After a hot shower, a shave, and a change of clothes, Adam walked back into the boardroom for Johnson’s bullshit press conference in time to catch Jay’s question.
“Can’t be Vivienne Johnson,” Chase said. “Three weeks ago, she was in a chemical stupor. No way she detoxed from the shit she was on and came out looking like she’s the foregone conclusion for first lady.”
Adam checked out the distinguished woman standing a foot behind and to the left of the man at the podium. By all appearances she looked like Jonas Johnson’s wife.
Dressed in a sharp navy jacket and skirt, the woman stood perfectly poised in her high heels. Head up and back straight, she kept her expression carefully schooled as Johnson announced his intention to step down as the Secretary of Homeland Security to run for president.
To catch the moment for their respective media outlets, the photographers went nuts. Cameras clicked and flashes flared while the reporters in the group shouted question after question.
Through it all, the unflappable Mrs. Johnson remained perfectly still, hands clasped loosely in front of her, while her husband beamed, waved, and pandered to the assembled crowd. When he gestured for her, she stepped forward and slipped her palm into his.
He lifted their hands into the air, and she smiled.
No doubt about it. This wasn’t the same woman who’d spent the last two years mourning the loss of her son by eating handfuls of antidepressants behind her locked bedroom door. The death of Jonas Junior had destroyed Vivienne Johnson, turning her into a shell of the weak woman she once was.
The original would have been a campaign liability.
The clone was an asset. But whose? Johnson’s? His backers? Or did the mystery woman have her own agenda? “We need to find out who she is,” Adam said, turning to look at Jay.
“Already on it,” he replied, not bothering to look up as his fingers flew over his keyboard. “And I got Mutt on the line.”
“Before you ask,” Mutt said, his disembodied voice coming out warbled through the speaker. “This is the first time I’ve seen her. We’ve got Johnson’s place under video surveillance twenty-four seven. If she’d been in the house or anywhere near him, we’d have known about her before now.”
“Any clue as to the whereabouts of the real Vivienne?” Adam asked.
“Haven’t seen any funny business, in person or on video,” Mutt replied. “As far as I can tell, she’s still locked in her room.”
“That jives with my review of the recordings,” Zander added.
“Shit,” Cody grumbled. “We need eyes on the inside.”
“Chase barely made it out alive the last time,” Jay replied. “No way we get close enough to make a second attempt on installing interior surveillance.”
“So, what the fuck do we do now?” Gray asked, frowning at the woman on the screen.
Adam looked from his sister to Chase. Their eyes met. Their gazes held.
Chase had a plan. He always had a plan.
It just didn’t happen to align with Adam’s.
On her feetand trapped in the corner between the bed and the wall, Eve brandished the knife awkwardly with her left hand. “I said back off!”
Dressed in a clean pair of pajama bottoms, his concave chest bare, Bryan raised his skinny arms, palms facing her in a nonthreatening gesture. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Eve.” The sight of his bandaged hand made her skin crawl, and she gripped the handle tighter. “As soon as the judge gets back, he’ll let you go. I promise!”
A lie. One he obviously believed, but a lie all the same. No way Roland Matthew would let her go. He knew her too well. If she ever got out of this cell alive, Eve wouldn’t hesitate to make sure they both ended up behind bars, or in Bryan’s case, a similarly equipped room in a high security mental hospital.
“Is that what you told the others?” With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to the initials scratched in the white bed frame. “After you handcuffed them to the rail, jacked off on them, kept them prisoner for days. Did you promise to let them go too?”
“I never hurt anyone!” Brushing his hands over his head and clutching his hair in his fists, his eyes welled with tears, the harsh lights making them glisten. “Please! Just give me the knife.”
He took a tentative step, gesturing with his fingers for her to hand over the blade. Aiming at his midsection, she lunged and missed, her metal cuff preventing her from inflicting any harm.
Rage fueled the fire inside her, and she shouted, “How many women, Bryan? How many have you locked up in here besides me?”
“It’s not what you think. I let them go! I swear to you, the judge, he pays them. Makes them sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
Eve snorted in disgust. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
