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Within ten minutes, she found a big-box store. Inside, she bought two boxes of dark brown hair dye, a ball cap, cheap sunglasses, flip-flops, a cable to transfer files from her smartphone to a USB drive, and a burner phone. While she set up the new device, she offloaded a collection of precious pictures of her dad and her friends, along with the disturbing video of Brent Westbrook’s murder, onto the portable storage drive. Then she tossed the fancy phone onto the passenger seat, slipped on the sandals, gathered her purchases, flung her credit cards all over the parking lot, and used the last of her cash for a taxi to take her to the train station with a stop along the way at a pawn shop.
Inside the sleazy little store that would make a black light shudder, she hocked her wedding ring, blocking out the day Todd had slipped it on her finger and the girl who’d been stupidly hopeful about their tomorrows. That had been an illusion. Tonight, she was burning that girl from her mind forever.
Since the three-carat diamond was a family heirloom, Winston Pershing would, of course, find it. That meant Todd would, too. If they hadn’t already guessed, they would know she’d fled. But she would be long gone by then, god willing. The question was, how far away would she have to go to escape their corrupt clutches? And how would she keep her father safe?
Flush with cash from the pawn dealer, she hurtled back into the taxi and sent a one-line text to Sadie, the only person she considered a friend in DC, who had insisted she check in after seeing Todd.
Help.
Two seconds later, Madison’s new phone rang, and she answered without speaking.
“Is that you?” Sadie asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s going on?”
Madison didn’t dare talk in the cab. In truth, she hated to drag her sweet, sassy friend into this mess. The fact her mother, Willa, was the Pershings’ long-time housekeeper only put them both in an awkward position. “I need my bag.”
Sadie gasped. “The go-bag you set aside last week so you could leave Pershing’s pompous ass?”
“Yes.”
“About damn time. Where you at? I’ll bring it. But I’d sure love to smack him upside the face with it first.”
“I-I’m heading to Union Station, but we can’t meet there.”
Too many cameras. If she and Sadie connected in such a public place, the Pershing machine would find out Sadie had aided the enemy, and they would be merciless. Madison had to spare her friend their wrath.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street. It’s a dive, but they’ll be open,” Sadie suggested. “I’ll leave campus on my bike now and meet you in the ladies’ room. How far away are you?”
“Um…” Madison looked out the window, trying to push aside the night’s horror long enough to glean where she was. But she’d lived in Alexandria since marrying Todd. She wasn’t terribly familiar with downtown DC. “Ten minutes?”
“You’ll beat me there,” Sadie warned. “But I’ll hurry.”
“I’ll wait.”
“You sound rattled.”
Madison bit her lip and tried to stop shaking. “If something doesn’t feel right…”
“No one will follow me, girl. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m beneath their notice, and I keep it that way. But if I think I’m being followed, I’ll hit your new digits and bail.”
“Be safe,” Madison whispered, hoping she wasn’t making a grave mistake.
They rang off, and she stopped the cabbie in front of the coffee shop. As she exited, she shoved her artificial blonde hair under the ball cap, tied her designer coat around her waist, and looked down as she entered, heading straight for the restroom and locking the door to the one-holer with trembling fingers.
She flipped on the light and stared into the mirror. Madison almost didn’t recognize her chalky face and eyes that had aged a decade in a handful of hours.
While she waited for Sadie, she indulged her compulsive need to wash her hands. Her eyes stung. Her throat constricted. Guilt for not calling the police and not saving Brent’s life ate at her. Brent’s mother was a sweet Southern lady…married to a ruthless bastard of a consultant who did oppo research on political enemies in the swamp for exorbitant fees. Montrose Westbrook worshipped money and would likely accept a chunk of the Pershings’ boatload to sweep Brent’s murder under the rug. His wife, Genie, would weep for the loss of her only son.
Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door. Madison nearly jumped out of her skin and barely muffled her scream.
“Girl?” That voice belonged to Sadie.
Madison let out a sigh of relief and wrenched open the door to find her friend looking amazingly gorgeous—as usual—except for the concern on her face. “Thank you for coming.”
Sadie pushed her way inside, then locked up behind her, gray backpack in her grip. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but right after you called, Mama told me the family erupted in panic. The senator is pacing and furious as fuck. Todd’s daddy is frantically making phone calls. Predictably, Agatha is doing what a senator’s wife does—hobnobbing with the press she considers her ‘friends’ while giving Cynthia valium like it’s candy.”
