is Juliet.” Her voice was low and cultured.
“Hello,” Sara responded, her heart beating fast. “I’m looking for Colette.”
There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
“My name is Sara Sinclair. I met Colette last night.”
“Really?” The voice sounded amused. “And what makes you think that I know your friend, or her whereabouts?”
“Well,” Sara explained, “your number is written in the back of this little black book that she left in my car. I don’t know Colette, but I gave her a ride home last night, after she and Edwin Zachary were involved in a car crash. You recognize that name, I’m sure. I can’t help but think that Colette might want this particular book back, since it lists her appointments for the next several months. In great detail, I might add. You wouldn’t believe what she wrote about Mr. Zachary. Shocking, really.”
There was another brief silence and this time, when Juliet responded, her voice was chilling. “I want you to listen carefully, Miss Sinclair. I recommend you burn that book and forget you ever met anyone named Colette. Now be a good girl and hang up the phone right now, and don’t call this number again. I’m telling you this for your own good. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
Her words caused goose bumps to rise up on Sara’s arms, and there was a part of her that was more than tempted to do as the woman directed. She was in over her head.
“Who are you?” she finally asked. “And what are you involved in?”
There were several seconds of silence, when Sara thought the other woman might actually hang up on her. “Who I am isn’t important,” she finally said. “What is important is that you destroy that book and forget whatever you saw written inside.”
Sara’s glance flicked to the book. She recalled the incident with Edwin Zachary. There was no way she could ever forget what had happened, or how he had tried to bribe her into silence. She might not be an investigative reporter, but every instinct told her she needed to pursue this. Lauren would never forgive her if this story ended up on the evening news courtesy of another reporter. As distasteful as she might personally find the situation, and as much as she might want to take Juliet’s advice and hang up the phone, the journalist in her couldn’t do it.
“The thing I find most interesting,” she mused, as if the other woman hadn’t spoken, “is that Colette used initials to identify each of her…appointments. I’m pretty sure that I could figure out whose initials they are. By the way, did I mention that I’m a feature writer for American Man magazine?”
There was another silence, longer this time. “I can meet you Tuesday afternoon,” Juliet finally responded.
Sara quickly checked her calendar and realized that she’d already agreed to meet with Rafe Delgado on Tuesday afternoon at three o’clock.
“I’m free for lunch on Tuesday, if that works for you,” she countered. “How about one o’clock at the Pavilion Cafe? It’s located at the west entrance of the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden.”
“I know where it is. Unfortunately, I’m on a tight schedule and won’t have time for lunch. I can meet you at two o’clock, but I can’t stay long.”
Sara breathed a sigh of relief. At least her meeting with Juliet wouldn’t conflict with the time she’d already allotted for her interview with Rafe Delgado.
“That would be fine.” She paused uncertainly. “How will I recognize you?”
“Don’t worry,” Juliet said drily. “I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding you. I’ll just look for the woman who looks especially…hungry.”
As Sara ended the call, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made a fatal mistake.
3
SARA ARRIVED AT THE CAFÉ thirty minutes early on Tuesday afternoon, still trying to convince herself that she didn’t feel the tiniest bit paranoid or nervous about meeting the mysterious Juliet. She chose an outdoor table where she had a clear view of the walking paths that meandered through the gardens and an easy escape route over the decorative chain that separated the tables from the passersby, if required. She told herself that she was being overly imaginative, but if Juliet really was involved in something illegal, there was no telling what she might be capable of, especially if she considered Sara to be a threat.
The afternoon was clear and cool, scented with the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the café. Sara ordered a steaming mug of hot chocolate and sipped it as she watched the people walking past on the sidewalk. A gust of wind rustled through the small trees along the nearest path, catching a handful of golden leaves and swirling them along the ground. Sara’s gaze followed them, until her attention was arrested by a man standing beside the nearest garden. He was leaning against a decorative lamppost and was studying what looked to be a Washington, D.C., guide book, but Sara had the distinct impression that he was watching her from behind his dark glasses.
Unsettled, she picked up the menu and pretended to be absorbed in reading it, feeling conspicuously alone despite the comfortable buzz of people all around.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Sara looked up and saw a woman standing by her table. She was older than Sara, probably in her mid fifties, but was one of the most elegant women that she had ever seen, with sleek black hair pulled into a ponytail, and exotic dark eyes. She oozed wealth, wearing boots and a pair of fine woolen slacks, and a leather coat that looked buttery soft.
“Yes, I’m Sara,” she said, rising to her feet to take the other woman’s extended hand. “Please, sit down.”
When Juliet had ordered a cup of coffee, she turned to look at Sara with a shrewd, assessing gaze. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”
“And you’re older.”
A smile touched the other woman’s lips. “Touché. But age is no deterrent to a youthful spirit.” She glanced at her watch, an expensive piece of jewelry that glinted with what looked like real diamonds. “Shall we cut to the chase? I have a plane to catch this afternoon and I don’t want to be late.”
“Of course.” Withdrawing the small black book from her purse, Sara laid it on the table, but kept one hand on the cover. “This is the book that Colette left in my car, after she was involved in a car accident with Edwin Zachary. It contains detailed descriptions of Colette’s appointments. Salacious descriptions.”
Juliet’s eyes gleamed. “Were you also involved in the car crash?”
Sara shook her head, watching Juliet closely. The other woman didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by the fact that Colette’s book contained potentially damaging information. “No, I wasn’t involved. I was driving behind them and let’s just say there was a reason why Mr. Zachary was unable to concentrate on his driving,” Sara said drily. “Considering what Colette was doing to him, it’s a miracle neither of them were killed.”
Juliet didn’t look surprised or shocked. Instead, a knowing smile curved her lips. “I can only imagine.”
Sara picked the book up and as Juliet sipped her coffee, opened it and began to thumb through the pages. “No, I don’t think you understand. Here, let me read a sample entry to you.”
She flicked her gaze to the other woman’s face. Juliet looked patiently composed, but Sara didn’t miss how her hands curled tightly around her mug. She gently cleared her throat and began to read.
“‘T.F.—Prefers group activities with toys, likes to watch g-g action.’” She slid Juliet a blandly innocent look. “I assume that means girl-girl action.”
Juliet briefly raised one hand from her mug. “That’s very nice. I’ve heard enough.”
“Wait, there’s