David Baldacci - Daylight

The elevator car opened right into the vestibule of her apartment, which they had been told occupied three levels of the building.

“She seems to be even wealthier than Jack,” murmured Pine, more to herself than to Blum.

A butler in full livery greeted them in the vestibule and escorted them down a marble-floored corridor that was lined with paintings that looked like they could have hung at the Met or the Louvre.

They were ushered into a room that they assumed was the library, since it held thousands of volumes on two walls. A fire smoldered in the grate that was bracketed by a soaring wall of stone.

Blum drew near to the flames and put her hands out.

“Arizona never feels this raw,” she said. “That wind cut right through me out there.”

Pine perched on a settee that looked like something Napoleon would have favored and tapped her fingers on the wooden arm.

The fourth wall was covered with photos. Pine rose and went over to study them more closely. There were a number of A-list actors from the previous decade, two Yankee baseball players from another era, and photos of rock stars from the seventies and eighties, each signed by the musician. But all the others were of politicians, both past and current. There was a photo signed by a past VP with “warmest wishes to a real friend.” Translated, Pine knew that Holden-Bryant had donated/raised a shitload of money for the man.

Blum joined her and started to say something, but Pine put up a cautionary hand and then waved at a black lens that occupied a space near the ceiling where two walls were joined.

To the camera she said, “Anytime you’re ready, Linda. Thank you.”

About thirty seconds later another door opened, and a young woman dressed all in black with blond hair in a ponytail, tortoise-shell glasses, and an efficient expression poked her head in and said, “Please follow me.”

They walked up a grand staircase made of marble, metal, and wood to the floor above. They passed along another long hallway, where yet more Picassos and Dalis and Monets hung, until they arrived at twelve-foot double doors painted sparkling white. The woman knocked, received an “Enter,” and opened one of the doors.

Pine and Blum stepped through. The woman shut the door behind them, and they heard her heels tap-tapping efficiently back down the hall.

They looked around. They were in a bedroom. Only it was the size of a large condo. The bed was at the far end. And lying in it was, presumably, Linda Holden-Bryant.

She lifted herself off the pillows. “Please, come closer.”

They walked over, and Holden-Bryant pointed to two chintz-covered chairs set next to an enormous bed on which six adults could have slept without touching one another.

She had on a thin, long-sleeved satin lavender robe that was closed in front. The woman settled back against the plumped-up pillows as Pine introduced herself and Blum. Pine ran her gaze over the woman. She was in her midsixties, toned and fit. Her hair was dyed blond with just a trace of silver roots evident. Her features were sharp enough to hurt someone. The green eyes looked electrified. The mouth was a slash, the chin jagged yet elegant. She was very attractive, so put together it was easy to think of her as ten or even fifteen years younger than she was. She lay under the covers, but a glance at her long legs told Pine that Holden-Bryant was only a few inches shorter than she was.

“I’m sorry to see you in here, but the fact is I have some sort of bug,” she began. The woman’s voice was deeper than Pine would have imagined it would be.

Holden-Bryant glanced at Blum. “Oh, I’m not contagious, no worries there. Full course of antibiotics and recovering fast. But still not quite all there. And it’s so dreary out today. Crushes one’s spirits.”

“But I would suppose living in this place, your spirits won’t be crushed for long,” said Blum in a disarming tone.

“Aren’t you sweet. And very right. I’ve been very lucky. Privileged. Right place, right time.”

“I haven’t seen a butler in a long time,” said Pine.

Holden-Bryant tittered at that. “A holdover from my last marriage. I could have let most of the staff go because I actually live a simple life. But that wouldn’t have done them any good or been fair to them. The divorce wasn’t their fault, so I kept them on.”

“Very nice of you,” said Blum.

“They thought so, too. Now,” she said, turning to Pine, “you wanted to speak with me about Jack Lineberry?”

“Yes.”

“I understand he’s done very well for himself. Investments, right?”

“Yes. But I think you have him beat on the financial end.”

“I wouldn’t say that. His jet is bigger than mine, although I have two of them.”

“How do you know that?”

“We have some mutual friends. They keep me informed. But he earned his money.”

Blum said, “Well, I think you earned yours, too.”

“If you keep that up, you might be my new best friend,” she said. When she turned to Pine her expression grew far more serious. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Jack is in a hospital in Georgia.”

She tensed. “Is he all right?”

“He’s going to recover, but he was shot.”

Her features collapsed. “Oh my God. Jack shot. Who? Why?”

“The who is known. The why is also known. The person was actually aiming for me, but Jack was in the wrong place.”

“Why was someone trying to kill you?”

“I’m an FBI agent, it sort of goes with the territory.”

“And how do you know Jack again? Is he involved in some FBI thing?”

“No. I met him down in Georgia recently. I actually knew him as a child but didn’t remember him.”

Holden-Bryant’s features grew strained. “You knew him as a child ?”

“It was only later that I found out he was actually my father.”

Holden-Bryant, to her credit, remained absolutely quiet. For about five of the longest seconds of Pine’s life.

“He’s your father?” she said in a hushed tone.

“Me and my sister, Mercy. Yes. My mother was Julia Pine. But back then she went by Amanda. Perhaps you knew her?”

Holden-Bryant took a moment to fluff her pillow and draw her covers up above her chest, as though she were burrowing in for a long winter’s nap.

“No, no, I can’t say that I did.”

Pine held the woman’s gaze for one long second. “I know that you and Jack were engaged back then.”

The woman suddenly flung the covers off her, pivoted her feet to the floor, and got out of bed. Under the robe she was wearing pajamas in a striped pattern. She marched over to a wooden cabinet against the wall and opened its door, revealing a full bar.

“You want something?” she asked.

“Little early in the day for me,” said Pine. “And if you’re on meds, should you be drinking?”

“Oh, I just feel like living dangerously right now,” shot back Holden-Bryant.

“I’ll have a glass of sherry, if you have that,” said Blum.

“I have everything, sweetheart. And I can use a belt right now.”

She brought over a glass of sherry for Blum, then sat down on the bed with a glass of bourbon. She crossed her legs and took a healthy sip. She primly wiped her mouth, sighed, and said, “I was engaged to Jack. For well over a year. We dated for years before that.”

“Then it must have come as a shock to you that he was fathering another woman’s children,” said Pine.

“God, I wish I still smoked,” barked Holden-Bryant. She eyed Pine shrewdly. “Why are you really here?”

“I’m going to tell you something. Something startling. It will probably shock you, at least I hope that it does. And then let’s talk about it.”