Tess Gerritsen - Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower - Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower

And a bomb.

Where did Nina Cormier fit in this crazy thicket of events?

It was eleven-thirty when he finally arrived home. He let himself in the front door, stepped into the house, and turned on the lights. The familiar clutter greeted him. What a god-awful mess. One of these days he’d have to clean up the place. Or maybe he should just move; that’d be easier.

He walked through the living room, picking up dirty laundry and dishes as he went. He left the dishes in the kitchen sink, threw the laundry in the washing machine, and started the wash cycle. A Saturday night, and the swinging bachelor does his laundry. Wow. He stood in his kitchen, listening to the machine rumble, thinking about all the things he could do to make this house more of a home. Furniture, maybe? It was a good, sound little house, but he kept comparing it to Robert Bledsoe’s house with its Steinway piano, the sort of house any woman would be delighted to call home.

Hell, Sam wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if one was crazy enough to move in with him. He’d been a bachelor too long, alone too long. There’d been the occasional woman, of course, but none of them had ever lasted. Too often, he had to admit, the fault lay with him. Or with his work. They couldn’t understand why any man in his right mind would actually choose to stay with this insane job of bombs and bombers. They took it as a personal affront that he wouldn’t quit the job and chose them instead.

Maybe he’d just never found a woman who made him want to quit.

And this is the result, he thought, gazing wearily at the basket of unfolded clothes. The swinging bachelor life.

He left the washing machine to finish its cycle and headed off to bed.

As usual, alone.

THE LIGHTS WERE ON at 318 Ocean View Drive. Someone was home. The Cormier woman? Robert Bledsoe? Or both of them?

Driving slowly past the house in his green Jeep Cherokee, he took a good long look at the house. He noted the dense shrubbery near the windows, the shadow of pine and birch trees ringing both edges of the property. Plenty of cover. Plenty of concealment.

Then he noticed the unmarked car parked a block away. It was backlit by a streetlamp, and he could see the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. Police, he thought. They were watching the house.

Tonight was not the time to do it.

He rounded the corner and drove on.

This matter could wait. It was only a bit of cleanup, a loose end that he could attend to in his spare time.

He had other, more important work to complete, and only a week in which to do it.

He drove on, toward the city.

AT 9:00 a.m., the guards came to escort Billy “The Snowman” Binford from his jail cell.

His attorney, Albert Darien, was waiting for him. Through the Plexiglas partition separating the two men, Billy could see Darien’s grim expression and he knew that the news was not good. Billy sat down opposite his attorney. The guard wasn’t standing close enough to catch their conversation, but Billy knew better than to speak freely. That stuff about attorney-client confidentiality was a bunch of bull. If the feds or the D.A. wanted you bad enough, they’d plant a bug on anyone, even your priest. It was outrageous, how they’d violate a citizen’s rights.

“Hello, Billy,” said Darien through the speaker phone. “How’re they treating you?”

“Like a sultan. How the hell d’you think they’re treating me? You gotta get me a few favors, Darien. A private TV. I’d like a private TV.”

“Billy, we got problems.”

Billy didn’t like the tone of Darien’s voice. “What problems?” he asked.

“Liddell’s not even going to discuss a plea bargain. He’s set on taking this to trial. Any other D.A.’d save himself the trouble, but I think Liddell’s using you as a stepping stone to Blaine House.”

“Liddell’s running for governor?”

“He hasn’t announced it. But if he puts you away, he’ll be golden. And Billy, to be honest, he’s got more than enough to put you away.”

Billy leaned forward and glared through the Plexiglas at his attorney. “That’s what I pay you for. So what the hell’re you doing about the situation?”

“They’ve got too much. Hobart’s turned state’s witness.”

“Hobart’s a sleazeball. It’ll be a piece of cake to discredit him.”

“They’ve got your shipping records. It’s all on paper, Billy.”

“Okay, then let’s try again with a plea bargain. Anything. Just keep my time in here short.”

“I told you, Liddell’s nixed a plea bargain.”

Billy paused. Softly he said, “Liddell can be taken care of.”

Darien stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You just get me a deal. Don’t worry about Liddell. I’m taking care of—”

“I don’t want to know about it.” Darien sat back, his hands suddenly shaking. “I don’t want to know a damn thing, okay?”

“You don’t have to. I got it covered.”

“Just don’t get me involved.”

“All I want from you, Darien, is to keep this from going to trial. And get me out of here soon. You got that?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Darien glanced nervously at the guard, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to their conversation. “I’ll try.”

“Just watch,” said Billy. A cocky grin spread on his lips. “Next week, things’ll be different. D.A.’s office will be happy to talk plea bargain.”

“Why? What happens next week?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Darien exhaled a deep sigh and nodded. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t want to know.”

NINA AWAKENED to the bass thump of aerobics dance music. Downstairs, she found Daniella stretched out on the polished oak floor of the exercise room. This morning Daniella was garbed in a shiny pink leotard, and her sleek legs knifed effortlessly through the air with every beat of the music. Nina stood watching in fascination for a moment, mesmerized by that display of taut muscles. Daniella worked hard at her body. In fact, she did little else. Since her marriage to George Cormier, Daniella’s only goal in life seemed to be physical perfection.

The music ended. Daniella sprang to her feet with an easy grace. As she turned to reach for a towel, she noticed Nina standing in the doorway. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Morning,” said Nina. “I guess I overslept. Has Dad already left for work?”

“You know how he is. Likes to get started at the crack of dawn.” With the towel, Daniella whisked away a delicate sheen of perspiration. A discomforting silence stretched between them. It always did. It was more than just the awkwardness of their relationship, the bizarre reality that this golden goddess was technically Nina’s stepmother. It was also the fact that, except for their connection through George Cormier, the two women had absolutely nothing in common.

And never had that seemed more apparent to Nina than at this moment, as she stood gazing at the perfect face of this perfect blonde.

Daniella climbed onto an exercise bike and began pedaling away. Over the whir of the wheel, she said, “George had some board meeting. He’ll be home for dinner. Oh, and you got two phone calls this morning. One was from that policeman. You know, the cute one.”

“Detective Navarro?”

“Yeah. He was checking up on you.”

So he’s worried about me, thought Nina, feeling an unexpected lifting of her spirits. He’d cared enough to make sure she was alive and well. Then again, maybe he was just checking to make sure he didn’t have a new corpse on his hands.

Yes, that was the likely reason he’d called.

Feeling suddenly glum, Nina turned to leave the room, then stopped. “What about the second call?” she asked. “You said there were two.”