Desire (Determination Trilogy 3)

by Lesli Richardson

  “Hey, it’s okay. If Shae is going to stay close to home today, what I’ll do is go home after you get here, then come in again tonight for the night shift.”

  “Thank you so much. I love you, dude.”

  Leo laughs. “Yeah, well, I love you, too, Chris, but I’m spoken for in that way.”

  “I know.” I manage a laugh. “And he’s a lucky guy.”

  * * * *

  I don’t have to worry about Congressman Markos making another attempt to visit Kev in the hospital, because his detail sends an agent to the man’s office that morning and informs him he isn’t allowed in the hospital.

  Which enrages the man, but it doesn’t make it into the media, so I can only assume he doesn’t want anyone to know that little factoid and ask questions about it.

  It might make him look bad, after all.

  Kev heals, and less than two weeks after he was shot, and three days after they let him start eating regular food, he’s discharged via ambulance straight to the White House, where I accompany him the entire way.

  Fuck what the world thinks. They’ve kept it out of the papers that Kev was the target because they’re still trying to find out why. For now, the world thinks the heroic chief of staff and best friend nearly died trying to protect the First Spouse.

  I think if Kev was going to run for POTUS he’d win just from this alone.

  Because of all the obvious reasons, I’ll have to be careful once Kev’s brought home from the hospital. While he was still in the hospital, I personally went to the townhouse with John, Jack, and other agents to get everything Kevin would need for a long-term stay, and to clean out the fridge.

  There’s no reason for him to be alone at the townhouse. Not when we’re his family.

  Once he’s situated in our bed in the master bedroom, I drop it on him that he’s now a full-time resident of the White House. When Kev tries to protest, to remind me of the optics, I play dirty—I bring the kids and Shae into our bedroom and let them carefully pile onto the bed with him, give him puppy-dog eyes, and ask him to live with us, full-time, from now on.

  From the look he gives me, I know he knows exactly what I’m doing, but it works and he drops all objections. I’ll let my chief of staff take the lead, along with Angie, with getting the word out. The man was shot, we don’t know if there are other plots afoot against any of us because Lauren’s killer is still at large, as is Charlie and Tory’s, it’s less expensive logistically having him at the White House, where our protection detail is gathered in one place, and it means he can get back to work faster.

  Shae and I can’t stay in bed with him all day, even though that’s exactly what I want to do.

  Fortunately for me, my schedule is far more malleable than Shae’s. I can head up to the residence during the day to check on him and make sure he’s okay, and I do just that.

  By “checking on him” I mean locking the bedroom door behind me and climbing into our bed, where I carefully spoon my body around his for a few precious minutes.

  We still don’t have any answers as to why Kev was targeted. David Gayle isn’t talking and has lawyered up. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

  My wife can launch nukes, but she can’t legally authorize waterboarding the fucker who shot the man who shares our bed.

  Sometimes, life truly isn’t fair.

  Kev is under strict orders from me to call me if he needs me to come help him with anything, but I know he won’t. He’s itching to get back to work. Technically, he could be working up here, but I’ve ordered him to take at least a few more days off.

  Mostly because I want to be able to come up here and do what I’m doing right now, which is being annoyingly loving to him.

  This is the sixth time I’ve come up today to check on him. I’ve got him snuggled against me in our bed, where he’s been watching the news on our bedroom TV. He’s got his iPad, which he’s been using to watch other news feeds as he’s trying to get caught up.

  “I’m never getting spanked again, am I?” he snarks.

  I carefully tighten my grip around him, still worried about hurting him despite his assurances that I’m not. I nuzzle my lips against the side of his neck and graze my teeth against his flesh. “Maybe. If you’re a good boy and follow your doctor’s orders.”

  “That’s disappointing.” He wiggles his ass against me and my slacks suddenly grow uncomfortably tight. “Maybe I want to be a bad boy and earn a spanking.”

  I reach down and pinch his thigh, making him laugh. “Stop it. Behave, or I’ll think up an appropriately unenjoyable punishment for you.”

  “Aw. Buzz-kill.” He tips his head back for a kiss, and of course I can’t resist him.

  For a moment, I consider making love to him just like this, cuddled on our sides and taking my time. For obvious reasons, I haven’t felt horny since Kev’s shooting, and neither has Shea.

  I’m glad I don’t have to leave the White House today, although I won’t be able to spend too much time up here right now. I’m supposed to take a call soon from some protocol guy about organizing our first state dinner of Shae’s second term. Former First Ladies have had large staffs dedicated to all this kind of shit.

  Me? I’ve had my staff focused on the fitness and nutrition initiatives I’m championing, along with the charitable organizations I help with, including Alzheimer’s research.

  Although I have increased the White House staff a little and handed off many of the protocol-based duties to them. I personally think it’s better for continuity’s sake to have it be permanent, non-partisan staffers rather than my own staff. That way, it serves the office of POTUS more efficiently. They also handle things like organizing the Easter egg roll, holiday decorations, and other traditional celebrations that happen at the White House.

  But there are a few positions that haven’t been filled or created yet, and I’m slowly chugging my way through that process. With my luck, I’ll have it all done just in time for Elliot’s election.

