The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Jameson’s boss nodded. “We’ll have to keep an eye on our friends in Egypt, nonetheless. If anything new develops, I want to know about it.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President,” said Jameson.

  The President focused his attention on Cruz. “There’s one more item I want to discuss.” He shifted his gaze toward Jameson. “How are we coming along on the matter with Agent Cruz, Phil?”

  Cruz sat straighter and turned her head toward Jameson before coming back to the President. “Sir?” she said.

  The President raised his eyebrows at Jameson.

  Jameson uncrossed his legs and turned in his seat to face Cruz. “The President wants you more directly involved in the war on terror. To that end, he has ordered me to make that happen.”

  “More involved in what manner?” asked Cruz. “I’m an FBI agent, not a covert operative.” She was a little concerned over what she may be asked to do.

  The President heard the uneasiness in her voice. “It’s okay, Raychel. Director Jameson will create a suitable role for you to fill; one that complements your talents.” He leaned closer to her. “I’m very impressed with what I’ve seen from you.” He counted on his fingers. “First, you take down a powerful Senator…Senator Hastings. Second, you put yourself between my daughter and one of my Secret Service Agents, risking your life to protect her from potential harm from an assassin. Third…well, you know what you’ve done to bring my daughter back to me.” The President paused. “I want to better utilize your skills—put them to work making a difference in this war on terror.” He smiled and reached across his desk. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion, Agent Cruz.”

  Cruz relaxed her posture and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  Facing Jameson, the President stared at him. Horizontal lines appeared on his forehead. “When will you know, Phil?” He was referring to when Jameson would have an answer on Cruz’s new role. He had brought up the matter with his FBI Director after Thanksgiving and not heard back from him. Not being a particularly patient person, especially when it came to people following his directives, the President’s voice gave away his displeasure.

  “I will have something for you shortly after the holidays, sir.”

  “I’ll be taking my family up to Maine for a few days. If you need to speak with me, call me on my direct line.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The President looked at his watch. “All right, if there isn’t anything else, I’d like to spend some time with my daughter.” When no one said anything, he stood and everyone followed his lead. He came around his desk and shook the hand of everyone in the room, thanking them again for saving his daughter.

  Chapter 42: Cruz’s House

  5:12 p.m., Potomac Maryland, Special Agent Cruz’s house

  Located at the end of Cripplegate Road in Potomac, Maryland, the traditional two-story all brick center hall colonial home sat on nearly two acres of private land, a short distance from the Potomac River. Forest green shutters on either side of the windows accented the red brick, and the white house trim seemed to offset the home’s lavishness and create a more basic and down to earth feel for the occupants. A large and striking bow window was centered in the front of the house. The window immediately became a focal point for visitors. A two-car garage was attached to the right side of the house, while a patio with glass windows on three sides, overlooking the wooded property, was on the left side.

  The inside of the home was equally beautiful; hardwood floors throughout, four bedrooms, four full-size bathrooms, a fireplace on the main floor and a second fireplace in the upstairs master bedroom. A wooden staircase, leading to the second floor, bisected the main floor. The main floor consisted of a living room with a fireplace, a large kitchen and dining area, two bathrooms and a combined library and den. The second floor had four bedrooms and two bathrooms.

  Special Agent Cruz was extremely fortunate to be living in this home in one of the most affluent towns in the United States. The home was owned by an elderly man who had lost his wife a few years ago. The couple owned a real estate company and had amassed a small fortune, including several homes scattered throughout the country. After his wife had passed, the man moved to a warmer climate in the Southwest. Cruz had met him through a friend of hers. He did not want to sell the property, because it held special memories for him and his late wife. He had been searching for someone he could trust to live in it for a greatly reduced monthly rent. After a luncheon meeting with Cruz, he offered her the home on the spot.

