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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

I thought of Cal, who had been so adamant that I'd killed her. “It would have been nice to see Cal's face.”

“He still thinks it's bullshit,” she scoffs. “Thinks it's some big left-wing conspiracy to get the President out of office and get a democrat back in.”

“Asshole.”

She nods and both of us go quiet. I wonder if she is playing the same simulation in her head, the one of the President being arrested, and the media atomic bomb that is going to explode tomorrow. This will, without a doubt, be the biggest story since 9/11.

“I talked with him.”

She cuts her eyes at me. “Who?”

“The President.”

“Yeah, right. You talked with Connor Sullivan.”

“I did. Two nights ago.”

It takes her three seconds to realize I'm not joking. She takes two steps toward me. We are a foot apart.

“Tell me.”

I start at the beginning. The very beginning. “So, Lassie isn't my cat. I mean, he is now, but he was Jessica's.”

She looks at Lassie who is sitting on the top of the couch. Hearing his name he meows.

It takes ten minutes for me to bring her up to date: the vet, the microchip, Jessica Renoix, the goons, the tasing, the back seat chat with the most powerful man in the world. I leave out the part of my breaking back into the house, the pawn receipt, and the watch.

“She was blackmailing him?”

“That's what he said.”

“And this tape, it never came out?”

“I think even the people of Jupiter would know if a video of the President banging an eighteen-year-old campaign volunteer leaked out.”

“Okay, so then what? He admits to being there that night, bringing the blackmail cash, and then leaving. Then someone else comes and kills her and takes the money. Who?”

Well, his son for one. He'd obviously been in contact with Jessica at some point. Maybe he knew about his dad's affair. Maybe she'd told him everything. Maybe he needed the money to pay off his gambling debts. Maybe Jessica and Risky were supposed to split the money, but he got greedy and killed her. Lots of maybes.

“I don't know,” I reply. “Odds are it's a bunch of bullshit and Sullivan did it.”

“Is that what you think? You think it's bullshit? You think he was lying?”

I run the clip back in my head. His clenched jaw. His commanding gaze as he said, “I didn't kill her.”

“No.” I say, “I think he was telling the truth.”

She exhales.

I reach out and touch her arm. I'm not sure why, but I do. It is an automatic response, as unconscious as my next breath.

She looks at my hand on her shoulder, then looks up at me. I don't know what is going on behind her soft brown eyes. But I want to know.

“You want to stay for some coffee?” I ask.