Girl Three by Tracy March Page A

really looked better without it.”

Chapter Twelve
    Jessie’s cell phone rang, waking her from an unexpectedly deep sleep. She was disoriented, and it took her a second to remember where she was. In Sam’s bedroom…in Washington. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and glanced at the time: 6:38 a.m.
    “Hello?”
    “Good morning, Jessica.” Her father sounded as if he had been awake for hours.
    “Dad?” The word sounded foreign to her ears. If she hadn’t been half asleep, she wouldn’t have said it. She hadn’t called him Dad in years. During the few brief conversations they’d had, she avoided calling him by any name.
    “I need you to meet me in my chambers at eight.” he said. “I’ve got something to speak to you about.”
    Jessie almost asked him to tell her on the phone, but decided that whatever he had to say must be important if he needed to say it in person.
    “Okay,” she said, her mind racing. Would he tell her the truth about Sam’s murder and why there was a cover-up? She couldn’t help but hope. Maybe Nina had been right. Maybe he wanted to try to make up for the past, or at least start from a new beginning.
    “I’ll see you then,” her father said, and he hung up.
    Jessie showered and dressed for the single-digit cold outside. She took the Metro, and walked the rest of the way to the Federal Courthouse, pleased that she’d gotten there ten minutes early. The nondescript gray building sprawled along Constitution Avenue within sight of the Capitol. What it lacked in style and flair outside, it made up in drama on the inside. So many historical events had happened here, like the Pentagon Paper arguments and the Watergate trials.
    This morning, the security guards at the entrance were taking their time moving the line through. Jessie’s patience thinned as the minutes crept by. She hated being late, and she wanted to respect her father’s time. Despite their past, she was ready to meet him halfway.
    At 8:05, she arrived at his third-floor office. She expected a gatekeeper, yet came face-to-face with her father, who stood just inside, fastening his long black judge’s robe. A paper-covered hanger topped with wrinkled plastic hung from a nearby coat rack.
    He glanced at Jessie, then looked at his watch. She scrunched her face. “Sorry. I got hung up in the security line.” She wished she’d left Sam’s place earlier.
    “I have a case at eight thirty.” He waved her into his chambers.
    She wasn’t surprised to see that awards, accolades, and pictures of him with various power brokers crowded an entire wall of his office. A large cherry-framed mirror hung at the end of the opposite wall. If he swiveled his high-backed leather chair in that direction, he could see his reflection as he sat at his desk.
    Bookshelves covered the rest of the walls. Jessie scanned the shelves, focusing on several candid photos displayed among the law tomes. Her father boating with a blond woman, in black tie with a brunette, snow skiing with a redhead. It was like a hair-color commercial in still shots.
    Her breath caught when she saw a picture of their family—the same one she had of them at Disney World with Minnie Mouse, taken just months before her mother died. The photo sat on a high shelf in a corner, situated at an awkward angle, as if someone dusting had moved it and never set it right.
    “I don’t want you associating with that group I saw you talking to at Sam’s memorial,” her father said, immediately dashing Jessie’s hopes that something good might come from their meeting.
    “What group?” she asked.
    “You’ve got no business with the Aldens or Lesort and his wife.”
    “Senator Briel?” Disappointment drove Jessie to say the senator’s name out loud, using it as a barb. The political contention between Elizabeth Briel and her father was well documented. She had already publically opposed his probable Supreme Court nomination.
    Ignoring Jessie’s remark, her father stepped