he didn’t think it was a good idea. What if she’d fallen in front of that train last night? She needed a right-hand man, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
He tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him and snatched up the remote. Propping one bare foot on the table in front of him, he clicked over to one of the cable news shows.
He studied the reporters and news vans with a crease forming between his eyebrows. Someone had died, and the street where the buzzing media had gathered looked familiar with all those rows of town houses with shutters and arched windows.
When the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Cam choked and his foot slipped from the table. His thumb drilled into the remote to increase the sound.
The reporter breathlessly gushed into the mic. “All we know so far, Carrie, is that Congressman Robert Wentworth, from the Second Congressional District in Florida, died in this town house behind me sometime last night or this morning. There was a 911 call and the DC Metro Police responded. The body has not yet been removed.”
Carrie put on a concerned face, but Cam could see the speculative light in her eyes. “Have the police said whether they’re looking at foul play here, Stacie?”
“They haven’t released any statement yet or talked to reporters.”
Cam curled his fingers around the remote and hardly noticed the edges digging into his flesh. The reporter hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone else being hurt...or arrested. What the hell had gone down in that town house after he’d left last night?
Cam muted the TV and reached for his phone. Damn that Casey for dragging Martha into her messy life. He stopped, his thumb hovering over the screen. Or was it the other way around?
Could this really be just a coincidence after what Martha had gone through yesterday? What possible connection could Wentworth have to Martha and the emails?
Cam dropped his phone when it hit him that he didn’t even have Martha’s number. He’d given her his number with the understanding that she’d call him to go with her to fix the laptop. Some understanding. Seemed like he didn’t know Martha at all.
He paced the room, juggling his phone from hand to hand, occasionally turning up the TV for more news on the congressman’s death. The stiff muscles across his shoulders began to unwind when he didn’t see anything about any other injuries or anyone getting taken in for questioning, and then seized up again as Martha had been identified as the owner of the town house.
More than an agonizing hour later, Cam’s phone buzzed with a DC number. “Hello?”
“Cam, it’s Martha... Martha Drake.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re kind of famous right now, or at least your town house is. What the hell happened over there?”
“My name’s out there, isn’t it?”
“Are you worried about your job?”
“I’m worried about a lot of things right now.” She sighed. “It looks like the congressman had a heart attack. Casey didn’t even realize it until this morning. His body was slumped halfway out of the bed when she woke up.”
“A heart attack? Of course, they’re gonna do an autopsy before they rule on the cause of death.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “How are you holding up? How’s Casey?”
“Casey is hysterical. I’m...nervous.”
“Why, Martha?”
“Why do you think?”
“Are you linking this to the emails?”
“Aren’t you?” Her voice rose, and for a second she sounded close to hysteria herself.
“Crossed my mind, but I can’t see how this can be related to the emails or how it affects you.” He wedged a shoulder against the window and watched one bare branch from a tree scrape against the edge of the balcony. “Heart attack, right?”
“Right.” She cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”
“And clean that computer.”
“Don’t come anywhere near here. It’s a madhouse. I’ll slip out the back and head over to your hotel. The police are still questioning Casey, poor girl.”
He gave her the name of the hotel and the address before turning up the volume on the TV again. Several reporters were still camped out in front of Martha’s town house, and the speculation had begun. Since Martha owned the town house, the reporters had her name on their lips.
It wouldn’t be long before they dug up the fact that Martha worked for the CIA, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before they discovered she hadn’t been the one who’d invited Congressman Wentworth to an after-hours meeting.
His blood percolated as he listened to the innuendo linking Martha to Wentworth, but he still couldn’t figure out how this had anything to do with the threats from the patriot.
With the TV still droning in the background, Cam straightened his hotel room, stuffing clothes back into his suitcase and shoving toiletries into the plastic bag hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. He hadn’t needed to see Martha’s place last night to figure she’d be a neat freak, and for some reason he wanted to assure her he wasn’t a slob.
He went a few steps further and got a couple cans of soda from the vending machine down the hall and stuck them in the mini-fridge. The woman must’ve had a rough morning.
By the time Martha tapped on his door, Cam had rendered the room acceptable to the neatest of neat freaks.
He opened the door and she barreled past him without even a hello, striding to the sliding door to the balcony.
She turned to face him, twisting her fingers in front of her. “This is bad.”
“Tell me what happened.” He gestured toward the sofa facing the TV. “Not many details on the news, except that you own the town house where Wentworth croaked.”
She perched on the edge of the sofa. “Casey’s name will come out. The police are still talking to her.”
“At least you won’t be portrayed as the other woman for much longer.” He yanked the chair back from the desk and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. “Give me all the details.”
“After you left, I went to bed and I could hear those two...whooping it up.” Two bright spots of red formed on her cheeks. “I have earplugs for just those occasions, and I was able to fall asleep.”
“Damn, you need earplugs?” Noticing Martha’s pursed lips, he wiped the grin off his face. “Go on. You fell asleep during noisy sex.”
“I...” She ran her fingers through her messy hair, dragging it back from her face. “Yes, I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew Casey was in my room hysterical and crying, saying Bob had died sometime during the night.”
“What time did she discover him?”
“About six. I ran into her room and felt his neck for a pulse. He seemed dead to me, but I
