So were his keys.
It was Monday. At least he hoped it was. He was supposed to meet his friend and colleague Peter Shelby at the café, then go in to work to face J.G. He cursed, scaring an Asian woman walking her baby. It occurred to him that he still had his watch. Four past seven. Monday. So it was only the one night he couldn’t account for.
Again, he thought about the bar. He’d ordered a soda, even though Jeremy had called him a little girl. It hadn’t bothered him. Not ordering his favorite scotch had, but that was between him and his maker. Whom he’d clearly almost met overnight.
Max headed toward Twenty-third street. He could catch a cab there and go back to the bar, see if his car was still parked around the corner. Then he’d call Pete, cancel the breakfast chat. He had two hours to get his act together before seeing his boss, and he’d need an hour of that for a shower.
As he walked, his head cleared. It didn’t feel a whole lot better, but his thoughts clarified a little. Enough to figure out that he’d been slipped a Mickey. Something damn strong to have wiped everything after it right off the slate.
Why? Who?
The only thing he could think of was Geotech. The woman. The redhead. She’d come on to him, using a fine set of double D’s and the most incredible red lips, and he’d been putty in her hands. Ready to swim great oceans, or at the very least buy her dinner.
And then, nothing. No memories until the cop had jabbed him. A royal headache, the taste of many pairs of army boots in his mouth, and a terrible feeling that his investigation into Senator William Parker and Geotech had gone from the suspect to the criminal. He wasn’t just close to the truth, he was right on ground zero.
HIS CAR was still in front of the Guardian bar, the engine so cold it took five minutes to warm it up enough to turn on the heater. His gloves sat on the dashboard. He usually kept them in his coat pocket but last night he hadn’t bothered. His plan had been to hoist a few, get an order of the famous chili fries, then get his ass home.
He headed there now, creeping through the slow D.C. morning traffic. He’d left his cell phone at the house along with his laptop. Even if whoever had drugged him had gotten into his apartment and stolen his computer, they wouldn’t find much. He was too careful for that. Everything was encrypted, and the pertinent data was kept on separate disks, hidden behind the wall in his bathroom.
He thought again about the redhead. He’d left her for a few minutes to hit the head, that’s when she must have doctored his drink. Probably one of the date-rape drugs, although he felt pretty sure her intent hadn’t been to have her way with him. So what was her goal? Why knock him out and leave him on a public bench? Why not kill him, if they wanted the story stopped? Why not beat the crap out of him in the way of thugs everywhere, warning him to back the hell off?
He found a decent parking spot a block away from his apartment. He locked the car, shivering in the still freezing air. It took him awhile to actually get to his building, the five-story box that was the essence of tenement living. He didn’t give a damn. No one bothered him here, he was close to work, close to the center of life in D.C.
The elevator ride with all the lurching and grumbling was a quiet nightmare, and then it was all he could do not to bump the walls in his hallway as he made it to his door. It took him a minute to fish his keys out of his pocket. As he pushed the key into the lock, the door swung open. “Damn.”
He suddenly felt both better and worse. His stomach rose into his throat, but his mind was horribly clear. If he had an ounce of smarts he would get the hell out, call the police. For all he knew someone was inside, ready to finish what the drugs had started. But he’d never been smart. He listened, heard nothing, then took a step inside. That’s when he saw the body. Despite the big winter coat, he recognized the dead man instantly. He’d known him all his life.
“Werner?” he whispered, knowing there would be no answer. The old man lay on his back, his coat soaked with blood, an unnatural pallor to his face. Trying to avoid the wide pool of coagulating blood, Max knelt near the body and put his hand to the cold neck, but could feel no pulse.
Max stood slowly. The plan wasn’t all that sophisticated. Wipe his memory with drugs, give him no alibi. Or maybe they wanted him to come home and pass out with Werner Edwards dead in his living room. A variation on a theme—instead of simply beating him up to warn him off, kill the man with the real skinny and pin it on Max. If that was what they had in mind….
His next thought was answered by the sound of approaching sirens. Someone was watching his place, all right. Waiting for him to get home. He only had a few minutes.
With a clarity that was pure fear, he went to the bedroom and grabbed his laptop, the power cord, his cell phone. In the bathroom, he moved aside the false brick and took out his baggie full of disks. Then he stuffed some clean socks, his toothbrush, and a few other personal items into his duffle bag.
He moved hurriedly back to the living room and stood by the front door, trying to narrow his thinking to the basics. Was there anything else he might need soon? He’d have to head straight for the bank and get as much cash as possible. Beyond that…
Beyond that would have to wait. The sirens were too damn close.
“Goodbye, Werner.” Max looked sadly at his elder friend. “Damn, I’m sorry.” He closed the door and ran past the elevator to the stairway.
AT FOUR in the afternoon, in mid-December, the Senate Office Building was already lit up. The view from the fourth floor offices of the Honorable Senator William Parker granted Jade Parker a terrific view of the gridlocked traffic in the streets below. She watched impassively as behind her, her father attempted to exercise his considerable persuasive skills on her, with marginal success.
“Please, Jade. If you don’t do this for me, who will?”
Jade turned from the baleful view of dirty snow and snarled traffic and looked the senator straight in the eye. “Why not Gertie, Dad? All the other senators have their secretaries do their Christmas shopping. I’m your executive assistant, for God’s sake.”
Her father sighed as he closed the distance between them, raised his hands to put them on her shoulders but thought better of it. “C’mon, honey. Do you really think I should leave it to Gertie to decide what the ambassador from Germany would like? Remember what she bought the president for his birthday?”
Jade winced as she thought about the president’s expression when he’d opened up the gorgeously wrapped present. Being the consummate politician, he’d smiled, said he really liked the sweater, but even she, who hardly ever saw the man except on television, could tell he’d been appalled. With reason. But still…. “Do you suppose the ambassador celebrates Christmas at home? You’re just asking me because you don’t want to think about it.” She folded her arms across her breasts and turned back to the window.
She could see his frown in the reflection as he moved closer. So big and solid, his white hair a little messy, his silk tie slightly crooked, he looked as tired as she’d ever seen him. She almost stepped away when he wrapped his arms around her. “What is it, Jade? This isn’t like you.”
She stiffened, then relaxed into the comfort of his arms, letting her head lay back against his shoulder. “I don’t know, Dad. Finals, maybe. I keep thinking about Mom. I don’t know.”
He squeezed her lightly. “I miss her, too. That first Christmas after she died…”
Jade turned, gently
