Expose Page 7

  She abruptly turned back to her computer. “I have work to do. We’ll talk about it at home.”

  He left her office and Kate stared blankly at the screen, her final words echoing through her mind. At home. It sounded as though they were married again, instead of merely sharing a house. She made a sound of disgust and turned back to her story.

  “I THINK WE SHOULD PUT the transmitter back on my car. It’s the only way we’re going to find out who’s following me—and why.”

  Sam ran a hand through his thick hair. “Yeah, but I don’t like it. And it wouldn’t be Newbury or Armistead in any event. You can bet that they’ve hired some slug who can’t be traced back to them.” He heaved a sigh. “On the other hand, if we trash the bug, they could get even nastier.”

  “Exactly. So we let them follow me.” She paused. “I’ve been thinking. If they’re following me, then they probably know that you’re here, too. And, although it pains me to have to say it, they’re going to see you as being more of a threat than I am.”

  He nodded. “I already checked the Porsche. There’s no bug on it yet.”

  “But they wouldn’t have any problem getting to it, with it parked in the driveway. I think you’d better keep it in the garage.

  “I just don’t understand what’s going on here, Sam. Dammit, if my life is in danger, I have the right to know why. At the moment, all we’ve got are loose ends. An intern who might or might not have been killed because he stumbled onto something, a slimeball congressman and his equally slimy chief of staff, and upcoming hearings on drug legalization.”

  “Okay. So it’s time to start pulling on those loose ends and see what happens.”

  “With Newbury and Armistead, that’s easy—at least in theory. We just apply the first rule of journalism.”

  “Follow the money,” they both said simultaneously.

  “But Newbury’s already been investigated up and down and sideways.” She sighed. “Everyone knows he’s crooked, but no one can pin anything on him.”

  “Except that in this case, we can make the assumption that it has to do with the drug legalization thing.”

  “Right. That’s why I have an appointment tomorrow at Brookings, to talk with their drug-policy expert.”

  “Good thinking,” Sam said, nodding.

  “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

  She hurried upstairs to her home office, leaving Sam to finish up in the kitchen without a shred of guilt, even though he’d prepared dinner for them both in her kitchen, claiming that the tiny kitchen downstairs wasn’t adequate for serious cooking. Clearly, she was giving up her foolish hope that they could share the house for a while and keep their lives separate.

  One month, she told herself. They could work on this story and then he could find his own place and they could go their separate ways. But that was already beginning to sound just as foolish.

  A few minutes later, she was on the phone with the reporter from the Baltimore Sun who’d written the story on Charles Scofield, the New Leaf graduate who’d gone berserk.

  “Is there anything you can tell me that wasn’t in your story?” she asked after she’d explained her interest. “Do you know how he’s doing now?”

  “I haven’t talked to him, but my contact at the hospital described him as being a total basket case. I mean, the kid’s gone completely haywire.”

  “What’s their theory about why it happened?”

  “The social worker I know there said that he’d had a total psychotic breakdown, and they don’t know what triggered it. They think it’s possible that it could be the result of trying to stay straight in the environment that led him into trouble in the first place. She also said that he hasn’t responded yet to any of the drugs they’ve tried on him.”

  “Did he have a history of mental illness?” Kate asked. “I mean, I know he was getting into trouble before, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s mentally ill.” She knew enough about such kids to understand that their delinquent behavior was often a perfectly normal response to their terrible environments—a way of surviving on the streets.

  “His mother says that he’s never had any mental problems, and there’s no history of it in the family, either. She said that he just fell in with a bad crowd, and as far as I could tell, that’s true.”

  “Do you think his mother would talk to me?”

  “I could ask her. We got along pretty well. It was just when all the others started to show up—especially the TV types—that she clammed up.”

  Kate thanked him and asked him to make the call. The New Leaf story interested her, but it was hard for her to focus on it at the moment, even though her instincts told her that she might have something here.

  She turned her thoughts back to the dead intern. Whoever had put the bug in her car wasn’t likely to know that it was Sam—not her—who was pursuing that particular story right now. And that still seemed to her to be the most promising one to follow up on at this point.

  Sam’s involvement didn’t please her at all, since she didn’t want him to get the story, even if she was the one who’d write it.

  “I’m going out for a while,” Sam said, suddenly appearing in the doorway and interrupting her thoughts.

  “Where?” she demanded, immediately suspecting that he’d kept something from her.

  “Well, there’s this gorgeous blonde who’s lusting after my body,” Sam said dryly. “Anyway, I thought I was just a tenant here.”

  “You are. I just thought maybe it had something to do with the story.”

  “And maybe your phone call that you couldn’t make from the kitchen did, too.”

  “My phone call had nothing to do with this story,” she stated firmly—and honestly.

  “The Brit?”

  “Not him, either. You haven’t answered my question, Sam.”

  “You don’t believe me about the blonde?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You made some remark before about my love life.”

  “I don’t care about your love life. Just don’t bring anyone back here.”

  Sam leaned against the doorframe. That slow smile she loved and hated slid over his face. “I could say the same for you.”

