But there were other things she could do.
Take a job with a local company doing media. She was good. Richmond was a great city with plenty of work. Harpers Ferry grew every year in tourism. Then again, Harpers Ferry was still small. Maybe her own home, Richmond, would be best. And she loved Pennsylvania—Gettysburg! They’d gone there so often, and made interesting friends.
No! Not Gettysburg. Not after tonight!
She needed somewhere that was far, far, away from D.C.
That might be best!
She did love the Blue Ridge Mountains. There were smaller towns out that way that still flourished on tourism. She’d find work with a tour company or something. Anything other than this.
Baltimore?
Maybe she was right that she needed to go far, far, away—much further than the states of Virginia, Maryland, or West Virginia.
She looked around the shadowed streets, still walking as swiftly as she could. She had worked very late before. She hadn’t been nervous those other nights; not at all. Congressman Walker was by all means a good man. It just seemed now that he was a man who could be swayed—who could be fooled and manipulated into changing like a chameleon. Into working with others to undermine what he had once believed in.
But he was, at heart, a good man.
No matter what she had learned today. No matter what she expected. No matter her disappointment—her shock! She had to believe he was a good man.
A good man? Was he really innocent of any knowledge of what might have happened when it came to a man being dead?
She could be wrong; she was probably wrong. But the suspicion was there that someone in that political camp had wanted Congressman Hubbard out of the picture—and now he was.
It was just a suspicion—probably unfounded!
Her fear tonight was simply because of the shadows and the darkness. By day, tourists and lawmakers alike filled these streets. Children laughed and ran around on the grass. The Smithsonian’s Castle stood as a bastion to the past and the country’s rich history—as the U.S.A. became a full-fledged country, one that withstood the rigors of war and knew how to create the arts and sciences crucial to a nation of dreamers as well.
She loved her country—which is why she’d wanted her position on Capitol Hill so badly.
No more.
She could see the Washington Monument ahead of her in the night, shining in the sliver of moonlight that beamed down. Yes, she loved Washington, D.C., too.
But, it was time to leave.
Her heels clicked on the sidewalk. She prayed for a taxi to go by.
A beat-up van drew near and seemed to slow down as it passed her; she walked into the grass, suddenly very afraid. With her luck, she’d be worried about the possible fate of the nation—and get mugged by a common thief.
Not long ago, they had found a young woman on the shores of the Potomac River. Naked, her throat and body ripped open, torn to pieces. Police and forensic scientists were having a problem because river creatures had played havoc with her body. No “persons of interest” were being questioned in the death; the police feared they were dealing with someone suffering with a “mental disorder.”
Lord, she was stupid, taking off in the middle of the night like this! It was just that…
She’d been so upset, so indignant, so…perplexed that personal danger hadn’t even occurred to her!
She barely dared to breathe. Why had she suddenly stood up and said that she’d be no part of any of it—she’d leave town quietly, but she’d be no part of it.
Get a grip, she told herself. Those she knew might be hardcore politicians; they weren’t suffering from mental disorders. Wait—not true. Anyone in politics was suffering with a mental disorder!
She tried to laugh at her own joke. No sound came.
She quickened her pace; her feet, legs, and lungs hurt. She kept her phone in her hand. She tried to look fierce as if she was ready to press an emergency number for help at any moment.
Her heart was pounding.
It was a van.
Everyone who watched TV knew that evil men in vans caught victims on the street and drew them in by a side door and then…
The van drove on.
She felt giddy with relief and smiled at her own sense of unjustified panic.
A moment later, she saw a sedan in the street. It slowed and she squinted, looking toward it.
“Lara!” A deep male voice called her name. The car slid to a halt. He called to her from the driver’s seat of the sedan. “Come on; I’ll give you a lift!”
She had to know him; she should have recognized the voice. It was just muffled in the night air. It didn’t matter; she was being offered a ride by someone who was obviously official. Someone she knew; someone who knew her.
Maybe Ian had sent someone out after her—maybe he’d realized what time it was and that the streets might not be safe.
Her relief made her weak.