by Cindy Dees
She froze as she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror. She hardly recognized herself! She looked…grown up. Fully as sophisticated and elegant as Josie. The kind of woman a President might want to meet. What was she doing? She wasn’t about to change for any man, not even Gabe Monihan. She started to turn around, to head for her closet and her black leather duster. Hesitated. If she chose to look this way of her own volition, wasn’t that okay?
Screw it. For once, she was going to put her best foot forward. No more hiding her beauty and trying to look like something her sister wasn’t. Today she wanted to be pretty. And if that happened to be because she was hoping to see a guy she had the hots for, so be it. She turned and headed for her living room. Besides, this look would shock Josie even worse than the clean-cut Secret Service agent waiting for her. And shocking her big sister was still one of the most gratifying things Diana did in life.
Sure enough, Josie stared in outright disbelief as she rounded the corner into the room. Even the Secret Service agent did a double take. Well, sheesh. It wasn’t as though she looked that bad the rest of the time! The Secret Service agent collected himself and headed for the front door. Still staring, Josie picked up her coat and accompanied them outside.
As she slid into the front seat of the agent’s car, Diana waved cheerily at Josie. She called out, “Say hi to Mom and Dad for me. Lock up when you leave.”
The agent pulled away from the curb, and Diana grinned. She hadn’t seen Josie that off balance since Diego proposed to her on New Year’s Eve in front of the whole family.
She turned to the agent beside her. “So. Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead he said, “May I see some picture identification that proves you’re Diana Lockworth?”
She dug in her purse and pulled out her military ID and driver’s license. The agent glanced at them while he drove and then passed them back to her. She replied, “I don’t mean to be rude, but could I see some ID, as well? I’ve already been kidnapped once today by someone who wasn’t who he claimed to be.”
The agent’s head whipped her way. Fortunately, they were stopped at a red light and he didn’t drive off the road. He passed her his Secret Service ID card in turn. His name was Trent Tilman. She returned his ID card without comment.
He asked briskly, “Am I correct that you have a Top Secret security clearance with a Special Background Investigation?”
She did, and that SBI clearance had been a bear to get, given her family’s checkered past. Aloud, she answered, “That’s correct.”
“You’re going to have to sign several security documents when we get where we’re going regarding not revealing where I take you.”
“Fair enough.”
The conversation lapsed, and the agent drove in silence. He wound his way through a good chunk of Washington, D.C., and surprised her by turning into an alley that ran between a couple of vacant warehouses. She was even more surprised when he reached up to his sun visor, activated what looked like a garage door opener and proceeded to drive inside one of the big buildings. Was this guy on the up-and-up, or had she done it again and gotten into a car with someone out to kidnap her or worse? The muscles across her shoulders tightened abruptly.
She looked out the windows at the dim, cavernous space. Only a few narrow cement columns broke up the expanse, and steel girders disappeared into the gloom high overhead. Not good. She had zero options to make a break from this guy and get under cover. He’d shoot her down like a fish in a barrel with that weapon bulging under his coat in his right armpit. At least there was just the one guy in this empty shell of a building.
A sudden flurry of movement made her jump. A half-dozen men jumped out of the shadows, pointing guns at their car. Crud.
Agent Tilman turned off the ignition and sat still with his hands on top of the steering wheel. He murmured over at her, “Put your hands on the dashboard.”
“What’s going on here? Are we being robbed, or are you just kidnapping me?”
Tilman grinned. “Neither. It’s standard procedure in a high-threat situation for the Secret Service to treat everyone who approaches as a hostile until positive ID is made.”
“So you recognize these jokers?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. If they weren’t in the Service, I’d be shooting as we speak and ramming through the door with my car.”
She replied dryly, “Duly noted.”
She stared out at the grim-faced men advancing on their car like a SWAT team. Some welcoming committee. But then, she couldn’t blame these guys for being tense after the last couple hours. Someone had just tried to assassinate their man.
An agent opened her door and ordered her to get out of the car. Slowly. She complied, handing over her identification very carefully. This time, the agent carted off her various IDs and disappeared. These guys weren’t any more talkative than Agent Tilman, and she stood stock-still by the side of the car for several interminable minutes. She certainly didn’t want to give any of these guys a reason to pull the trigger. Finally, the guy with her papers returned and nodded to the others. The guns went down, and all the tense shoulders in the area—including hers—relaxed noticeably.
Agent Tilman strolled up to her. “You passed muster. If you’ll come with me, Agent Haas is anxious to speak with you right away.”
He led her over to a door and opened it to reveal a long staircase. He descended it quickly and she followed close on his heels. But when he stopped at the matching door at the bottom without opening it, she nearly bumped into him.
He turned around to face her. “You’ll need to put this on.” He held out a black cloth eye mask like a traveler might use to help them sleep.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, ma’am. You’ll have to be blindfolded for the next part of this.”
His tone of voice was implacable. She sighed and took the mask. She slipped it on, and started as hands touched her face, checking the security of the stupid thing. The hands withdrew, but then one of them took her firmly by the elbow. “This way.”
