the evidence, he was killed less than an hour later. What did you discuss?”
Paxton was processing the information, but Lucy couldn’t help but think he was calculating his response at the same time.
“Chris wanted to meet with me. I told him come by anytime today, I’d leave whatever meeting I was in.”
“Would you do that for any of your former staff members?”
“Most of them. Chris? Absolutely.”
“Did he say why?”
“He didn’t share a lot of details, but told me that Jocelyn-his wife-was helping a couple girls who were in trouble and he wanted my advice. You know what his wife does, right?” He looked at Lucy.
“She works for Missing and At-Risk Children,” Lucy said.
“It’s a vocation for her. She reminds me of you, how dedicated she is to the people she’s trying to help.”
Genie said, “You didn’t find that odd? That he would call you and not someone else? If they were in trouble, why not call the police?”
Lucy knew the answer before Paxton said it. “Detective, the girls were scared of the police. Jocelyn worked primarily with teenage prostitutes. I’ve given a substantial sum of money to MARC, and Chris knows I’m always willing to help. I suspected he was going to ask for money, as well as advice.”
“You normally hand over money to prostitutes?” Genie asked.
Paxton didn’t miss the double entendre, and Lucy held her breath.
“These are troubled girls who are often dragged into this business by people they trust. If they show the desire to get out, and if they need help to do it, yes, I’ll give them money. Usually, I’ll give it through MARC and they direct it where it’s most needed. But sometimes, if the need is immediate, the director will call me.”
“Chris isn’t the director,” Lucy said.
“But he knows I’ll help. I didn’t know about the organization until he started working for me. That was nearly four years ago.”
Genie said, “Let me make sure I have this straight. Chris called you last night and asked for a meeting to seek advice to help teenage prostitutes.”
“Chris would do anything for his wife, and his wife would do anything to help these girls.” Paxton leaned forward, his compassion tinged with anger. “These girls are unwanted by everyone. Many were turned out of their homes. Abusive fathers. Molestation. Fast-talking boyfriends who uprooted them, then forced them to sell their bodies. The system failed them, over and over. Most don’t survive. If they have enough hope left to try and create a new life, why wouldn’t I help?”
In one conversation, Lucy was reminded about why she had liked and admired the senator for so long.
Everything he said was true. Chris had called him for help, and the senator planned to help him. But Lucy suspected he knew more than he was saying. For Jonathon Paxton, “help” meant a lot of different things.
Some of them illegal.
Genie said, “There are two missing girls that were seen with Jocelyn Taylor yesterday. Can you identify them?”
Genie showed the senator the photos of the brunette, then the dark blonde. Lucy watched his expression for any reaction.
There was none.
And that’s when Lucy knew that
The Jonathon Paxton she knew would have shown compassion and tenderness toward the girls, suspecting what they had suffered that led them to this point in their lives.
Then he would have been enraged toward those who had made them suffer.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” he said. “Are you going to go wide with this in the press? I can help, whatever you need.”
“Thank you, I’ll get back to you on that. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Jonathon followed them to the door anyway. “You have no suspects? You don’t know who did this? Or why?”
Lucy turned and looked into his eyes. “Do you?”
She couldn’t read his expression. “I wish I did,” he said evenly. “I would make sure justice was served.”
Senator Jonathon Paxton sat at his desk and considered his options.
Jonathon put his head in his hands and breathed deeply, sorrow flooding his heart. Chris was a good man, loyal, trustworthy. Jonathon had recommended him for the chief of staff slot when Dale won the special election in their home state of New York. Chris was smart, but not jaded like so many young staffers.
Maybe if he had been more jaded and less trusting, he would still be alive.
Jonathon needed more information about the murders, about what the FBI knew. He wasn’t going to volunteer information that they didn’t know, but he didn’t want to withhold information they might need.
He recognized with profound regret that he had some culpability in Chris’s death.
After all, he had set this chain of events in motion.
Jonathon glanced at his closet door. “You can come out,” he said.
His security consultant stepped into the room. “You should put a chair in there.”
“Find Ivy and her sister.”
“She’s spooked and not answering her phone. But I’ll do everything I can to find them.”
“Spare no expense, but be discreet. They have a photograph of Sara, it’s only a matter of time-”
“I understand.”
Jonathon always had a contigency plan. Now that Ivy wouldn’t be able to record the blackmailers, he had to find another way to get back what they stole.
“I’m going to bring in Sean Rogan.” He didn’t want to, because Rogan was a wild card. Jonathon wasn’t certain where his loyalties were. It all rested on how much he loved Lucy-and what he was willing to do to protect her future.
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“I need the locket back,” Jonathon said, his voice rising. “It’s all I have of Monique.”
“He’s not going to buy that.”
He might not. But Jonathon didn’t trust Sean Rogan enough to tell him that what was inside the locket was more valuable than the locket itself.
“I have an idea. But make sure Ivy and Sara are safe. I made a promise; I’m going to honor it.”
“I’ll take them to the safe house.”
Jonathon breathed easier. “Thank you, Sergio. As soon as the police make the connection to Wendy James’s murder, I’ll confess my part. But if I say anything now, I won’t be in a position to help them.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jocelyn Taylor had worked for Missing and At-Risk Children, a nonprofit social welfare organization that focused on finding and reuniting runaways with their families, or finding homes for abused children. Many runaways left because of abuse or neglect, and MARC worked to place these difficult cases with homes outside of the foster care system.
MARC’s small suite of offices were on the third floor of a squat office building wedged between two skyscrapers on K Street. Genie and Lucy were ushered immediately into the director’s office.
Cathy Hummel was a tiny Asian woman, barely five feet tall, with an impossibly narrow waist. She wore fashionable red-framed glasses and a pale gray suit, crisp even in this sweltering heat. Hummel’s office was small but extremely tidy-no paper could be seen anywhere. Two locked oak file cabinets filled one short wall; the desk and two guest chairs crowded the remaining space.
After getting over the initial shock of the triple homicide, she asked, “Who did such a thing?”
