Page 56 of Dirty Liars

“Or someone,” Jack muttered.

“We’ll drop Rogan’s body at the lab and then head straight to The Tides,” I said.

Jack nodded. “Cole, arrange police protection for Vivica immediately. Send someone you trust who won’t be easily intimidated.”

“Already done,” Cole said. “You want us to keep digging?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Focus on New Dawn Fellowship. That name keeps coming up, and I want to know what we’re dealing with. And see if Doug or Margot can pull anything from Theo’s State Department files—there has to be something there that ties all this together.”

Jack disconnected.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, both of us processing the latest developments. The body of Derek Rogan lay in the back of my Suburban, another victim in a rapidly expanding case that seemed to grow more complex with each passing hour.

“What do you think Vivica knows?” I finally asked.

Jack’s face was half illuminated by the dashboard lights, casting deep shadows across his features. “Enough that she’s afraid for her life. Enough that she’s willing to risk talking to us before fleeing the country.”

“You think she knows about New Dawn Fellowship?”

“She was married to Theo when he disappeared,” Jack said. “She filed for divorce because of it, then withdrew the complaint when he resurfaced. Yeah, I think she knows a hell of a lot more than she’s ever told anyone.”

“Let’s get this body dropped off quickly,” I said. “I’ve got a feeling time is running out for anyone who knows what those tattoos really mean.”

Jack nodded grimly as he turned into the driveway of Graves Funeral Home. “And I’ve got a feeling that before this night is over, we’re going to wish we didn’t know either.”

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

The Tides Hotelgleamed like a phosphorescent jewel against the night sky. Ultramodern and sleek, its glass façade reflected the moonlight in rippling patterns that mimicked the nearby Potomac. The architecture was all clean lines and sharp angles, a stark contrast to the Colonial and Victorian buildings that dominated most of King George County.

The front entrance was flanked by tall sculptural water features, creating a gentle rushing sound that greeted us as we walked in. The lobby soared three stories high with a ceiling made entirely of glass, allowing guests to stargaze from plush seating areas. A massive chandelier made of what looked like thousands of crystal teardrops hung from the center, catching the light and scattering it like rain.

“This place screams charge it to your expense account,” I said to Jack as we crossed the marble floor.

Despite the late hour, the lobby was immaculate, with not a cushion out of place.

Jack nodded toward a plainclothes deputy seated in a wingback chair near the entrance, pretending to read a newspaper. The man gave Jack an almost imperceptible nod in return.

“They didn’t waste any time,” I said quietly.

“Cole’s one of the few people I know who works as fast as I do,” Jack replied, guiding me toward the bar with a light touch at the small of my back.

The bar was called The Undertow, a nod to the hotel’s nautical theme. The space was dimly lit with blue accent lighting that created the illusion of being underwater. The back wall was a massive aquarium filled with exotic fish that drifted lazily behind the bartender. A live pianist played soft jazz in the corner, the music just loud enough to ensure private conversations remained private.

Despite being close to ten o’clock on a Sunday night, there were still a handful of patrons. A couple in casual ware sat closely at the bar, leaning into each other’s space. Two businessmen in expensive suits nursed whiskeys while discussing figures in low voices. A well-dressed woman sat alone at a high-top table near the window, staring into a glass of red wine.

And then there was Vivica Vasilios.

She sat in a round corner booth with her back to the wall, giving her a clear view of both the entrance and the windows overlooking the street. Even from a distance, it was evident why she’d once been crowned Miss Universe. Her beauty was timeless, the kind would turn heads in any room. Her platinum-blond hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon, accentuating high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. She wore a simple black top and slacks and diamond studs in her ears.

I noticed a man at the bar stealing glances over his gin and tonic, but Vivica seemed oblivious, her attention focused on the door and the street beyond the windows. Her fingers drummed nervously on the table, and she kept checking her watch. A nearly untouched martini sat in front of her.

She spotted us almost immediately, her posture straightening as we approached. I could see relief flash across her face before it settled back into carefully composed neutrality.

“Sheriff Lawson,” she said, her Danish accent giving the words a musical lilt. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Ms. Vasilios,” Jack said, sliding into the booth across from her. I took the seat beside him. “This is Dr. Graves, our county coroner.”

“Yes, of course,” Vivica said, her ice-blue eyes meeting mine with surprising intensity. “You would have examined—” She hesitated. “Theo.”

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