While Justice Sleeps(37)
Avery’s head came up. Inside the Court, she was safe. More importantly, Justice Wynn’s desk was here—and possibly some answers. She let her eyes well with tears, not entirely an act. “I’d rather not go home just yet,” she told her. “If you don’t mind.”
“I have more questions for her,” Vance interjected. “Agent Lee’s inquiries do require a response.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Lewis.” Avery thought again of the moment she discovered the body. “I found her. I panicked. I ran. I’m not proud of myself, but she was already dead.”
“We’re done for today, Major Vance,” the Chief said firmly. She slid a hand under Avery’s elbow, bringing the younger woman to her feet. “Return to your office until you’re ready to go. Mrs. Turner-Wynn has been busy granting interviews since your unfortunate meeting at the hospital. As the public is now aware that you hold Justice Wynn’s power of attorney, all calls are being directly routed to the communications team. If the doctors need you—”
“They have my cell phone number.”
“Good.” She patted Avery’s shoulder. “A car will be ready when you are. I’ve also arranged for a detail at your house.”
“A detail?” Which meant a federal agent following her to her meeting with Jared Wynn. “I don’t want one.”
The Chief gave her a stern look that echoed the one from Major Vance. “It was part of my compromise with the FBI. Until we learn what happened to Nurse Lewis, there will be a car stationed outside your apartment, and you will be chauffeured to and from the Court. Yours has been impounded. This isn’t negotiable.”
Avery started to argue, then stopped. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been sent to her room and told to stay there. With a short nod, she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left the office. She avoided the other clerks, whose late hours weren’t unusual for the end of term. Still, more clerks than usual had found reason to hang out near Justice Wynn’s chambers, rather than huddling in their offices over the latest queries from their judges. Collapsing into her desk chair, Avery allowed her head to loll against the seat, the morning’s nausea returning, accompanied by a piercing headache.
When her cell phone rang, she answered it primarily to stop the noise. “Yes?”
“Avery Keene?”
A man spoke on the other end of the call, his voice distorted and unrecognizable. Her gut clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “Yes, this is Avery Keene. May I ask who’s calling?”
“You must protect Justice Wynn. Don’t let him die.”
Suspicion hardened her tone. “Who is this?”
“A friend.”
Common sense told her to hang up and alert Major Vance or the FBI, but instinct kept her on the line. Perhaps he could shed light onto whatever rabbit hole she’d fallen through. “What do you want?”
“To assist you with your new job as guardian.”
“How?”
“I want to help you protect Justice Wynn.”
“Protect him from whom?”
“From anyone who tries to harm him.”
“A threat on the life of a Supreme Court justice is a serious matter.” Avery stood slowly, moving toward the door. As her hand touched the knob, she probed, “Who wants to hurt him?”
“Get him to the end of the term alive, Avery.”
“Why? What do you want?”
“We’re counting on you.” The phone crackled for a millisecond. “I will help. Watch for it.”
FIFTEEN
Avery’s apartment felt like an isolation chamber. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she checked her phone. The time read 11:18 p.m., and according to her plan, she still had twelve more minutes before she needed to head out. She paced in front of the mirror, checking her outfit—again. She’d chosen slim-fitting black jeans and a black tank top, both a nod to the swelter of DC nights and a bit of vanity. She’d inherited her father’s swimmer’s frame. Strong shoulders, long limbs, and excellent muscle tone. Rita had passed along her narrow waist and green eyes, but the dense fringe of lashes were definitely her dad’s. It was her light-brown skin and the naturally corkscrew hair that blended her parents’ tones and textures, and her complicated features—high cheekbones that arrowed toward a wide, strong nose; full lips with a cupid’s bow set in a narrow face.
Seeing too much, she instead looked down at the crumpled note from Jared Wynn. An hour ago, when she’d decided she’d had enough drama for the day, she’d crushed it into a ball and thrown it into the trash. But then her latest round of second thoughts had her fishing it out of the wastebasket.
Jamie Lewis was dead, and Jared might know why. And she’d learn nothing by hiding out in her apartment. Cursing, she pulled on a dark cap and tugged it low on her brow. She tucked her wallet into her back pocket and tied a black shirt around her waist. The black sneakers she wore made no sound as she locked her front door. She turned onto the main corridor and walked faster.
After striding past the row of front doors, she opened the egress window at the end of the third-floor hallway, which led out to a rickety fire escape. Avery climbed out and made her way down the steps. Taking the short leap to the pavement, she waited for a few breaths. When no one moved, she walked quickly to the front of the alley and checked her surroundings. The patrol car sat in front of her building, as promised. Head down, she rounded the corner and started down the street. On the next block, she found a cabdriver dropping off a fare.