Girl Three by Tracy March Read Free Book Online Page B

her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
    Jessie sat on the bed and opened her purse. She pulled out the envelope she’d gotten this afternoon and showed Nina the picture. “This was delivered to me at the inn today, slipped in with the mail.”
    Nina straightened her spine, all the way up through her neck. “And it took you this long to tell me about it?” She sounded more hurt than defensive.
    Jessie tried to hide her sheepishness, but she felt the involuntary tell—little muscle twitches at her eyes, tightening around her mouth—and knew Nina saw her guilt. Her best friend wouldn’t have expected her to keep secret something as cryptic, and possibly significant, as the picture.
    “I didn’t know you wanted in,” Jessie said, her tone apologetic. “That you’d be willing to risk knowing too much. But now I need you to help me decipher this.”
    Seeming satisfied with Jessie’s explanation, Nina sat on the bed and studied the picture for several moments. Her silver hoop earrings swayed as she shook her head. She pinched the envelope by one corner and held it up with a steady hand. “We shouldn’t be touching this stuff.”
    “Don’t even go the forensic, who-sent-it route, because that would be futile. Am I supposed to go to the police and tell them I think Sam was—” Jessie stumbled on the word.
    “No,” Nina said. “There probably wouldn’t be any prints except yours, mine, and whoever got the mail at the inn. The paper and ink look pretty standard.” She crinkled her nose. “Forget it.”
    “No police,” Jessie said. “Nothing about the picture is threatening or criminal.”
    “Any idea who would want you to have this or what it means?”
    “No.”
    Nina inspected the front of the envelope, plain except for Jessie’s name, computer-printed. Then she sniffed it. “Smells like—” She sniffed again.
    “Lavender,” Jessie said. “That’s from the sachet in my purse.”
    “Who carries a sachet in her purse?”
    “I do.”
    Nina smirked, but her look quickly turned serious. “You’re the proud new owner of some pretty damaging information.”
    “So are you.”
    Nina’s gaze shifted and lost focus.
    “You did the right thing by telling me,” Jessie said.
    Nina pressed her lips into a tight line. “Just be smart. And careful.” Jessie nodded and held the picture in front of them. “You know any of these people, other than Sam?”
    “I recognized a couple of them,” Jessie said. “The names helped. Then I spent the afternoon online, trying to restrain myself from following an endless link path for each one.”
    “Gotta love the Internet,” Nina said. “What did you find out?”
    “Except for Sam, they’re DC’s new generation of early-fortysomething elites. Left to right.”
    Nina pointed. “Senator Elizabeth Briel.”
    “Represents Maryland. She’s all over newspapers and C-SPAN—the forward-thinking fresh face of government. Not that we couldn’t use a few of those.”
    Elizabeth Briel had the aura of Glinda the Good Witch, updated and sexy in a clingy-yet-cautious ivory pencil dress, beginning off the shoulder and ending mid-thigh. Tendrils of blond hair fell from her messy updo, accenting her slender neck. She had prominent cheekbones, pink lips, and blue eyes that flashed with the camera.
    “Her face is all over the place,” Nina said. “She was pregnant the same time I was. Even showed up on the cover of one of those maternity magazines as Supermom-to-Be. I think she and her husband had a son.”
    “Speaking of.” Jessie skimmed her finger across the photo and stopped on the man standing next to Senator Briel. “Her husband, Counselor Philippe Lesort.”
    “Counselor—impressive.”
    “Canadian diplomat for Science and Technology. Also a noted photographer. He combines photography and science with a dash of activism. Real artsy stuff.”
    “Love the hair,” Nina said in a throaty voice.
    His black hair was combed away from his face, but pieces of it