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He worked his jaw and finally loosened his tongue. “We’re headed to the meet with Commander Brighton.”
She glanced at him, parting her lips—which only made him want to kiss her—but rather than saying anything, she shook her head.
“It’s not that I didn’t want your help,” he told her, not quite pleading. “I just want you safe.”
“And what about what I want?” She sounded more tired than angry. Gage hoped that was a good sign. But he didn’t know how to answer. What she wanted mattered—but not if it compromised her security.
“Right now, I guess it doesn’t matter what either of us wants,” he said at last. “The jackass security guard at your office put me behind, so I don’t have time to drop you off before the meet.”
DC had plenty of public space—the question was whether to go for crowds, which would make it harder to be spotted but also harder to spot someone following them, or to choose open space where everyone stood out. He’d opted for something in between, and he hoped it would be good enough to keep her safe.
With over four hundred acres and ten miles of roads, the National Arboretum offered space as well as the highest ground in DC, which had once been marshland. Gage took the long way around, heading up 295 and then coming back on 50. He parked, paid for admission, and took Anna’s hand. “Get out your camera. We’re playing tourists.”
He let Anna snap a few shots and slowly led her toward the Capitol Columns. The place looked like some kind of Greek ruin. A shallow pool reflected back the twenty-two Corinthian columns—just columns, no roof or building. They had originally held up the east portico of the Capitol Building—then the dome went up, and everyone realized the sandstone wouldn’t hold up under the weight of the iron structure. So the columns had been moved and put down in twenty acres of open land known as the Ellipse Meadow.
Gage glanced around. He couldn’t see Scotty or Spencer, but he knew they had to be here somewhere. They’d come early to secure the area—no word from them meant everything was looking good. They also had two escape vehicles ready. Gage spotted Kyle walking around with sunglasses on and a guidebook in hand. Anna’s camera kept clicking. The sky was blue with a few clouds, but a sharp wind off the Atlantic was keeping the crowds to more indoor tourist spots. He couldn’t help but tense at every footstep—even a kid running around the columns and laughing had him turning fast.
“Is that him?” Anna asked. She’d lifted her camera and was looking through it. Gage followed the direction of her gaze. A man in his late fifties, wearing loafers, khaki shorts, and a polo shirt, stood between the center columns at the bottom of the steps that led down to the reflecting pool. A baseball hat was pulled low over his eyes, the Yankees logo standing out in bright white. He held a bag of what looked like bread on one hand and seemed to be feeding the ducks gathering around him.
“Yeah, that’s him.” Gage wandered toward the spot, stopped and said, his voice low, “Commander, it’s good to see you, sir. This is Anna Middleton.”
Brighton glanced at Anna. “Get any good shots?”
She smiled and aimed her camera at the reflecting pool and the ducks. “Beautiful spot like this, how could I miss?”
Brighton kept his eyes on the ducks. “I’ve got dinner at six, so better make this fast.”
Gage did. He kept to the facts. When he’d finished, the commander asked, “So, Becks is alive? You actually saw him? The man was a firebug. I met him once. He always had some sort of lighter on him and was constantly playing with the flame. It’s ironic that he ended up burned—I always wondered if he caused that fire playing with chemicals. As for Coran Williams, he was a defense contractor for more years than I can count. Successful. Then all of a sudden, he’s doing something entirely different. Seemed damned fishy. But this doesn’t sound like you have enough evidence to take anywhere.”
“We have the files,” Anna said. She lowered her camera.
Gage glanced at her. “Files?”
Pulling something from her purse, she slapped it into Gage’s palm. “N.T. Smalls didn’t give Coran just one book file. I found another on Coran’s assistant’s hard drive.”
The commander glanced at her. “Just how did you get dragged into this, Ms. Middleton?”
“Funny you should say dragged—I was kidnapped.”
Gage filled the commander in on how the fake cops who’d been at Anna’s apartment seemed to be former military. Brighton’s frown deepened. “You hang on to that evidence, Lieutenant. If you’re seeing Navy personnel—former or not—involved, then I can’t guarantee the security of my office.”
He glanced around. “That damned investigation team is howling for blood. I’ll do what I can to hold them at bay, but I need evidence—hard facts that will hold up to scrutiny. I think it’s best if you keep working on this from the outside.” He glanced from Anna to Gage and back again. “Good luck getting some nice photos. And both of you, stay alert. It’ll help keep you alive.”
With a smile, the commander tossed the last of the bread at the ducks, wadded up the plastic bag, and walked off. Gage put his hand on the small of Anna’s back and led her back up the steps.
Anna glanced up at him. “What now?”
“We meet up with the others.”
She glanced behind them and back to Gage. “And then what?”
He shrugged. “Dinner sounds like a pretty good place to start.”
* * *
They headed to Ben’s Chili Bowl—a place that looked like a dive to her, thanks to its gaudy red and white stripes and more yellow and red over the front window.
Of course she’d heard of the place. It was an institution, dating back to the late 1950s, and the building went back even further, to the early 1900s. Harry Beckley, one of the first Black police detectives, had converted a silent movie house into a pool hall, and then it had become Ben’s. Eloise had never allowed her daughters into such a lowbrow eating establishment.