  Having already seen the home and the neighborhood, Cruz could not turn down the generous offer. The man had two conditions. One, she was required to maintain the home. If anything needed to be repaired, she was to take care of it and send the bill to him. He would pay for all repairs. Two, the home’s furnishings were never to be moved. She could use anything she wanted, but the home was to stay exactly as it was. She could have personal items as long as they could be easily removed.

  Hardy opened the glass doors on the living room fireplace and added a couple pieces of firewood to the dying fire. Re-positioning the firewood, he watched the fire for a minute. Seeing the flames growing, he closed the doors and replaced the poker in the tool stand. Standing, he took his place next to Cruz on the couch, facing the fireplace.

  She threw half of her blanket toward Hardy. The outside temperature was in the mid-thirties and the weather girl had said to expect an overnight low in the upper teens. Cruz was wearing a pair of satin shorts and a sweatshirt with a large star on the front, the symbol for the Dallas Cowboys. Never one who wanted to wear long pants or sweatpants when she was lounging around at night, she was cold, quickly tucking the ends of the blanket under her bare legs.

  After arriving in Washington, D.C., Hardy and Cruz had picked up her Dodge Charger from the Hoover Building and drove to her home, stopping only to pick up a six-pack of Redd’s Strawberry Ale for him and a bottle of wine for her. Tired from flying from one end of the country to the other and back again, they took a nap as soon as they had entered the house. Hardy stretched out on the couch, while Cruz slept in her bedroom.

  Two hours later, they awoke to a cold house. The thermostat had been turned down for the trip to visit Hardy’s mother, and neither one of them had touched the dial when they came into the house. Cruz rotated the temperature dial, while Hardy built a fire in the fireplace to get some instant heat. Staring at the fire, neither one spoke. They had been trying to shake the grogginess from their nap, but the dancing flames proved counterproductive. Hardy’s eyelids went up and down. As soon as he gave in and closed them, the doorbell rang. He opened his eyes and rolled his head toward Cruz.

  “Are you expecting company?”

  Shaking her head, she replied, “Nope.”

  Hardy stood, walked to the front door and stuck his eye up to the peephole in the door.

  “Who is it?”

  Hardy stepped back with his hand on the doorknob. “It’s Dahlia.” He opened the door.

  Dahlia lifted her head and smiled, when the door swung open. She had a large gift bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. She was dressed in a long and heavy wool overcoat that came below her knees. Black high-heeled boots were partially exposed beneath the coat. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, tied with a red ribbon. “Merry Christmas,” she said. Eyeing Cruz, who had come up from behind Hardy with a blanket wrapped around her waist, Dahlia acknowledged her. “Merry Christmas, Cruz.”

  “Where’ve you been?” asked Hardy.

  Cruz added to his question. “We’ve been worried about you.” She jerked her thumb toward Hardy. “Hardy’s been calling you non-stop, since you took off on us.” She stepped outside and pulled on Dahlia’s coat. “Get in here. It’s freezing out there.”

  Dahlia protested. “No, I can’t stay.” She was gently forced into the house. “I don’t want to intrude on your—”

  “You’re not intruding on anything.” Cruz took the
bag and the bottle of wine from her, while Hardy helped her with her coat.

  “Thank you.” Dahlia rubbed her upper arms. She was wearing a long-sleeved red velvet dress that stopped at her knees, an inch above where her boots began. Cruz set the bag on the floor and put the wine on a nearby table. Feeling his eyes on her, Dahlia glanced over her shoulder and caught him studying her backside. “I’m fine, Hardy. You’re not going to find any bullet holes back there, so you can stop looking.”

  Hardy grinned. “I’m glad to hear that.” He hung her coat on a coat rack behind the door. “Cruz was right. I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty-four hours.” He held out his hands, palms up. “What gives?”

  “I apologize.” She turned her head back and forth to include Cruz in her apology. “I shut my phone off. I just needed some down time. I should have called.” She held her arms out at her sides. “All I can say is that I’m used to answering only to myself.”

  “Well, the important thing is that you’re all right.” Cruz took Dahlia by the arm and led her into the living room.

