SCOTUS: A Powerplay Novel

by Selena Laurence

  The way he looked at her then was so intense, it nearly undid her.

  “I never stopped,” he said. She looked at him, questioning. “I never stopped loving you, Dee. Not once in twelve years. And yes, I hated you too. It’s a fine line.”

  He huffed out a breath in frustration.

  At the same time that her heart dared to leap with hope, it plummeted in despair. No matter how much she knew she’d earned it, it still hurt like hell.

  “But, Dee,” he whispered, gazing at her so seriously. “The love was always stronger.”

  “I want this to work,” she said, climbing on top of him and settling her bare, wet core over his already hardening cock.

  “So do I, baby,” he groaned, palming her breasts, his gaze raking over her in worship. “We’ll keep it between us, take it one day at a time, and we’ll be honest with each other always, right? If you’d told me what bullshit your parents were spinning to you all those years ago, maybe we could have survived it. And if I’d told you I still wanted you six months later, maybe we could have been back together then. Honesty. It’s the only way we can learn to trust one another again.”

  She swallowed and nodded, knowing that she was about to make a very big mistake, but not seeing a way out of it. If they could just make it through his nomination, then she could tell him everything. Maybe he could even be in touch with Roland through her. Just a few more weeks and then she’d explain it all. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

  “Now, come here,” he purred, flipping her onto her back and crawling down her body, licking and sucking along the way. “It’s time to show you how much I missed you…again.” His mouth landed on her core, and all her worries drifted away as his magical tongue and talented fingers made quick work of her inhibitions, until she was crying out in the quiet dark of Teague’s bedroom, unable to think about anything but the pleasure rocketing through her body.

  “There’s someone following me,” Teague said as he sat at the Powerplay condo idly watching Jeff, Derek, and Scott play pool.

  Scott, chief of staff to the majority leader of the Senate, looked up and squinted at him. “Are you going to throat punch them and send them to the hospital?” He laughed then, but it still irritated Teague.

  “That I would have to defend that to members of the Senate who scream the loudest about the second amendment and protecting the homeland is nothing short of astonishing to me,” he answered, his mind traveling back to the committee hearing he’d been grilled at earlier.

  “Supremes are supposed to be above such things,” Derek explained as he took a difficult shot and put Scott’s six ball into the corner pocket. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed.

  “What makes you think you’re being followed?” Jeff asked, always in security mode.

  “White man, forties, plain brown suit, across the room from me at lunch, outside leaning against a wall when I left the Capitol, sitting in a car parked across the street from my office.”

  “Yeah, that about covers it. I’ll get someone to follow him, keep an eye on your safety—not that I think you can’t handle it yourself—and find out who the guy is and who hired him.”

  “Kamal wouldn’t waste the time following the guy, he’d just have him roughed up,” Derek commented wryly.

  “The First Gentleman is no longer at liberty to handle our security issues,” Jeff remarked with one eyebrow raised, “and I prefer not to be associated with any of it, and to avoid criminal charges. We’ll get what we need. Might take a couple of extra days. I have no problem doing what’s necessary, but I save the risk for things that can’t be obtained any other way.”

  “And I prefer not to hear about it when you do,” Teague said mildly. “I’m going to go hide out in my high-end digs in the Supreme Court and think about things all day. Don’t bother me with the mundane details.”

  Derek laughed, and Jeff threw a handful of peanuts at Teague. Meanwhile, Scott kicked Derek’s ass at pool, and the pouting political consultant joined Teague on the sofa as Scott and Jeff racked up the next game.

  “You’re a terrible pool player, you know that, right?” Teague asked Derek.

  Derek flipped him off, and Teague laughed.

  “So I wasn’t able to listen in on the hearings. Did they give you an extra hard time?”

  Teague shrugged. “Not terrible, but I can sense their frustration that they can’t find anything significant to bludgeon me with.”

  Derek grinned. “Ah, the virtues of living clean all these years.”

  Teague cleared his throat, wondering what Derek would say if he knew about Roland. Would it change his views on Teague’s appropriateness for the court? On what kind of man Teague was? Would Roland’s sins make Teague look like a criminal too? Would they make him look “too black”?

  He cringed. As much as he hated it, he often found himself pondering that very concept. The idea that he had the wealthy, mostly white, friends that he did because he himself wasn’t all that black. Sure, he’d grown up black, but the ensuing years had meant college, law school, and a private legal practice that was overwhelmingly white. He was in business with white people, ate dinner with white people, spoke and dressed like a white person. And another part of him hated that he ever thought that way. There was no one way to be black. He was a human being, plain and simple. Some humans wore custom-designed suits. Some wore athletic gear, some jeans, and others uniforms. He dressed, spoke, and behaved as he did because that was what he was comfortable with.

  But no matter how comfortable he was with himself, he was never entirely comfortable that he’d been accepted as he was. The lingering sense that any misstep could make all the white people around him reject him for who he was never went away, and it kept him from confessing the truth about his brother—even to Derek Ambrose, champion of the marginalized in politics.