  “It’s my house, and I can bring anyone here I want to.”

  “Not to my bed, you can’t.” The bedroom furniture belonged to him. It was among the antiques he’d left temporarily with her.

  “Then take your damned bed,” she said hotly, wondering how she’d let herself get caught up in this absurd discussion. There weren’t any lovers. She’d never brought anyone to the bed she’d once shared with him.

  The smile remained on his face. “This could get to be pretty frustrating, you know. We used to have a very good way of ending our arguments.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze, but her eyes slid away quickly.

  “If we had such a good way of ending our arguments, we wouldn’t be divorced,” she replied coldly. “Just leave me alone, Sam.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing, but it ain’t easy. I just wanted you to know that.”

  She refused to take that bait. It was the closest he’d come yet to admitting that he still had feelings for her, and her best efforts notwithstanding, that certainty sent little curls of heat through her.

  “I am going to meet a woman, but I don’t know if she’s a blonde, gorgeous or otherwise. She was a classmate of Crawford’s at the University of Virginia, and she did an internship the same time he did. She said that they met regularly to talk about their jobs.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Kate said, getting up. “How did you find her?”

  “I just checked to see if there was another intern from the university that summer who might still be in the area. She’s working at HUD now. She’s living out in Rockville, and I’m meeting her at a diner there. Now that I think about it, it really might be a good idea for you to come with me. You can take your car, and I’ll follow. Tha
t way, I can see if anyone is tailing you.”

  “The Porsche isn’t exactly unobtrusive,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, but if anyone is tailing you, he isn’t likely to be paying attention to someone following him. Just drive the way you usually do, and that should keep him busy.”

  SAM FOLLOWED THE TOYOTA onto New Hampshire, then onto Sixteenth and north past Walter Reed hospital, staying four or five cars behind, but still noticing that her right rear brake light wasn’t working. Considering Kate’s style of driving, that would make it easier to keep her in sight. They’d agreed on a circuitous route to Rockville, staying off the beltway, where it would be more difficult to spot a tail.

  He was fighting all his instincts, which were screaming at him not to allow Kate to become involved in this. But those protective urges had gotten him into this situation to begin with—or so he thought. When she hadn’t been busy resenting his superior position at the Post, Kate had spent her time rebelling against his perfectly normal male urge to protect her—sometimes from herself.

  It was one of the many ironies of their life together. Sam loved her for her dedication to her work, and for the reckless abandon with which she pursued a story. And yet the very things for which he loved her were the things that frightened him—and then got him into trouble.

  A half block ahead of him, Kate suddenly braked sharply, causing the van behind her to do likewise. Then she slipped into the left lane, nearly crossing the path of a Corvette, and finally made a turn onto a side street. He winced, moving over more gradually himself, then turning after her. Just as he made the turn, he saw a dark van pull into the left lane and turn at the next intersection. Something was stenciled on its side, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like the kind of van used by many small businesses, and the turn probably meant nothing, but he would keep an eye out for it. According to his source, the bug on Kate’s car had good range, so the chase vehicle could have picked her up just about anywhere, rather than waiting near her house, where it would be more likely to be spotted.

  Ahead of him, Kate spent the next five or six blocks making random turns, angling over toward Georgia Avenue, heading toward Wheaton. They were probably going to be late for his appointment, and he hoped that the woman would wait. Probably she would. His name should be sufficient to guarantee that.

  Then they were on Georgia, in heavy traffic once again. Sam dropped back several blocks and watched the traffic between them. Suddenly, the van was there again, pulling out from the curb a few cars behind her. He couldn’t be absolutely certain that it was the same van, but he thought it was.

  Cursing the fact that his phone wasn’t working yet, Sam hit the accelerator. The Porsche responded with a low growl. He glanced around for cops as the car picked up speed.

  They’d agreed that if he spotted a tail, he would overtake her, and that would be a signal for her to follow him. It should also afford him the opportunity to get a better look at the van that was now about a half block behind her as traffic began to thin out a bit. They passed under the belt-way—Kate driving about ten miles over the speed limit, the van following and Sam trailing a few cars behind.

  The refrain from one of their favorite movies came to mind: “Who are those guys?”

  KATE THOUGHT SHE SAW the Porsche’s headlights a few blocks back, moving up fast. Did that mean that Sam had spotted a tail? She wished he could reach her on his car phone. He’d said he would take care of it tomorrow, but a lot of good that did them now.

  Traffic thinned out after they passed under the beltway and Kate eased up on the gas, hearing Sam’s complaint as though he were there beside her. He owned powerful sports cars, but she was the one who drove fast.

  She glanced again in her rearview mirror, but none of the vehicles behind her looked familiar—except maybe for that dark van. She thought she’d seen it earlier, but it was too common for her to be sure. There had to be a gazillion of those things running round the District.

