by Kris Calvert
“You tell me. You’re the one stealing secrets and selling them to the highest bidder.”
“If you can’t beat ’em, son, you gotta join ’em.”
“What’s this?”
I recognized Boone’s southern drawl, but didn’t turn to look at him. Harlan and I stood still, guns pointed, neither one backing down.
“You both need to stop this. Stop it right now. There’s a party ten feet away from you,” he said, stepping in between us. “Secret Service and state police all around.”
“Boone, get the fuck out of my way, or I will shoot your pretty-boy ass,” Harlan said, grinding the words through his teeth.
Ignoring his threat, Boone Henry walked toward Harlan, closing in on him. “Trust me, Harlan. You’re not going to shoot me.”
I kept my aim right at Harlan Jackman’s head. “Boone, for your own safety, step away,” I said.
“Let’s all settle—down!” Boone shouted, reaching for Harlan’s gun.
Harlan, growled, pushing Boone to the ground where the two rolled, struggling for the weapon. “I don’t have a clean shot,” I cried as Win rushed down the hillside of the property, pulling his gun.
“Don’t do it,” Harlan said.
A single shot rang out, echoing across the valley.
Screams came from the tent as what Secret Service personnel still on the grounds rushed toward the sound, along with the state police right behind them.
The two men lay in a tangled heap. There was no movement. Kicking the gun from the scene, I pulled Boone from the pile first. He was alive and breathing, reaching for his ear. Underneath him was Agent Harlan Jackman. Dead. Eyes open, bloody spittle on his face.
“You shot him,” I said in amazement. There was no way an average man let alone a pencil pushing senator could take down and kill Harlan Jackman. Jackman was a trained SWAT agent. Tough as nails. He’d survived two tours of duty but had fallen to a mouthpiece of Washington D.C.? No fucking way. Not unless Jackman allowed it.
“He was going to kill me,” Boone gasped, still holding his ear. “I can’t hear. I can’t hear out of this ear.”
Kneeling down beside him, I stared him in the face. Was Harlan going to kill him? Or did he take Harlan out—making him the fall guy. “It will come back. The gun went off near your ear.”
A crowd of people rushed from the tent. The party was over before it ever had a chance to begin. I hung my head as Samantha hurried to my side. “What happened?” she asked, clasping her hand over her mouth in horror. “Is he—?”
“Dead?” I said the word for her and nodded. “Yes.”
33
SAMANTHA
Inside the tent, I sat alone at a beautifully decorated table. At other tables, a brave few had remained behind, eating the five hundred dollar a plate meal they’d paid for. In the background, the band played music, although no one had the audacity to dance when a man’s dead body had been carried away just an hour ago. But, the band was paid for and as long as party-goers stayed, we would entertain them.
Across the room, I watched Mimi and Cecil Winterbourne, lost in conversation. At a table next to them was Rory, Chops, Elias and Frankie. All four had smiles on their faces—it was the first sign to me that everything would eventually work out.
Outside the tent in a sea of news vans, flashing police lights, FBI agents and Secret Service, was Mac.
“Samantha Callahan?”
I looked up and into the face of a man I didn’t recognize. The press badge he wore with his tuxedo told me he was one of the few invited into the tent for the evening’s events. I didn’t know how I would spin everything that had transpired, still I confirmed that I was indeed who he was looking for. “Yes.”
“I’m Maynard Thomas—Washington Post. May I sit?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I know your husband,” he began. “I met him years ago in D.C. We hung out at some of the same places.”
I nodded and forced a smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. Thomas?”
“Maynard, please. I wanted to get a quote from you about the evening. Would that be possible?”
I looked to the table, rearranging the unused silverware under my fingers. “If tonight proves anything, Mr. Thomas, it’s that evil lurks in unexpected places. It sticks in the nooks and crannies of the world, hiding in the dark until someone exposes it for what it really is.”
“Are you speaking of events outside or inside the tent, ma’am?”
“I’m speaking in general, Mr. Thomas. This evening was about raising awareness and funds to combat human trafficking and slavery. Hopefully we accomplished our task.”
“According to Dr. Ward, you raised more money tonight than you have in the past two years combined.”
I widened my eyes. I was astonished and I couldn’t hide it.
“Maynard,” Mac said, taking the seat next to me. His black tie was undone and hanging around his collar. I read the stress on his face. “I see you’ve met my bride, Samantha.”
“Just,” he replied. “She was giving me a quote for my article about tonight. I was telling her Dr. Ward was kind enough to speak with me briefly before he left. North Star raised a hell of a lot of money tonight. One point three million to be exact.”
“Well,” Mac said with a sigh as he sat back in his chair, trailing his fingers across my bare back and sending a chill down my spine. “We like to throw a memorable party around here you know.”
Maynard gave Mac a crooked smile and stood. Mac got to his feet to join him, shaking his hand. “You’re not going to tell me anything about that Brady kid, are you?”