  “Yeah, I have nothing that will occupy them, so I don’t have to be concerned, but it’s tiresome while they dig and try to turn every little molehill into a mountain.”

  “Yet, you seem anything but tired, my friend,” Derek said, giving Teague side-eye. “In fact, I’ve noticed a little extra spring in your step the last few days.”

  Teague used his best lawyer mask and simply looked at Derek.

  “Seriously,” Derek said. “What’s going on? On Monday, you turned London down for dinner at our house, which I have never once known you to do, because you’re a bachelor and my wife cooks like a dream.”

  Teague grunted in agreement. London’s dinner invitations were highly valued in the Powerplay club. The woman could outcook Martha Stewart.

  “Then yesterday, you lost a case and hardly even mentioned it. I’ve only ever known you to lose a case one other time, and when that happened, you were furious for weeks afterwards.”

  “Different case,” Teague said dismissively. “I expected to lose this one, as the client was blatantly violating federal EPA regulations. We came up with a decent counterargument, but even we couldn’t deny that the company had violated the Hudson Act.”

  Derek shook his head. “Nope. I know you better than that. You hate to lose—as do most of us—and yesterday, it simply didn’t bother you. The only logical explanation is that you’re getting laid regularly, but I’ve never known you to have problems getting laid either, so that doesn’t seem exceptional if it’s true.”

  Teague fiddled with the label on his beer bottle, listening to Scott and Jeff bicker about their game.

  He finally looked up at his friend, who was simply watching him—waiting.

  “It’s possible I’m seeing someone in particular,” Teague finally admitted, a little part of him reveling in the opportunity to tell someone just how amazing Deanna made him feel.

  “I knew it,” Derek said triumphantly.

  “Knew what?” Jeff asked from across the room as he lined up a shot.

  Derek looked at Teague, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  “That Teague was scared of Senator Drake.”
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  “Who wouldn’t be?” Scott answered. “I think the guy was alive before the Emancipation Proclamation. He thinks anyone who didn’t move here on the Mayflower with a dick swinging between his legs should be working to serve those who did.”

  Teague shook his head in disgust, and Jeff and Scott went back to their game.

  “Spill,” Derek muttered softly.

  “It’s the reporter.”

  Derek nodded. “The one you neglected to tell us you were engaged to

  in college?”

  “Yes. The very one.”

  “And you’ve been seeing her?”

  “As much as possible, which isn’t all that much given that she’s assigned to cover my nomination and could lose her job if anyone finds out.”

  “Ahh, I understand now.” They both sat in silence for a few beats.

  “And how’s it going?” Derek asked.

  Teague tried not to grin, but it was a losing proposition.

  “That good, huh?” Derek smirked.

  “We have a long way to go, but so far things are…even hotter than I remember.”

  Derek chuckled, then sobered. “What about her family? You said she dumped you at their behest.”

  “She hasn’t seen them in over ten years. After everything that happened with us, she realized that things were never going to improve with them. I have mixed feelings about that. I feel vindicated in some ways, but I also feel sorry for her. She has no one now. At the age of thirty-two, she’s alone in the world. Apparently, her brother didn’t want to take sides, so she rarely speaks to him either.”

  “That’s tough,” Derek agreed. “Is any of that playing into you getting back together with her? Do you feel responsible?”

  “No.” Teague was quick to dispel that idea. Pity didn’t even make the list of feelings he had for Deanna. “I hate that she’s been alone, but I wouldn’t get involved with her because of that.”

  “Good.” Derek paused.

  Jeff cheered from across the room, and Scott stomped to the bar, where he poured a generous shot of tequila before slugging it down and slamming the glass on the counter.

  “Come on, you owe me another,” Jeff said, grinning.

  “You ought to have to come home and deal with me when I’m puking at midnight,” Scott grumped.

  “You won’t get sick off two,” Jeff answered.

  “I thought you couldn’t drink tequila,” Teague said to Scott.

  “Exactly the point!”

  Teague turned to Jeff. “Really? You’re going to make him sick because you beat him at pool?”

  Jeff looked guilty for a split second, then shrugged. “Not very sick, just a little.”

  “Why the hell did you agree to it?” Derek said. “I think I would have noticed if he’d held a gun to your head.”

  Jeff put his hands out to his sides. “My gun’s clear across the room in my briefcase. No guns involved. I suggested it, not really thinking he’d agree, but he did.”

  Scott ran the back of one hand across his mouth as he polished off his second shot and looked a little pale. “I thought I’d win.”

  Derek and Teague shook their heads.

  “I’m staying here tonight,” Scott said, heading toward the bedroom at the back of the condo.

  “You’re an idiot,” Teague added. “But call me if you need anything. My house is closest.”

  Scott nodded and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

  Derek leveled Jeff with a disapproving look. “This isn’t hazing at boot camp.”

  Jeff threw his hands up in defeat. “I’m fully aware of that. I was teasing, but he took the bait, and I figured he knew what he was doing. Really, I was as surprised as you are.”

  Teague looked back to the hallway where Scott had disappeared. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his friend wanted to feel like hell.

