by Ana Barrons
If only his cellphone had been on that night, she wouldn’t have taken care of Mike and he wouldn’t have found her in his bed in his sweats and that tiny tank top, snuggled up with his little brother. And he wouldn’t have made the fatal mistake of touching her, or the doubly fatal mistake of kissing her. He had tightened the noose around his neck by making love to her last night. And Catherine had very coolly kicked the stool out from under him.
He lifted his head and gazed over at the spot where Blair Morrissey’s body had been buried. What kind of sicko would murder an attractive, vivacious young woman like that and bury her in the middle of a damn tourist attraction?
He’d watched Blair once at a black-tie function Suzannah had wangled him an invitation to. Long, thick blond hair, big boobs she made a point of showing off, expensive, tight clothes and a sexy aura that lingered around her like perfume. Men flocked to Blair Morrissey like flies to honey. There was something about the way she stood, the way she held a champagne glass to her pouty lips, the way she held a man’s gaze with an unspoken invitation that had the most conservative politicians drooling over her in public.
He remembered thinking Suzannah could have that kind of power over men if she chose to use it. Then he’d studied the two women—they resembled one another physically. Same height, same thick blond hair and blue eyes. It would be a very brave or very stupid man who admitted being attracted to the vice president’s wife, and Joe had mused that night that Blair Morrissey, blonde, attractive and vivacious like Suzannah—but with breasts the size of cantaloupes—would make an ideal stand-in for her.
He snapped his head up. Jesus Christ. Could Blair’s murder have something to do with Suzannah Mitchell? What if someone’s Suzannah fantasy had gone wrong? Or maybe someone wished the second lady dead and offed Blair Morrissey in her place. It had taken nothing but a willing dick to get close to Blair, but it was nearly impossible to get to Suzannah. Unless you had White House-level clearance.
Or you were Joe Rossi.
“Lucky me,” he mumbled.
* * *
Mrs. Z was peering out the window when he walked up the driveway and her grim expression told him there’d been a call from the hospital.
Evie was sinking fast.
He had to confront Tiffany’s denial head-on, and he wasn’t looking forward to the task.
“I’m sorry for being so short with you earlier,” Joe said as he walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and chugged some water. “The run helped.” He sighed and tipped his head toward the steps. “She upstairs?”
Mrs. Z nodded and handed him a dishtowel to mop his face. “On the computer as usual. Isn’t there someone who could come down and stay with her for a while, a close friend who could help take her mind off this?”
“Tiffany’s biggest problem is that she refuses to put her mind on it,” Joe said. “She hasn’t visited her mother once since she’s been in the hospital. I don’t want Evie to die before Tiffany has a chance to say goodbye.”
“What then?” Mrs. Z asked. “What happens to Tiffany when her mother dies? Does she stay here with you?”
“I never asked,” he admitted. “I figured Evie would tell me what she wanted Tiffany to do, after, but she hasn’t yet.”
“And if she dies before—”
“I’ll keep Tiffany with me if she wants to stay.”
Mrs. Z patted his cheek with a smile. “You’re a good person, Joe.”
“A coward is more like it.” He had put off having this showdown with Tiffany too long, but it wasn’t an option anymore. When Mrs. Z left he climbed the steps and knocked on Tiffany’s bedroom door.
“What?” She sounded surly as hell.
He stepped inside. “Can you lower the music, Tiff? We have to talk.” He sat on the edge of her unmade bed. An old photo of Tiffany and Evie sat in a small silver frame on her night table. Joe picked it up and held it while he struggled to figure out what the hell to say.
Tiffany swung around in her desk chair. “Hey, be careful with that.”
Joe met her gaze. “Your mom’s not doing well, Tiff. The hospital called and said they’re not sure how much longer—”
Tiffany shot up off her chair and grabbed the photo out of Joe’s hands. “Those doctors don’t know what they’re talking about.” Her face was pale, and her hand shook when she put the frame back in its exact spot on the night table. “Mom always comes out of it.”
Joe reached for her hand but she yanked it away. “Tiff, you have to go see her before it’s too late. Come with me now, honey. We don’t have to stay long. Just give her a kiss and—”
“She’s going to be fine!” Tiffany’s voice had taken on a hysterical edge. “Leave me alone!” She backed away from Joe. “I’m not going to that fucking hospital, so you can get the fuck out of my room!”
