Vengeance. Mystery Writers of America Presents B00A25NLU4

forcefully, “I don’t want an adjustment. I don’t want an agreement. In fact, you can stop all the payments. What I want is justice for my little girl.”
    The senator’s eyes narrowed and darkened. Now she could see the toughness that was inside this man who wanted to be president.
    “Do go on,” he said flatly.
    She said, “You can stop the payments. Stop everything. But I intend to go public with what your son did to my daughter today, this afternoon, unless my one demand is met.”
    Both men waited, neither one saying a word. So she went on.
    “By the end of the day today, I want you to announce the firing of Henry Wolfe,” she said. “And I want your pledge that he will never be in your employ ever again, either directly or indirectly.”
    The senator didn’t make a sound, but Beth heard a grunt from Henry, like he had just been punched in the gut. She went on. “That is it. Nonnegotiable.”
    “Why?” the senator asked. “Why should I fire Henry?”
    “To keep me from going to the newspapers,” she said. “And because he promised justice for my girl. And she still doesn’t have it.”
    She could sense the tension in the air, something disturbing, as she noted both men looking at each other, inquiring, appraising, gauging what was going on. The senator checked his watch. “Well, our time is up, Mrs. Mooney, and —”
    Henry spoke desperately. “Tom, please —”
    “Henry,” the senator said calmly, touching his upper arm. “We have a lot of things to talk about, don’t we?”
    Henry continued, “For God’s sake, Tom, the primary is in just a few days and —”
    The two of them went through another door, and Beth was left alone. She looked around the huge, empty suite, went to a fruit basket, picked up two oranges, and left.

    T HE NIGHT of the New Hampshire primary, she rented a DVD —
Calendar Girls
— and watched the movie until she fell asleep on the couch. She had no idea who had won and didn’t rightly care.

    T WO MONTHS LATER , Beth was in her hair salon checking the morning receipts when the door opened and Henry Wolfe walked in. He wasn’t dressed fancy, and his face was pale and had stubble on it. When she looked in his eyes, she was glad there was a counter between them.
    “Looking for a trim?” she asked cheerfully.
    “You … I …”
    “Or a shave?” she added.
    He stopped in front of her and she caught his scent. It was of unwashed clothes and stale smoke and despair. “You … do you know what you’ve done?”
    “I don’t know,” she said, flipping the page on her appointment book. “But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    “The senator … he barely won the New Hampshire primary. There was a shit storm of bad publicity when he announced my firing, talk of a campaign in crisis, a senator who couldn’t choose the right staff, of chaos in his inner circle. And then he lost the next primary, and since then, he’s been fighting for his political life. There’s even speculation about a brokered convention. What should have been a clear road to the White House has become a horror show. All thanks to you.”
    “Gee,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
    “But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he demanded. “To get back at the senator. To hurt his chances of becoming president. All because his son didn’t get punished the way you wanted. You knew that firing me, his most trusted fixer and adviser, days before the New Hampshire primary would cripple him.”
    The phone rang, but she ignored it. The door opened and her newest employee walked in, nodded to Beth, and then got a broom and started sweeping near one of the chairs.
    Beth said, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
    He gave a sharp laugh, and in a mocking tone, he said, “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    She picked up a pen. “I didn’t know much about you when we first met. So after I saw the senator’s son up onstage in Iowa, and after you blew me off on the phone, I did some research. I goggled you.”
    “You did what?”
    “I goggled you.”
    He shook his head. “Stupid woman, it’s
Google.
Not
goggle.
” Beth smiled. “Well, whatever the hell it is, I had a friend at the library do research for me. And I found out that you’ve tried four times to get a man elected president, and each time, you’ve lost. You have a reputation as a political loser. But this time, you were the closest you’ve ever been. Years and years of political failure, and you were now so very close