“Very good, Leera.” He pushed back in his seat, shades resting on his head. He removed them and set them on the table. “We should start with Rowley McKie. Isn’t he the reason your parents agreed to ship you to Paris to study cooking?” He chuckled.
Not even. Her parents saw her as the failure. However, said just that way, it would make sense. “No, not exactly. My reckless behavior with him convinced my parents it was in my best interest to study abroad.” She’d spread her legs was how her father had put it.
“As far as I am aware, it takes two to make a baby.” The corner of his eyes narrowed. “It’s unfortunate what happened, painful and irreversible.”
At eighteen, an ectopic pregnancy in her ovary had nearly killed her. In typical Waltz family style, they covered it up with fake appendicitis. She had lost a baby and an ovary. And all her father, the good senator, cared about was being publically embarrassed. Why she had let them muzzle her from telling Rowley the truth, she couldn’t even rationalize now.
“All that seemed behind you when you met your husband, Jean. He didn’t mind that you were damaged. Bet you never revealed McKie was the reason or father. When your husband died in such an unfortunate accident, McKie’s interest piqued anew. Can’t blame the man.”
She was Jean’s world. He’d given her everything she had asked for and more. Rowley couldn’t live up to how Jean had adored her, and yet she couldn’t keep away from him, even while married. Depraved and sick was the name of the game she had played with Rowley. Jean had given her safety and comfort and she’d craved Rowley’s poison, which hurt her husband. What kind of person did that make her? Not a good one.
“We can’t forget your brother in all this. You and Peter grew up quite adept at lying for your father, covering up his affairs and violent fits to protect him–the Waltz’s public image. You hated it though, wanted nothing to do with it. So poor Peter had to do all the heavy lifting, while you played the free spirit. After you were shipped away for your own good, Peter and McKie grew even tighter. Do you think he did it to keep the man at bay from poor, broken Lee-lee? Whatever his motives were, Peter started to recruit supporters on Capitol Hill to help McKie’s terrorist organization and cover up his illegal activities.”
“Peter would never.” Her brother didn’t like the undead, but he believed in the laws of the country. Could that have all been an act? Was this the reason Peter decided against running for the senate? He always said he would by forty. And yet, nothing. Rowley was always a troubled soul and he never truly answered her questions about what he was up to.
He tossed photos on top of each other of Peter with Rowley. Counting money, handing over thick envelops to senators and a few big-name lobbyists.
“Just because he didn’t plant the bombs doesn’t mean he didn’t take part in the preparation and funds to ensure someone else did.” He flipped up the laptop screen and tapped the keyboard.
“How’s Lee-lee?” Rowley’s voice came from the speaker. All these years later and he still called her that. It had bothered her husband, but she had never wanted him to stop.
“Not well. She hasn’t even begun to deal with her emotions. Don’t push her,” Peter responded.
“Pete, I want the best for her. Me. You should want that too.” Rowley’s tone lowered. “You know I’ll take good care of her. We both know she needs that.”
A huff. “But you can’t. The authorities are always breathing down your neck.” Anger peaked in Peter’s tone. “She deserves better than the crap we grew up in. If you love her, you should want that for her too.”
“I’m nothing like your self-righteous and two-faced father.” His tone held a hard edge. “I’m paying you to...what?”
“To keep you out of jail.”
“And?”
“Slip you the names of individuals with similar beliefs to yours. Not to arrange meetings or funding.” Peter’s voice sounded strained.
“Time restraints have come into play. I got to move up my plans so I can give Lee-lee a more stable environment, like you’re providing for Meg and the baby. I’d hate for something to happen to your sister or your family because we didn’t act. The house of cards needs to crumble.”
“Are you threatening me?” Peter huffed.
“Think of it more as giving you good advice for the safekeeping of those we both care about.”
“What do you want?”
The audio went silent. What on earth was Peter helping Rowley do? Names and funding. What kind of mess had her brother let himself get sucked into? They could only afford one fuck up in the family, and that was her.
“Need I say more?” The man across the table from her shrugged. “I can pick Peter up right now for aiding a terrorist, ship him to Guantanamo Bay and deny we have him.”
This was a lot to take in. Rowley wasn’t an activist? He founded the Coalition of the Living, protested against legislations that protected or was inclusive of the undead. Angry, vocal and militant maybe, but not a terrorist. For years, the feds had been trying to prove he also headed the Army of the Living, a group responsible for nearly all domestic terrorism. She’d always thought Peter handled his cases because he was an old friend and to uphold the First Amendment of the Constitution, Freedom of Speech.
Mr. Homeland Security hadn’t picked up Peter, so he had to believe she could do something the feds couldn’t. Not good for her. “What do you want from me? I won’t help you mount a case against my brother.” Despite the strained relationship between her and Peter since their father’s death, he was all the family she had left.
“You could give Peter a get-out-of-jail-free card for the rock-bottom price of your cooperation.”
“I don’t know anything about any of Rowley’s other affairs.” Hard to believe that Rowley lived a double life. Attacks aimed at undead killed the living too.
“Don’t worry...I’m going to put your best assets to good use. Accept McKie’s advances on you, let him have what he wants. It’s not rocket science. I’ll handle the rest. Occasionally I might need for you to show up unexpectedly. Nothing dangerous.”
“And who are you?” She’d never expected to serve her country on her back.
“Barton. That’s all you need to know. The less you are aware of, the better for you if found out.”
Found out? Given what she’d just learned, she had to consider that all the scary, brutal things written about Rowley in the newspapers were true. Not fabricated stories by the government trying to make him into a monster. As long as all the feds wanted was her on her back, she might survive this. She’d endured his twisted pat down. Maybe she could make it through this. She hadn’t fallen off the turnip truck and was sure, soon enough, the feds would want more and she’d be dead if uncovered.
“See the undead behind you?” He pointed beyond her shoulder.
The bald man with the blue-hued skin in the photo had nobility in his features. “Yes.” What did he have to do with all this?
“That’s Vaihan Louchian, Special Advisor to the President Undead Relations. An Ancient zombie. He moonlights as a CIA agent. We suspect they are planning to take down Peter. McKie is nothing without funding and support or your brother to keep him out of jail. You are going to be Vaihan’s way in, a vulnerable young widow ripe for the seducing by a charismatic and affluent Ancient. And you’ll fall for his pursuit. Call Meg and accept the invitation to the performance of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. Louchian’s a boxholder at the Kennedy Center. Simple.”
Her country wanted her to take it up the ass with sand thrown on. She preferred lube. Some