She stumbled forward. A rush of air blew against her face as the door squeaked open. Sound echoed around her as she stepped into what must be a very large space. Underground? What was this place? But she had no more time to consider it as Agent Tilman tugged her forward. She stumbled again as he led her into some sort of enclosed space. And then he guided her down into what felt like a hard plastic chair. It lurched. A vehicle of some kind!
They rode smoothly forward for several minutes, swaying occasionally as the conveyance rounded corners. And then it hitched to a stop.
“Let’s go,” Tilman announced.
She stood up, disoriented in the dark until he took her by the elbow and led her forward. Out the door, and into another enclosed space this time. A door opened and they stepped through it, and then her ears popped as some sort of pressure seal closed behind her. Where in the world were they now? She walked down what felt like a short hallway, and into another room. And then, without warning, the blindfold was lifted away from her face. She blinked, squinting into the bright, artificial light.
And Gabe smiled down at her. “Welcome to the bunker, Diana.”
Her impulse was to step forward and fling her arms around Gabe’s neck, but she dared not. For one thing, his security detail would tackle her. Plus, he was nearly the President of the United States.
Instead, she merely sighed, “Thank God you’re safe.”
He murmured back, “Thank God you’re safe.”
How long they stood there, staring at each other, she had no idea. It was an eternity, but not nearly long enough. Finally, reluctantly, he looked away. “Owen needs to talk to you. I’ve still got to be inaugurated, and he needs to know everything you can tell him about any threats I might face when that happens.”
She nodded gamely. Gabe led her into a small adjoining lounge sporting a couple of sofas, a television and—hallelujah—a coffee
pot. She helped herself to a mug of its contents and sipped at the industrial-strength brew, reveling in the caffeine jolt that flowed through her veins.
Agent Haas motioned her onto the far end of the leather couch he sat on. She perched on it gingerly while Gabe sat across from her on the arm of the matching sofa, his golden eyes burning with intense intelligence. Man, he was gorgeous. Not only was he a hunk, but he was a brilliant one. A killer combination. She dragged her mind back to business as Owen asked her to start at the beginning.
The Secret Service agent interrupted with occasional questions. At the end of it, Owen sat back and stared at her for several seconds. “And you tracked down all this information about the Q-group by yourself?”
She frowned. “Mostly. I had help from some computer hackers who’ve probably earned a clean-up of their police records.”
He leaned forward abruptly. “Good work. I’m going to go fax those pictures you sent me to the FBI and the police. We’ll get APBs out on these guys and have them in custody in no time.”
Gabe spoke up. “Maybe we should send those pictures to the media, too.”
Owen nodded. “The FBI can take care of that. They love a good, media-blitzing manhunt. If all goes well, we’ll have these jerks in custody before you have to leave for your inauguration.”
She looked up at Gabe in consternation. “You’re not showing yourself again in public, are you?”
He shrugged. “I have to go out sometime. I can’t serve my entire presidency here in this bunker. May as well start this job the way I plan to continue doing it. And I don’t plan to hide for the next four years.”
“Gabe. These guys tried to kill you today!”
“Yes, and you stopped them. You’ve already apprehended one of them. We’ll get the rest of them soon enough. And then I’ll be perfectly safe.”
She frowned. And looked over at Owen Haas. “There’s more.”
The agent’s brows slammed together. “Like what?”
“My research indicates that the Q-group is being used as a front for someone else. Someone who’s pulling their strings. I’m not convinced that Gabe will be safe, even if you nail every Q-group guy my hacker buddies and I tracked down on the Internet this morning.”
If possible, Owen frowned even harder. He uttered a single, short word. “Who?”
If only she knew. But so much had happened to her so fast that she was having trouble processing it all. Her gut said there were connections she was missing. Hints and tidbits were right in front of her, and she wasn’t putting them together. She’d hoped Owen might see something she’d missed. But he looked as frustrated as she felt.
She sighed. “I don’t know who could be pulling their strings. Obviously, there’s a connection to Richard Dunst. A third party broke him out of jail. That says to me he’s working for the same person or persons who are controlling the Q-group. Dunst is a flunkie.”
Owen nodded his agreement at her analysis.
The three of them stared at each other in silence.
“Have either of you eaten since this morning?” Gabe asked suddenly.
Owen and Diana both blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “No,” Diana answered aloud while Haas shook his head in the negative.
Gabe stood up. “Let’s grab a bite to eat. I think better when my stomach’s not gnawing a hole in my gut. Besides, I’ve always wondered what nuclear bunker food would taste like. How about you?”
Diana grimaced. “Are you kidding? I’m in the Army. I know exactly what thirty-year-old C rations taste like. Not to mention what they do to your gut.”
Gabe laughed and held out his hand. “Come have lunch with me. I’ll bet one of the White House chefs is hiding down here, somewhere.”
She stood up, grinning. “I sincerely hope so.”
