“Just hold it right there, before you really piss me off,” he said. “Sex has nothing to do this.” He laughed sharply, shaking his head.
“My predicament is funny?” she snapped.
“It’s just this town,” he said. “It’s so fucked up. Like, what are the odds, with Kimball, and GodsAcre, and the virus, and the Prophet’s curse? I turn around, and boom, you’ve got this whole other crazy thing happening.”
“Yes!” she agreed. “It’s like, bitch, please. More evil bad guys? That’s why I left, once I screwed up the courage. I wanted to draw my own personal bad karma away from you guys. It has nothing to do with Kimball or GodsAcre, and that seemed like more than enough for you all to cope with. But you just insisted on seducing me, and tracking me, and catching me. And now I don’t know what to do!”
“I know what.” Nate’s voice was resolute. “You’re going to let me help you.”
“Oh, really? With everything the Trasks have going on, you have the time for my crap, too?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s why you stayed in Shaw’s Crossing. Even after the place started drawing too much media attention. You stayed because you need us. Because you knew, on some level, that if anyone could help you, we could. Am I right? So let us fucking help, already. I’m here for it. I have been from the start. The rest of them will be on board, too. In a heartbeat. That’s just who they are.”
“Nate, goddamn it,” she whispered.
“Anton and Mace still have Mitch, Clint and Jim Wong to cover them,” Nate said. “They’re covered. I’m not worried about the Trasks. I’m focusing on you, now.”
They stared out through the wind-whipped boughs. Big sloppy drops that didn’t know whether they were rain or snow pattered down. She felt so intensely alive. Death was so close—but Nate was closer.
It felt strange, to have another person know her secret. The knowledge of Gil’s cruelty and Josh’s danger had been such a constant weight on her. It still was, but now someone else bore some of that weight. And he wasn’t running away from it.
I’m focusing on you, now. Nate’s simple statement scared her to death.
And it was music to her ears.
“You can’t go back to Shaw’s Crossing,” Nate said. “Clemens knows you were there, that you have friends there, that you worked for Demi. He’ll be investigating us all. There’s no safe place for you there. Not until this is over.”
“Agreed,” she said. “That’s why I went. I should have left months ago.”
Nate turned to her, his eyes fierce. “So?” he prompted. “This is the part where you tell me everything.”
She let out a careful, raggedy breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “On one condition. If at any time you decide you don’t want to take this on, promise me that you’ll drop me off at a bus station. I swear I will not judge you. You don’t have to be a hero. If it looks like too much, just cut me loose. No harm, no foul.”
Nate just laughed out loud. “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?”
11
Elisa didn’t seem disposed to answer his rhetorical question, so Nate pulled out the clean smartphone, and called his personal assistant in Seattle. “Hey, Gina?”
“Yo, boss,” she said. “What do you need?”
“Would you find me a hotel or a B&B near McLinn, Washington? Someplace nice. Out of the way, but within reach of town. Bonus points if there’s a good restaurant nearby.”
“For one, two, more?”
“Two. Use the usual card and text me the info. I want to check in to the room as soon as possible today.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gina said crisply. “You’ll hear from me soon.”
He slid the phone back into his pocket. Elisa pulled off the tinted sunglasses, which were spotted with rain. She looked haunted, and exhausted. Rain was pattering down, wetting her hat and shoulders, turning the crimson nylon dark.
“Get into the car,” he said. “We’ll talk in there.”
Once they were inside, the slushy rain started coming down in earnest, the blobs of mixed rain and snow streaking down the windshield in front of them, turning the world into a wavering blur.
Elisa twisted her hands together, like she was gathering her courage.
“So we’re going to stay in McLinn?” she asked.
“Until we come up with a plan. A randomly chosen hotel won’t have bugs, so at least we won’t have to worry about Kimball there. One fucking thing at a time.”
“And the car?”
“Same,” he said. “It’s a rental. It’s clean. So? The story?”
“I’m working on it,” she told him. “Trying to find the best entry point.”
“I suggest the beginning,” he said.
She shot him an ironic look. “Fine,” she said. “The beginning. What do you know about Sheldon Sinclair?”
He was startled. “Wow. That was an abrupt change of subject.”
“Actually, no. But answer the question. What do you know?”
He shrugged. “Just what’s in the news. Sleazebag billionaire inherited daddy’s ill-gotten, outsourced, child-labor-law-violating retail empire, and is now doing his best to snort it all up his nose. Accused of rape by underaged girls, but somehow they all decided collectively to drop the charges. Speculation abounds. Lack of evidence, witness intimidation, organized crime involvement? One thing’s for sure, though. The guy is a certified piece of shit. And this is relevant to you exactly why?”
“Those dropped charges?” she said. “It was Gil who made that happen.”
Nate thought about it. “Huh. I don’t remember hearing Gil Clemens’ name mentioned. Not that I was paying much attention, but it’s a high-profile case. You’d think that a big shot DA from San Francisco getting involved in a case like that would be political suicide for him.”
“Gil is careful to stay out of the spotlight,” she said. “He safeguards his reputation very carefully. Taking care of himself is his superpower. But he slipped up this time.”
“How so?”
“Shel throws infamous wild parties on his Caribbean island home,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about them. He invites politicians, celebrities, famous businessmen, socialites, foreign royalty. He gets them loosened up, and then he videotapes them misbehaving. And Gil got caught in his trap.”
“Ah,” he said. “I think I see where this is going.”
“Yes,” she said. “Shel owned him. When those girls accused him of rape, he turned to Gil for help. And Gil had to fix it for him, by any means possible.”
He nodded, and waited quietly for her to frame it in her mind.
“But one of these girls, Erasma. She got her hands on some of these video clips,” Elisa went on. “The recording of Gil was one of them. She came to see me at my art gallery in San Francisco. She looked terrible. Like a skeleton. She said she was being followed. That they were going to kill her. She wanted to show me something so I would know the truth about my husband. She wanted someone else to know before she died. Someone who might have a chance in hell of getting it to the press.”