“How do you think you’re going to get out of this?”
“You really have no idea how big this thing is, do you?”
“You’re a good start.”
“So smug, yet so stupid.”
“You can make it easier on yourself if you tell me who else was involved.”
The self-satisfied smile remained, telling him there was no point in staying any longer. He’d come for answers and wouldn’t be getting any. He had at least reminded her of the men she’d let die. For now, that had to be enough.
“In case you’re thinking about skipping town, be aware that the FBI is right outside your door. No helicopter is going to swoop in and save your ass this time.”
“Get out of my home. Now.”
With a nod, Ash left through the backdoor, the way he’d come. No way was Turner getting away. He hadn’t been able to persuade her to give up names, but she had confirmed something he had known all along. This thing was a whole lot bigger than just one person. Turner would be only the first to fall.
But how many more were there? And who was at the top?
* * *
On legs that were much too shaky, Nora went to the bar in the corner. The brandy and Scotch she served guests were on the counter, but this called for the good stuff. Opening the cabinet, she took down her prized bottle of brandy and poured herself a generous portion. Holding the bottle in one hand and her glass in the other, she headed to the leather recliner she’d bought a few years ago. It was her favorite thinking chair, and she had much to think about.
Easing down into the chair, Nora took a sip and allowed the liquor’s warmth to permeate her body. She took another sip, then another, before the worry pounding within her began to ease.
Drake thought he had her. Believed he had won. And though she could admit things didn’t look good for her, they looked even worse for Drake. He just didn’t know it yet.
As for Jessie Diamond, or rather, Jules Stone, things looked downright deadly.
Nora had to give the other woman credit. She had fooled her, and for a crafty woman like herself, that wasn’t easy to do. But Nora would have the last laugh. While Drake and Stone were scrambling to stay alive, Nora would be on a private beach drinking mojitos.
Yes, her career was trashed. She wouldn’t recover from this debacle. The presidency had been on her radar. She’d been working for that all her life. Others would take up the slack now. This wasn’t the way she wanted things
to end, but that was life—you rolled with the punches. She had learned to roll from the best.
When she’d told Drake there were more powerful people than Nora herself involved, she hadn’t been blowing smoke. No way this man could ever fathom just how high or how far all of this went.
They would be disappointed in her, that was a given. But she had done everything they’d asked of her. She’d given up any kind of life of her own to follow their edicts. They should have protected her better.
Certainly the debacle in Colombia was a black mark on her record, but she had done everything she could do to rectify her mistakes. Was it her fault that Drake had survived? Was it her fault he was as slippery as an eel, escaping death time after time?
No, they were the ones who’d screwed up. If they’d wanted to help, they could have taken Drake out years ago, before she’d started her political career. All of this was on them.
They knew she would never talk. Why would she when she would go to prison? Plus, she knew better than to betray them. They knew she was loyal. They knew they could trust her.
So why was she suddenly terrified?
Nora took another sip of her brandy. They would have to sort it all out without her. She had plans nobody knew about. They thought they knew everything, but there was no way they knew this. Even now, her private plane was being readied. Her luggage had already been transported. She had picked up many skills in her career, and hiding money, huge amounts of money, was one of them. She would never want for anything ever again.
They would never find her. No one would. A private little island in Greece. A couple of loyal staffers who would die before they betrayed her.
Maybe she would have plastic surgery. In a few years, she could be seen in public again. No one would know who she was. Maybe she would start dating. Finally have a social life, have some fun.
She would indeed have the last laugh.
Noting that her glass was empty, she reached for the bottle from the side table. How odd. Why were her fingers numb? Why was her mouth so dry? Why did she feel so dizzy?
Why…?