Fair Game

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Capo looked up at him. “What could be more important than this?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Senator Fair.”

  Capo looked interested. “Oh, yeah? Are we escorting a motorcade or something? I saw on the news that he was in town.”

  “It’s more than a motorcade.”

  Capo waited.

  “We’ve been assigned to guard him and his daughter for the next couple of months.”

  Capo’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Martin countered.

  Capo sat back in the swivel chair and said slowly, “I always knew Rourke hated me.”

  “Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Martin said, trying to sound convincing.

  “Two months of wetnursing some gladhanding politico?” Capo said. “Geez, I thought filling out reports was bad.”

  “You have to go home and get some clothes,” Martin said. “We’re going to be staying in the hotels with them as they travel.”

  “Why is Rourke sending you on this?” Capo asked. “You’re his boy, he’s your rabbi. Everybody knows he and your dad were tight in the good old days.”

  “He thinks it will be an easy tour,” Martin said lightly. “And we both fit the physical description they sent.”

  “Physical description? Oh, God, I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “They requested people of a certain height and weight to match the Senator so he doesn’t look out of place with us.”

  “Great. I wish I was a midget.”

  “Stop complaining and go home. Kiss the wife and bambinos. You won’t be seeing them for a while.”

  “Lorraine isn’t going to like this.”

  “Sic her on Rourke. He deserves it.”

  “Maybe I will. What do I do with this?” Capo indicated the report he was still holding.

  “Put it on Hadley’s desk. Just leave him your notes to fill in on it. It’ll take him five minutes. He can type.”

  “Ha.” Capo did as Martin advised, and then picked up his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder.

  “Are you coming with me?” Capo asked as Martin followed him between the rows of desks.

  “Looks like it.”

  “You just want to see Lorraine again. I know you like her legs.”

  “I don’t deny it.”

  “Why don’t you get married, Tim?”

  “You got somebody for me to marry?”

  “Lorraine has a sister.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “She’s twelve.”

  “Very funny.

  “She’s got her junior-high spring dance coming up soon.”

  “I just bought a new suit.”

  They passed through the lobby and out into the spring day.

  * * * *

  Meg Drummond sidled up to Ashley and whispered, “The policemen are here. They’re waiting out in the sitting room.”

  “What do they look like?”

  Meg grinned. “Cutest cops you ever saw. I think they sent us the PBA poster boys.”

  Ashley laughed. “How do they seem?”

  “Like cops,” Meg replied, rolling her eyes. “‘Just the facts, ma’am.’”

  “Has my father seen them?”

  “He met them and passed them on to you.”

  “I guess I’d better get to it, then,” Ashley said, putting aside the brief she was reading and standing up. She followed Meg out of the bedroom and into the adjoining sitting area, which had been fitted with a sofa bed. Her father’s quarters had a like arrangement.

  The two men stood when Ashley entered. They were almost the same height, dressed similarly in dark pinstriped suits. The slightly taller one had thick black hair and startlingly blue eyes, framed by long jet lashes. He was saved from a feminine prettiness by the hard, masculine planes of his face and the lean muscularity of his body, which the tailored lines of his clothes did nothing to disguise.

  He stepped forward, extending his hand, which Ashley shook. “Miss Fair, I’m Lieutenant Martin,” he said, his gaze level and direct. Ashley was conscious of the strength of his grip, the shoulder holster partially revealed when his jacket pulled back as he moved his arm. She looked up at him, saying nothing. In some subtle way he was not exactly what she’d expected.

  Martin nodded to indicate his companion. “This is Sergeant Capo.”

  Ashley shook hands with the second cop, who was also handsome, but in swarthy Mediterranean style, with dusky skin, wavy hair, and eyes like onyx gemstones. He was staring at her.

  “Gentlemen, welcome,” Ashley said easily. “My father and I appreciate your presence, as I’m sure he told you. We’re aware that a political candidate can never be popular with everyone, so we’re grateful for the protection.”

  She’s as smooth as her old man, Martin thought. The candidate was all iron-gray hair and Bar Harbor tan, and his daughter bore hardly any resemblance to him, but the infectious, intimate directness was the same. She had obviously been well trained.

  “I hope you have everything you need,” she was saying graciously.

  Capo was eyeing her as if she were dessert.

  Martin nudged him unobtrusively, and he started slightly.

  “We’re very comfortable, thank you,” Martin replied flatly.

  She had a polished porcelain beauty that she must have inherited from her dead mother. The taupe dress she was wearing flattered her light coloring, the appealing lines of her petite, slender frame. Jasmine perfume, no doubt ruinously expensive, floated between them, seeming to emanate from her ivory skin. A heartbreaker, Martin suspected. But in appearance and manner, a lady.

  “I assume there isn’t any reason to anticipate trouble,” she said pleasantly.

  “There’s no cause for alarm, Miss Fair,” Martin replied, his tone professional, disguising his reaction. “We expect this to be a routine assignment, but we’ll take every necessary precaution.”

  Ashley nodded, thinking that she could understand why he had been selected for this job. He certainly was no strong-armed type; his demeanor was more that of a business executive or a middle manager. Though she strongly suspected he could be very tough if the necessity arose.

