Chapter Fifty-Two

Jessie had never been inside her father’s multimillion-dollar Kalorama home and had never expected to be. Yet they sat in his hushed library, surrounded by walls of bookshelves, adjacent to one another in two of three matching leather and brass-tacked chairs.

Jessie had hesitated as he’d led her to the seating area, panic rising. The chairs were arranged in front of a massive fireplace with a mahogany mantel and a live fire that crackled and spit. She’d flashed back to the night she’d been aboard Philippe’s yacht, fire raging around her, her skin searing. But she’d sat and faced the flames.

She’d called her father, instead of 911, after Philippe had shot himself. What had happened would affect them both. For once, she’d needed his advice…and his power and connections and emotional distance.

He had come quickly when she’d called, arriving with a man named Yang. Jessie covered every detail of her confrontation with Philippe. Her father listened attentively, his expression neutral, as if he were on the bench. He’d assessed the scene, sent Yang off on an errand, then called the police chief and advised Jessie what to say to him. After she’d repeated her story to the chief, her father asked her to pack a bag and go to a hotel. She’d gone back to the Embassy Circle Guest House and had a sleepless night despite their warm welcome.

This morning had been strangely quiet and somewhat surreal. There’d been nothing in the news or online about Philippe’s death, or about Sam. No pictures. No videos. Nothing had seemed to change except Jessie.

“Philippe killed Sam,” her voice trembled. “He murdered Ian.” Her throat ached from smoke inhalation and the pressure of tears. “I suppose he got what he deserved, by his own hand, but I’m still having a hard time understanding everything.”

“Sometimes justice isn’t pretty,” her father said.

Jessie had no argument for that. She supposed he was an expert, after all.

They sat quietly for an uncomfortably long while, and he shifted in his seat. The blue in his eyes softened from its perpetually sharp hue. “I was blindsided when your mother died.”

Jessie’s heart flinched at the mention of her mom, and she was shocked by the change in subject.

“I made difficult decisions that took you and me and Sam in different directions. I didn’t think ahead.” He rubbed his thumb over a brass tack. “I knew I couldn’t handle two daughters, not without your mother. So the boarding schools seemed like a good option. Then you were gone. And I was left to grieve over losing my wife and my family.”

He looked away from her and took a deep breath, composing himself. “The pain was devastating. To lose the only woman I’ve ever loved.” He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and bowed his head into his palm. “I couldn’t stand to be with you and Sam. At Christmas, during the summers. Every time I looked at the two of you, I saw your mother. In your faces, your mannerisms, in the way you laughed.”

How could he have been so selfish? Jessie and Sam couldn’t have changed who they were. And they had needed him. But her arguments couldn’t rewrite the past, so she kept them to herself. He might stop talking if she confronted him, and this was the most honest he’d been with her in sixteen years.

“I let you go,” he said. “Thinking you and Sam would be fine with financial support and a good education. I never considered what would happen when you became adults.”

Jessie remained silent.

“You went off and did your own thing,” he said, as if that had been a relief to him. “But Sam stayed in Washington, got involved with the wrong people, and put herself in too many compromising situations.”

“Did you ever think she did that to retaliate because you abandoned her?” Jessie asked. “Or maybe she was just trying to get your attention.” A log popped in the fireplace and Jessie tensed.

He clenched his jaw. “Whatever her reasons were, I had to intervene.”

Resentment welled in her chest. He hadn’t been concerned for Sam; he’d been worried about his career. “What do you mean by intervene?”

He straightened. “I arranged a job for her working on the Hill, instead of lobbying for a no-win issue.”

“No win for you,” she said. “As if it would’ve been better for her to work for Talmont. Like being associated with him would have gained her anything.”

The sharp blue returned to his eyes. “Evidently it gained her a few votes for stem cell research. That’s more than your abandoned seduction of him gained for you.”

The fire hissed.

Jessie sat, mortified. Heat surged through her with the rhythm of her racing pulse. The bookshelves breathed, the books’ jewel-toned bindings undulating before her eyes.

