The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(36)

“I don’t know,” I said, my mind racing as I stared at the time stamp on that picture. “You’d have to ask Asher.”





CHAPTER 32

As I stepped out into the sunshine, Ivy on one side and the lawyer on my other, I went for my phone. Brewer Tyson cleared his throat.

“Calling your friend at this juncture would not be wise,” the lawyer said.

I understood that it might not look good if phone records showed that I’d contacted Asher as soon as the police finished with me. But I needed to talk to Asher. I needed to ask what he’d been doing on campus.

I needed to warn him.

“Visiting your friend,” the lawyer continued, “would also not be wise. You should plan on giving Mr. Rhodes a wide berth for the time being.”

It wasn’t in me to give any friend a “wide berth”—especially one who might be in trouble.

“Shockingly,” I told Brewer Tyson, “you don’t get a vote about who I talk to or who I see.”

The lawyer glanced at Ivy. “She sounds just like you.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes at him. “Your presence is no longer required,” she said tersely. “And tell Keyes that the next time he blindsides me like this, he won’t like the outcome.”

Ivy didn’t wait for a response before guiding me to the car.

“He’s right,” she said quietly once the lawyer was out of earshot. “I know that Asher is a friend, Tess, and I know it goes against everything in you to stay away from a friend at a time like this, but I don’t trust the police. The surveillance footage might have convinced them that you didn’t shoot John Thomas, but I don’t want them wondering if you helped plan it.”

“Asher had nothing to do with this,” I said. “I have no idea what he was doing back on campus, but Asher didn’t shoot John Thomas.”

“I’m not saying that he did,” Ivy replied. “But we both know that Hardwicke is more secure than most of the Hill. There’s no way a visitor could have gotten a weapon into the school, and that means the police will be looking at students.”

Ivy pinned me with a look. “There will be pressure to close this case and close it fast. I won’t let you get caught in the crosshairs.” Ivy walked around to the passenger side of the car. “I’ll do what I can for Asher, Tess, but I need you to steer clear.”

Before I could reply, Ivy had climbed into the front seat of the car and closed the door behind her, taking it for granted that she’d been heard and understood and that her dictate would be obeyed.

I climbed into the backseat and shut the door—a little harder than necessary.

“Georgia called.” Bodie directed those words to Ivy, not me. “She’s holding a press conference at the hospital.”

And just like that, helping Asher was on the back burner. Within an instant, Ivy was dialing and on the phone. “Jason. Put Georgia on. I don’t care if she’s busy. She is not addressing the American public until I can verify that she is in a place, mentally, where she can handle the questions they are going to throw at her.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bodie pulled up to the hospital where the president was being treated. From what I’d gathered based on Ivy’s side of her conversation with the First Lady, this press conference was happening, whether Ivy liked it or not.

“Tessie?” Ivy was already halfway out the door when she remembered I was in the car. “I meant what I said about Asher. You can’t call him, you can’t go over to his house, you can’t e-mail—not until things die down.”

I tried to imagine someone telling Ivy that she had to stay away from a friend at a time like this.

“You need to trust me on this one, Tess. I told you I would take care of this situation—take care of you—but you have to let me.”

“Trust,” I repeated sharply, unable to keep a wealth of emotion from marking that word.

“Fine. You don’t have to trust me,” Ivy corrected, her voice tight. “You just have to listen to me.” She turned around in her seat, pinning me with an intense stare. “This is a high-profile murder investigation. I will do whatever I have to do to protect you, even if I have to protect you from yourself.”

The last time Ivy had decided I needed to be protected from myself, she’d thrown me on a private jet and shipped me off to Boston. The great Ivy Kendrick didn’t mess around, and she didn’t bluff.

“I need your word that you won’t try to get in touch with Asher,” she told me. “And if you won’t give me your word, I need your phone.”

Give me your word or give me your phone. That was an ultimatum.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I snapped back. “You don’t get to make this kind of decision for me.” I meant to stop there. “You don’t get to make any decisions for me, not ever.”

There was a moment of stark silence. Ivy didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “Your word or your phone,” she repeated.

Bodie caught my eyes in the rearview mirror. If there was understanding in his eyes, there was a warning, too.

I was treading on thin ice.

“Fine,” I said tersely, my fingers closing around my phone. “You have my word. I won’t call Asher. I won’t e-mail him. I won’t go see him.”