  Hardy grabbed a straight-back chair and placed it near the fireplace before he and Cruz resumed their positions on the couch.

  Chapter 43: Conversation

  For more than an hour, while nursing a small glass of wine, Hardy, Special Agent Cruz and Dahlia made small talk that gradually became more relaxed and personal. Afterward, the conversation settled on the outcome of the mission. Hardy and Cruz informed Dahlia of what the President had told them aboard Air Force One. Dahlia, not wanting to go into details, simply confirmed that the unidentifiable man aboard the ship was Ashar Yamadi.

  Dahlia glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She placed her hands on her thighs and stood. “I really should be going. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m sure you two have something planned.”

  Cruz looked at Hardy. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve enjoyed having you.” After a short pause, she added, “In fact, why don’t you stay for dinner? We’re thinking of getting a pizza.”

  “Pizza?” said Hardy. “I was going to cook for us.”

  Cruz and Dahlia stared at him.

  After a few seconds of silence, he said, “What?”

  Dahlia tilted her head. “You can cook?”

  “He’s never cooked for me.” Cruz raised her eyebrows at him.

  He feigned hurt feelings. “What are you talking about, Cruz? I cooked for you just last Saturday.”

  Cruz thought for a moment and smiled. “You boiled hot dogs and made macaroni and cheese from a box.”

  “Yeah,” snapped Hardy, grinning. “That’s cooking.”

  Cruz chuckled and shook her head.

  Laughing, Dahlia walked toward the front door and picked up the bag she had brought. “Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances with takeout.” She handed the bag to Cruz. “Merry Christmas, Cruz. I hope you like it.”

  “Dahlia, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Cruz had already opened the bag and stuck her nose inside before finishing her sentence. She loved receiving gifts. It mattered not that it was Christmas, her birthday, a Sunday or any day of the month. If someone gave her a present, she was not going to turn it down.

  Noticing Cruz’s excitement, Dahlia smiled, happy that her gesture had been well received.

  Cruz placed the bag on the floor and pulled out a large box. Putting the box on the table, she lifted the lid, pushed aside the tissue paper and picked up the first item. Unfolding it and holding it up, her lips formed an awkward smile. Her eyes went back to the box and she plucked one of two items that remained in the box. Holding up both items in front of her eyes, she blushed. Dahlia had kept the promise she had made to Hardy in Los Angeles. Cruz was holding a black mini skirt and a pair of black knee boots with three-inch heels.

  “Do you like them?” Dahlia’s voice revealed her tentativeness.

  “Yes…I do,” replied Cruz, her cheeks becoming more and more flushed. “I’ve never owned anything so…short.”

  “I figured that out when I saw Hardy’s eyes almost come out of their sockets when he saw you in my skirt.” She turned to Hardy and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you understand that this is a joint gift, considering you’ll be getting just as much, if not more, enjoyment from it.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, nodding his head. “You’ve had your fun.” He could feel his body temperature rising and wanted to change the topic. “So, where are you going that you can’t stay for dinner?”

  Before she could answer his question, Cruz expressed her gratitude. “Thank you so much. I really do like them.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dahlia turned toward Hardy and tried to come up with an answer to his question. “I’m…I’m meeting up with someone tonight.”

  “Your father?”

  Dahlia glared at him, but immediately relaxed. After all that Hardy had done for her since they had met, he had earned the right to bring up her father. “Nooo…I’m sure you’re aware that my father and I are not on speaking terms, Mr. Hardy.”

  “You could be. All it takes is for one person to make the first move.”

  Dahlia pursed her lips, closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. It won’t be me.

  “Dahlia, I’m sure your father is having a hard time with this, too.” He watched her shake her head. “I’m the last person who knows anything about what happened between you two; however, having interacted with both of you, I’m the perfect person to say that you’re more like your father than you want to admit.”

  Dahlia opened her eyes, stared at Hardy and waited. “Are you done? If so, what do I owe you for the session, doc?”

