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“I’ll stay in here. I’ll just give Megan a call and tell her you don’t mind meeting with her. And I am so sorry to bother you with a personal favor like this.”
“Are you kidding? I appreciate those who enjoy my work!” Brant said. “We on the academic side of publishing don’t often have adoring fans.”
“Well, my sister is adoring. She says you have an uncanny way with understanding people and the times they lived in,” Colleen said.
That was true.
She knew they were being watched, but she made a point of calling Megan’s cell. She wasn’t sure if, in the small room, Megan’s voice might carry.
“Brant Pickering will meet you in the waiting room.”
“Cool,” Megan said.
“Oh, and not to worry. We’ll get you home after that.”
She pretended to listen to an answer, aware Megan was already moving toward the waiting room.
She ended the call and looked at Brant.
“I don’t need a babysitter in here every second,” Sally said. “I mean, I’m happy to have you in here, Special Agent Law, but—”
She broke off as Brant frowned.
“Not a problem,” Colleen said. “I’m delighted to stay! I’ll take the chair by the bed, if I may. What were you two watching before I came in?”
Sally laughed softly. “What do you think? We’re watching the History Channel!”
Colleen laughed, then took the chair by Sally’s side as Brant left the room.
Colleen and Megan weren’t identical, as Colleen had told him, but it was evident they were related.
Megan might have been an inch shorter than her sister, and where Colleen’s hair was a deep, dark, burning red, Megan was a honey blonde. Like her sister, though, she had large, expressive green eyes.
Her hair fell around her shoulders in gentle waves. She was wearing a skirt suit—prepared for whatever meetings had brought her to the DC area—but the blouse she was wearing was a soft white with a sash that fell in a feminine flow from her neckline to her waist.
Mark was objective, he thought, as he and Ragnar watched her.
And objectively, he noted she, like her sister, was a beautiful young woman. She was also capable of being composed and determined.
She had hurried to the waiting room to sit and wait.
Luckily, there was only one other person in the room, a man who had nodded a hello to Megan when she’d entered, and quickly turned his attention back to his phone.
Megan was good with people. She stood and shook Brant’s hand, not throwing herself at him in any way, but clearly greeting him warmly.
As they sat together, they chatted about books in general.
Then she commented on one of his titles, and why she had enjoyed it so much.
“The bloodstains on the Capitol stairway—I loved the way you explained them. And then the way you covered the controversy and arguing between William Taulbee and the journalist, Charles Kincaid. That Kincaid wrote the article about Taulbee’s adultery that ended his political career—and turned him into a lobbyist. You wrote the facts—that after one of their arguments, Kincaid went and got a gun and shot Taulbee in the head. And Stewart, the architect, said in 1966, the stains were where it happened. He never said they were the stains, but they could have been from the shooting. I guess politics have always been...messed up to say the least. You write about the witnesses who had seen Taulbee threaten Kincaid earlier in the day—and how Kincaid quickly surrendered, how the trial was delayed, and how he was eventually declared not guilty, by self-defense. Of course, he was guilty, but had Taulbee’s aggressive behavior against a smaller man swayed the jury? The thing is, you have a way of finding and printing facts, but not being slanted one way or another. You let people make up their own minds regarding what may or may not be! I read so much that is slanted—I have just so enjoyed your work! I wind up becoming so fascinated by the subjects you write about too, and then end up reading more and more about them.”
Megan Law knew what she was talking about.
And it was apparent her admiration was real.
It was equally apparent Brant Pickering appreciated everything he was hearing.
Then Megan sat back, shaking her head.
“I’m so amazed at the many incredible tales you know about Washington, DC. And I must tell you, I’m excited about what you’re going to discover in New York City. Of course, NYC is full of amazing stories throughout history too. Is that why you chose to leave this area and head to New York?”
Pickering sighed at that. “I wanted New York, yes. For exactly the reasons you’re saying. From the beginning of European colonization of the New World—and possibly before that—New York with what are now all the boroughs has been an intriguing place. New Netherland, New Amsterdam, and even New Orange, once. Stuyvesant ceded the area to British warships in 1664, but the Dutch recaptured it in 1673, so it was briefly New Orange. They exchanged it for control of Suriname. Native Americans, land sales, Five Points, crooked politicians—the city has had them all. Civil War riots—‘Irish need not apply’—and so much more. Yes, I’m fascinated by the city. Now...”
“But you’ve decided to move back here?” Megan smiled. “I have to admit, that meeting you, I was hoping I’d be invited to a launch party. Sure, different publishing houses, but I have tons of friends working at different houses. We bid against each other in auctions. But we’re friends—we all love books!”
“I just...well, I never could have imagined what happened to Sally,” he said quietly. “She’s going to need lots of therapy, but more than that, she’s going to need love. We never stopped loving one another. There was a stage where I grew frustrated, and I believed if I made the move, she would follow. Sally couldn’t understand my determination or need for something else to delve into. We went so far as to argue children. If we had children, we couldn’t just up and move every time I wanted fresh history. And she didn’t want kids with a dad who came and went continually, and...arguments escalate.” He winced, looking truly pained. “I love Sally.”
“I can see that,” Megan said quietly.
“So, now, I’m not sure.”
“On the bright side, New York isn’t really all that far from DC,” Megan reminded him. “And there’s always the train. I love trains. I book myself one of those mini—really mini—compartments, but it’s all mine and I work the whole time I’m riding.”
He grimaced. “Driving, the distance is about two hundred and fifty miles,” he said. “Four or five hours—in light traffic. Which never happens in DC or New York! But I will agree with you that the train has its benefits. As you said—you get a compartment and just lock yourself away. And if you’re being smart, you turn your cell phone off!”
“You must have had to do the trip up and back a few times since you’ve moved...”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve had to come back and forth a few times. Sally and I were together, basically living together, but I’d had my own apartment. I had to close it out and...well, anyway. If Sally wants to stay here now, we’ll stay here.”
“I’m glad to hear that. My sister has told me Sally seems to be a truly lovely person, and we’re all sorry she was taken and hurt and traumatized like that. And of course, we are all so glad she’s alive.”
“Sally sees it that way—at least she says so. But she woke up choking and screaming last night, and I was so grateful they let me stay with her, and I was able to hold her.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful for her,” Megan said. She offered him another smile. “I want to thank you again for meeting me. I am in awe of your mind.”
“Thank you! Sadly, Tom Cruise won’t be doing any of my books as a movie.”