  Lucky bastard. Leo, that is. Because my gut tells me he’ll be filling my role, since I’m nearly positive Elliot’s filling Leo.

  Thankfully, as Kev continues to heal over the next days, and life finally shifts back to normal for us, I can relax.

  My boy is home and safe.

  My girl is home and safe.

  Our kids are safe—and happy. We have no satisfaction yet, and might never know who or why Charles, Tory, and Lauren died, but I’m hoping this is the last of the bad kind of surprises that will rock our family.

  If only I were so lucky.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christopher

  I’m having lunch in the residence dining room on Monday when Leo comes up. The kids are in school, Kev is with Shea at a meeting over on the Hill, and the White House, despite how many people work here, feels kind of empty, to me.

  This is Kev’s first full official day back at work since he was shot, and it takes everything in my power not to go with the two of them today and personally supervise him.

  Except he has a job to do. Prophet is back in the saddle, and Priest has to let go.

  It’s been almost a month since he was shot, and we have no more answers than we did the day of.

  I’m actually a little surprised to see Leo here. Usually, when Shea has to attend a meeting, especially with Kev involved in the meeting, Leo’s is there with her.

  “We need to talk, sir,” he says.

  “What’s with the ‘sir’ shit in private?” I joke.

  Except from the look on Leo’s face, whatever he’s come to talk to me about…

  It’s grim.

  He’s not deterred. “Sir?”

  I nod and sit back, my nerves jangling as every instinct and bit of training from twenty-six years spent in the Secret Service tries to kick in all at once. “What’s going on?”

  He glances around. “We alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulls out the chair next to me and sits before he looks me in the eyes.
“I need you to stay calm, sir.”

  “What happened?” Fear fills me. “The kids? Shae? Kev?”

  He shakes his head and lays a staying hand on my arm. “They’re all fine. But we need to talk.”

  My pulse had spiked and now I want to smack him. “You fucking scared me!”

  He leans in closer, dropping his voice. “Chris, promise me.”

  “Promise you what?”

  “I’m going to tell you some things, and I need your word you’re going to stay calm, sit here, and let me tell you, and you aren’t going to jump up and demand Shae nukes someone.”

  I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy the rest of my lunch. I push away the plate holding what’s left of my ham sandwich and stare at him. “What the fuck?”

  But he doesn’t move, waiting.

  “Fine! Just tell me.”

  And…

  He does.

  Unfortunately, the information doesn’t leave me wanting to jump up, at first. It leaves me…cold.

  Chilled.

  Heartsick.

  Not at all sure I might not puke right there.

  When Leo finishes spinning this web to me nearly twenty minutes later, I can’t even…think.

  I have to sit there and breathe, absorbing it, processing it.

  For starters, because it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. None of it.

  The truck that ran Charles and Tory off the road has been located and traced back to David Gayle. It was discovered late last week, hidden under a tarp in an old barn on his uncle’s property, by—ironically—a crew from a TV show that hunts antiques. Someone noted that it looked like it hadn’t been there very long, because the tarp was newer. But it had been covered with older stuff, like someone was trying to hide it. Once uncovered, they realized that the damage on it was unusual and specific, and when they looked inside the cab, they found, among other things, an old prescription receipt stuck under the seat with Gayle’s name on it, which prompted a call to authorities. There were no license plates on or registration papers in the truck, but running the VIN number confirmed it was last registered to Gayle.

  Damage all along the passenger side of the truck matches the damage on Charles and Tory’s car, and there was paint transfer that matches both vehicles. There is zero doubt in the investigators’ minds that this is the vehicle that ran them off the road.

  The uncle who owns the property is elderly and in a nursing home. Gayle was, before shooting Kev, helping to take care of the place. The uncle’s brother-in-law called in the TV show to help go through things and try to make some money to pay the property taxes to keep it going for another year.

  Likewise, the gun used to kill Lauren has been traced back to one of two guns that were reported missing by the uncle’s brother-in-law last week while in the process of helping sort out the house’s contents ahead of the TV crew coming in. They’d both belonged to the uncle’s father, and he’d specifically asked for them to go to one of his grandsons.

  Said gun was found in the cab of the truck. Which was the other reason they called authorities, because they weren’t sure if it was tied to the attack on Kev’s life or not.

  And they found Lauren’s purse in there, too.

  The second missing gun turned out to be the one recovered when Gayle shot Kev.

  The ballistics test on the weapon recovered from the truck was rushed through because of the other circumstances, and a preliminary match was made early this morning, just before financial ties connected to Gayle and his family were starting to unravel.

  “Where did this intel come from?” I finally manage. “Is it solid? Why haven’t we heard anything about this? They should have notified us!”

  “I have a friend at Quantico. It’s getting passed along the food chain, even as we speak. But they know I work for your wife and that you’d probably want this news sooner.”

  “But they should have—”

  “It’s been kept quiet because of the rapidly developing circumstances, and wanting to be sure. I’s and T’s. They were going to question Gayle about it this afternoon, but apparently someone talked somewhere, looks like his attorney was tipped off, so now warrants have been issued. Portia will be getting briefed by the FBI director soon, which is why I ordered Secret Service confiscate phones until they’re brought back here.”

