“Smart ass. Not me. The others.” But Grimshaw was smiling. “Good luck at the funeral. I’d go, but I can’t get out of a few things that have shifted in priority.”
“I can stay.”
“No. You need to be there.”
Jane wondered if Grimshaw knew how much that was true. “I’ll let you know if anything develops. But I doubt Kaminski will pull anything with the Senator and so many VIPs in attendance.”
“Keep an eye out just in case. On Haversham too.” Her boss frowned. “He’s not handling this well. He and Matthew were friends for years. This isn’t easy for any of us, but especially not for him.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
After the funeral ended,with the flag-draped casket, the crying parents and attendants, the 21-gun salute and folding of the American flag, presented to Belinda Scott, Jane turned to leave.
Dry-eyed on the outside, inside, she ached, feeling Matthew’s loss on such a deep level it scared her. They hadn’t really been that close yet. Still, she’d felt for him what she hadn’t felt for anyone else in a very long time.
A hand settled on her shoulder to stop her from leaving. She froze as multimillionaire Nelson Rupert, Matthew’s grandfather, asked, “Do you mind if I have a word with you, Agent Cannon?”
Behind him, Haversham caught her gaze and gave a subtle nod.
To add to her surprise, Lionel Gambol, whom she hadn’t noticed earlier, also nodded before melting back into the crowd. All she needed to complete the trio was her uncle lingering about.
She didn’t doubt he was somewhere near, just praying to open fire on Kaminski or Rook if they dared show up.
It seemed the party was just getting started.
Jane turned to Nelson Rupert and nodded. “Of course, sir. What would you like to know?”
And what can I get you to tell me?
Chapter 47
Seatedin the luxury of Nelson Rupert’s limousine, still parked at the cemetery, Jane accepted an offer of water. The vehicle smelled like leather and new car smell—one of Jane’s favorite scents.
“You knew my grandson well, didn’t you?”
Matthew took after his father’s side of the family in appearance. Nelson Rupert was several inches shorter and had a smaller frame. His white hair gleamed, his mustache and goatee trimmed. His black suit fit him perfectly.
Despite being in his early eighties, the man looked a good decade or two younger. The intelligence in his gaze lent itself to a man clearly not in his dotage.
“Yes, I did know your grandson well. He was my boss for a year and a half. I considered him both a mentor and a friend.”
“A professional and hard worker. He was dedicated to his job.” The glint of sadness in the older man’s eyes looked real.
Jane didn’t know why she didn’t completely believe it.
“I’ll come to the point,” Nelson stated. “My grandson got involved with a conspiracy you know very well. The Collective. August Kaminski. The Rook. Yes, I know all the big names theAgency has been throwing around. I’m trying to learn why my grandson died.”
Jane remained quiet, paying strict attention to everything about Nelson Rupert.
The grief remained in his eyes, but an air of menace emerged, icy with warning. “Listen well, Agent Cannon. You seem like a promising young woman. You’ll go far in your career because you’re smart. You have good instincts.”
“Sir?”
“You know that wealth and power go hand in hand.”
She nodded. “As do wealth and corruption.”
