Cold River - Carla Neggers [87]
“I do.”
Marissa was the eldest of Charlie’s four sisters. Grit had run into her in November when he’d dropped her little brother—her only brother—at his private school in northern Virginia, where she taught history. Myrtle had been with him. Neither woman had wanted details on just what all Charlie had been up to out on his own on the streets of Washington. He had, in fact, provided information that had led police to a critical eyewitness to the hit-and-run that had killed Ambassador Alexander Bruni.
Grit hadn’t had a brotherly reaction to Marissa Neal. He’d forgotten about that. It had to be a good sign.
He stayed focused on Charlie and prompted him. “Southern California.”
“Marissa is suspicious. I tried to get her to take me to Beverly Hills with her to see the stars. She has an ex-boyfriend in Los Angeles. He’s an actor. He dumped her when our dad was elected vice president. He didn’t want the scrutiny, which I can understand, can’t you?”
“No.”
“You really can’t?”
“I’m not judging. I just don’t understand why you’d dump someone because you didn’t want scrutiny.”
“That’s because you’ve been through SEAL training.”
“It’s because I grew up in a swamp,” Grit said. “What do you want?”
If Charlie was worried about Secret Service agents descending on him, he didn’t show it. He slid a CD case across the table to Grit. “I wanted to give you this information. I told you when we spoke a few days ago. I’ve been doing research.”
“You could have e-mailed it to me.”
“I don’t have your e-mail address.”
“You could have asked for it. You could have set one up for me. You’re a genius. You could have figured out something besides sneaking on a train and checking yourself into a cheap motel.”
“It’s not that cheap. I paid cash. Conor and I—”
“Enough.”
The kid could be a real pain. Grit drank some ice water. Charlie wasn’t chastened at all. It wasn’t how he was wired. “If you’ll recall,” the vice president’s son said, “in November I put an arson investigator named Jasper Vanderhorn on the list of potential victims of our assassins’ network.” He soaked up syrup with a piece of his waffle. “Don’t say it’s not ‘our’ network. I’m not being literal.”
“Police are investigating any suspicious deaths that even remotely could be connected to these killers.”
“Vanderhorn died in a fire in Southern California this past June. The fire was supposed to be out, but it wasn’t. It flared up and he was caught in the flames and burned to death. Rose Cameron happened to be in Southern California doing a training session.”
“Did she participate in a search for Vanderhorn?”
“Not that I know of, but she was on the scene.”
“Did she and Vanderhorn know each other?”
Spots of color appeared high in Charlie’s smooth cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s possible. He’s on my list because his death fit the parameters of my search. Then I found out about Rose, and I learned Sean Cameron and his business partner are smoke jumpers.”
“Were Sean and his partner at this fire?” Grit asked.
“I think so. So far Vanderhorn is our only California victim.” Charlie pushed his plate to the center of the table. “Check what I gave you on the CD. It’s nothing the police need to see. I mean, it’s not official evidence.”
“If it is, I’m turning it over to the authorities.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“If Jo catches me, she’ll peel it off me. She’s tough. She carries a badge. I only have one leg.”
“You rescued Myrtle Smith from her burning house. You only had the one leg then. You’re a hero, even if—”
“Myrtle’s the one who gave you up to the Secret Service.”
“She’s a frustrated mother, don’t you think?”
“I think she’d rub your face in syrup if she heard you say that. Would you say she was a frustrated father if she were a man?”
“She’s not a man.”
“True.”
Charlie was thoughtful. “Grit—Petty Officer Taylor, I mean. We have a firebug.”
Grit didn’t say a word. His cell phone rang. The screen indicated it was a private number. He picked up, and a soft female voice said, “Are you with my brother?”
Marissa Neal. Grit pictured her on the manicured campus of the school where