  “They…they have proof of all of this? Did Gayle finally talk?”

  Leo’s grim look grows even darker. “Gayle killed himself in his cell ninety minutes ago. His last visitor was his attorney, Jasper Schoult, fifteen minutes before he did it.”

  I blink, sure that I misheard him. “Wait…what? Can you please back up, because what you should have led with was, ‘Hey, Chris, the motherfucker who shot Kev offed himself.’”

  But Leo is undeterred. “Three weeks before Charles and Tory were killed, Jasper Schoult formed a shell company. Yesterday, that company paid out five hundred thousand dollars to a shell company that was formed by yet another shell company and is listed in the name of David Gayle’s wife. This is in addition to other payments the first shell company made to additional shell companies listed in the names of Gayle’s oldest son and daughter. The money is still in those accounts, though, and court orders were issued less than an hour ago to freeze the accounts.”

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “There were six payments last year—before and after Charles and Tory died, and before and after Lauren was killed. There was another one made before Kevin was shot—and then the last one yesterday.”

  “You’re saying someone paid to kill them?”

  He nods.

  I’m still not tracking. “That doesn’t add up. You said six payments last year.”

  “The other two payments last year were made before and after Stephen McDannig died.”

  “Who?”

  “The GOP candidate who challenged Kevin’s father in the primary.” But before I can finish turning that over in my brain, Leo plunges forward. “It gets worse. It turns out Gayle had terminal cancer.”

  That was something that had not been revealed to us. “Wait, what?”

  “He left a suicide note saying he had cancer, and was sorry for what he did, but that’s all it said. He apparently never told his family he had it. Not even his wife knew. His father and mother both died of cancer, and he swore he’d never go through treatments and suffer like they did.”

  “So why did he target…” I can’t think, can barely breathe. “Why?” I realize I’m crying. “We didn’t even know the guy!”

  Leo’s still not done. He lays his hand on my arm again, and this time his grip turns solid, firm, unyielding.

  A grip to anchor.

  A grip to restrain.

  Leo takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes. “His criminal attorney, Jasper Schoult, is the brother-in-law of Harris Ferrey, of the law firm Ferrey, Jackson, Smith, and Rawlston. Gayle used Ferrey, Jackson, Smith, and Rawlston to create his will, and to form trusts for some mineral and oil rights for properties he’d inherited and wanted to pass on. That same firm also handles class-action lawsuits for certain cancer cases. Mesothelioma, stuff like that.”

  That law firm name sounds familiar. “Why do I know that law—”

  “Chris.” He drops his voice, and I realize what he’s doing even as he does it, trying to keep me calm. “It’s the firm Edwin Markos works for. And Schoult lives practically across the street from Markos. The FBI is en route to Markos’ house with a warrant for his arrest, if they haven’t arrived already. They also have a search warrant. Edwin Markos is Gayle’s attorney of record for the trust filings for the mineral rights. And Markos liquidated funds in the same amounts and at the same times that the shell company paid out to the other shell companies, including this weekend. Schoult confessed that he received a call from Markos while he was with Gayle this morning, and that he handed the phone to Gayle so Markos could talk to him directly.”

  * * * *

  Despite what I promised Leo
, I rip free from his grip and I’m up and running. I want Shae and Kev back here before this breaks wide open and they find out about it from a pool spray. And I want the kids home.

  Now.

  They are not going to hear this from some little asshole with a cell phone, or from a teacher.

  They’re going to hear it from me.

  Leo swears and races after me as I don’t even bother waiting for the elevator. I hit the stairs and take them two at a time, emerging on the first floor and nearly slamming into another agent.

  “Transport,” I order. “Now. We’re going to the Hill.”

  “Mr. Bruunt—”

  “Now!” I scream. “Did I fucking stutter? Let’s go! You either drive me, or I’m taking off on foot. Which is it?” I belatedly thank god there aren’t any public tours today.

  “Belay that order!” Leo barks, then turns on me again while the agent stands there trying to decide who to listen to, and other agents swarm toward us. “Chris,” Leo says, “you can’t leave. It’ll be a fucking circus. I’ve already sent word to cut the meeting short as soon as they can, confiscate their phones, get them out of there ASAP, and bring them back here. And the kids are already en route.”

  “I won’t have Kev and Shae broadsided by this and me not be there.”

  Leo grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Chris! Stop and think about this for a minute. I mean, really think about this. You barreling over there, when it’s already a media circus, is only going to compound this and make it infinitely worse. We need to hold a press conference later today, once we receive word Markos is in custody and the FBI releases a statement. It hasn’t even broken in the news yet that Gayle’s dead—”

  “That’ll be any second though. And everyone will want Kev and Shae’s reactions!”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’ve already sent word to get them out of there and confiscate phones.”

  I stand there staring at him, watching him blur when tears burn my eyes as I finally process everything. I’m…

  I’m sobbing. Three innocent people are dead, Kev nearly died, and the kids could’ve died, too, if they’d been in the car.