Free Girl Three by Tracy March Page B

Briel saw her first. Her gaze locked on Jessie and the others followed suit. Jessie walked toward them apprehensively, her steps sounding steadier than her legs felt.
    Helena met her halfway, wearing a shimmery violet dress that was too festive for the occasion. “Sam would have been pleased that you came.”
    Jessie nodded.
    “Let me introduce you,” Helena cupped Jessie’s elbow, ushered her toward the group, and nodded at the man Jessie recognized as Ian Alden. “Jessica Croft, this is my husband, Ian.”
    The picture Jessie had received had been taken at a photogenic moment for him. Tonight, he looked more pale and patrician. His blue eyes darted from Jessie to Helena, his furrowed brow creasing his otherwise youthful face. He took one of Jessie’s hands between both of his. “Such a shame about Sam.”
    “We’re still in shock.” Elizabeth Briel pressed her hand over her heart with a flair for melodrama that was no doubt useful on the senate floor.
    “Thank you, Senator.” Jessie didn’t bother to pretend she hadn’t recognized her.
    “Please, call me Elizabeth.”
    She looked like she had in the picture, her face fresh and pretty. She gestured toward the other man in the group. “My husband, Philippe.”
    He took a confident step forward and extended his hand. Jessie shook it firmly.
    “My condolences.” His green eyes glimmered. “Sam was a special girl.”
    “She was,” Jessie said.
    Helena stared into her empty glass, rolling its stem between her fingers. “Time for another martini.” She tilted her head toward the bar and lifted the eyebrow that wasn’t obscured by her hair. “Ian?”
    She was two steps ahead of him before he shot the rest of them a sharp look and started to follow.
    “Wait,” Jessie said, louder than she had intended.
    Helena came to a dramatic stop, turned on her stiletto heel, and leveled a challenging gaze at Jessie.
    The others watched and waited.
    “I’m curious about a picture I found in Sam’s things,” Jessie said. “Taken January twenty-third, two years ago, at an embryonic stem cell research event. All of you stood under a banner that said Our Present to Our Future .”
    None of their expressions changed.
    Jessie opened her arms, her shawl draped in the crooks of her elbows. “She was wearing this dress.” They looked a little shocked—all except Helena, who had probably immediately pegged the dress as Sam’s.
    “What was significant about that night?” Jessie asked.
    Helena shrugged. “Who could remember? We go to so many events.” She cut her eyes at Ian, cuing him to agree.
    After an uncomfortable moment, he caught on. “They all seem to blur together after a while.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure Sam had lots of pictures. What piqued your interest in that one?”
    Jessie knew the technique. Answer a question with a question. Ian had assumed she would fall for it, and that made her more determined. She started to turn it around on him and ask another question, but she changed her mind. Better to let him think she could be manipulated. “Sam had it in a frame.”
    Helena gave Jessie a flinty smile. “That makes sense. You could say that Ian and I adopted Sam after she’d proven herself as an intern at my firm.” She waved her hand toward Jessie, her nails a streak of red. “You knew her then.”
    Jessie swallowed hard. Elizabeth and Philippe looked at her as if she were in the path of a wrecking ball and they were helpless to stop it from striking. Ian stayed quiet.
    “There she was,” Helena said, “this bright young girl, with no family except for your father, who didn’t count or seem to care. And you.” Another swipe of her hand. “She knew you well enough to idolize you but couldn’t imagine you’d be interested in her life.”
    Jessie’s stomach roiled with champagne, anger, and guilt. “Of course I was interested in her life.”
    “Elizabeth and Philippe took an interest in her, too,” Helena said, as if Jessie