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“What if he’s behind what happened to Lindsay?”
“You think Nolan Corning convinced three college frat boys in your circle to do what they did to Lindsay out of a sense of...competition? Are you insane, Drew?”
“I am considering all possibilities.”
“You sound like one of those ‘9/11 was an inside job’ nutters.”
“Why won’t you even consider the idea?”
Silence.
He’s a cipher. I won’t get more out of him. Time to cut off the chit chat.
“Blaine and whoever’s behind him are using Lindsay against you. Always have.”
An imperceptible shiver runs through him. “You mean they’re using her reputation against me.”
I almost say it.
Almost.
“No, Harry.” I drop my voice. “They’re using her. You know what happened with the brake lines. They’re trying to paint her as a crazy. It’s all a lie. But once they do that, they’ll try to taint you by association. We need to cut this off now. The fish rots from the head.”
“I know you’re not referring to me.”
“Of course not. I’m talking about whoever is pulling Blaine Maisri’s puppet strings. Whoever’s been pulling them for four years. It can’t have escaped your attention that Blaine’s rise has been meteoric. He’s my age and he’s a state senator. He’s barely old enough to even be a U.S. Representative, constitutionally.”
Tap tap tap.
It’s Marshall, one of the PR handlers for Lindsay that Harry hired last week. Last week.
She’s been home barely a week.
He doesn’t make eye contact with me.
My hackles go up.
“Senator? A word?”
Harry frowns at me, then turns, giving Marshall his full attention. The guy’s eyes dart to me, then down to a newspaper in his hand.
I can’t see the picture on it, but I immediately know it’s bad. Whatever’s on that cover, a shitstorm’s about to be unleashed.
Harry pivots and tosses the newspaper on the table between us.
I’m on the cover.
I am the shitstorm.
My sharp inhale feels like someone’s shoved an icicle down my throat.
He’s going to ask me to explain. Explain why that photo shows me punching Blaine. Explain why that photo captures the moment I unleashed on the guy.
And explain why it’s clear I was aiming for him.
No other man is in the frame.
I compose my thoughts even as they race at breakneck speed.
