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“I’ll manage.”
“By the way, who’s on the guest list tonight?”
“The congressman and his family, I assume.”
“If Morgan Winter shows up, you can tell her you’ll be analyzing the crime-scene photos for me. If not, keep it quiet. I’m not sure who, besides Arthur, she’s sharing the details of this case with. I know she’s close with his wife and daughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s giving them a blow-by-blow. And technically, Morgan is my client, and my work for her is confidential. So use your judgment.”
“I will. As for Congressman Shore, I doubt the news that I’m on board would come as a shock to him. He knows my areas of expertise. And since he wants me at your lunch meeting Monday, he obviously expects me to be in on your discussion. You’ll fill him in on the progress of the investigation, and I’ll provide my analysis of the crime-scene photos firsthand. There’s no conflict of interests, if that’s what you’re worried about. Shore opened this door himself. If anything, my Time assignment is his way of making sure I’m involved.”
“I’m not worried. I’m sure you’re right. Shore might not want this case publicized, but he does want it resolved. If he can maneuver you into taking part in my investigation—either by asking you directly or hoping I do—he’ll be thrilled.”
Still eyeing the photos, Monty brought the conversation to a close. “Anyway, I should call your mother, let her know you’re home in one piece and that you’ll be joining us for Christmas. That’ll make her day. I’ll skip the part about your playing daredevil with Congressman Shore next week—at least for now. She’ll have plenty of time to start worrying about that on Monday.”
“Good idea. Peace of mind is not something I offer Mom too often.”
“That makes two of us. Living a risk-free life is not exactly my strong suit, either.” Monty paused, then gruffly continued. “Listen, Lane, I’m glad you’ll be working with me on this case. I’m getting the right guy this time. I’m not walking away until I do. I don’t expect you to fully understand, but—”
“I do understand,” Lane interrupted in that tone that reminded Monty how wise beyond his years his son was. “And, Monty—I won’t let you down.”
SEVEN
Charlie Denton sat in his cluttered office at the Manhattan D.A.’s, watching the sun disappear behind the New
York skyline. Another day. Another backlog of cases. And one monstrous problem that wasn’t going away.
Congressman Shore hadn’t wasted any time. By 10 a.m., the decks were cleared for Charlie’s in-house investigation. Finding out who’d inherited Jack Winter’s cases and what their status was—now and then. Checking with a handful of long-term employees whom Jack had worked with to see if they remembered anything. Even contacting Jack’s former office staff—lawyers, paralegals, clericals—who’d long since left the D.A.’s office, to see if they recalled anything that might lead to the real killer.
What was that expression? The pigeons had come home to roost.
What had been a ticking bomb seventeen years ago was now a heat-seeking missile aimed at his head.
It wasn’t just Arthur Shore. It was Morgan Winter, too.
Charlie swung his chair around, picked up the envelope Morgan had given him a half hour ago. It was filled with photocopied articles of her father’s court victories. Morgan didn’t recognize any of the felons’ names. Charlie recognized all of them. One in particular made his skin crawl.
He wished he didn’t have dinner plans tonight. But he did—with one of the women on his match list. Karly Something-or-other. The manager of a top New York modeling agency. He was taking her to La Grenouille, because they both loved French food. He was sure she’d be lovely, intelligent, and great company. But his mind would be on his work.
COCKTAIL HOUR AT the Shores’ was more laid-back than Lane had expected.
He was met at the door by Arthur’s petite, gracious wife, Elyse, who greeted Lane warmly. If the rumors were true about Arthur being frequently involved with women younger than his own daughter, it was hard to understand why. Elyse was attractive, vivacious, and as well toned as any twenty-five-year-old. She also had an innate refinement and class that went far deeper than any cosmetic surgery she might have had.
Then again, she came from money. Her father, Daniel Kellerman, was the CEO of Kellerman Development, Inc., a major real estate developer. It was no secret that he’d helped launch Arthur’s political career. He’d made his new son-in-law corporate counsel of Kellerman Development right out of law school—a lucrative and high-visibility job that eased Arthur into the right professional and social circles. Between his own sharp mind and charisma, and his father-in-law’s contacts and financial resources, Arthur had been elected first to the New York City Council, then the New York State Assembly, and finally the U.S. House of Representatives.
Elyse herself was an undeniable asset to her congressman husband, even in a setting as relaxed and homey as the one Lane walked into.
Dressed in an emerald-green velour Lacoste running suit, with her frosted blond hair cut fashionably short and wispy, Elyse invited Lane in, took his coat, and asked what he’d like to drink. Judging from the tomatoey color and consistency of the contents of her highball, Lane assumed her cocktail of choice was a Bloody Mary.
He quickly found out otherwise.
A loud whirring noise had been emanating from the kitchen since he’d arrived. A younger female voice called out, “Second round of tomato-carrot-celery juice, coming up.”
Lane blinked as a pretty strawberry blond in her late twenties with the energy level of Road Runner burst out of the kitchen, carrying a pitcher of her homemade concoction. “Hi.” She didn’t miss a beat when she saw him standing with her mother. “You must be Lane Montgomery. I hope you’re ready for the best combo of beta-carotene and lycopene you’ve ever tasted.” She flourished a glass. “Can I pour you some?”
“Sure.” Lane’s lips twitched. “I’m guessing you’re Jill.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Don’t let my daughter intimidate you.” Congressman Shore strolled into the hallway, wearing a caramel-and-black-print crewneck sweater and black slacks. He stuck out his hand to shake Lane’s. “We actually have normal drinks here, too—everything from a full liquor cabinet to beer to Diet Coke. So don’t panic if you’re not a health freak. Just speak up.”
