Chapter Twenty-Six
Jesse was indeed elated and filled with dread.
Sam’s change in tone after hearing the details hadn’t been lost on him as a fellow law enforcement officer.
Every day in their work, they heard about elaborate scams that victimized some of society’s most vulnerable people.
And while he’d never describe himself as vulnerable in the regular course of business, this situation was an obvious exception.
Jordan was his soft spot and had been since the day she was born—and especially since the day she disappeared without a trace.
He and Memphis had decided to drive to Kentucky because it would be easier for her than slogging through airports on her injured leg.
She’d urged him to go without her so he could get there more quickly, but that wasn’t an option. They’d have to make frequent stops so she could move around, which was also fine if it meant having her with him on this journey that would’ve taken nine to ten hours if they’d driven straight through.
He’d traveled through life as a loner, but now he was reliant upon a dynamo of a woman who made even the bad days a little brighter and the good days magnificent.
Like Sam, Memphis was maintaining a healthy skepticism about whether this lead would pan out. But even she had to admit that the digital photos they’d seen of the woman in question were nearly an exact match for the age-progressed image they’d publicized on the podcasts.
If this woman wasn’t Jordan, she was her doppelg?nger.
The woman’s name was Carolyn Waters, and she owned a flower shop in Lewisburg, a small town of fewer than eight hundred residents outside of Bowling Green.
According to local records, she’d opened Daily Bloom three years earlier and had taken down a wall to add the coffee and gift shop next door a year ago.
She was married to Kane Waters, a local businessman and son of the mayor.
Birth records had revealed two young children, a boy named Jagger and a girl named Kira.
Jesse had been unable to find any record of a previous life for Carolyn—no social media, schools, friends, family. It was like she hadn’t existed before she got married, which was another detail that had fired his hope that this might be the break he’d longed for.
It’d come as a big surprise to him that the woman who might be Jordan had a husband and children.
He wasn’t sure what he’d thought Jordan might be doing at this point in her life—if she was even still alive—but he’d never pictured her with a family of her own.
She’d be thirty-four, so of course it was possible.
“What’re you thinking about over there?” Memphis asked as they headed west on Interstate 66.
“That it never occurred to me that she could be married with kids.”
“Because you still picture her as she was the last time you saw her.”
“Maybe. I’ve also started thinking of her as the age-progressed photo, but I still can’t believe there could also be a husband and kids.”
She reached for his hand. “I’m concerned about whether you’re prepared for this to be a dead end.”
“I am.”
“Are you? Really?”
“I’m trying to be. It’s hard not to get my hopes up a little.”
“A little is okay. A lot is not.”
“Right. I hear you.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you again for coming with me.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, and the change of scenery is good for my mental health. I’m tired of being in bed.”
“We could’ve gone for a ride or something.”
“It’s fine, but it’s also nice to be out.”
“You’re still taking it easy on this trip, you hear me?”
“Yes, dear.”
Before her near-fatal injury, it would’ve bugged him to be called “dear” by her or any woman, but now…
She could call him anything she wanted as long as she was still around.
He wished it hadn’t taken nearly losing her to realize what she truly meant to him, but now that he’d allowed himself to feel all the things for her, he could never go back to who he’d been before.
And he didn’t want to, because that would mean living in a world in which he didn’t know that she loved him, too.
That information had changed everything for the better. No matter how this mission unfolded, knowing he had her by his side would make any outcome bearable.
Or so he hoped.
Gretchen Henderson’s home in Arlington’s Country Club Hills neighborhood was a stately three-story brick colonial with black shutters and an elaborate ironwork gate.
“So they just let her come home after they caught her cavorting with a Russian at her official residence?” Freddie asked.
“I’m sure she was given strict instructions and they’re probably watching her.”
Sure enough, she noted federal agents positioned on the street. “There they are.”
The presence of the agents meant that Vernon didn’t feel the need to do the usual scope of the area before he’d let her out of the SUV.
“How do we get in?” Sam asked Freddie as they stood at the gate.
