Page 48 of Hush
His cell phone, face down on his desk, buzzed. Flipping it, he froze mid-chew as he read the message.
Hey, I was wondering if I could come watch your game tonight. Is that allowed? I’ve never been to those courts before, and I’d like to check them out. And cheer you guys on.
Damn it, this didn’t help. This didn’t help at all. He was supposed to be backing away from Tom, not turning to a puddle of goo. His cheeks ached. God, he was smiling like a loon, just beaming as he stared at his phone screen. His inner teenage girl was jumping up and down, shrieking, and Britney Spears was playing in his mind. Hit me baby one more time.
[Yeah! Would love to have you come by!]Were the exclamation points too much?[Kris would love to see you again. :) ]
I’ll be there!
Okay, but what if Tomwasinto men?
Mike’s gaze kept wandering, drifting to the locked file cabinet where he kept all his judges’ background investigation files. He had everything. The results of every background investigation done on Tom Brewer. Supporters of Tom—the Senator who nominated him, the president’s staff, and members of the American Bar Association, who had given him a strong recommendation for his appointment—had all conducted background investigations. Seemingly everyone had. They’d also paid private investigators to act like opposition party members and to try and dig up any dirt they could on Tom Brewer.
The opposition, and members of Congress who did not support Tom’s nomination, also paid for background investigations.
And then there were the official ones, the investigations run by the FBI, the U.S. Marshals, the White House, and the Senate Judiciary Committee.
He had a copy of every single one.
Mike had read through them before, when Tom was first confirmed and Winters dropped his background binder on his desk with a heavy thud and said, “Here’s another one.” He kept the binder on hand in case he needed to reference something from Tom’s past. A threat made in prison from someone he’d put away as a prosecutor, someone who came up from the darkness and claimed such and such against Judge Brewer, or a political slight that came out of left field. To do his job correctly, he had to know all the skeletons in everyone’s closet.
Trouble was… Tom Brewer didn’t have any skeletons. He was a picture-perfect nominee, which made some people extra nervous. There had to be something on the man. There wasalwayssomething.
Tom had a few extra background investigations done by his nominators, just to make sure.
Nothing. He’d been a straight-A student in college and law school. He’d worked through law school as a law clerk and lived in the basement of a retired couple who had nothing but the best things to say about him. His college professors had either retired and fallen off the face of the planet or died. He lived alone his junior and senior year in college, thanks to a job as a paralegal that paid handsomely, and his roommates from freshman and sophomore years said he was a rule-following, classic nice guy. One of his roommates was now a colonel in the Army, and the other was a multi-kajillionaire in New York.
His high school teachers knew he was destined for greatness. His parents, sadly, were deceased.
After law school, he’d landed at the DC United States Attorney’s office and stayed there for his career. He had the usual complaints against him from bitter defendants who lost their cases, but nothing ever panned out. No major investigations. No accusations of impropriety. Award after award after award for superior professionalism, adroit legal strategy, above average conviction rate.
His coworkers said he was polite, professional, and extremely competent. They knew he had a dog and a house in DC, but didn’t know anything about his personal life. When Tom was questioned by the FBI, he stated he was single and had been for some time, and wasn’t looking to change that. The questions on a background investigation were invasive and pervasive. All questions about relationships were ticked “no” or “not applicable.” He’d never had a relationship with a foreign national, he said, and the FBI agent had made sure to note that Tom had laughed at that. No relationship with a foreign national, his background investigation notes said, because no relationships at all.
He had no social media accounts, nothing that could be hacked or used against him. Smart man.
He was a homebody and a workaholic. A typical Boy Scout. He was, on paper, flawless. He sailed through the Senate, appointed to his bench by vocal affirmation with no opposition.
There was nothing at all to suggest that Tom was hiding a secret sex life.
No hint of a scandal, or a cover-up. No headlines about Tom Brewer hanging out at parks or rest stops or cruising spots around the city. No insinuation from male colleagues that he preferred them over the women he worked with. No money paid in a settlement to hush a sensitive matter up. Not that Tom would behave like that, but Mike had seen other men dish out revenge in petty ways over the years. Tarring and feathering a man’s reputation because of a spat was a nasty thing, but he’d seen it happen.
Nothing at all to suggest he was hiding anything.
And nothing at all to suggest hewasn’t.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t try to read into things, say the absence of proof meant that in itself was proof. The law didn’t work that way, and neither did human beings. If he presented his findings to Tom and then asked for a kiss, Tom would probably smack him with his gavel.
What would it mean, though, if Tomwasinto men? His brain raced through the obvious—maybe a kiss, maybe something a whole lot more interesting—and then squealed to a tire-screeching halt.
It would mean Tom hadliedto him. Maybe not directly, but certainly of omission. He’d hung out all Saturday playing the part of the chill straight friend, and he’d had ample opportunity to set the record, well, not straight, per se.
So the fact that he hadn’t was in itself a kind of proof, then. Right? Tom wouldn’t keep something like that, something huge about himself, a secret. Especially not when Mike was open and out and proud. Tom wouldn’t need to hide. Not from Mike.
Mike didn’t care for liars. There was never a good reason to lie, and people always got hurt.
Mike chucked his phone across his desktop and leaned back in his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned.
He had to take a step back, for his own sanity. He was going to lose it.