  There it is again, her defense mechanism. She’s using humor to turn aside uncomfortable topics. Hardy wrapped his arm around Cruz. “Would you consider us your friends?”

  With no hesitation, Dahlia shot back, “Of course.”

  “As your friends, we’re asking you to keep the door open when it comes to your father. Don’t shut him out forever.”

  Dahlia smiled. After having been alone for so many years and not having anyone to talk to about personal matters, hearing Hardy’s words made her heart almost leap from her chest. Not that Dahlia was keeping score, but if she added Charity, she had three people in her life she could call her friends. She could not have asked for a better Christmas present. “For you and Cruz, I’ll keep the door open.”

  Pleased, Hardy returned her smile. “For the record, the first consultation is always free.”

  She laughed and stared at them for several seconds before stepping forward and giving Cruz a hug, while Hardy grabbed Dahlia’s coat. She slipped her arms into the coat and overlapped the lapels. After un-tucking her ponytail from the coat, she hugged him a little longer and squeezed him a little tighter than she did Cruz. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you…for…everything.”

  Hardy smiled, nodded his head and opened the door. While Dahlia walked down the driveway, Cruz joined him and slid her left arm around his waist. He clutched her shoulder.

  “She doesn’t really have a place to go for the holidays, does she?” asked Cruz.

  “I don’t think so.” He watched her Jeep Renegade back into the street. “But…she’s tough and she’ll make it through.”

  When Dahlia’s vehicle had gone, Cruz snapped to attention. “I almost forgot about your present.” She pointed behind her. “Wait inside and I’ll be right back.”

  Hardy stoked the fire and sat on the couch. Minutes later, the front door opened, but no one came in. He heard scratching sounds on the hardwood floors. “Cruz,” he said, listening. The noises were haphazard, moving in different directions, stopping briefly before starting up again. Getting up from the couch, he moved around it, heading for the front door. Taking a few steps, he stopped when he came face to face with a small puppy.

  The dog stopped its inspection of the house and stared back at Hardy. The animal was almost all black and the size of a housecat. Its ears were small and flopped
around when it moved. Its actions clearly showed it was sizing up Hardy.

  Hardy raised his eyebrows and watched the puppy. He went to one knee. “What are you doing in here?” He patted his thigh. “Come here, come here.”

  The dog took a few tentative steps toward Hardy, its head up and its nose trying to pick up any scent it could. The animal approached Hardy, who held out his hand. The dog sniffed his hand, but was ready to run. After thirty seconds, Hardy patted the dog’s head and neck.

  “Merry Christmas, Hardy.” Cruz closed the door behind her. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

  Hardy held the dog in his arms, a smile on his face, spreading from ear to ear. He stood and met Cruz halfway. “What’s this?”

  “It’s your Christmas present. Do you know what kind it is?”

  Hardy had recognized the breed as soon as he saw the puppy. “German Shepherd,” he replied. “Cruz, you know I can’t have pets in my apartment. Besides, being gone for days at a time doesn’t work so good for dogs.”

  She held up her hand. “I’ve got it all worked out. He’ll stay with me. Plus, my next-door neighbor loves dogs, too. He’s been caring for her since we’ve been away. I should introduce you sometime…he’s a Marine vet. Anyway, he’s happy to look after her when necessary.” She chuckled. “There was also some talk about him building a kennel near the property line…He’s a good man.”

  Hardy played with the dog, while he listened to Cruz. She had all the bases covered.

  Cruz patted the dog. “This gives you a reason to come see me more often.” Putting her free hand on the back of Hardy’s neck, she went to her tiptoes, her eyes going back and forth from his eyes to his lips.

  He kissed her. “I don’t need another reason. You’re all I need.” He put his lips on hers for a long kiss. Five seconds later, the dog barked and they flinched.

  “I should warn you, Cruz.” He grinned. “Female dogs prefer men, so she’s going to be partial to me.”