Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3) Page 81

“Speaking of honor,” I said. “Or the lack thereof. Tell me about Troy Donovan.”

Lindsey regained her seat.

“I told you. I barely know—”

“Stop it, Zee. Stop lying. Just this once, tell me the truth. I’ve been shot at, my car has been forced off the highway, I’ve been assaulted in skyways, accosted in parking lots, received menacing phone calls late at night, and that doesn’t count the dead bodies I’ve tripped over. I figured I earned the truth. Tell me about Troy Donovan.

“He’s just an acquaintance.”

“Tell me!”

“We were lovers. Is that what you want to hear, McKenzie? We were lovers, okay?”

“Ex-lovers?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why he sent the e-mail?”

“He did send it, then.”

“You know he did.”

“I knew, but I didn’t know. Not one hundred percent. That’s why I sent you down here. To find out for sure.”

“What then? Were you going to call Muehlenhaus? Have Donovan whacked?”

“I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

Lindsey finished her drink and poured another. She didn’t add ice or tonic water. A grimace distorted her face as she took a long sip of the straight vodka and suddenly her perfect beauty seemed terribly brittle and easily shattered.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “Everything that’s happened has been my fault. I know what I am, McKenzie. I’m an adulteress. I betrayed my husband’s trust and his love just for the fun of it. Only I won’t steal his dreams. That’s one gutter I won’t crawl into. That’s why I broke it off with Troy. When it became clear that Jack was going to win the election, I told Troy I wasn’t going to see him anymore. Only he wouldn’t let me go. Even now he still calls. He sends e-mails . . .”

I flashed on Nina Truhler’s ex-husband.

“Some men need to own,” I said.

“Troy thinks if Jack doesn’t run for the Senate, we can still be together.”

“He’s afraid that if Jack wins a senate seat, he’ll take you with him to far, far away Washington. I understand that. Only why send the e-mail to you and not to Jack?”

“It was a warning. I’m expected to talk Jack out of it, otherwise . . .”

“Otherwise Donovan will carry out his threat. Nice people you hang out with, Zee.”

“We can’t let it happen, McKenzie.”

“We?”

“We can’t let him hurt Jack like that. We . . . I love Jack. I love my husband. I know how that sounds after what I’ve done, but I do love him, McKenzie. We can’t—we just can’t . . . Oh, God.”

Lindsey sighed as if all the air had left her lungs.

“What am I going to do?” she asked.

I poured a small amount of vodka into my glass, added both ice and tonic water. I sat across from Lindsey at the table.

“Why did you have the affair?”

“For the same reason I slept with you.”

“To get back at your sister?”

“No. I mean . . . Have you ever done anything extraordinarily stupid, knowing it was stupid even while you were doing it?”

Images of Danny Mallinger flickered in my head.

“Do you mean recently?” I asked.

“We’re supposed to become wiser as we grow older. Don’t you believe it.”

“Don’t say that, Zee. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

“You never struck me as a man who makes many—what shall we call it—errors in judgment?”

“I can tell you stories that would bring bitter tears to your eyes.”

Lindsey smiled briefly before drinking enough straight vodka that she coughed.

“Troy came along when I was feeling pretty sorry for myself,” she said. “We had been married for seven years, Jack and I, and somehow our lives had come between us. Jack was busy doing Jack things—running his business, the charities, getting involved in politics, all the rest. Me—you know I had worked in advertising. That’s how I met Jack. I was an associate creative director working on the Barrett Motels account, winning awards, making money, having fun. I quit after the wedding because—because of the resentment of my colleagues. It was as if by marrying a wealthy man I had somehow forfeited the right to work side by side with people who worried about mortgages and car payments and braces for the kids. Instead, I shopped. I lunched with women who shopped. Sometimes I did busywork for a couple of charities and nonprofit groups that would rather I just sent a check.”

“You became desperately bored,” I said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

I thought of Teachwell and the enormous amount of money that capturing him had brought me—the reason I had quit the cops.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“Except that you found something constructive to do with your time. I didn’t. Instead, I found Troy.” Lindsey shook her head sadly. “Sometimes we see things in people that just aren’t there. Women do it more then men. Or maybe we’re just more likely to admit it and be disappointed by it when we see that we’re wrong.”