Mac pulled him close as they shook hands, giving him a pat on the back and I watched him slip the small monkey I’d seen perched on his valet in the bedroom into Maynard Thomas’s coat pocket.
“You’ve got all you need, my friend. Don’t be a stranger,” Mac said.
We sat in silence and watched the final six or so people exit the tent. For better or worse, the party was over and yet the band played on.
“May I have a dance, Mrs. Callahan?” he asked.
I stared at him, the warm glow of candlelight illuminating his strong features. “What was that you just slipped into the reporter’s pocket?”
Mac raised a guilty eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I felt my nostrils flair and he smiled. He knew I wasn’t buying what he was selling. No way. No how. “I’m serious Mac.”
He stood and took my hand in his, pulling me from my chair. “I’m serious too. This party was beautiful. You got more donations than you could’ve ever dreamed of—even if the president never made it off his helicopter. And now I want a dance with the most gorgeous woman to ever wear a pink dress—my wife.”
Whisking past us, Win and Ginny took to the floor and I watched as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him before dancing them both in a circle. “C’mon, Samantha. We can’t let the youngsters make us look bad.”
I stood to meet him face to face. Brushing a stray tendril from my cheek, he leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.
“Geez, guys,” Elias whined, pulling Frankie behind him to the dance floor. “Not in front of the kids.”
Elias twirled Frankie clumsily onto the parquet floor and they both laughed before wrapping one another up to sway to the music.
“Fancy a spin across the dance floor?”
“Yes, but first,” I said, nodding in Mimi’s direction. “I want to check on Mimi. A lot has happened tonight and I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
Mac glanced over his shoulder and came back to me, the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Really? She looks like she doesn’t need anything from us.”
I gazed at my grandmother, tossing her head back with a laugh. Cecil Winterbourne was charming the pants off her. “Still, I want to say something.”
Mac took me by the hand, leading me through the maze of tables until we reached them. “I wanted to chec
k on you,” I said, gently placing my hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay over here?”
“Your grandmother and I were just reliving our younger years,” Cecil said with a wicked smile.
“Younger years?” Mac asked. “You two knew each other before tonight?”
Mimi and Cecil looked into one another’s eyes and then back to Mac. Mimi nodded. Cecil said, “Oh, yes.”
“Well,” I said with a sigh, suddenly feeling like I was cramping my one-hundred-year old grandmother’s style. “Can I get you two anything?”
Without breaking the other’s gaze, they said in unison, “No.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Mac said with authority. “I want to trip the light fantastic with the prettiest girl to ever wear a pink dress.”
Cecil looked up at me. “I know that dress. Your grandmother wore it sixty years ago. It was Ike’s big night at the White House.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that, Cecil,” Mimi said with an astonished grin.
He pointed to his head. “I can remember lots of things from long ago, Marilyn.”
“Mimi,” Mac said, kissing her on the cheek. “Cecil,” he continued, shaking his hand before pulling me from the table.
“Mac,” I scolded as he whisked me onto the dance floor. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodnight.”
“I don’t think they cared,” he said. “Besides, someone needed to walk you away. Your mouth was all agape.”
“It was not.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I love your mouth anyway I can have it.”
I raised one eyebrow at him. “I forgot how horny slinging a gun around makes you.”
“Baby, I hate to tell you, but just being married to you makes me horny. I don’t have to carry a gun—I’m always loaded.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as the band played and the lead singer crooned the words, these arms of mine, they are yearning—yearning from wanting you.
“Did you request Sam Cooke?” I asked, knowing it was one of Mac’s favorites.
“No,” he said spinning me out from him and back in. “But I can’t think of a better way to end the night.”
34
MAC
It was nearly midnight before the last of the police and FBI agents were gone from Lone Oak. Upstairs, Brady Kurtz slept in a room with Chops close by to keep watch. Samantha was soaking in the tub—wanting to wash the events of the night away.
Elias and Frankie were in the gazebo, making out. I started to tell him Samantha got pregnant the first night we made out in that gazebo—but then thought better of it. It was a lucky spot and tonight the Zeroman was learning it firsthand.
Rory sat in the kitchen, pounding away on his keyboard, still dressed in his white tuxedo and top hat. “Still working?” I asked, picking up the hat to inspect it.
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he said. “Besides, it’s a little lovey-dovey around here tonight. I think even the old people hooked up.”
Slipping out of my tuxedo jacket, I hung it on the back of one of the chairs. “Don’t be too discouraged, Rory. You’re young. I’m sure there’s a girl out there who wants to crack code with you.”
“There is,” he said without looking up. “Patrice. She works for me.”
“Whatcha waiting for?”
Rory shrugged. “I dunno. The right time.”
“Time moves fast, dude. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you need to tell the people you care about, you care about them.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get right on that.”
“Have you seen Fuller or Micah?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Why? Where’d they go?”
“They left—in a hurry if you ask me.”
“To go where?”
“Beats me.”
“Well, that’s a fine thank you.”
“She wanted the D,” Rory whispered.
