by Sheila Kell
“At least you know you didn’t take home a prostitute,” she added.
There was that. That had been a huge relief. Although he couldn’t remember the woman entering his room since he’d been out cold, he remembered making it to his room and crashing. “That’s true.” Had she ever doubted him on that score? He refused to ask the question because he might not like the answer.
Changing the subject, he asked, “What do you say to some steamed crabs and beer for dinner tonight? I know this great place where we can sit on the bay and enjoy a feast.”
“Can I have wine instead?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Brad squeezed her hand. “Anything for you, princess.”
“That reminds me. Where did you come up with princess for my nickname?”
He didn’t have the slightest clue. It had just slipped out one time, and he decided he liked it. “I’m not really sure where it came from, but now that I use it, I see you as the beautiful princess in the tower whose smile wins the hearts of her people.”
She chuckled. “That’s about the worst thing I’ve heard. Did you just make it up?”
“Well, yeah,” he admitted with a laugh. “I don’t know where it came from, but I like it for you. You’re my princess.”
“Does that make you my Prince Charming?”
He almost choked. No one had ever called him that before. Not even close. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
Her laughter called to him, deep down, lifting his spirit and taking away the strain of the problem he needed to resolve.
They talked about inconsequential things on the remainder of the drive to his brother’s home. Jesse met them at the door and escorted them back over to the war room where some of the men and women were hanging out in shorts and sweaty T-shirts after what looked like a workout in the gym.
Sitting down together, Jesse started the conversation. “How’d it go?”
“I remember everything.” He summarized what he’d remembered to Jesse. “The senator’s life could still be on the line. I have to do something. Warn her at least.”
“Tell me, why would she believe you? She might love her husband and believe the best of him. Don’t you think this would sound outrageous to her?”
Brad sighed. He was right. The same thought dropped into his mind—Why would she believe a disgraced Secret Service agent? Someone whose word would be questioned even if he said the sky was blue. “She probably won’t. But, still, I have to do something.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Jesse said. “Can you wait to tell her until I line this up? I may need Dad’s clout.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Are you ready to be bait?”
TRUE TO HIS word, Brad took Madison to Captain James Crab House for crabs and beer. When he ordered a dozen jumbo steamed crabs and two Coronas, she didn’t say anything about preferring wine. He had a lot on his mind and had obviously forgotten her preference. She hoped though that he had a big appetite, because that was a lot of food for two.
She’d been here before with Rylee and loved the place. It was nothing more than a replica of a large boat on land, with an open deck where you could enjoy the breeze off the bay. Luckily, the crisp, salty scent of the air wasn’t marred by any rotting fish or other foul pollution. She’d never tire of the smell and atmosphere that made her want to sit at the picnic bench for hours eating crabs and reading a book on her tablet. Two of her favorite things.
Feeling that he might need to address his worries now that he’d had time to process everything, she asked, “Are you okay with everything?” She couldn’t imagine being sent into the lion’s den and not being concerned.
He took a long draw from his beer. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.”
“But you argued the point on bringing a weapon pretty strongly.” She’d thought during the conference call with the police, FBI, and Secret Service that someone would’ve jumped through the phone and choked him for his insolence. But they needed him. Maybe not needed, but apparently, he was their best shot at getting the male Senator Walden to confess quickly.
“Of course I did. Who wants to walk into that type of situation unarmed?”
He asked like she should already know the answer and it was a stupid question. Okay, maybe it had been.
“How can I help?” she offered, wishing she was a real-life Nancy Drew and could be of use in resolving this issue.
“I don’t think you can.”
“You can talk to me, Brad.”
He seemed to be mulling over his decision before he finally spoke. He set his beer down, probably a little harder than he’d expected since he flinched a bit. “Okay, going in unarmed really does bother me. I get their reasoning for it, but going unprotected….”
“But, won’t you be wearing one of those bulletproof vests?”
“Not exactly bulletproof, especially at close range. And it doesn’t cover my head.”
The crabs arrived, and they let them sit for a minute to cool. It gave her a moment for her pulse to slow down from the worry about him being at risk—vest or not. Her head told her that everything would be done to keep him safe, but her heart couldn’t help but be concerned for him being in potential harm’s way.
“I’ll be okay.”
How many times had he said okay? Was he trying to convince himself or her?
“What do you think the senator will do?” They’d admitted it was a wildcard, hail-Mary type of play, but the FBI and Secret Service wanted to try it. They didn’t believe the senator would actually try to kill Brad. He hadn’t thought that, but the risk had been greater since Brad could’ve had his memory intact. There’d been no guarantee that whatever they’d dosed him with would work that well as to wipe back for a few hours.
“Who knows? It depends on how backed into the corner he feels. He may not be threatened by my memory, but he went to a lot of trouble to help me lose it, so I don’t think he’s going to be happy I’ve recovered it. Of course, there’s still the disgraced thing. I can’t prove I didn’t bring the prostitute to my room. I need her to clear me there. Unless the senator confesses to sending her, which I sincerely doubt he’d do.”
