Page 109 of A Secret to Die For

“Let’s move on.”

Video number two showed a grey-haired man kissing a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. Not his wife, I was guessing.

“Anyone?”

“Garrett might know,” Gracie said softly. “If the man is in politics, I mean. My brother goes to a lot of fundraisers.”

“Why don’t we look at the third video?” Brooke asked brightly.

Whoa. We all recognised the subject of that one, although I had to squint to believe it.

“Is that…is that President Harrison?”

Also not with his wife. The First Lady had dark brown hair, and this was a blonde. How long ago had the president gotten married? I wasn’t sure. He opened the car door for the blonde to climb out, tucked an arm around her waist, and the two of them set off along the street. But they didn’t get far before he pushed her up against a dark storefront and kissed her passionately. Another shot showed them in a restaurant, looking cosy as they ate dinner.

Whoever Samantha was, she’d been right. These people, this Compass, they were watching everyone. Had James Harrison even been a senator sixteen years ago? Or had they been smart enough to preempt his rise to power?

“Claire said one of the men in these videos was responsible for her death,” Blue reminded us. “If the President of the United States was involved, we might have bitten off a little more than we can chew.”

And I’d always thought Harrison was one of the good guys. Yet more evidence that I was a poor judge of character.

“Play the next video,” Colt said.

Oh, yikes, too much boobs. The man in question was sucking them, pressing them together, sliding his dick between them as their owner moaned dramatically underneath him.

“Are those real?” I asked without thinking.

Blue snorted. “I doubt it. But that’s former Congressman Bull. You remember him? He’s the jackass who went viral when his ex-wife cut the ass out of his pants, and he didn’t realise before he set out to open a new mini-mall.”

I did remember. And now that I’d seen this video, I honestly couldn’t blame her.

Number five had been filmed in a bathroom, and judging by the attire—a tuxedo and a ballgown—the couple featured had been attending a gala or an awards show or a fancy dinner. The man was fucking his companion from behind, one hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. I thought I might have seen the face on TV sometime, but I couldn’t put a name to it.

“Well, hello, Governor DeVaio,” Colt said. “I met that guy at some dinner with Brie. The woman on the tape isn’t his current wife.”

We had one video left, and even before Aaron pressed play, I had a good idea of who we’d see in it. Five bucks said movie star number six was a politician, he was a sleaze, and he never went anywhere without a human pit bull at his side.

And I was right.

In the grainy footage, Congressman Mandell ground away on top of a pretty young blonde. Although her eyes were open, she seemed frozen, and light glistened off her cheek. She was crying. The camera was high up and to the side, and I’d bet my inheritance neither of the pair knew they were being filmed.

“Fuck.”

Deck caught Gracie a second before she hit the floor, and too late, I realised that we’d opened old wounds. Nine years ago, this had been her. We’d just taken a box cutter to suppressed memories, and pain was spilling out.

“Get off, get off, get off!”

She came to and began to struggle as Deck carried her to the couch on the other side of the room, and he nearly dropped her. I crouched at her side and tried to take her hand, but she smacked me away. She was shaking now, and she drew her knees up to her chest and squashed herself into the cushions, cheeks red, breathing hard.

Brooke knelt beside me. “I think it’s a panic attack.”

“What should we do?” I asked.

“I don’t freaking know!”

Okay, not helping. “Relax. Just relax and stay calm.”

I wasn’t sure whether I was addressing Gracie or Brooke or myself, but Gracie didn’t relax. No, she trembled harder.

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