Lunch turned out to consist of poached salmon, tossed salad and fresh snap peas—just where a person got those at this time of year in a bunker far below Washington, D.C., she had no idea. It was a far cry from C rations, but then the company was a far cry from an infantry battalion, too.
As good as the food was, her appetite was off. She was missing something important. She could feel it. And if she didn’t figure out what it was in the next couple of hours, Gabe would still be in danger.
“Are you sure you want to be President?” she asked him skeptically.
He shrugged. “It’s not like I have any choice at this point.” He paused, then added, “And even if I did, I’d still want the job.”
“Why?” she asked curiously.
“Because I can do some good in the next four years. Maybe I can make my country and my world a little better place. And that’s a worthy thing to do with a lifetime.”
So. Beneath all that charm and social polish lurked a reformer. A doer. Like her. The discovery was comforting not only because it was a good trait for a President to have, but because it also meant that, at their cores, they were like-minded people.
Gabe surprised her by asking, “If you had a chance to run for President, would you do it?”
She flinched. “My family’s got some pretty ugly skeletons in the closet. I don’t think they’d hold up to public scrutiny very well.”
He snorted. “Like my family’s skeletons aren’t a nightmare? If you’ve got enough character, you can overcome all that stuff.”
She leaned forward. “Is that how you did it? How you got past all the garbage in your background? You compensated by displaying extraordinary amounts of character?”
The question gave him pause. “Can’t say as I’ve ever thought of it in those terms,” he finally replied. “But I guess that’s what it boils down to. If I do my best to do the right thing all the time, I believe the public will see it and respect me for who I am rather than judging me by my family and its past indiscretions.”
He could say that. He only had a gambling, alcoholic father who’d had the good grace to die in his past. She was stuck with a military scandal that had disgraced her mother and even sent her into an asylum. Even though Josie had cleared their mother’s name last year with her own stealth technology research, the stain lingered.
She replied, “At any rate, I think you’ll make an excellent President. The American people chose well.”
“Thank you,” he said simply. “For the record, if you ran, I’d vote for you.”
She started. “I’d be a lousy President! I’m too much of a rebel to deal with the Washington establishment peaceably for four years. And don’t get me started about world leaders and their antics.”
Gabe laughed. “Yes, but you’d step up to the plate and do what you had to in a crisis. Today is a good case in point.”
“Nonetheless, I’ll leave the job to you.”
The smile faded from his face. “This is a hell of a way to come into office. I start by killing a half dozen of the very citizens I’m supposed to be serving and protecting.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand sympathetically. “You didn’t kill anyone. A terrorist named Tito Albadian did. It’s not your fault.”
Gabe sighed. Eventually, the tight grasp his fingers had on hers loosened.
She had to do something to lighten the mood. To distract them both from the day’s events. She asked drolly, “So. How much longer are you going to be a slacker and dodge starting your new job? Honestly. Your first day of work and you’re already hours late. This won’t make a good impression on the taxpayers at all.”
Gabe smiled, a hint of gratitude in his twinkling eyes. “I’m scheduled to take the oath of office at 7:00 p.m. in the Capitol Building. We’re going to break into the evening television programming and do the deed without any advance announcements. Security around it will be insanely tight.” As her brows drew together in a frown, he added, “Really. I’ll be safe. In fact, why don’t you come to the inauguration and you can keep an eye on me yourself. I’ll put your name on the list of approved guests.”
She nodded. If all went well, she’d take him up on t
hat invitation. But after the kind of day she’d had so far, she couldn’t predict if the next few hours would go well or not.
“Who all’s going to be there?” she asked.
“Key members of the government, mostly. A few handpicked guests and none of the public. The media will be there in force, of course. We need to make it clear that there’s been a smooth transition of power today, and live TV coverage will get that message out the most effectively.”
Crud. Seven o’clock? That didn’t give her much time to figure out what was niggling at the back of her brain so tantalizingly. Maybe if she ran it all through Oracle one more time, the computer would see what she could not.
She looked up, startled. Gabe stood beside her, holding a hand out to her. She took it silently, and he tugged her to her feet, standing intimately close to her.
He murmured, “Thank you for shouting that warning to Owen. And thank you for your persistence and courage. I’m not sure I’d be alive right now if it weren’t for you.”
Damned if she didn’t feel a blush stealing into her cheeks. “Uh, my pleasure,” she mumbled abashed.
Gabe chuckled. It was a sexy sound. Private. Personal. “I highly doubt it was pleasurable chasing down a terrorist single-handed,” he murmured.
She replied, “Well, I’d never have met you without the help of the Q-group.”
Another chuckle rumbled through Gabe. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness for the Q-group, then.”
She grinned up at him. “May I quote you on that?”
He matched her broad smile. “Don’t you dare.”
Her humor faded. “Gabe, I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the day down here with you in your cozy little rabbit hole, but I need to do more research. I’ve got a really bad feeling about all this, but I can’t put my finger on what’s bugging me.”
