinning words and notes in the back of her mind, her step lagging now and then as she let her mind worry the line about a two-timing dog.
When she stopped at the corner for a red light, a dozen people quickly filled in behind her. There was a lot of traffic, but it was moving right along. Her eyes were on her silver sandals—she needed a new coat of polish on her toenails. Maybe a deep purple?—when something hit her hard in her back, hurling her into the path of an oncoming black limo.
Delsey saw her mother’s face clear as day as the big car bore down on her. She heard screams and shouts, felt strong hands under her armpits literally jerking her off the ground and backward. The big car’s brakes screamed like a banshee, and the front end spun into the oncoming traffic as it slid past her. There was a tremendous crash and the sound of metal rending as several cars slammed into one another. People were yelling, horns blaring. It was pandemonium.
She stared up into Rob Rasmussen’s face. “Delsey, are you all right?”
Was she all right? When she’d nearly met her maker? Had he saved her? “I’m not dead,” Delsey said, “so that’s something.” She couldn’t quite grasp what had happened. She knew she couldn’t stand on her own yet, so she let him hold her up. People crowded in beside them, some asking if she was okay, others seeing if people were all right in the crashed cars. Someone called 911, not for her, but for the mad jumble of cars smacked together in the middle of K Street. Drivers were getting out of their wrecked cars, some of them angry, screaming for the cops, others dazed, wondering what had happened. It seemed like only a second had passed when she heard sirens.
Rob said, “You’re white as a ghost. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She tried to pull herself free, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She sagged against him. “What happened?”
“You fell into the street, right in front of a black limo.”
An older guy wearing cowboy boots called out, “I’ll bet she can’t walk a straight line!”
That straightened her back and her legs. She pulled away from Rob and rounded on the man. “I’m not drunk. Someone pushed me. Did anyone see who it was?”
There was a punch of shocked silence, then voices, talking over one another so she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
She felt light-headed, and, admittedly, a bit crazed as she looked at the faces around her, wondering which of them had pushed her. More than likely that person was long gone now. She’d nearly died. Someone had tried to kill her. The shouts from the wrecked cars in the street stopped when a cop car arrived on scene. An officer leaped out, called for quiet and calm.
No one had seen anything. And that’s what everyone told Metro officer George Mankins, all at once when he pushed through. He listened, then raised his hand. He looked at Delsey, saw her dilated eyes, her pallor, the dirt on her hands, the streak of grime on her cheek. “You okay?”
She nodded. She waved toward the insane wreckage in the street. “I’m not responsible, really, Officer. Someone pushed me.”
Mankins eyed her. He’d just finished a double shift, thankful to be on his way home when the call came in. He’d been only one block away, so he couldn’t ignore it. What was this about someone pushing her? “You sure you don’t need the hospital?”
“No, honestly, I’m okay. My brother’s an FBI agent. Please take me to him. He’s in the Hoover Building.”
“No can do. I’ve got to take you to the station, let you tell a detective what you told me. Who are you, sir? You know her?”
“He’s Rob Rasmussen. He was my boyfriend for a day until I found out today he was a liar. But he did save my life, pulled me back just in time.”
Or maybe, Officer Mankins thought, the lying ex-boyfriend had pushed her, then regretted it just in time to save her.