“I’m surprised they’re sending you in, as a civilian.” She’d been floored when it had been recommended by the Secret Service and echoed by the police and FBI. He was a civilian.
“Well, I’ve been Secret Service, and HIS has worked with the FBI and works close with Baltimore PD when we have something local.” He shrugged. “Plus, I’m the only one who can confront him with my memory and have a rat’s ass chance of gaining a confession.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“No. And after we settle this tomorrow, we work on your problem,” he said, testing the temperature of a crab. Seemingly satisfied, he ripped it apart, the top shell dropping to the table. He scooped out the guts and hurriedly set it down and shook his hand when liquid hit it. “They’re still a bit too hot,” he told her unnecessarily.
Even though they were hot, he grabbed each one and ripped apart the shells so they would cool faster. She smiled at the thoughtfulness. It was something she doubted many people believed he possessed.
“What made you leave modeling and take up selling underwear?” he asked.
“It’s lingerie,” she corrected, and he grinned. “And it was time to leave. Younger models were starting to take my old contracts. There’s a glass ceiling in modeling, and I broke it, but I couldn’t stay there. Everyone wants young.”
“You don’t look old to me.”
She considered patting him on the cheek and saying, “Aw, thank you, sweetie,” but thought better of it. “Thanks” was all she said instead.
“Why lingerie?”
He got it right this time, whether by accident or on purpose she didn’t know. “It kind of found me. I was sketching some designs—I always have since I was a teenager—and Jacque saw the ones I’d done of lingerie and wanted to work with me to produce them.” She took a drink of her cold beer
and set the bottle down. “I was floored, of course, but the more he talked with me, the more I learned that high-end lingerie was a great place to be. So I researched it and agreed.”
“Is he helping you with your own work?”
“He is.” She beamed. “Only a few pieces and only in the shop to start, but once they grab hold, we’ll expand.”
“Doesn’t it make more sense to go worldwide?”
She shrugged. It probably did, but that hadn’t been her thought. “I guess I need to see that they’re liked before I expand. I mean, we’ll be selling it online, so it’s kind of worldwide. But you can call it an apprehensive thing. I don’t want to go worldwide—in stores—and fail. Too many designs do.”
He picked up a crab and split it in half, handing her one half. “I don’t know the first thing about it, so I’ll leave it to you.”
“Gee, thanks.” She made a funny face at him, and he chuckled before he pulled off a leg with the rib meat attached. Showoff, she thought. She may not be a novice card player, but she was with opening crabs. She didn’t always grab them in the right place.
When she broke off the leg without the rib meat, Brad came to her rescue. He reached for her piece of crab. “Here, let me.”
Then he proceeded to cleanly pull the legs off with the rib meat and laid them down for her before he went back to his own half crab. And so for the remainder of the dinner, he did that for her. When he didn’t pull it out with the rib meat, he cleaned the shell for her. Her chest expanded at his thoughtfulness.
On the drive to his house, they were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Her heart thrummed at the side of Brad she’d seen as he’d cleaned her crabs for her. So caring. He was so deep she wondered if she’d ever learn all the facets of the man. Her pulse increased at finding them out.
“Thanks for dinner.” She patted her full belly. “That was magnificent.” It had been more the company than the food—although that had been excellent—that made the dinner magnificent. Of course, any time with Brad was magnificent.
“It’s nothing. We can go there anytime you want.”
Her heart jumped in joy. Just like that, they were planning future things together, and she couldn’t be happier. So when they arrived at his home, instead of going to the room she’d been staying in, she eagerly followed him to his room and enjoyed his attentive lovemaking, falling asleep, sated and well loved with the one thought of “Where would this lead?”
BRAD STILL BRISTLED at the microphone taped to his chest and that he was going into what could be dangerous without a weapon of any sort. He understood no handgun but hadn’t realized that he couldn’t even carry a knife for protection, or he might’ve backed out.
It was odd seeing the Secret Service work with Baltimore PD and FBI. The line blurred a bit as to who should handle this particular situation, so instead of flipping a coin, they pooled their resources.
After his experience in Columbia, it had been a tough call to trust the Secret Service, but he’d had to include them. One thing he was glad to occur was his old boss had been removed from the detail until they knew whether he was involved or not, considering he’d also been in Columbia at the time that Brad—confident now—had been drugged. He still couldn’t believe it had happened to him, but his memory was clear that he hadn’t drank too much. Two beers and he’d been out of it.
“Are you ready?” FBI Special Agent Rose asked him.
Tense, he shrugged. “About as ready as I’ll ever be. Do you think the senator will confess?”
The agent shook his head. “No, but it’s worth a try.”
The plan was he would meet with the male Senator Walden. Then, Brad would confront him with the knowledge he now held. His aim would be to get the female senator’s husband to spill the beans. Brad wished he’d learned more from Matt on managing conversations. His twin could coax water from a desert.
The impromptu meeting was to take place at the residence rather than the political offices in DC. He was glad he didn’t need to make that drive, but in DC concealed carry was prohibited so he’d feel safer. But would Senator Brett Walden carry a weapon or have one in his Baltimore home? With an internal nod, he answered his own question. Of course he would. The man was all about gun rights.
