of it. Getting information out of people can cost. Speaking of which...how did you find me? Money also buys privacy. Jillian was pretty much the only person at that wedding who knew me. And even if you managed to get hold of her in Patagonia, she would never tell. She knows better.”
“I called in a favor at Project Justice. And I did some legwork,” he added, unwilling to give Mitch all the credit.
“Project Justice. So maybe we should get them to help us find the real killer. That’s what those people do, right? Help people who have been unjustly accused?”
“Usually they help people unjustly convicted and imprisoned. We haven’t even been arrested.”
“So, they’ll get a jump start on our case. Anyway, I have an ace up my sleeve. I serve on the board of directors of the Logan Charitable Trust.”
“You’re friends with Daniel Logan? The billionaire?”
“You were at his house. You don’t know him?”
“Not well enough to just call him up and ask him for a favor like that.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll let you know once I’ve set up a meeting. Meanwhile, you better go. The less we’re seen together, the better. It’s only a matter of time before some enterprising reporter puts it together.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been the subject of media scrutiny before. I don’t like it. Not at all.”
“You get used to it.”
“So I take it you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before?”
“When I was fourteen, my mother disappeared. Poof.” Liz spread her fingers wide, outlining an imaginary cloud of dust. He couldn’t help noticing that her immaculate manicure from Saturday had deteriorated; she’d been chewing on her nail polish.
“Given who my father was,” she continued, “the media went crazy over the story. Reporters camped out in the street in front of our house for literally months. I didn’t leave the house, not even to go to school. My father hired a tutor. I became a prisoner in my own home.”
“That sounds brutal. Did you find out what happened to her?”
“There was some evidence she had a lover. The police decided she must have run off with him, but I never bought it. She wouldn’t have left me without a word. Dad, yeah, she’d have left him. They hadn’t been happy together for a long time. But not me. We were tight.” Liz paused, reflecting. “I know she’s dead. Realistically, that’s the only possible answer. Beyond that, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know. That way, I can fantasize that it was quick and painless, you know?”
Hudson didn’t really understand that attitude. If something happened to one of his parents, or his little brother, he’d want to know, no matter how unpleasant it was for him.
“Reporters still call me about it, wanting to revisit the case, since it was never solved.”
“Have you tried to find her? Recently, that is? In Montgomery County, we have a cold-case squad. There are new techniques, or maybe just looking at an old case with fresh eyes...”
“Anytime anyone tried to look into it, my father stonewalled them. He said he didn’t want to open old wounds. No investigation ever got very far.”
“Was he ever considered a suspect? Your dad?”
“Briefly. But he was out of the country when it happened. That theory never got much traction.”
“It’s easy enough to create an ironclad alibi if you hire a hit man....” Then Hudson remembered himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t vent my sordid theories in front of you.”
“Let’s not get distracted. One parent’s homicide at a time, okay?”
“Sorry.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “That’s got my cell number. Let me know... No, don’t call me directly. When you set up something with Project Justice, have someone there contact me. The less direct contact between us, the better.”
* * *
ELIZABETH HAD TO admit, the Project Justice office was impressive. Not the outside, so much. The historic, three-story brick building in old downtown Houston, not far from her apartment, was distinguished, but nothing dramatic stood out. In fact, only a very small plaque in the wall advertised that the foundation was housed here.
Inside, however, it was a different story. The brass double doors opened into a soaring lobby with walnut-paneled walls and a gray marble floor, polished to a high sheen. You could have fit a bowling alley in that lobby, but it was empty, except for two rather uncomfortable-looking straight-back chairs against one wall. In the center of the room, toward the back, was an enormous circular desk behind which an extremely formidable woman sat surveying her territory like a hungry vulture.
Elizabeth approached the woman confidently, her heels clicking loudly against the floor and echoing off the walls. The woman’s nameplate identified her as Celeste Boggs.
“Good morning, Ms. Boggs,” Elizabeth began. “I’m here for a meeting with—”
“I know who you are. Sign in. I’ll need to see some ID, make sure you aren’t an impostor.”
Elizabeth obliged and Celeste handed over a visitor badge.
After Celeste summoned someone on the phone, a young woman who must have been an intern appeared from behind a frosted-glass partition.
“Ms. Downey? I’m Jax. I’ll take you to the meeting room.”
Elizabeth struggled with where to clip the visitor badge on her collarless shirt. She finally settled on her belt.
She followed the young woman down a series of hallways, all of them decorated with the care any River Oaks maven would use to decorate her house. Designer paint colors adorned the walls, while subtle lighting illuminated various pieces of original art. This place was almost as impressive as Daniel’s house. She’d grown up with all the trappings of wealth, and she was still impressed.
If anyone could help Elizabeth and Hudson, it was Daniel Logan. Aside from the fact he was a billionaire, he was one of the most influential people in the whole state of Texas. He was a personal friend of the governor, and it was rumored he was on a first-name basis with the president.
Jax finally paused before a room labeled Conference and tapped softly, waiting until someone opened the door. She then stood aside and allowed Elizabeth to enter.
Elizabeth’s eyes immediately sought out Hudson. He was there, looking delicious as ever, and her heart jumped and briefly tripled its rate. Each time she saw him, her regret for the most unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting grew sharper.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Daniel’s voice boomed. At first glance, she thought he was seated at the head of the conference table—until she realized his head and shoulders were being transmitted on a giant TV screen. She had heard that Daniel once suffered from an acute case of agoraphobia, making it nearly impossible for him to leave his house. Although he was much improved, he still did the majority of his business—whether it was running his oil company, his charitable trust or Project Justice—from the comfort of his home office.
“Good morning, Mr. Logan.” She felt a little silly talking to the computer screen, but there was a small camera mounted just above the screen, so she supposed from his viewpoint it was as if she were really looking at him.
“Please, sit down. I think you’re the last to arrive, so we can get started.”
She glanced at her watch as she seated herself, worried that it was later than she’d thought. She prided herself on being punctual.
“You’re not late,” Hudson said. “The rest of us were just early.”
Discussing her before she had arrived? Or was that paranoid?
The