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"Oh—a man. You truly haven't heard?"
"Like I said, if it doesn't concern the Agency, I would have no reason to be informed."
"I was informed this man's son is one of your people."
The senator had been informed of too goddamned much, Vinay thought grimly. And if he really thought Vinay would identify one of his most important operatives, then the senator also expected too goddamned much. "It's possible, but unless the death affected operations…" He shrugged, to show how unimportant it was to him that a contract agent had been killed.
Senator Lake consulted a file. "The agent was Rick Medina. Does the name ring a bell?"
"Rick Medina!" Vinay managed a credible look of shock. "Are you sure of that?"
"My source is very reliable," the senator said stiffly. He wasn't acc
ustomed to having his word questioned.
"I've known Rick for years—not well, no one knew him well, but he was one of our most reliable contract agents. Damn!"
"Are you also acquainted with his son?"
"Rick didn't have a family," Vinay lied. "He was a complete loner."
"I see." For some reason, Senator Lake seemed nonplussed. "Well."
Vinay stood, his patience at an end. He was glad he was able to tell the truth about Medina not being on assignment for them when he was killed, but the senator knew too much, details of information that should not have come his way. Already, the deputy director was planning how he would bring the mole in his department out into the sunlight—and then fire his ass.
"Was that all you wanted, Senator?" he asked politely. "I assure you Medina wasn't running anything for us. If you want more detail, I'll be happy to check into his death and get back with you on anything I find."
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I was just worried about—well, you know the situation in the country these days, with militia groups looking for any detail, no matter how far-fetched, that they can find to prove our government has run amok. It's best to head these things off at the pass."
It was a fairly legitimate concern, but something about the way it was stated struck Vinay as a little too pat, as if the answer had been rehearsed. "Yes, sir," he said. Something wasn't right here; he couldn't put his finger on it, but he trusted his instinct. Why would Senator Lake feel he had to come up with a plausible excuse for asking about Rick Medina?
Maybe Rick wasn't the focus of his questions. Maybe he had really been trying to get information on John. Suspicion struck Vinay hard in the gut. He couldn't think of any good reason why the senator would want or need to know anything about John Medina, but several bad reasons occurred to him, and they all needed to be investigated. He hadn't reached his present position by being gullible.
After Vinay had gone, Senator Lake sat down at his wide, hideously expensive desk, absently rubbing his fingers along the glassy finish while he stared thoughtfully at the door through which Vinay had passed. Something very disturbing had happened in that meeting. There were two possibilities, and he didn't like either of them. Either Hayes was mistaken in his information, or the deputy director of operations had just lied to him.
Slowly, Senator Lake reached for the phone, then with swift decision punched in the number for a private line in his house. It was answered on the second ring, and a comfortingly familiar, nimbly voice soothed his sudden anxiety. "Raymond, could you catch the next flight to D.C.? I may need you."
* * *
Chapter 11
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Dragging her suitcase, Karen let herself into her apartment. Grimly, without letting herself look at the answering machine because she knew the little red light would be blinking like a caution light, she went into the bedroom and completely unpacked. She took her time about it, hanging what she hadn't worn back in the closet and separating everything else into two piles, one for the laundry and one for the dry cleaner.
She watered her plants, put the laundry in the washing machine, then called her floor supervisor. "Judy, hi, it's Karen. I'm home, and I can go back to work tonight if you need me."
"If I need you?" Judy Camliffe echoed in heartfelt relief. "Marietta's been out with strep throat for two days, and Ashley called in sick today, too."
"What's wrong with Ashley?"
"The brown flu. So hell, yes, I need you. The question is, do you need to come back so soon? I'll manage tonight, somehow, if you need another day."
"Thanks," Karen said, meaning it. Judy was under a lot of pressure to keep her floor running smoothly with fewer nurses than ever, since the hospital wasn't immune to cutbacks. Five years ago, there were twelve registered nurses on the surgical floor, four per shift. Now there were eight whom Judy had to juggle among three shifts and two off days per nurse each week. Some nights there was only one RN on duty. The rumor was they would be going on twelve-hour shifts before the end of the year. "But I'm okay; the funeral was yesterday, and I flew home this morning."
"Really? I looked for the obituary, but I didn't see it."
"He's buried in Louisiana. I didn't have a plot for him here, and one of the detectives suggested I bury him there for the time being. Mom would have wanted them to be buried together, and there's no room beside her, so I'll have to find another place and have them both moved…" Her voice trailed off. She was vaguely surprised at herself. She liked Judy, considered her a friend, but she wasn't in the habit of rambling on about her private problems even to Piper, who was her closest friend. But mentioning Marc even indirectly rattled her so much she could barely think coherently; her heartbeat jumped into overdrive, her stomach clenched, her breasts tightened, her mouth watered. The symptoms of panic and sexual desire jumbled together, just as they had that morning when she had awakened in bed with him.