  Sam was definitely back there, she saw now—about four cars behind the van and gaining. She eased off the gas a bit more. Two of the cars between her and the van began to pull out into the left lane at the same time. She cried out involuntarily as they collided with a screech of useless brakes and a crunch of steel. Sam was behind them in the left lane. The van narrowly avoided being caught up in the crash, skirting the vehicles just before one of them came to a stop sideways on the four-lane road.

  Kate continued on slowly, the van now directly behind her but maintaining its distance. Sam was nowhere to be seen as she headed into Wheaton. She glanced at her watch. They were already late for their meeting. No doubt the woman would wait for a while because it was Sam who’d contacted her, but she couldn’t count on that.

  Determined now to see if the van was in fact following her, Kate began a series of random turns, keeping to the general direction of Rockville. The residential area was relatively free of traffic, and before long, Kate passed through an intersection and saw the van, now with its lights off, parked at a bus stop. It didn’t pull out right away, but if it was tracking on her transmitter, that wouldn’t be necessary. Neither, she realized, were her evasive maneuvers likely to be effective.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Kate drove around and around, watching for the van. Then, when she didn’t see it, she took a more direct route to Rockville. Still no sign of either the van or of Sam, who had obviously been slowed down by the accident.

  She found the diner, then drove past it. It wouldn’t be very bright to lead her tail—if he existed—right to the meeting place. Two blocks away, she saw a large shopping center. The supermarket, a video store and a multiplex theater were still open. She pulled into a thick cluster of cars in front of the supermarket and got out, torn between an urgent need to keep their appointment and a desire to wait and see if the van showed up.

  The video store had big plate-glass windows, most of which were covered with film posters. She decided to go in there and wait for a few minutes. The shelves of videos near the front displayed action films, and she pretended to scan them, not unaware of the irony. Steven Seagal and Arnold Schwarzenegger had nothing on her.

  She was about to give up when a dark van pulled into the lot, moving fast. It passed near the store, but she kept herself concealed behind one of the posters. When she finally peeked out, it had stopped in a far corner of the lot. She squinted, but the light there wasn’t good enough for her to make out the lettering on the side. It definitely looked like some sort of business name, though.

  Realizing that she was now trapped in the store, Kate approached the young clerk and inquired if there was a back door she could use. “Someone’s following me,” she explained. “It’s an old boyfriend I don’t want to see right now.”

  The clerk pointed her toward the rear of the store, where an alcove held X-rated films. “Right through there. But I can call the police if you want.”

  “No, he’d just deny that he’s following me. I’ll be fine. I have a friend in the neighborhood—someone he doesn’t know about. But if anyone comes in and describes me, please say you haven’t seen me.”

  The clerk assured her that he would and Kate hurried through the X-rated section, receiving stares and a few guilty looks from the male patrons there. Pond scum, she thought with disgust as she saw the collection of titles promising every form of perversity known to man. If she wasn’t in a hurry, she’d hang around and really make them nervous.

  Instead, she let herself out the rear door and found herself in a smaller parking area, with a big Dumpster. Beyond that was a strip of open land and then some residential streets that backed up against the shopping center.

  She unzipped her bag and felt around until she found the can of Mace, then clutched it in her hand and took off through the weed-choked lot, wishing that Sam were with her now and then hating herself for wanting that.

  By the time she reached the diner, she was certain that she’d lost her tail. She’d been hoping to find Sam the
re, but the Porsche was nowhere in evidence. So she went into the diner and paused, looking around for a single young woman and then sporting one in a booth toward the rear.

  Kate smiled to herself as she recalled Sam’s words. The young woman was blond, and while she couldn’t quite be called gorgeous, she was certainly attractive. And about to be very disappointed when CNN’s superstud didn’t show up.

  “Hi. I’m Kate Stevens. Are you waiting for Sam Winters?”

  The woman said that she was, and her blue eyes darted around the diner hopefully.

  “He should be here soon,” Kate told her, not waiting for an invitation before sliding into the booth. “We came in separate cars and he was delayed because of an accident.”

  An accident that I probably caused, she thought, hoping that no one had been injured. Still, it wasn’t technically her fault.

  “He was in an accident?” the blonde echoed, her eyes huge.

  “No, he was just behind it. We’re working together on a story, and he suggested I join him for this meeting.”

  Kate hid her smile at the woman’s obvious disappointment. There went the dream of a romantic encounter in a diner with Sam the Stud. She wondered if she should tell the woman that she was Sam’s ex-wife, and decided against it.

  The waitress came and Kate ordered a coffee and a piece of the luscious-looking cheesecake she’d seen in a case near the door, dripping with huge strawberries. She wondered where Sam was. Maybe he’d been forced to wait for the police to arrive, since he was a witness. Or maybe he just couldn’t get past the wreckage.

  As they waited, Kate made small talk with the woman, whose name was Carole Talbott. Then suddenly, Carole’s glum expression was transformed, and Kate didn’t have to turn around to see that Sam had arrived at last. Women had been attracted to Sam even before his face began to appear on TV, but she knew it had grown worse since then. Once again, she thought about telling Carole that she was Sam’s ex—if for no other reason than to let her know that not all women found him irresistible.