“I’m going to leave in a minute,” she told the girl. “This creep won’t be able to hurt you. I’ll leave his car keys on the dresser. If you want to, you can drive somewhere, ditch the car, and take the money to your dealer. Or I can take you somewhere safe and get you into rehab. I’m not going to tell you what to do. I’m not your mother. You’re sick. The first step in getting better is to start making the right choices. Think it over while I finish with this pervert.”

Dana turned to Van Dyke. “I want you to refund the money you stole from your clients. Then I want you to leave Washington. I’ll give you one week to take care of business. If I find you haven’t followed my orders, I will publish these pictures on the Internet after I send them to the police. If you’re still here after I publish the pictures, I will hunt you down and kill you. Tell me you understand.”

Van Dyke was crying from the pain in his shoulder. “I understand,” he managed.

“Good,” Dana said.

Dana had a brief flashback in which she was lying on the cold cement in the basement of the meth lab after she’d been gang-raped. Rage raced through her. She slapped duct tape across Van Dyke’s mouth and broke his left kneecap.

“You make me sick,” she told him when Van Dyke’s muffled screams stopped. Then she went through the man’s wallet and handed his money to the girl.

“Heroin or rehab?” she asked.

The girl’s head was down. She was crying. “Get me out of here,” she gulped in a voice so low Dana could barely hear her.

“Good choice,” she said.

Dana turned her back on Van Dyke and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. She would send Mark Shearer the photos and a report. The report wouldn’t mention what she’d done to Van Dyke. That was private. Dana smiled. Saving the girl and humiliating Van Dyke had made this one of the most enjoyable evenings she’d spent in a while.

Chapter Nineteen

Dana Cutler was writing the report for Mark Shearer in the basement office of the suburban ranch house she shared with Jake Teeny. When the words began swimming across the computer monitor, she decided it was time to take a break. Dana stretched and her T-shirt rode up, revealing pale scars on her flat stomach. There was a coffee pot perched on top of a low filing cabinet. She walked over and refilled her mug before returning to the computer.

Dana had moved in with Jake at the conclusion of the Farrington affair, and that was working out. The flashbacks and nightmares associated with her scars had been infrequent visitors since they’d started living together. Dana figured that she was as close to happy as she was ever going to be. Close to happy was a big step up from the hellish months she’d spent in the mental hospital.

Dana’s reflections about the state of her life were cut short by the ringtone on her cell phone. Few people had that number, and she was pleased to see Brad Miller’s name on the readout. She and Jake had gone out with Brad and Ginny soon after the couple moved to D.C., but all four were so busy with their jobs that they hadn’t hooked up again.

“Long time no hear,” Dana said.

“I’m sorry about that,” Brad said, “but this job eats up my hours.”

“No need to apologize. I haven’t called you either. What’s up?”

“Can we meet for coffee?”

“Sure. When?”

“I was thinking now.”

Dana looked at her watch. It was almost nine. She knew she should finish her report, but Brad sounded worried.

“OK. Where?”

“You know the city way better than I do. It would be best if we weren’t someplace where we’ll bump into reporters or anyone who’ll recognize us.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Absolutely not, but I’d feel more comfortable talking to you face-to-face.”

Dana told Brad where to meet her. Then she shut down the computer. Jake Teeny was a photojournalist whose assignments took him all over the world. Currently he was in West Africa, so Dana was free to ride his Harley. After being cooped up in the basement writing reports, the idea of tearing through the night on Jake’s machine was very appealing. She had a smile on her face when she slipped into her leather jacket and settled her helmet over her short auburn hair.

Dana had worked on the report through her normal dinner hour, and she didn’t realize how hungry she was until Brad talked about meeting someplace where you could get coffee. That was usually a place where you could also get something to eat, and thoughts of a juicy burger topped with cheese and bacon had her mouth watering and her stomach growling. When she was working undercover, Dana had discovered Vinny’s in one of the less reputable sections of the District of Columbia. Vinny’s served great burgers and fries and had not yet been discovered by the people who wrote the dining-out reviews in the Washington Post.

Dana was chomping on her dinner when Brad walked in. He looked nervous. Dana guessed that was because of the run-down state of the neighborhood and the disreputable look of Vinny’s patrons. Brad’s expression turned to relief when Dana waved from the dingy booth near the back of the tavern. He slid across the tattered red vinyl that covered his side of the booth and stared at Dana’s burger.

“Is that any good?” he asked apprehensively.

“Don’t let the decor fool you,” Dana said. “Order the bacon cheeseburger with fries. You’re in for a treat.”

Brad gave his order to their waitress and added a beer to wash it down.

“So,” Dana asked. “Why the clandestine rendezvous?”

“I want to know if you can handle a sensitive assignment.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Like investigating whether the president of the United States is a serial killer?” she asked.

“This isn’t a joking matter, Dana.”

Dana could see how concerned Brad was, so she decided to get serious.

“Does this have something to do with the attack on Justice Moss?”

“I’m not sure. It might.”

“Is Justice Moss the client?”

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m your client.”

“Right.”

Brad leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Imagine you’re under oath, testifying before a Senate committee, and the chairman asks you if Supreme Court justice Felicia Moss hired you. How do you answer, under pain of perjury?”

“I get your point. So, Mr. Client, what’s this all about?”

Brad had read the statement of facts in the Sarah Woodruff case, and he gave her an overview. Then he gave her the details of the attack on Justice Moss and his boss’s suspicions about Justice Price.

“I’ve just wrapped up two cases, so I have time to devote to your problem, but I’ll have to go to Oregon, and I’ll need to read the record in the case before I go.”

“It’s packed up and ready for you. You’ll have it tomorrow.”

Dana smiled. “You were pretty sure I’d take this case, weren’t you?”

“I was pretty sure you were a friend I could count on.”

Dana didn’t handle compliments well, so she went quiet. Brad took the opportunity to bite a chunk out of his burger. Suddenly, Dana smiled. Brad’s mouth was full so he arched an eyebrow.

“I’ll need a cover story if I’m going to keep you and ‘she who must remain nameless’ out of this, and I just thought of one that’s perfect.”

When they were finished discussing the assignment, Brad told Dana what life as a Supreme Court clerk was like and filled her in on Ginny’s job. Dana told Brad about a few of her cases.

“Most of what I do is pretty boring,” she confided. “It’s nothing like my days as a cop or my time on the run during the Farrington business.”

“Do you miss the action?” Brad asked.

“Not really. Maybe I’m just getting old, but the idea of not having to look over my shoulder twenty-four hours a day has a certain appeal.”

“I hear you,” Brad said. He looked down at the table, his smile gone. “The fight in the garage shook me up pretty badly. It took me months to get over what happened in Oregon, and I’m having the same reactions again. I act brave, and I haven’t told Ginny because I don’t want to worry her, but I’ve had nightmares.”