The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(37)

A second later, Ivy was gone.

As Bodie pulled away from the curb, I gritted my teeth. When I’d given William Keyes my word that I’d let him into my life if he saved Ivy’s, I’d kept it. When I’d told Emilia I owed her a favor, I’d paid it back in full. I kept my promises.

Ivy was the one who broke hers.

“Some people would tell you that you can’t keep punishing her forever,” Bodie said. “But they’d be underestimating your dedication to the cause.”

“I’m not punishing her,” I insisted. I just couldn’t make myself forget. I could never predict when the wound would break back open.

She promised me I could come live with her, and then she left me. She was my mother, and she left—

“If Asher were her friend,” I said, cutting that thought off as wholly as I could, “if she knew a friend was in trouble—Ivy wouldn’t stay away.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Bodie admitted. “Pretty sure I’ve been that friend. But them’s the breaks, kitten. She’s the adult. You’re the kid.” Bodie pulled into a parking space and scanned the growing crowd in front of the hospital.

Georgia’s press conference was starting soon. As angry as I was with Ivy, I couldn’t keep from thinking about the way that Daniela Nicolae had promised that the time for waiting was over. First the bombing, then the president.

And now Ivy was up there at the First Lady’s side.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I made a call and lifted my phone to my ear.

“Breaking that promise of yours already, kitten?” Bodie asked.

“No,” I said. “You’re going to watch Ivy’s back, and I’m getting a ride home.”





CHAPTER 33

As I climbed into the passenger seat of Henry Marquette’s car, his eyes met mine. The last time he’d seen me, I’d been covered in John Thomas’s blood.

The last time I’d seen him, he’d been stripping off his own shirt for me to wear.

Henry didn’t ask me if I was okay. Instead, he gave me a sardonic look. “Had I realized the position of getaway driver was a permanent one, I would have brushed up on my defensive-driving technique.”

I shrugged. “At least this time the car is yours.”

“Let that be a lesson to me,” Henry said as he pulled into traffic. “Never steal a car for a terrifying girl.”

In my memory, I could see Henry’s hands covering mine, washing the blood from them in the spray.

“Care to share what, precisely, we are getting away from?” Henry asked.

“Sorry,” I retorted. “That information is classified.”

Henry snorted. “If you were any other girl, I would think you were joking.”

“If I were any other girl,” I replied, “I would be.”

An expression I couldn’t quite read crossed Henry’s face. “Based on where I picked you up, I take it that Ivy is assisting the First Lady with something?”

“A press conference,” I said. “I’m guessing Georgia wants to send a message.”

Georgia Nolan was honey-sweet, Southern, and formidable in the extreme. I could imagine the kind of message she would want to send to her husband’s attackers. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists. We do not fear them. Two days ago, the president’s words had fallen flat, but now my eyes stung just thinking about them. The war on terror is one we will win.

Georgia wasn’t the type to back down from a fight.

Neither am I, I thought, and I focused on my fight. “I went down to the police station this morning,” I told Henry. “The detectives asked a lot of questions about Asher.”

Henry didn’t need me to spell it out for him. “Asher fought with John Thomas that morning.”

“And apparently, something brought Asher back to campus that afternoon.”

Henry processed that information in a heartbeat. “There are a lot of people at Hardwicke who might have had reason to want John Thomas dead.”

That was Henry’s way of saying that Asher didn’t do this—but someone did.

“Say you had motive,” I told Henry, thinking out loud. “Say that John Thomas had hurt you, say that he was threatening you or blackmailing you or that he knew something that you didn’t want other people to know . . .” I thought of John Thomas, claiming that he’d accessed Hardwicke’s medical records. I thought of the way he’d taken pictures of Emilia and Anna Hayden and who knew how many other girls. “If you knew that Asher had punched John Thomas, you’d know that the police would consider Asher a major suspect.”

“Especially,” Henry added, “if you could lure him back to the school. I take it you’ve spoken with Asher?”

“No,” I said, steeling myself for his reaction. “Ivy made me promise I wouldn’t.”

I expected Henry to snap, the way he had the last time Ivy had told me to stay out of something. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow. “Did she make you promise that I wouldn’t?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, catching on quickly. “As a matter of fact, she did not.”

I might have been a person who kept her word—but I was also the type to look for loopholes.