Page 33 of Wicked Sin

“Sounds good.” It doesn’t. It sounds bad. I need to make a decision, fast, about how I can leave Taylor alone and do this next round of investigating on my own.

But it proves a moot point.

When we get back to the car, I put a call in to Kendra Browning, and she tells me as a matter of fact, Amelia Dashford Reid lawyered up earlier today. They were working on an immunity deal with the FBI, and there wouldn’t be any questioning her without her attorneys for any reason—not unless I went through the proper channels.

When I hang up, we sit in the quiet of the car interior for a moment.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” I finally start. “If your mother wanted to scare you into keeping her secrets, how would she arrange for a bomb to be planted in your car?”

Taylor doesn’t say anything.

Of course she doesn’t. I’m a monster who just suggested her mother is a monster. An extra-monster. It appears the monster-status was already known.

“Does she have associates?”

“She must.” A whisper.

“It might be time to make that list of other people who would have a reason to hurt you,” I say quietly. “Because right now…”

“She’s the most obvious suspect. I get that.” She takes a deep breath. “What I told you yesterday about not wanting to cover for my father? It goes doubly for my mother. There’s no love lost there.”

“Are you scared?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. I grew up in chaos. I grew up scared. I don’t know what it would be like to not be terrified that my life is going to crumble, any second, and probably by my own doing.”

“This was not your own doing.”

“No?” She turns and looks out the window. “Everything is connected, Detective. I got off relatively easy when I left here three years ago. Did my damage and ran.”

“Tell me about that damage.”

She makes a face. “Can we go and get some lunch first? I mean, it’s going to take a while to walk you through it all.”

I laugh. “Sure. How does takeout sound?”

“Probably revolting. Unless you don’t mind salad, because I know a place.”

That’s more like it. I put the car in gear and steer into traffic once again.

She givesme directions to spot in Georgetown, where I run in and get her a custom order she rhymes off from memory. I get myself a chicken Caesar salad. Then we drive to a gravel parking lot along the Potomac, which spills out into a wide green space overlooking a boat dock.

“This is nice,” I say.

“Nice enough to distract you from wanting to know all the…”

“Sordid details? Sadly, no.”

“Damn.” She picks at her salad. Then she takes a deep breath. “I came here once on a date.”

I wait. She could be killing time, but I don’t think so.

“That’s what he called it. That’s what my mother called it. I was sixteen, and he was a senator. We came here and went for a walk, which sounds perfectly normal—” She cuts herself off.

Because no, it really doesn’t. My neck is getting hot already, and she’s barely begun.

“Seemedmore normal to me. I liked him more than the others.”

The others.Lunch was a mistake. But Taylor keeps picking away at her salad, hunting for the blueberries.

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