“There’s an intercom over here.” He pressed the button.
“I’d expect a pretty serious doorbell at a place like this.”
“I’ll bet it’s ringing inside the house.”
The intercom beeped. “Yes?” The single word contained a world of testiness.
Freddie answered for them. “Lieutenant Holland and Detective Cruz for Gretchen Henderson.”
“She’s not available.”
“Tell her to get available,” Sam said. “This isn’t a social call, and we’d be glad to come back with a warrant if need be.”
Gretchen herself replied next. “What do you want?”
“We’re investigating the murder of Sergei Ivanov. We can do this here or at our place downtown. Your choice.”
After a long pause, a buzz sounded, and the gate unlocked.
Followed by Vernon, they went up the sidewalk to the front porch, where Gretchen met them at the door, looking vastly diminished from the regal aura she’d projected as vice president.
She wore a denim shirt with black sweats.
Her hair was in a ponytail, her face devoid of makeup and her eyes puffy from either crying or a lack of sleep—perhaps both.
Without a word, she led them to a formal living room. On the way, Sam noticed stacked boxes farther inside the house and thought about how the White House didn’t mess around when it came to moving people.
Gretchen gestured for them to have a seat on a plush royal blue sofa. Framed portraits of her children were the only decoration in the room.
Sam recited Gretchen’s rights and expected her to request a lawyer, but when she didn’t, Sam dove right in.
“We’re investigating the murder of Sergei Ivanov, and we understand he was a close friend of yours.”
“You understand that,” she said with a huff of ironic laughter. “I’m sure your husband took great joy in telling you all about how I know Sergei.”
“I can assure you my husband is taking no joy from any of this, especially the part about the Russians bombing my workplace and killing four of my colleagues so they could steal Sergei’s body from our morgue.”
“That’s who bombed your building?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“Because Nick told the ambassador to return the body and the innocent bystander who was apprehended at the same time or the bombing would be treated as an act of war. The body and the bystander were back in our custody within an hour, and the men responsible for the bombing have been turned over to the FBI.”
“Those sorts of thug moves are the very thing Sergei was trying to eliminate from his country’s discourse. It’s right out of Petrov’s playbook.”
“How did you know Ivanov?”
“We went to Oxford together.”
“And you were casual friends, roommates, lovers, what?”
“We dated for a time.”
“And you’ve stayed in contact ever since?”
“We were very close in graduate school, and we reconnected after I became vice president. He called to wish me well.” She glanced down at the floor. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I understand you spent time with him before he was killed.”
She gave Sam a withering look. “You understand that, too, do you?”
“Shall I drop the facade of politeness and ask what the fuck you were doing with him at the Naval Observatory after having not disclosed your relationship with the Russian opposition leader when you were considered for vice president? Is that better?”
Gretchen shook her head. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Neither did my husband. Imagine his surprise when he found out you were hanging out with a Russian at your official residence.”
“There was nothing untoward about it. He was an old friend in town for a few weeks.”
Sam tipped her head to gauge whether she was for real. “I’m trying to decide if you’re na?ve or stupid, and I’ve never thought you were either of those things.”
“I get how it looks, and for many reasons, I should’ve disclosed the relationship. But I did nothing wrong by seeing an old friend, who, I might add, is fighting for democracy against a ruthless authoritarian.”
“Who wanted him dead?”
“Besides Petrov and everyone in his orbit?”
“Besides them.”
“I have no idea. He didn’t say anything to me about being any more afraid for his life than he’s been since he began his efforts to overthrow Petrov. Since then, his best friend was killed, and Sergei had been poisoned, run off the road and beaten by thugs, but he never stopped fighting.”
“Why was he here?”
“To meet with as many people as he could to help his cause.”
“Including you?”
“I’ve always been supportive of his efforts.”
“I’m sure a meeting with the current vice president was a very exciting opportunity for him. Was he pressuring you to do anything in your official capacity?”
“Not at all. He was taking comfort in the company of an old friend who supported his cause.”
“‘Taking comfort.’ In what form was that comfort provided?”