CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The next day, Camden tugged at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
He didn’t mind wearing suits or dressing to the nines if the job called for it.
Apparently, the exception was funerals.
He hadn’t worked a funeral before.
More than that, he was uncomfortable that Amelia would be in a church full of people.
Whoever was looking for her had to know Jonathan Dumont’s funeral would be a good bet to find her.
“Are you sure there are investigators here?” Amelia asked as they walked into the large church.
“Without a doubt.”
If he had to guess, multiple agencies would have a presence: the CIA and FBI, not to mention the local police department.
All were investigating wildly different angles of the same crime.
They clocked Amelia and Camden the moment they walked into the services.
The various agents stationed around the church seemed to find him more interesting than her.
Good. He wasn’t in the mood to unceremoniously explain to anyone how law enforcement had been barking up the wrong tree when they arrested her and that they were missing a huge part of the problem: Amelia was still in danger.
The funeral was held at a DC church large enough to hold a crowd.
Whatever Jonathan Dumont had done in life, he’d left behind many people who wanted to offer condolences and say goodbye.
Surreptitiously, Camden opened the camera on his cell phone and scanned a video of faces.
He would send that to Parker and Shah.
Maybe they would be able to cross-reference it against the video footage from the airport or Amelia’s condo.
If they could get a name, that would go a long way toward keeping her safe.
“Amelia Stone?”
They turned to face an older man with a gentle demeanor.
“You have reserved seating.” The man smiled at Camden with a nod.
“There will be room for both of you.”
They were seated in the row behind Jonathan’s parents.
Camden didn’t like a room full of people at his back.
The minister’s words were short but familiarly heartfelt.
He prayed for answers and that Jonathan would be able to rest. Camden surmised that was a reference to the length of time needed before investigators would release his body—no one had a clue how many federal agencies had claimed jurisdiction—and waited for international family to arrive.
Amelia whispered that she was certain Jonathan had never met the minister before, but they didn’t know for sure.
Esme’s world catered to everyone.
The eulogies made Amelia cry.
He squeezed her leg and left his hand on her thigh.
She entwined their fingers, and he wished like hell he could make everything easier for her.
Finally, a sweeping refrain played on the organ as the services ended.
Without a graveside burial service, he could do nothing more than extract Amelia safely and let her recuperate at home—or, rather, their safe house.
Jonathan’s parents turned in their pew and saw Amelia.
Camden’s chest tightened.
He was aware they’d talked but wasn’t sure how Mr. and Mrs. Dumont would act when faced with the woman who had been not just accused of but arrested for the murder of their child.
“Amelia,” Mrs. Dumont said with a quiet French accent, reaching for her hand.
Her face was void of tears, but her eyes were sad.
“Thank you for coming.”
Mr. Dumont nodded stoically to Camden then greeted Amelia with a friendlier nod.
“We’re hosting a small reception at the private residence of a family friend. Would you join us?”
“Sure.” Amelia’s watery voice killed him.
Her tear-stained cheeks turned toward him.
“This is my friend, Camden Brooks.”
Mr. Dumont extended his hand.
“You’ve been taking care of Amelia?”
“Yes.” Camden then offered his hand to Mrs. Dumont.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Dumont let her husband take her elbow.
“I’ll have someone send you the address.” She glanced toward the man who had seated them and raised her chin.
“We will see you there.”
The Dumonts turned to speak with others.
Condolences were shared.
Someone even mentioned how long the funeral had taken to arrange.
Camden wouldn’t have had the manners of the Dumonts.
Amelia made a disgusted face and whispered, “I really want to leave.”
The aisles were packed with slow-moving mourners.
Short of knocking people out of their way, they had no choice but to process out slowly with everyone else.
The usher who had been signaled by Mrs. Dumont offered Camden the address of the private reception.
He sent the address to Shah.
Amelia clung to his side.
“There are so many people here.”
“Funerals do that sometimes.”
“There are so many parts of Jonathan that I didn’t know.”
Camden rubbed her shoulder.
“Isn’t that the case with most people?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it about him and Hailey. It’s unfair to learn about them like this.”
His phone vibrated with a message from Shah.
American residence of a French diplomat.
Former chief executive of the European Defence Agency.
That was interesting and maybe a little too close to home for Camden to be comfortable with.
He typed quickly.
Camden: What do you know about Jonathan Dumont’s parents?
Shah: Give me five, and I’ll let you know
“Everything okay?” Amelia asked as they finally passed the law enforcement stationed at the door and stepped into the cold sunlight.
“Just getting a lay of the land before we walk in someplace.” He slipped on sunglasses and glanced at Shah’s message.
Philippe Dumont: retired from the French government's Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Brigitte Dumont: fundraiser for art museums and board member for a dozen European charitable boards.
How about them apples? Jonathan Dumont’s parents were French spies. He scanned the crowd and wondered what else they might learn from who had been in the church. Camden sent the videos to Shah and asked him to see if any names or faces were worth noting.
“What’s going on?” Amelia eyed his phone. He’d been texting more in the past five minutes than he usually did in a day.