  “Well, Lieutenant, I have things to do, and I’m sure you do too. Make yourselves at home, feel free to use the bar or room service. We won’t be going out until this evening, and then my father and I will be attending separate events. I assume one of you will be accompanying each of us.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Until then.” Ashley turned and disappeared into the bedroom, followed by Meg Drummond, who cast one curious glance over her shoulder before she pulled the door closed behind them.

  “Give me some air. I’m dying,” Capo said in a loud stage whisper, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall, feigning weakness.

  “Knock it off,” Martin said tersely.

  “Did you see that skin, that hair? Jesus, help me, I’m a dead man.”

  “Will you shut up, for Christ’s sake? They’ll hear you,” Martin said savagely under his breath.

  Capo stared at him incredulously. “What’s the matter with you, man? You had a hormone transplant or something? That is one good-looking woman.”

  “You’d look good too if you had a team of servants waiting on you hand and foot the way she does,” Martin said darkly.

  “A team of servants didn’t give her that figure. Come on, Timmy, the privileges of rank irritating you again?”

  “She was talking to us like we were a couple of waiters sent by some caterer she’d ordered up on the phone.”

  “I don’t feel that way. I thought she was very nice. You’re too sensitive.”

  Martin shot him a skeptical glance.

  “Oh, I get it,” Capo said. “Everyone else may be taken in by her, but not you, Timmy. You’re too smart for that, right?”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to make fools of ourselves the first day on this job, so will you can the dis
cussion of her assets?”

  “The other one’s not bad either,” Capo observed, ignoring him. “Not in the same league with the candidate’s kid, but not bad. I think she probably bites, though. She looks awfully efficient.”

  “Capo, this may come as news to you, but we are not here to rate the female members of the Senator’s entourage,” Martin said testily.

  “Ah, so she did get to you,” Capo said, smiling slightly. “Which one of them do you want to go with tonight?”

  “The Senator requested you,” Martin replied shortly. “He wants the higher-ranking body with his daughter.”

  “I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

  “Guess not.”

  “I’d love to escort Lady Ashley,” Capo said, sighing, “but if my wife sees a newspaper picture of me within five feet of that delicate dish, I’m going to wind up divorced. I’m safer going with the Senator.” He walked to the portable bar in the corner and got himself a soft drink. “Want one?” he said to Martin, unscrewing the cap.

  Martin shook his head.

  “Well, now we know how the other half lives,” Capo said, taking a deep swallow.

  “You’ve been here five minutes,” Martin replied dryly. “I don’t think that’s long enough to learn much.”

  “I got a look at her ladyship. That’s enough. She belongs in one of those magazine ads, wrapped in a mink. If I weren’t a happily married man ... madonna mia, o sole mio.” He downed another swallow of his soda.

  When Capo lapsed into Italian it was always a bad sign. “She’s got a boyfriend, Romeo,” Martin reminded him. “James Dillon. His name was on the list they gave us of people allowed free access to the Fairs.”

  “Oh, I haven’t read all that stuff yet.”

  “Well, do it. Dillon is some lawyer type whose daddy has a big-deal firm down in D.C. She met him at Georgetown.”

  “You remembered all that, did you?” Capo said mildly.

  “We’re supposed to remember all of it. That’s why they gave us the information, Tony. Now, stop trying to be cute, because I’ve seen that act before and it’s wearing thin, okay?”

  Capo surveyed him for several seconds in silence and then said easily, “Settle down, Tim. I was just kidding about the girl. I thought as long as we were on this joke assignment we might as well have a little fun. But if you’re going to turn into Sergeant Friday, I can play that game too. Any way you want it.”

  Martin met his friend’s gaze, and then shrugged.

  “I must be a little more ticked off about this thing than I realized,” he said.

  “Something’s bugging you, buddy,” Capo agreed.

  Martin dropped into one of the needlepoint chairs and stretched his long legs in front of him. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Two months of following her and her father around the state, watching the Senator shake hands and kiss babies,” he muttered.

  “Rourke’s idea of a rest.”

  “I guess it beats staking out your average murder suspect,” Capo said philosophically.

  “We’ll meet a better class of people on this tour,” Martin said with a wry smile.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Remember that baroness who poisoned her husband with prussic acid in his tea? She was pretty classy.”

  Martin laughed.

  “And the Senator’s politics are just a little to the left of ‘Yippie! Hooray!’ Maybe some of the opposition richies will get stirred up enough to make things colorful.”

  “Not too colorful, I hope,” Martin said fervently.

  “What time are they going out tonight?”

  “Eight.”

  “Come on. We’re off duty until then. Let’s go get some lunch. The restaurant downstairs is supposed to be the best in town.”

  Martin rose and followed Capo into the hall.

  Chapter 2

  THAT NIGHT, as Ashley dressed, she tried to imagine what the evening would be like with the constant presence of the policemen. She wondered which one would go with her, and how Jim would react to him.

