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Temperance pauses on the threshold and turns back to me. “Digital kompromat,” he says.

“Kompromat? Do you mean blackmail material? The dirt the Kremlin has on Grand?”

“Basically everything relevant on Vladimir’s computers. It includes blackmail fodder against Grand, as well as evidence of ties between US white supremacy groups and the Kremlin. Everything we’d ever need to bring Grand down.”

“But you won’t.”

Temperance gives a sharp shake of his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Just like the book.”

Temperance nods. “Life imitating art.”

A laugh bubbles up, and I let it escape, ballooning into my death-filled apartment. “You’re telling me that the Kremlin got this idea from a freaking spy novel.”

Temperance shrugs one shoulder. “There is credible evidence that when Grand traveled to Moscow back in the early 80s for business, he came home with a copy of that book.” His eyes flick to my bedside table where the paperback still rests—only a few droplets of blood marring the cover. “We suspect it was the KGB that gave it to him… it is shame that kills the character in the book. Grand seems immune to that emotion.”

“He ‘wishes to be in politics for business reasons’,” I say, quoting the book. Temperance’s attention is drawn to his phone. “So he’s not a pawn, you don’t think. He is working with the Russians to win the election.”

“Yes,” Temperance answers without looking up from his screen.

“Grand is not going to kill himself, he is going to follow through,” I say. “The man is a total egomaniac.” Temperance is typing into his phone now. “But we can’t kill him?” I ask.

“He won’t win the election,” Temperance says. “The Russians have not penetrated our electronic voting systems. They are using propaganda to try to win votes for their candidate.” His eyes reach mine. “That’s powerful. But we must have faith that the American people won’t be so easily manipulated into choosing such a divisive leader. We just have to trust the democratic process.”

My brows rise. “Since when do you have that much faith?”

A sad smile tugs at his lips. “I have to. My hands are tied.”

Temperance returns his attention to his phone, and I glance back at the room one last time. I didn’t want to become a member of this club, but now that I have my entry card, maybe there is something I can do with it.

Chapter Seventeen

“They let Julian go this morning,”Mary tells me over the phone. My heart thumps loudly. I’m out walking Archie up in the hills of Griffith Park. Dry brush rattles in the hot wind and golden slopes stretch out before me, the silver and black of the city below, the ocean twinkling in the distance.

“That’s great to hear.”

“There is a press conference arranged for this afternoon, and the accuser will be there, saying she made a mistake and apologizing.”

“That’s good,” I say as three other female hikers pass me. We nod at each other.One has a can of mace at her waist.

“He asked that you come too, as his girlfriend, to show support.”

“He did?” I say. “Because he hasn’t called me.”

“Well,” Mary sounds curt. “It was actually Billy’s idea.” She references Julian’s publicist. “We are all against it over here. You don’t need to be there. Have dinner with him tonight or something. Let the paps see you together, but I think showing up to this press conference is too much. You’ve only been dating for what? A few weeks.”

“I’ll give him a call and see what he says.”

“Just so you know, we strongly recommend against it.”

“Objection noted.”

“What?”

The connection is breaking up the higher into the hills I get. “I’ll call you later,” I say, but Mary is gone. Slipping my phone back into my bag, I slide my hand over my own mace can before re-zipping the pack. Pulling my hat lower against the bright sun, I keep climbing, legs burning, mind settling into the rhythm of the hike.

When I get back to my car, I’m sweaty and tired. Archie sits in the passenger seat, and I tune the radio to the news.