Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(70)

Griffin said, “Thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Frazier. I’m Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith, FBI.”

Mrs. Frazier glanced at his creds, then back to his face. “Goodness, Rebekah, you haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

“No, no, Agent Hammersmith is with me for another reason. Oh, hello, Grandmother.” Gemma Clarkson stood in the doorway of her office, not saying a word, simply observing them, unsmiling.

Mrs. Frazier turned around. “Oh, Mrs. Clarkson, isn’t Rebekah lovely? She’s grown up very well. This handsome young man is an FBI agent. Can you imagine?”

Gemma turned to Mrs. Frazier, nodded. “Olivia, I’m expecting Mr. Neilly from accounting in twenty minutes. I’m sure we’ll be done by then. Let me know when he arrives.” She looked at Griffin. “I don’t believe your presence is needed, Agent. Please remain here.” She stepped aside to let Rebekah walk into her office.

Griffin said, “Sorry, Mrs. Clarkson, but I have questions, too.”

Rebekah smiled at Olivia Frazier, shook her hand. “It’s so good to see you again.”

She turned with Griffin to follow her grandmother into a large rectangular office with a row of wide windows behind her grandmother’s desk. It was all in shades of gray, from the walls to the sofas and chairs to a thick carpet, the color broken only by a dozen or so Dutch paintings on the walls. She wondered what the office had looked like when her grandfather had run Clarkson United. Rebekah’s mother had told her the day he’d won his first election, he’d been the happiest she’d ever seen him, nearly danced out of the building. He was glad to leave everything in Gemma’s capable hands.

Griffin said to Gemma, “Ever since someone tried to kidnap Rebekah last Thursday in Washington, I’ve been assigned as her bodyguard.” He pulled out his creds again and handed them to her. Gemma waved them away.

Gemma said, “Yes, yes, I know all about it. I saw your husband’s TV appearance. As I told an Agent Savich, who called me on Monday, it occurred to me it might have been a stunt set up by your husband, Rebekah, since he is up for re-election. Publicity is always useful, particularly if it involves a perceived danger to a loved one. He did say you were all right. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Griffin said, “It was no stunt. The kidnapping attempt was quite real. You would have known that if you’d called Rebekah.”

“Or if Rebekah would have called me,” Gemma said.

Rebekah said simply, “I didn’t think you’d be interested, Grandmother.”

Gemma touched the diamond studs at her ears. “Of course I would have been interested. Now, what does this have to do with why you’re here today, with an FBI bodyguard?”

Rebekah sat forward. “I’m in trouble, Grandmother. I’m hoping you can help.”

A dark eyebrow went up. “Help you? How can I possibly help you, Rebekah?” Left unsaid but clear to Rebekah’s ear was the smear of contempt in her grandmother’s voice. Rebekah hadn’t seen Gemma since her grandfather’s funeral, and before that, at her wedding six months earlier. Her grandmother had arrived at Rebekah’s wedding with her car and driver and left shortly after the ceremony. Gemma had looked amazing in a stylish Armani suit, so dark a purple it was nearly black, and a white silk blouse. One of her bridesmaids had told her Rich was very attentive to Gemma before the service, brought other politicians and businessmen over to meet her. Well, she was a big deal, rich and influential. She’d sat next to her daughter at the service, because it was expected of her.

Gemma was wearing Armani again today, black this time with a white blouse and black pumps on her small feet. Her short black hair didn’t show a single strand of gray, and she looked fifteen years younger than her nearly seventy-seven years. Rebekah remembered her mother saying at Grandfather’s funeral as she’d looked over at Gemma, her voice stone cold but oddly accepting, “I see the phoenix has shaken off the last of her ashes and risen.”

Gemma walked to her desk and sat down. She steepled her fingertips as she said, “Sit down, Rebekah, Agent Hammersmith, and tell me what I can do for you.”

Rebekah said, “As Agent Hammersmith told you, my attempted kidnapping was real. Rich didn’t stage anything. I was actually saved by another FBI agent.”

An eyebrow went up again. “You always were amazingly lucky,” she said, and smiled.

Rebekah thought of Agent Savich’s call, sat forward in the pale gray leather chair, and said without preamble, “Did you know Miranda Elderby, now Miranda Stirling, is convinced Nate was murdered? I’d like to know what you think.”





45


Gemma lightly tapped her fingertips on an exquisite gray leather desk pad as she shook her head. “It amazes me Miranda is still tossing out that old chestnut. Nate, murdered? What an absurd thing to say, but of course, Miranda was never very bright, always flirting, even with my husband. I never understood how she got that nonsense about murder in her head.” She paused. “It did bring her attention, though, and a lot of sympathy for the twenty-three-year-old widow.”

Griffin said in his smooth FBI voice, “I imagine it upset you, Mrs. Clarkson, when Miranda flirted with your husband.”

“I’ll admit it, several times I wanted to gut her.” Gemma stopped cold, stared at Griffin. “That was well done, Agent Hammersmith. But it’s the truth, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I imagine I felt like most any woman would if another woman went after her husband.”