Chapter 21
“She left the check on her silver tea tray,” I said. “She thinks we are still bargaining.”
“She does not realize the Senate committee is already looking at the Berlin routing,” Rachel said. “We have the leverage now, Claire.”
Before I could answer, a young woman stepped out from the shadow of the decorative palms near the elevators.
Her dark hair was damp from the storm outside, and her green military windbreaker dripped onto the polished stone floor.
She did not look at the security guard, keeping her eyes fixed on our faces as we approached.
“Claire Harper?” she asked, her voice low and tight.
I stopped three feet away, noticing the way she held her left wrist, her fingers pressing against a pale, jagged scar that ran under her sleeve.
“I am Claire,” I said.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a green military identification card, holding it flat against her palm so I could see the photo and the silver seal.
Rachel stepped closer, her legal instincts kicking in as she squinted at the laminate in the bright lobby lights.
“Corporal Maya Ellis,” Rachel said, reading the card aloud. “You are out of uniform, Corporal.”
“I retired six months ago,” Maya said, her eyes shifting toward the security guard who was watching us from his desk. “We cannot talk here. I was told you were the only person in Washington who could read the ledger.”
I looked at the water pooling around her boots, then back at her face.
“Who told you that?” I asked.
Maya tucked the card back into her pocket, her hand still resting on her scarred wrist.
“Arthur Harper,” she said.
Rachel looked at me, her brow furrowing, but I was already reaching for my level-eight access card to swipe us through the gate.
The security guard, a retired Metro cop named Frank, watched us pass with a quiet nod, his eyes lingering on Maya’s damp boots.
We stepped into the wood-paneled elevator cab, the doors sliding shut with a soft click that sealed out the noise of the street.
May you like
The ride to the top floor was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the cables lifting us through the core of the high-rise.
Inside my penthouse, the air was warm and smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.