Getting in his vehicle, Brad glanced at Jesse, and with the confidence his big brother exuded, Brad’s nervousness vanished. Jesse had been right to do it this way. If it worked. It was a much better plan than them taking action on their own and not contacting the authorities. At least not contact them until things were settled.
The drive was short since his backup—not HIS, which bothered him—would be on the street near the residence so they could respond quickly. It wouldn’t be quick enough if that asshole decided to shoot him. His thoughts on the drive over were of Madison and how, if this was the big threat against them, she would be happy to see it vanquished. Then he’d deal with Casden and Rogers. He’d already given a brief overview of what had been happening to them to their friend on the Baltimore PD, Lieutenant Dan Winters. He agreed to sit down with the authorities later and work out something. The police wanted Casden and Rogers also, but had failed each time they’d arrested them. Evidence tended to get lost or witnesses disappeared.
Without a doubt, there were police in the department who were corrupt, and the police chief wasn’t tolerating it. Once he identified a crooked cop, he dealt harshly with the offender. Internal Affairs worked hard to keep the department clean, but there were some very slippery rotten apples on the force.
Brad strode up the walk to the front door of the Walden mansion. There was no better word for it. It was huge, with southern-style white columns on the front patio with chairs and lounges displayed in conversation and relaxation settings. At the dinner, Madison told him how she loved the porch and how it was set up. Maybe one day he could swing something like this for her. Not the home, but the outside setting. The new home she had put in an offer for didn’t have this grand of a front patio, but she would have something to work with. Unlike his place.
When he rang the doorbell, the same butler who had greeted them at the dinner, opened the door. “Mr. Hamilton, nice to have you visit again. The senator is waiting for you.” He closed the door behind Brad. “Right this way.” And he was gone, stopping suddenly in front of an open door that must serve as an office for one of the senators.
It was opulent, like the rest of the home. It also had the traditional look of floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves on one wall with a ladder on a rail to slide back and forth for books that were just out of reach. How often did they read any of those books? At a quick glance, they were mostly biographies and other boring subjects.
“Mr. Hamilton,” the butler announced to the room and then left.
“Come in,” a deep male voice intoned.
A moment’s hesitation where Brad’s gut clenched had the male voice calling him in again. Remembering the senator had been responsible for drugging him, ruining his career, and maybe trying to kill him on the road, his gumption grew, and he stepped smartly through the doorway to find Senator Brett Walden behind a large cherry wood desk with a computer monitor, keyboard, and stacks of papers in neat piles.
“It hasn’t been long since the dinner, Brad. May I call you Brad?”
He didn’t want the man to call him anything, but he saw no reason to anger him right away. “That’s fine.”
“Good. Good. Have a seat.” He gestured to the armchairs before his desk.
The senator’s hands were on top of his desk. Relief swept through Brad; there was no weapon in hand. Brad sat, ignoring the urge to scratch where the tape stuck to his skin. He refrained and decided to start the conversation before the senator even asked why he’d wanted the meeting.
“Funny thing,” he began, “when I was drugged in Columbia, I lost my memory.”
Senator Walden’s jaw clenched. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,” he said carefully.
“It’s interesting. I
ignored not knowing what had happened to me or what had happened before I was drugged. Then someone gave me a brochure on hypnotherapy.”
The senator visibly tensed, and his hands curled into fists. “Well, that’s good for you. I still don’t see why you wanted to meet with me.”
“Well, with the hypnotherapy, I regained my memory. Or most of it, that is.”
Sweat broke out on the senator’s forehead, and his eyes shifted. Brad’s pulse raced at the thought he might break the man.
“Thing is, you’re one of the memories that resurfaced.”
“Me?” He laughed, and the sound set Brad’s nerves on edge. “Did you have some dream that I somehow appeared in?”
“I imagine you know the memory I have. Of you and your—at the time—campaign manager, Thomas Hancock.”
“This meeting appears to be a waste of my time. I don’t need to hear stories you have conjured and try to spout as a lost memory,” he said dismissively.
“Don’t you?” Brad had to do something to get the man moving to a confession. “It involves your plans for your wife. It’s terrible that you thought out, that many years ago, to use her popularity for your own gain. Murder is a crime,” he said as casually as possible, considering the subject matter.
The senator scoffed. “I haven’t murdered my wife.” His voice was laced with steel.
“But you and Hancock plan to.” Brad knew he was grasping at straws. The conversation he’d overheard happened so long ago, but it was the only hand he could play. “And based on the conversation I heard, it will be soon. How do you think she’s going to feel when she hears that? Not to mention how she’ll connect the recent attempt on her life with you and this accusation.”
It took Walden a moment to react. He wasn’t as good a poker player as he might think. His emotions flowed over his face like a river. “No one will believe you. Your disgrace as a Secret Service agent will stand.”
“But it will put uncertainty in her, wondering if what I told her was true.” He needed the man agreeing with him somehow. God, he wished Matt was talking in his ear. He wished he had an earpiece all together, but the consensus was that if Walden saw it, all bets would be off.