She couldn’t look at her father.

“How do you know about that?” Could Talmont be so despicable that he had told him?

“I know everything that goes on in Sam’s condominium,” he said in an I-wish-I-didn’t tone. “I own it. And before Sam moved in, I had state-of-the-art surveillance cameras and listening devices installed for her protection.”

Jessie shuddered. Michael had said the place was clean.

“Just like the DVD of Philippe with Sam,” he said, “there’s one of you and Senator Talmont.”

Stunned, her jaw went slack. “You knew that Philippe murdered Sam? All this time, everything I’ve been through—you knew?”

“Yes. I knew, and I covered it up.”

Oh. My. God.

Jessie sprang from her chair, the pain in her thigh searing. Several spiteful retorts sprang to mind, but she chose to stay silent and walk away. She had nothing left to say to her father. She’d made it to the library door before he spoke.

“Run away, Jessica. Just like you always have.”

She stopped, her back to him.

“Don’t stay to hear the reasons why I covered up Sam’s murder, why I asked you to stay in Washington, why I sent you those pictures and the DVD. Don’t try to understand…just judge.” He paused. “God knows you come by that honestly.” His words were softer and remorseful, as if he regretted that she’d turned out like him.

Don’t try to understand, just judge.

She faced him, the room looking darker than it had before, the shadows deeper on his face.

He nodded toward her chair. “Sit.” An invitation, not a command.

She went back to her chair and lowered herself into it, keeping her burned leg straight. When she was settled, she looked him in the eyes. “I’m listening.”

“I could’ve gone after Philippe immediately. But he would have claimed diplomatic immunity, like he told you. He would have been punished, lost his post, and been shunned back to Canada. But he had deep connections there—deep enough that Canada’s government was unlikely to waive his immunity. Meanwhile, all hell would’ve broken loose with the sensitive information he’d have released about Sam.”

“The videos and pictures?”

“Which are now in my possession,” he said, stunning Jessie. “And countless other indelicate details about her life. About her extortion scheme, her egg donation, the party drugs. Her ongoing affair with a married senator.” He glanced away from Jessie when he referred to Talmont. “All the things you’ve discovered since you’ve been here. But you wouldn’t have understood them in context if you hadn’t stayed in Washington. The players, the power, the passions. I couldn’t have conveyed them to you any other way.”

The oversized clock above the mantel struck eight p.m. Jessie waited through the chimes, counting backward. Eight, seven, six…

“You weren’t trying to protect Sam,” she said. “You only wanted to protect yourself.”

“I was trying to shield all three of us, and other people who might’ve been implicated peripherally and unnecessarily hurt.” He looked at her, frustrated, as if he wasn’t making himself clear. “If I had gone after Philippe, the resulting scandal would’ve destroyed my life and yours. Sam’s, too, even though she was dead. At least I let her go with dignity.”

Jessie nodded, considering what he had said. Thinking it might make sense.

“You see,” he said, “sometimes people compromise themselves to reach noble goals.”

She thought about the things she had done illegally, immorally. All to avenge Sam’s murder.

He held up his hand. “I’m not saying that it’s right, but it’s a good lesson for someone who might be sitting on a Presidential Commission soon.”

Jessie felt manipulated. As if he’d pulled every string, orchestrated every movement, and watched every videotaped scene.

“Is this your idea of parenting?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I botched that years ago. It’s my way of offering you insight, as unorthodox as it is. Of giving you the empathy to be a better person than I am.”

She had no idea how to react to his contrition, except to keep accusing. “But I almost died—run over, burned, drowned. Philippe could’ve killed me.”

He smoothed his hand over the crease in his black slacks. “You take pretty good care of yourself. I wasn’t really worried. There was someone I trust looking out for you.”

Jessie cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

He got up and stepped over to his desk. “You will in a minute.” He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and made a call.

She strained to hear anything on the other end of the line but all she heard was the sizzling fire.

“It’s Croft,” her father said. “Are you close by?”