A Harmless Little Plan (Harmless #3)(43)

“Did they have to be so vicious about it? So sadistic?” Lindsay takes in a long, shaky breath. “And video it?”

“That was all part of the plan, according to some of the communication we’ve intercepted,” Marshall explains. “It needed to be such a scandal that it would dominate headlines. The specific goal was to paint you as an out-of-control slut -- ”

“But -- ”

“There’s more,” Marshall says, holding up his hand, pausing Lindsay. “And to distract the mainstream media while Corning shoved through a massive appropriations bill that contained ethically-questionable riders.”

Harry reels back. “He what?”

Monica’s eyes turn to angry slits. “He used Lindsay’s scandal to distract the country, and Harry, so he could push legislation through Congress?”

“Yes,” Marshall confirms. “It was a massive distraction.”

Harry lets out a colorful ribbon of expletives.

“What happened four years ago wasn’t enough, though,” says Marshall, his voice hard. “Harry persevered. Won re-election and dodged the scandal. So when it was time to declare for he was running for president and bring Lindsay home, Nolan Corning brought everyone back for Round Two.”

“And set me up for Lindsay’s murder,” I grind out.

“How did you get into the apartment next door?” Marshall asks, terse. His beady eyes hold a mixture of judgement and admiration.

“I manipulated the woman who lives next door,” I start to explain.

“Tiffany,” Lindsay says in a catty voice. She leans toward my ear and whispers, “You weren’t sleeping with her, right? Jon and Stellan tried to convince me you were.”

“You think I’d cheat on you?” I hiss, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lindsay turns beet red. “No. It’s just they said -- ”

I give her a look that says nothing those dead bastards ever said is true.

She squeezes my hand and sighs. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” I kiss her cheek and return my attention to Marshall. “So Corning ‘reactivated’ Blaine, John and Stellan.”

“He had enough dirt on them,” Marshall says flatly.

Monica gives a bitter laugh. “Your father’s approval ratings have soared since the story came out about Nolan Corning!” Monica gushes, her voice a strange brew of over-the-top enthusiasm and stark fury. “This has been absolutely fabulous for his campaign.”

“Glad to be of help,” Lindsay mutters.

I explode.





Lindsay


I am not used to having my own cheering section 24/7. He’s holding my hand and screaming at my mother. No one ever mentioned that when you fall in love, this constant defender comes with the territory.

I like it.

“No matter how many times I tell myself you have more depth, you find a way to disprove it, Monica! Jesus Fucking Christ, no one cares about Harry’s approval ratings!” Drew shouts.

Daddy and Marshall interrupt him, saying, “Actually, we do,” both at the same time.

“Not at Lindsay’s expense!” Drew snaps.

Mom looks like he called her a bad name.

“I would never put Harry’s campaign above Lindsay’s best interests!” she retorts in a haughty voice, clutching the gold necklace she’s wearing.

I start laughing. I can’t stop. One look at Silas tells me he’s trying not to laugh. Drew is red-faced and puffed up, livid on my behalf, and can’t calm down enough to giggle at the absurdity that just came out of my mother’s mouth.

“When have you ever – even once! -- put Lindsay ahead of your political ambitions?” Drew yells at her, getting in Mom’s face. She actually leans way back, afraid.

And then her cunning nature kicks in.

“My political ambitions?” She wags a finger at him. It’s perfectly manicured, the French tip flawlessly drawn. “My political ambitions? Oh, no. You do not get to lecture me about political ambition – this is all for Harry.”

Daddy snorts.

Mom turns on him, murderous.

“Don’t even go there.”

His face goes slack.

“Could we get back to the topic at hand...” Marshall implores, clearing his throat again. “We have a great deal of ground to cover.”

“And Lindsay has her psych eval for the Island in ninety minutes,” Mom adds in a matter-of-fact tone.

I clasp Drew’s elbow, mostly to get his attention, but partly to make sure he doesn’t haul off and punch my mother.

“The Island?” I challenge. “I’m not being evaluated to go to the Island. I’m just being checked out to make sure I’m okay.”

Marshall and Mom share a look.

I know that look.

No. Fucking. Way.

“I am not going to the Island,” I announce, mustering as much authority as I can. “They did an eval before they let me go yesterday. This is just a follow-up. I have to get my wounds re-bandaged, too. It’s all a formality.”

Daddy shoves a stack of newspapers across the conference table. The top one, a color tabloid, has full-body shots of me in Tiffany’s living room, naked and shoving a knife in Stellan’s crotch. My breasts and mons are blurred out.