The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(58)

“She said the source was probably some intern.”

Bodie snorted. “Doubtful.” He glanced over at me, then fixed his gaze back on the road. “There are two reasons to leak a story like that, kid.” His voice was casual, like he wasn’t imparting wisdom that neither Ivy nor Adam would have shared. “You either do it in hopes that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, or you do it to sink the potential nominee’s chances by putting him in the spotlight too soon.”

Help Pierce get nominated, or hurt his chances.

“Did Ivy leak it?” Twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have asked that question.

“This time?” Bodie asked with an arch of one brow. “No.”

This time. He wasn’t saying that Ivy wouldn’t strategically leak a story like that. He was saying that she hadn’t.

“The day we found out about Vivvie’s father, I heard William Keyes say something to Ivy.” I caught my bottom lip in my teeth. Now I really was thinking out loud. “He said that he’d taught her everything she knew.”

Once upon a time, Ivy had worked for Keyes. He’d taught her how to manipulate the system. How to make things happen.

“He could have leaked the story.” I turned that possibility over in my mind. “The First Lady said Keyes is pushing Judge Pierce for the nomination.” I could have stopped there, but I didn’t. “That photo I gave Ivy—the one that connects Vivvie’s dad and Judge Pierce—was taken at Camp David. According to the First Lady, Keyes was the one who arranged the retreat. That means Keyes brought Vivvie’s dad and Pierce together. And the night before the chief justice died, he attended a fund-raiser for the Keyes Foundation.”

Bodie drove one-handed, the other resting on his threadbare jeans. He cast a lazy glance toward me. “I seem to recall something about you staying out of this.”

“You’re the one who just told me that there are only two reasons to leak an article like that,” I said.

Bodie put his free hand back on the wheel. “I was making conversation.”

“If there’s any chance Adam’s father might be the one who—”

“He’s not.”

The certainty in Bodie’s voice made my stomach twist. If it’s not Keyes . . .

“The president?” I asked softly.

Bodie gave me an incredulous look. “You think the president might be behind this, so you asked Georgia about that picture and the article in the Post?”

I decided that was probably a rhetorical question.

“Keyes is in the clear,” Bodie told me. “So are both of the Nolans.”

I blinked. Twice. “The president and William Keyes were the only people in that photo who—”

Bodie didn’t let me finish. “They were the first people Ivy cleared.”

The first people Ivy cleared. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I could hear Henry: Your sister solves problems. Professionally. Whoever the other number on that phone belonged to, I’d say they have a pretty big problem right now.

“How did she clear them?” I heard myself ask.

Bodie’s answer—if he was going to answer me at all—was cut off by the sound of a siren. His eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror, and he cursed under his breath.

That was when I noticed the flashing lights.

“Speeding?” I asked Bodie as he pulled his car to the side of the road.

“That,” Bodie said, “or things are about to get interesting.” He cut the engine and turned to face me head-on. “Stay calm. Do exactly what they say. Don’t answer questions without a lawyer present.”

He rolled down his window.

I caught his arm. “Bodie, what’s going on?”

Before he could answer, an officer approached, gun pulled. “Get out of the car!”





CHAPTER 44

We got out of the car.

When the officer threw Bodie down on the hood to frisk him, Ivy’s driver said two things. The first was: “Well, this should be fun.” The second—aimed at me—was: “Call your sister.”

Two hours later, as I sat at the front of the police station, that was what I did.

I’d followed Bodie’s instructions to a T. I’d stayed calm. I’d done what I was told. I hadn’t answered any questions, other than the basics: my name; my age; Bodie was my sister’s driver; he was just driving me home from school.

I’d played shell-shocked and scared. It went against every fiber of my being, but sometimes the best defense was letting yourself seem defenseless. I didn’t lash back. I didn’t demand answers. And they didn’t take my phone. Eventually, the poor defenseless girl was plunked down out front while one of the officers made some phone calls and the other questioned the suspect.

Answer. Answer. Answer. My hand tightened around my cell as I made a call of my own. Come on, Ivy.

“Tess.”

A breath escaped my lungs when I heard my sister’s voice. “Bodie and I got pulled over,” I said.

There was a beat. “Was he arrested?” Ivy asked. Then she rephrased the question. “Did they read him his rights?”

I thought back. “No.” They’d thrown him down on the car. They’d frisked him. They’d shoved him in the back of a police car—but they hadn’t made an arrest. “Ivy, what’s going on?”