The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(34)

“Tess.” Ivy’s voice was hoarse. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. When she didn’t reply, it occurred to me that she might have gotten news.

Bad news.

“The president—” I started to say.

“No change in his condition.” Ivy’s voice was emotionless. “They’re not sure when he’ll wake up.”

Or if he’ll wake up. My brain supplied the words that Ivy wouldn’t say.

“Vice President Hayden was sworn in as acting president.” Ivy’s tone never changed. “Senza Nome has claimed responsibility for the attack.”

I crossed the room and sat down next to her. “You’re going to see the terrorist they arrested, aren’t you?” I asked quietly. “Daniela Nicolae. You’re going to find out what she knows about the attack.”

I knew Ivy. She couldn’t make the president wake up. But she could hunt down every single person involved in this assassination attempt. Whatever she had to do to get in a room with Nicolae, to interrogate her about Senza Nome—Ivy would do it.

“Tessie—” Ivy broke off, unable to say more than my name.

I wanted to tell her that it was okay. I wanted to tell her that I understood that there were some things she couldn’t tell me. I wanted it not to matter.

But it did.

It always would, with Ivy and me.

“Do you think Walker told Daniela something without realizing it?” I asked, throwing the question out into the void. “Do you think the president’s son is the reason Senza Nome was able to pull off this attack?”

There was another long silence, just like I knew there would be. Stop it, I told myself. Stop asking. Stop pushing. Just stop—

“I don’t think Walker knew enough about his father’s security detail or Secret Service protocol to give Senza Nome the information they would have needed to make this happen.” Ivy gave me one sentence—just one.

She gave me what she could.

“Walker didn’t have that information.” I repeated what Ivy had told me, then read between the lines. “But Senza Nome would have had to get it from somewhere.”





CHAPTER 31

The next day was midterm elections. Hardwicke canceled school. Vivvie went home. There was still no official update on the president’s condition. My mind awash in what Ivy had told me, I went in for questioning in John Thomas’s murder.

“How would you describe your relationship with John Thomas Wilcox?”

Given everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, even being here, answering the detectives’ questions about John Thomas, felt surreal.

“John Thomas and I were in the same grade. We had one class together,” I said. Ivy had told me to stick to the truth but keep my answers brief. “He struck me as cruel.”

Ivy probably wasn’t pleased that I’d volunteered that information, but I didn’t see the point in pretending that I hadn’t found John Thomas reprehensible. If the police hadn’t already heard that I didn’t like the guy, they undoubtedly would soon.

“Cruel how?” the detective on the left asked.

Before I could answer, the door to the interrogation room opened and a man in an expensive suit strode in. He had the air of a person who was used to making an entrance.

“Tyson.” Ivy greeted him, a slight narrowing of her eyes my only clue that she wasn’t pleased to see him.

“Ivy,” he returned smoothly before turning to the detectives. “Brewer Tyson,” he said, introducing himself like his name held the strength of an argument in and of itself. “I’m representing Ms. Keyes.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Tyson took a seat next to Ivy.

“I was under the impression that you had not hired counsel,” one of the detectives told Ivy.

She’d discussed this with me. She had a law degree. She could serve as my guardian and my attorney—and use the fact that we hadn’t hired someone to send the message that I had nothing whatsoever to hide.

“I didn’t,” Ivy said, eyes on Tyson, “hire an attorney.”

“I work for Ms. Keyes’s grandfather,” the lawyer volunteered. “I’m merely here to ensure that things go smoothly for everyone involved.” Brewer Tyson folded his hands on the table. “Shall we proceed?”

There was a second or two of silence, during which I thought Ivy might actually kick the kingmaker’s lawyer out of the room, but instead she turned, closemouthed, back to the detectives.

“You were getting ready to tell us why you considered John Thomas Wilcox to be a cruel person,” one of the detectives said.

“Was she?” Tyson asked. “I’ll advise my client,” he said, his gaze going briefly to me before returning to my interrogators, “that she is under no obligation to answer that question.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll answer. John Thomas liked to hurt people.” I stuck to simple, declarative sentences. “He picked on younger kids, anyone he saw as weak. He especially liked playing games with girls.”

“What kind of games?” the detective on the right asked.

I measured my reply. “He liked pictures. Taking them. Sharing them. He made a lot of innuendos. He’d get in your personal space, touch you when you didn’t want to be touched.”