The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(40)

I turned back to look at him. His lips parted in a smile, but there was a serious glint in his dark eyes. “Mum’s the word.”

In other words: Don’t tell anyone about Vivvie’s dad. Or Judge Pierce. Or Justice Marquette.

Unfortunately, anyone hunted me down before my first class.

“What happened?” Asher asked, falling into step beside me. “Where were you yesterday? Where was Vivvie?” When I didn’t reply immediately, Asher tried another tack. “True or false: you’re going to tell me what happened.”

“False,” I said.

He gave me a morose look and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “The correct answer was true.”

Asher sounded like he was joking, but my gut told me he wasn’t. This wasn’t some lark to him. It was personal, and if I tried to shut him out, he would do something about it.

Like tell Henry.

Mum’s the word.

“Short version?” I told Asher as we approached the classroom. “My sister knows. About Vivvie, about the phone, about everything.”

“And the long version?” Asher asked.

“Vivvie’s father found out about the phone.” That much I could tell him without compromising Ivy’s investigation—whatever that investigation entailed. “She showed up at my place two nights ago with a fat lip and the beginning of a black eye.”

“Is she—”

“She’s going to be fine,” I said. “Physically. But Vivvie and I are done. Out of it. Off the case.” I entered the classroom with Asher on my heels. I could feel him getting ready to pounce—another question I couldn’t answer, another look that told me he knew I was holding back. Then Asher’s eyes landed on Henry, sitting near the front of the room, his head bowed over a book.

Asher wouldn’t keep asking questions in earshot of his best friend.

I slid into the seat next to Henry, all too aware that Asher knew exactly what I was doing.

“True or false,” he whispered into the back of my head as he took the seat behind me. “We aren’t done talking about this.”

I could almost hear him thinking that of all the people in the world who Henry Marquette might trust to find out what had happened to his grandfather, my sister wasn’t near the top of the list.

In fact, it was a good bet that Ivy wasn’t on that list at all.





CHAPTER 32

“I assume you’ve made progress with your half of the assignment?” Henry Marquette sat opposite me in World Issues, a thick file folder open on the table between us. Clearly, he’d done his half of the assignment.

“You know what they say about assumptions,” I said.

Henry quirked an eyebrow at me. “Tell me, Kendrick, what do they say about assumptions?”

“It’s Tess.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you did not screen the candidates on your half of the list?” Henry asked me. “Tess.”

“Actually,” I said. “I looked into them.” He didn’t need to know what exactly I’d looked for—or why I’d been looking.

“And?”

And there’s reason to think Judge Pierce paid to have your grandfather killed.

“And,” I said, “I wasn’t really that impressed.”

Henry’s lips ticked slightly upward. “I get the sense that you might be a hard girl to impress.”

That almost sounded like a compliment.

Henry seemed to realize that, too. “In all likelihood,” he said abruptly, thumbing through the file he’d compiled and tearing his eyes away from mine, “we’re looking for someone on the court of appeals—DC circuit is most likely, but I wouldn’t rule any of the others out.”

My mind went immediately to Judge Pierce. Was he on the court of appeals?

Ivy told me to stay out of it, I thought. But she could hardly blame me for doing a school assignment, now, could she? As Henry briefly outlined the credentials of his top couple of candidates, I pulled Pierce’s information up on my laptop. I stared at the photograph that popped up. He was balding, in his early fifties. He stared back at me from the screen: deep-set eyes, solemn expression, a face you could trust.

You’ll get your money when I get my nomination.

I forced my eyes away from the photo and read. Pierce had a seat on the Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. Prior to that, he’d served as the attorney general for the state of Arizona.

“Pierce.” Asher came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “An interesting choice, to be sure.”

I forced my face to stay perfectly neutral. Asher was clearly fishing for information—and not about the assignment. I closed the window.

“Don’t you have your own project to be working on?” Henry asked Asher mildly.

“Indeed I do,” Asher replied, his eyes still on me. “Sadly, however, my partner is absent. Woe be to the Asher who is forced to work on his own.”

“I mourn for you,” Henry said dryly.

“So what do we know about Pierce?” Asher ignored Henry’s sarcastic tone and helped himself to the chair next to mine. He leaned over, plunking his elbows down on my desk.

“Nothing,” I said, reaching for one of the papers in Henry’s file.