Page 1

Aurora

“T hat’s not him. It can’t be.”

Dark brown eyes steeled at my protest and stared across the heavy dark wood of my office desk, pinning me to my seat with unflinching logic.

“He’s not like that.” I shook my head fiercely, sending my hair flying. The extra emphasis didn’t change the images on my screen. They were still there in all their damning glory.

“You aren’t blind. I know you can see the truth of it, Miss Persephonne.”

“I see what’s on my screen, yes. But I don’t see how that could possibly be him. He’s a good man.”

The woman across from me sighed, but her eyes bored into mine unrelentingly. Janet Stern, a former member of one of the FBI’s best investigative units, had come to me highly recommended. Now semi-retired, she was available to the highest bidder when it suited her.

What that all meant was that she had no desire to bullshit me. Nor would she show me evidence if she hadn’t vetted it herself. Twice.

The man on the screen was indeed guilty.

“I don’t believe it,” I said softly. But I did. I just didn’t want to because of the implications.

“Then you’re lying to yourself because he’s your father. I’ve heard better things about you than that, Aurora. You can see the truth.”

“Thanks. I think.” My eyes flicked back to the video—one piece of evidence Janet had collected.

On it, Senator Marcus Whitefield—I’d taken my mother’s last name to make navigating my youth easier—could be seen and heard threatening a judge to ensure a current case had a particular desired outcome.

It was but one piece of the evidence Janet had collected. She’d spent the better part of a year very carefully digging into a mystery for me, and now, it was unraveling in the absolute worst way possible.

“How deep does it go?” I asked, looking at the number of documents on the thumb drive plugged into my computer.

Janet looked uncomfortable, something I’d not thought possible with the old battle-axe.

“How deep, Janet?”

“Very,” she said in a whisper, looking around the room. “You should get new security and have this room swept.”

“I have my own team sweep it,” I assured her.

It might not be normal for the children of senators to have their own security team, but then again, they weren’t the children of Marcus Whitfield. The outspoken senator from New York was in his fifth term and had long crossed swords with many of the most powerful figures in Washington, D.C.

Now, as head of the Appropriations Committee, he’d risen to new heights, and with that came certain expectations. Including death threats and hate mail addressed not only to him but to his family.

I’d had a bodyguard since I was thirteen and a three-man team since I turned twenty-one and entered politics.

“I would get another team. One your father didn’t vet,” Janet replied. “When he learns he can’t overhear this conversation, he’ll be extra suspicious.”

I frowned. “What do you mean he can’t overhear it?”

The older woman gave me a withering glare. “You don’t think, with what’s contained on that disk, I would just waltz in here and start talking without taking a few precautions, did you?” She patted her purse. “My own team is waiting outside. I won’t be going anywhere without them for the near future. This is nuclear, Aurora.”

I sagged. She was right. By the sounds of it, my father’s rot ran deep. Very deep. Judges, police, military, other senators, cabinet members, they were all on his payroll. I was terrified to even wonder what he was planning.

“The information is yours now,” Janet said, standing. “Do what needs to be done.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, trying not to think what she meant by that. I wasn’t sure I could face it.

“Me? I’m going to disappear down a deep, dark hole until I know it’s safe to come out. Don’t bother trying to find me. You won’t.” Her face softened for a moment. “This can’t be easy, Rory. I’m sorry. When I come up for air, if you haven’t done anything, I will. And that will include sharing that I told you and you didn’t act. You know what must be done.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”

I just didn’t know if I had the courage to do it.