Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(69)

“And you, Saxon?”

“I told her it was the first time in my life I knew what it was like to have another person make me so happy my skin felt too tight. I told her I loved her from the start, the way she laughed and teased me about my white socks, the way she listened to me. I told her I wanted to give her the world.” He paused, said with such sadness it broke your heart, “I had so little time with her, and then some monster killed her.”

“Saxon, what did your father think of Mia?”

“He told me she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and he wanted my secret.” Saxon gave a small smile before his face went slack. “My dad and I have had dinner together twice a week since I was thirteen and my mom left. He’s used to people fawning all over him because of who he is, but Mia didn’t fawn. She was herself, showed interest in him like she did with everybody.” Again, he paused. “I don’t know what my father really thought of her. I guess I was afraid to ask him. More than that, I really didn’t care, Mia was all that was important to me, no matter what anyone else thought.”

“Did you ever meet her parents?”

“Mia said they lived in Oregon, but she was planning on seeing them in the fall. We were planning to go together.”

“Did you sleep together?”

Saxon nodded, gulped. “I was sort of scared in the beginning. I didn’t want to be a klutz, but again, she made it so easy, so natural, told me to relax and we’d learn everything together. And we did.”

“Did she ask you questions about your dad?”

“Well, yes, everybody does. And Mia was interested in him, sure.”

“Do you remember telling her anything your dad had told you, say about policy issues the president had discussed with him, how he felt about it, things like that?”

“Yes, of course. My dad is President Gilbert’s right hand, but he’s still my dad. We exchange opinions; he likes that. But he has an ironclad rule: if I ask him about anything classified or maybe embarrassing to the president, he laughs it off, shakes his head. That means I shouldn’t go there.

“I remember that happened with Mia once. She asked my dad what he thought of Putin’s invasion of the Ukraine. He smiled, said he couldn’t talk about it. She took no offense. I remember she apologized.”

“Mia told you she was raised in Oregon?”

“A small town near Ashland. Something like Bolton. Her dad was a Baptist preacher, her mom a housewife. She was an only child.” His throat seemed to clog and he swallowed, tears sheened his eyes. “She said her folks were great, that they always encouraged her, paid attention to her. Maybe that’s why she was so sweet and such a beautiful person.”

“Think back to the night Mia died, Saxon.”

Saxon began shaking his head, back and forth, his breathing came faster.

“No, it’s all right, Saxon. Breathe slowly, relax, that’s right. Tell me about that night.”

“It was our six-week anniversary and I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“When you picked up Mia at her apartment, what was she wearing?”

“An amazing black dress, short and elegant. It had almost no back. She had a beautiful back. And high heels. She came to my nose. I remember she laughed and kissed me right outside the restaurant with a half-dozen people around, said it was hard to compete with me I was so handsome.”

He swallowed. “She fixed my tie before we went in.”

“Where did you go?”

“Luigi’s in Alexandria. My dad loves their risotto, told me if I ever wanted to impress someone, it was the place to go. He and I went there sometimes. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs.”

“What did Mia order?”

“Some sort of weird salad and a small antipasto we shared. She wasn’t a big eater.”

“What did you order to drink?”

He frowned. “I think Mia asked me if I’d ever had a cosmopolitan and I said no, I’m not much of a drinker—she knew that—except for a little wine sometimes. She told me she wanted me to try one, said it would make our time later more fun.” He blushed, actually blushed. “She meant sex, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Savich said. “You ordered a cosmopolitan.”

“Yes. I liked the taste, and she was right. It loosened everything up, made what I wanted to say come out easier. I laughed a lot, with the second one. And then she wanted to leave, go to her apartment, said we were going to have a fantastic time.” He stopped, ran his tongue over his lips. “And then it simply stops, I don’t remember anything more. I woke up the next morning in my own bed in my apartment.”

“I want you to picture you and Mia leaving the restaurant, asking the valet to fetch your Toyota.”

He slowly nodded. “Yes, I see him, a really young kid, with acne scars. He stared at Mia, but I was used to that, all the guys did. He brought the car around, and I helped Mia into it. We were laughing. I don’t know why, everything seemed so funny. I was driving, and she put her hand on my leg and started talking about what we were going to do in her bedroom.”

“You drove to her apartment in Carlan Heights.”

He nodded. “She lives”—he swallowed—“lived, on the third floor. Usually we take the elevator, but that night she wanted to climb the stairs, and we kissed all the way to her apartment door.” He paused, his face lighting with the memories. Then his face tightened, and he swallowed hard.