“Seriously dude. That’s not okay. Never speak about a woman that way.”
“I didn’t say it. Micah texted it to him.”
“And you know this how?”
Rory shrugged. “Internet enabled devices provide a doorway into your life. You allow yourself to be tracked and monitored and have no control over how it’s used. Listen I didn’t trust any of you people. Rule number one—trust no one. I was just covering my ass. Once I saw how deep this thing went, I didn’t know who might hang me out to dry.”
I pursed my lips, letting an exasperated sigh escape my mouth. “You been reading my texts too?”
Rory grimaced, but didn’t answer the question.
“Rory.”
“I couldn’t get anything on the burner phones, but once I hacked into your security system, which is linked to your iPhone by the way, I was in.” He finally raised his head to look me in the eye and smirk. “All the way in.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
“I think it’s cute your ringtone is Sweet Home Alabama.”
“Hey, Lynyrd Skynyrd is a southern rock staple, okay?”
Holding both hands in the air, Rory surrendered and laughed. I joined him and it felt good to take a breath.
“What now, Rory? What happens with these bastards?”
“The darkcloset website is gone. We have the emails, but they’re for a site that no longer exists. You should be able to go after the emails we could link to. Will Brady testify against the ones he knows?”
“I think so.”
“Tomorrow they’ll have another site up and running.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But they won’t have Harlan Jackman to broker the information for them any longer.”
Rory nodded.
“Hey,” I said stopping in my tracks. “Elias said you never found anything on the list that links to Boone Henry.”
“Nope.”
“Nothing? Really?”
“I promise. I hate guys like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know, the perfect ones—well, at least women think they’re perfect. The guys that look like him, have money and power and women throwing themselves at them all time. They’re the ones that end up getting pulled over because they have a tail light out and the police find a dead body in the trunk. You know what I mean?”
I thought of Frankie’s meltdown in the bathroom when Boone came whistling in and right on cue, he walked through the back door.
“Evening, fellas,” he said, casting his eyes toward the floor. “Exciting night, huh?”
To me, he looked guilty from the moment I met him. Still, I needed to play the role of gracious host and protector. “You doing okay after all of that?” I asked. “How’s your eardrum?”
“I’m fine,” he said with a sullen nod. “Listen, Samantha told me I could stay one more night. The press is camped out at the gates of your house.”
“That’s funny,” Rory interjected. “Fuller and Micah made it out of here okay.”
Boone gave me a fleeting glance. “I’m sure he badged his way out of here.”
I nodded. “Of course. If Samantha has told you to stay, stay. I’m sure the room you were using is still unoccupied.”
“Thanks Mac. I really appreciate it.”
He started out the door and I couldn’t help myself. “What really happened out there tonight, Boone?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“C’mon man. I was born at night, but I wasn’t born last night. What was that between you and Harlan?”
“I saw him pointing a gun at you and you pointing a gun at him. I didn’t intend for anyone to get hurt. I just wanted you both to stop what you were doing.”
“You know I’ll have to put everything I know into my report,” I said.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Mac. And let me say I’m happy to help in any way I can. I tried to take his gun and in the struggle, the gun turned and he shot—himself.”
“Lucky break for you,” Rory said without l
ooking up from his computer. “I’ve seen the guy’s dossier. Hand to hand combat and ballistics expert? He’s badass. Well…was badass.”
“I think it’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad these days,” Boone said.
Rory shook his head and smirked. “Not really. An asshole’s an asshole. You can dress that shit up however you want, but still—just an asshole.”
“Well, then,” Boone said, ignoring Rory’s remarks. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Boone.”
Rory and I were both silent as Senator Boone Henry turned left out of the kitchen to walk the first floor hallway to his guest room. As he did, we looked at one another as he broke into a whistle. The tune? Dixie.
EPILOGUE
My email chimed, waking me from the all-nighter I’d pulled searching for security flaws in the latest version of an online stock trading service. I was, as always, amazed at how companies would first put out the new applications for financial houses’ online trading and only then actually look for holes in the software. When I said that exact thing to Elias at three that morning, as he headed out to go home and left me here to finish the job, he reminded me that their stupidity is our next payroll. I had to agree.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I tried to stretch, but the crick in my neck from sleeping with my head on the desk stopped me midway.
“Mother—” The pain rang through my head and down my left arm.
“That’ll teach you not to stay here all night, Rory.” Patrice breezed past me, pausing only to place a Venti Starbucks cup in front of me. “Did you get to the bottom of it?” she asked.
“You know it.” Giving her a sly wink, I silently thanked her by raising the cup then glanced down to my desk only to find a puddle of drool pooled next to where she’d left the coffee. Instinctively, I wiped my mouth hoping there wasn’t spittle on my chin. “I was just about to email what I found. I know they’re anxious. I’ve been getting messages from I.T. all night.”
Patrice flashed me a smile and flipped her blonde hair, tipped in hot pink. Jesus, she was smokin’ hot—beautiful and could code like a beast.