“I don’t know yet. Could be nothing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you really trying to protect me from something?”
Would it be so bad if he were? It was his job, after all.
“Jonathan’s parents were diplomats.”
She hummed. “I bet the French throw amazing diplomatic receptions. The food and wine alone might be enough to make me daydream about work.”
Amelia didn’t get the significance of diplomatic jobs. She saw it through her lens as a professional party planner: food, wine, locations, guest lists. Camden’s point of view was decidedly more intel and analysis. He didn’t want to change her perspective on the Dumonts unless he had to.
After searching around and finding no threats, he guided her to the car. If someone wanted to abduct or kill Amelia, right then was as good a time as ever. Where were the threats? The better question was why they weren’t there.
Camden pushed that to the back of his brain to let it marinate. He plugged in the address.
Amelia glanced at their destination. “Georgetown. Fancy.”
Her train of thought was yet another reminder that Amelia was strong as hell but unprepared for the danger she’d been forced into. He maneuvered the stop-and-go traffic across town and fifteen minutes later arrived at the address, a three-story federal-style brick house. Black shutters framed the large windows. A wrought-iron railing curled around dual staircases to the front door, flanked by manicured ivy.
He cruised by.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“Yup.”
Valets waited for arrivals as chauffeured sedans dropped off. Camden wanted to circle the block first and give Titan as much time as possible to analyze the videos he’d sent. By the time they’d returned to the front door, he didn’t have an update. This wasn’t exactly like going into a dangerous assignment.
How risky could a funeral reception be? “Ready?”
Amelia nodded. He parked and offered their names to security, who stepped ahead of the valet. They were approved with a nod, and Camden left the car running as the valet approached, rounding the hood to get Amelia. He scanned the brick sidewalk and opened her door.
Camden waited for the needle pricks of unknown eyes on his back. He searched mentally for the anticipation of danger. It didn’t come. Tracking them from the church would’ve been hard. Where were the attack dogs that had followed them across Alexandria?
Maybe the men searching for her were using her guaranteed location to search some other place she might’ve been. Perhaps their safe house was being compromised again. What the hell were they looking for?
The front door swept open ahead of them, and they were greeted and directed into a parlor room of stately-looking people dressed in black. Amelia stayed by his side. They bypassed the small clumps of guests talking intimately and ambled into the formal living room. Mr. and Mrs. Dumont held court by a gas fireplace. Waitstaff worked through the space with trays of champagne and bite-size appetizers. It was a sad little party for people with lots of money and connections. Amelia didn’t fit into the mix.
From what he knew of Amelia and Jonathan, they didn’t either. Then again, that was their cover. He understood Amelia’s confusion.
Jonathan’s parents joined them with a less formal greeting than at the church. Mr. Dumont asked, “Camden, who did you say you worked for again?”
Interesting. He hadn’t said, and the man had remembered his name. “Titan Group.”
Mrs. Dumont’s head tilted slightly. “Security?”
They were familiar with Titan—another interesting facet about the Dumonts. “I’m a friend,” Camden offered.
Of course Mrs. Dumont was aware of Amelia’s arrest and release. Given their diplomatic connections, she had been informed of much more. How did she know about Titan? Was she worried that Amelia needed protection after the arrest? Before…?
“I never met Jonathan,” Camden volunteered, “but I’ve heard so much about him. He was a son to be proud of.”
“We were.” Mrs. Dumont laid a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “How are you holding up? Any news on Hailey?”
“No.” Her jaw clenched. “No one will tell me anything—even though they don’t believe I have anything to do with it anymore.”
The Dumonts nodded, Mr. Dumont adding, “Such nonsense.”
“They wasted too much time on that ridiculousness,” his wife concurred.
“I don’t think they’ll find out who did this,” Mr. Dumont admitted. “As much as I would hope for justice.”
Camden studied the man. They were a well-heeled family with connections, given everything he’d learned. Why wouldn’t they pull some strings and demand more manpower? Why weren’t they involved in Amelia’s release from prison? No evidence could’ve shown she was guilty. His intuition rang warning alarms in his head. If they knew Titan Group, then maybe Titan knew the Dumonts. Maybe Jared Westin did. That could’ve been the reason Camden had been sent on what essentially started as babysitting duty. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fidgeting.
Another couple approached the Dumonts.
Amelia stepped back. “We’ll let you go.”
“Amelia.” Mr. Dumont rested his hands on her shoulders. “They were good people who wanted what was right in the world. Don’t let the loss change you. They wouldn’t want it.”
He stepped back to allow his wife to give Amelia a polite squeeze. Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes. Camden wasn’t too hampered by emotions to see holes in the conversation. Why did it feel like they knew more than he or Amelia did? Camden thanked them again and whisked Amelia to the corner.
“They think Hailey’s dead.” Amelia sniffled. “And I want to hate them for it.”
At that point in time, most logical people would hold the same sentiment. He wasn’t holding his breath to find Hailey alive and kicking somewhere. Tears slipped down Amelia’s cheeks. He shielded her from prying eyes, kissed the top of her head, and prayed she didn’t ask if he thought Hailey was still alive.