Free Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense by Carter Wilson Page B

President would be there, but Sidams was going to be involved in every meeting. Every conversation. Every handshake. Which meant Jonas would be there as well. It could be a monumental moment in history or just another failure in a long succession of fizzled peace attempts.
    “I’ll check,” Jonas said to the Senator. Jonas remained standing in front of Sidams’s desk.
    “Something else, Jonas?”
    “This...this is stupid. But I wanted to get your opinion.”
    “What?”
    Jonas told him about Anne Deneuve.
    “And she wants to interview you? Officially? In connection with Michael’s murder?”
    “There’s nothing official about it. The FBI can’t claim her as a credible source, even though they pay her. But I think they can use her for leads.”
    “What do you have to do with the murder?”
    “Nothing. But she thinks I have some kind of connection.” Sidams squeezed his jaw. “Why don’t you just tell her no?”
    “I’m highly tempted to.”
    “Except?”
    “Except I’m kind of curious to see what she does.”
    The Senator stared at him through long seconds of thick silence.
    “And she’s gorgeous,” Jonas added.
    “Christ, Jonas. For someone with the mental and physical discipline you possess, you sure do melt at a pretty face.”
    “No argument there, sir.”
    Sidams waved him off. “Fine. Go see her. Doesn’t hurt to cooperate as long as it’s unofficial. I just don’t want to read anything in the papers about this, you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir. Perfectly.”
    Jonas was deterred by the smell of over-brewed coffee on the way back to his office. He stopped in the small kitchen and poured the remaining trickle of brown liquid from the pot into a Star Trek mug.
    V walked up behind him.
    “Did you take the last of the coffee?”
    Jonas took a sip. The bitter liquid slithered down his throat. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor. Can’t we get an espresso machine in here?”
    “Some of our constituents might find that elitist.”
    “Better tasting coffee is elitist?”
    “Better anything is elitist, you know that. Staff meeting in five,” she said.
    “Shit.” Jonas looked at his watch. “Short today, okay? Gotta finish the Denver brief.”
    “OK, boss. And I have information for you on your lady.”
    “Really? That was fast.”
    “You sound surprised.”
    “Thought you would need longer.”
    “I’m good.”
    “You are good.”
    She stared at him with either fuck me or fuck you eyes. His inability to distinguish the two was one of the many reasons he was often single.
    “The FBI denies using psychic criminologists as an official source,” V said, “which is what Ms. Deneuve is. Not a medium. Regardless, my person there tells me Ms. Deneuve is bonafide.”
    “Your person knows her?”
    “Knows of her. I guess she’s a pretty big deal. The Post even did a profile of her about a year ago.” V handed him a printout from the Post’s website. The article was titled “ The Art of Science .” He scanned the first paragraph.
    “She worked that Anderson kid killing a few years ago. Remember—in Orlando?”
    “Yeah, I remember. Big story. The mom did it, right?”
    “But they couldn’t try her without a body, and then the
    Feds found the boy out of nowhere.”
    “That was Deneuve’s work?”
    “That’s the story. Again, off the record.”
    “Got it. Thanks. Good work, V.”
    “That’s what I do. Have fun on your date with her.”
    “It’s not a date.”
    “Is she cute?”
    “Cute isn’t the right word.”
    “What’s the right word?” Jonas thought about it. “Intriguing.”
    V smiled. “You know, Jonas, something tells me you won’t need a psychic to be able to read your mind.” With that, V walked away, quickly disappearing amid a small flurry of anxious-looking aides carrying stacks of papers.
    Jonas stopped by his desk for a quick check of his e-mail before going to his staff meeting. He reached for his mouse and only then did he notice the envelope on