  She smoothed the hem of her black crepe sheath and tried on two pairs of heels, one open at the toe and the other closed pumps. She settled on the pumps and added a string of mobe pearls with a diamond-and-sapphire clasp. She studied the effect, and then tried on the matching earrings, wondering if it was too much. She decided it wasn’t, and looked around for her makeup case to select the right shade of powder and lipstick.

  Her mind was occupied as she went about her toilette. She hadn’t seen Jim in a couple of weeks; he’d been busy at the firm and unable to get away, even for a quick trip on the shuttle. Dillon and Hunley was one of the most prosperous commercial firms in Washington, where there were quite a few, and Jim was the heir apparent. He had been courting Ashley since their final days at Georgetown Law School. Five years later, she still hadn’t agreed to marry him.

  He was nothing if not persistent. She’d turned down an offer from D & H to take the Justice Department job when she graduated, but that had not discouraged him. He pursued her relentlessly, and they were now an item on the D.C. social scene, drifting along in a quasi-engaged status that she was somehow too enervated to disturb. Jim offered social protection, he was an acceptable escort, he knew all the same people, and she needed someone to accompany her through the campaign. She kept telling herself that she would do something definitive after the election. That was far enough off not to be an immediate concern.

  She traced her lips with vivid red, studied the effect, and then wiped them clean with a tissue. That shade, combined with her white skin, always made her look like a performer in Kabuki theater. She settled on a pinker tone and then brushed her hair briskly, her thoughts returning to Jim.

  He said he loved her, and she believed that he thought he did. She was afraid, however, that what he really loved was the image: an attractive, educated Senator’s —perhaps President’s—daughter to pose before the family hearth with the next generation for the Christmas cards. Raised in a political family, she was very aware of appearances, and she could understand why he wanted her so badly. But she always had the feeling that anyone else with her background would have done as well; he had settled on her because she was the one he happened to meet. He was ardent and dutiful and even endearing in his way, but for her there was no fire.

  Was she wrong to miss it, to want it so? Was she selfish to look for more, when she already had so much? Was there really anything else out there, or had she just seen Wuthering Heights too many times?

  She didn’t have the answers to these questions.

  She put down her hairbrush and transferred her wallet and cosmetics to a beaded black evening bag, picking up a silk knit shawl from the back of a chair as she passed. She was ready.

  When she stepped through the door into the sitting room, Martin was waiting for her. He was wearing the same suit with a fresh shirt. He straightened as she entered and hastily stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking.

  “Hello,” Ashley said.

  He nodded, his eyes traveling over her from head to foot, then moving away.

  “Have the others gone already?” she asked.

  He nodded again. “Your father and Miss Drummond left with Sergeant Capo about ten minutes ago.”

  “I see.” So Martin was going with her. “Mr. Dillon hasn’t called up, has he?”

  “No.”

  “He must be running a little late.”

  As if in response to her statement, the outer door opened and Ashley exclaimed, “Jim! I was just looking for you.”

  Dillon crossed the room in three strides, ignoring Martin, and took both of Ashley’s hands, kissing her on the cheek. He was about what Martin had anticipated. He looked as though he had stepped from the pages of a menswear catalog, with carefully streaked chestnut hair, expensively understated clothes, and a “tennis anyone?” physique.

  “I missed you,” he said warmly to Ashley.

  She smiled. “Jim, it’s good to see you.” Sh
e turned and indicated their companion. “Jim, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Martin of the Philadelphia Police Department.”

  Martin stepped forward, and Dillon shook hands with him.

  “He’s been assigned to us for the state tour,” Ashley added. “He’ll be going with us tonight.”

  It was clear that this was an unwelcome bulletin.

  “I thought the cops were for your father,” Dillon said in a low tone, but loud enough for Martin to hear.

  “For both of us,” Ashley said shortly, putting on her gloves.

  “Can’t he just meet us there?” Dillon asked. He obviously wanted to get Ashley alone.

  “He’s supposed to travel with me, Jim. Please cooperate,” Ashley said with a note of suppressed impatience.

  Martin felt ridiculous letting her speak for him. But since he was not a party to the conversation, he could do nothing but stand by and listen to them discuss him as if he weren’t there.

  “Ashley,” Dillon said in a wheedling tone.

  “We’re late,” she said, and turned to Martin. “I’m ready, Lieutenant.”

  “Do you have to wear that?” Dillon asked, addressing Martin for the first time. Having lost the argument, Dillon turned his irritation on its cause, pointing to Martin’s gun, visible as he adjusted his coat.

  “Yes,” Martin replied tersely.

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Dillon complained, his even features mirroring refined distaste.

  “Let the man do his job, Jim,” Ashley said briskly, and strode from the room.

  The two men had no choice but to follow her.

  It was a silent ride down in the elevator, and when they got to the waiting limousine Dillon said to Martin, “Can’t you follow us in another car?”

  Martin felt his patience waning, but he managed to say levelly, “No, I’m sorry.”

  He got in front with the driver. As soon as Dillon and Ashley were settled in the back, Dillon pushed the button to raise the window between the seats.

  “Jim, what’s the matter with you?” Ashley demanded of him immediately. “You’re doing everything you possibly can to make that man uncomfortable.”