  “Well, maybe a night puking will remind him why he shouldn’t have agreed to it.” He stood. “I have to go. There’s so much work piled up from all the time I’ve had to take off for the confirmation hearings that I’m looking at a twenty-hour work day tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to have one of my guys in the private sector contact you first thing in the morning so he can start watching your tail,” Jeff said.

  “Thank you,” Teague said. “I’ll be ready for him.”

  “In the meantime, be careful. Take a taxi home tonight, not an Uber.”

  “Okay. I’ll give you a call tomorrow after I talk to him.”

  Jeff nodded, and Derek shook Teague’s hand and walked with him to the door. “I hope things continue to go well,” he murmured.

  “Thank you,” Teague answered. “I do too.”

  And while he exited the building and hopped in the back of a taxi, no sign of his shadow, he mostly hoped that Deanna was at home, because he needed her in a way that was fast becoming habit—a dangerous but completely delightful habit.

  Chapter 12

  Deanna’s cell phone rang with a California area code. Her heart skipped a beat as it did whenever he called, but especially today as he’d never called twice in one month before. In fact, Roland usually called no more than once a quarter.

  She answered as she was walking out the door into the hallway. “Hello… “ She punched the number one and the call clicked through.

  Slipping into the women’s room at the end of the hall, she stepped into a stall and latched the door.

  “Hi, it’s me,” Roland said quietly on the other end.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “I hope so,” he answered. “But I thought I should let you know right away. I had a visitor yesterday. Said he was from a newspaper in Sacramento and was interviewing inmates.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  He coughed, and she didn’t like the sound of it—thick and liquid.

  “No, I said I wasn’t interested in helping. But he was persistent. Asking about where I grew up and if I thought how I was raised caused my problems. I wouldn’t answer anything and asked the guard to take him out.”

  “Okay, you did the right thing. He was probably telling the truth, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “I think I should quit calling this number. It’ll be on the prison logs, and if someone paid off one of the clerks in the warden’s office, they could get it.”

  Deanna’s stomach sank. They’d been so careful over the years, but they’d never actually had anyone digging. And her journalistic instincts told her that someone was now. And if they’d found Roland, that meant it might already be too late to protect Teague’s nomination.

  “I’ll get a burner. I want you to be able to call me. I’ll send you a care package with the information. Is there anything you need?”

  He sighed and coughed again. “You don’t need to do that. You know they give me food and clothes. That’s all any of us really need.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she chastised. “I enjoy it. I don’t really have anyone else to buy things for. You’re doing some poor rescue pet a favor—if I have you to buy things for, I won’t adopt him and then leave him home alone fifteen hours a day.”

  He tried to laugh but broke down into a coughing fit.

  “Hey. Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah, just had this cold that won’t go away. Luckily, it hasn’t kept me from going to work.” He chuckled at his own dig.

  “Have you seen the doctor?”

  “No, they don’t think it’s serious enough. They offered me some tea at night before bed, but it don’t help that much.”

  “I’m going to call your attorney and get you sent to the infirmary.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  “Yes. I do. Even over the phone, I can tell that cough is something to be concerned about. Please. Let me make sure you’re taken care of.”

  “Okay,” he conceded. “I sure appreciate it.”

  “Of course. I…” She paused, unsure what she wanted to tell him—I care about you. I love your broth
er. You’re my family. I do it because he can’t, but I know he would want to. “I’m happy to help. I’m going to send you some nice slippers to wear in your cell, and all the new magazines. I also put some money in your account so you can buy more toiletries if you need them.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, his voice thick.

  “Just be healthy, and your attorney will get you to the infirmary soon.”

  They ended the call, and she leaned against the wall of the stall, her mind spinning with possible conspiracies. Her breath caught, and she slowly unlatched the bathroom door, leaning out to look around. The room was as empty as it had been when she entered five minutes earlier.

  “Don’t be paranoid, Forbes,” she whispered to herself. She stepped out, washing her hands before she called Roland’s attorney, who promised to insist that he be sent to the infirmary immediately.

  When she returned to her desk, there was a note from Brice waiting for her.

  Have a lead on something about our nominee. Check your email.

  Her hands shook as she sat and opened her email account. The article was from a Chicago newspaper fifteen years ago. The headline read Local man convicted of first-degree murder in gangland shooting.

  It was the story of Roland’s conviction for killing the little boy whose gangster father brought him to a drug deal. Even though she knew the details, it made her stomach churn to see it again. The email that included the article had another note from Brice: This is the brother who died. A quick Google search doesn’t turn up a death certificate but an inmate at San Quentin. I’d hope that my new star investigative reporter would have done a similar search.

  Deanna sank to her chair, burying her face in her hands. The word “fuck” came to mind. Add “cluster” to it, and it approached what she had on her hands. She lifted her head and looked around the newsroom. The glass wall of Brice’s office showed her that he was on a phone call, his back to her cubicle. She shut down her computer, quickly snatched up her belongings, and blew out of the newsroom as quickly as possible. She needed time to formulate a plan, figure out how to deal with this, before she faced him.