Chapter Fifty-One
Grace wasn’t happy to learn we weren’t having dinner tonight, but she didn’t refuse my offer to stop by so we could talk for a few minutes.
I don’t want to be here at all, but I know I have to do this for Elliot’s sake.
Despite placing a few phone calls, I still haven’t figured out Grace’s motives or plan. Hopefully, tonight will finally reveal that. She’s under the impression I’m open to hearing her out. It was tempting to bring Leo into this, until I realized that I might need to take actions to stop her that I don’t want Leo knowing about.
Plausible deniability.
I’m expendable—Leo isn’t, no matter what he might think. He’s not expendable to the president, and damn sure not to Elliot. If something happens to me, Leo can still be with Elliot after Elliot takes office.
Maybe I’ll get my ass beaten later for this, but I’m going with my gut. Something else Leo told me to rely on, and something that’s helped me throughout my life.
I once again leave Elliot in Casey’s capable hands. She’ll ride with him to campaign headquarters, and I’ll meet up with him there before returning to the residence.
Where Leo will join us later, after he’s finished with whatever he’s got going on tonight.
When I arrive at Grace’s building and she buzzes me in, I keep my head down over my phone while glancing around, searching for obvious security camera placements. There’s one at the front entrance, positioned to capture the face of anyone unlocking the door or getting buzzed in. I see one over the mailbox area, and another by the elevator.
My Sir taught me well, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t more I’m not seeing.
I hit the call button on the elevator and pretend to stretch and crack my neck, which allows me to spot another camera placed facing the main entry doors.
Okay, then.At least there’s no doorman or front desk. It’s not a dump, but it’s definitely not the ritziest building in DC. I’ve already checked and can’t find any other members of Congress who live here, although there are a few staffers who list this building as their address. So that’s…odd.
I’ll assume there’s at least one camera in the elevator, so I don’t even bother looking when I step in and hit the button for the fifth floor. Instead, I focus on my phone again—my personal phone, in case the camera’s really good and aimed at an angle that can catch my screen.
The building interests me because it means Grace is trying to send a statement to people. Her family has money. Not Bill Gates money, but she could afford to live in a private townhouse in a gated community, if she wanted. Or, at the very least, an exclusive condo building with on-site security.
So why does she choose to live in a mid-priced building that doesn’t even have a doorman?
My guess is she’s straddling a line between living above her means, in terms of a congressman’s salary, but not flashing her money around to draw unwanted attention. In addition to her government salary, her FEC filings show she’s got her own money from investments and a trust. An easy way of concealing dark money, but who am I to nitpick?
When the door slides open on the fifth floor, I step out and pause to glance around, like I’m orienting myself and looking for signage. There’s another camera directly opposite the elevator, probably with a one-eighty field of vision to catch both directions down the hall.
Before I start walking toward Grace’s apartment, I tuck my personal cell into my shirt pocket. She must have been standing at her door and watching for me through the viewfinder, because she opens it before I can knock. She’s barefoot and wearing a pair of jeans and a loose, orange tunic that washes out her complexion in an unflattering way and makes her makeup look…off. Like hell will I tell her that, though. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun that’s too casual to be anything but carefully coiffed. Her come-hither smile curdles my stomach, but I smile in return.
“Jordan, very prompt. I like that. Come in.”
“Thank you, Congresswoman Martin.”
She waits until the door swings shut behind me to chuckle. “Grace, please. Yes, I’m telling you to call me by my first name while we’re alone in private.”
“You looked like you wanted to slap me at our last meeting.”
“I did.” She leads me into the apartment. “But upon further reflection, I realized you’re not wrong. There is an expectation of protocol, and I should have referred to the vice president as such.”
No, I’m not falling for it.Duh. She’s trying to set the hook by being agreeable. “Wow. You’re admitting you were wrong?”
“I have my moments. Can I get you something to drink? I make a mean martini.”
I nod. “Sure. Dry, please.”
“Dirty? Olives?”
“Sure, and yes, please.”
“You’ve got it.” She leads the way to the kitchen while I take in my surroundings. It’s a nice place but looks like it was decorated right out of an Essential Home catalog. It’s just…offby a degree or two. Like her hair, it’stoocasually perfect. Staged.