Mike appeared in the doorway, frowning. Frightened. “What’s going on? Why’s Tiffany screaming?”
Tiffany whirled and shoved him, hard. “None of your fucking business you stupid little shit!” Mike hit the wall and put his hands up in front of his face. Joe took two long strides and grabbed Tiffany around the waist from behind. She kicked and squirmed.
“Stop it!” he bellowed. “Mike, you okay?”
Mike was crying softly, and his eyes were wide. He nodded rapidly but stayed pressed up against the wall.
“Let go of me you pervert!” Tiffany shrieked.
Joe held her fast against his chest, pinning her arms at her sides.
“If you don’t let me down, I’m going to call the police and tell them you touched my private parts!”
“Go ahead,” he shouted back. “Why don’t you call the newspaper too, while you’re at it. We can all be on the front page.”
“No!” Mike screamed. “No, no, no!”
That did it. The situation was spiraling out of control. If only Catherine were here to help him, to tell him what to do. He didn’t know shit about calming down a hysterical teenage girl. Catherine was around them all the time.
“Mike,” he shouted. “Call Catherine on her cell phone. It’s—”
“Fuck you!” Tiffany screamed. “And fuck Catherine! You get your fucking hands off me!”
Joe yelled the number to Mike, who ran into Joe’s room to call. Joe could hear him yelling, “Hurry up, hurry up,” and then, “Catherine! Come over! Tiffany’s going crazy and Joe needs you to make her stop!” Within a couple of seconds he zipped around the corner into the hallway and gave Joe the best news he’d had all day. “She was already in a cab and she’s making him come here!”
* * *
Catherine took the concrete steps two at a time. Tiffany was screaming obscenities so loud she’d heard them as soon as she stepped out of the cab. Mike was standing at the door waiting for her. He flew into her arms and held on tight.
“How long has this been going on?” she asked.
“A long time. You better go up there before she hurts Joe.”
Catherine raced up the stairs and stopped in the doorway, staring at the scene before her. Joe had his arms wrapped around Tiffany’s middle and she was kicking back at his legs and wiggling around like a wildcat. Joe’s nose was bleeding and there were red welts on his legs where Tiffany had kicked him. Tiffany’s face was beet red and wild with anger and frustration. It was like wandering into an asylum.
“See?” Mike whispered from behind her. “I told you. She’s going crazy.”
“Joe!” Catherine shouted to be heard above Tiffany’s screaming. “Put her down.”
“Yeah, you fucking pervert,” Tiffany shouted. “Put me down!”
“Tiffany!” Catherine said in a loud, authoritative voice. “Stop using that language this minute or I’ll tell Joe to keep holding you until you do.”
“Okay!” Tiffany snapped.
“Put her
down, Joe. And leave the room.”
Joe looked at Catherine like she had two heads. “She’s out of control,” he said. “She might hurt you.”
“She has no reason to hurt me. Whatever she’s upset about has nothing to do with me, so we’ll be fine alone together. Right, Tiff?”
Tiffany had gone limp in Joe’s arms and was breathing heavily. Joe set her down and slowly eased away from her. He was panting and blood poured down his face as he came up beside Catherine.
“Put some ice on that nose,” she said as he passed her. “Otherwise it’ll swell. We’ll see if it’s broken later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He went out and shut the door as she had instructed him to.
Catherine went to Tiffany and pulled her gently into her arms. The girl began to weep immediately, her sweaty body trembling. Catherine guided her over to the bed, sat her down and held her while she cried.
“It’s not fair,” Tiffany sobbed. “She can’t die. She’s not old. It’s not fair.”
Catherine stroked the girl’s fine hair. “No, honey, it isn’t fair when people die before their time.”
Tiffany pulled back, hiccupping sobs. “How old was your sister?”
“Thirty-two,” Catherine said. The sadness rose up like a tidal wave inside her. Tiffany’s pain called to her own, and there was no holding it back now.
“That’s even younger than my mom. And she’s only thirty-five.”
“I know, honey. It’s not fair, and it hurts terribly. But Tiffany?”
“Yeah?”
When she spoke her voice was raspy with pain. “You have a chance to do something I will always regret not being able to do. You can say goodbye to your mother.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears. “If I had one wish, it would be that I could see my sister one last time. I would hold her in my arms and tell her...tell her I loved her.” Tears blinded her but she continued. “I would say goodbye and tell her I would never, ever forget her.”
When Tiffany’s arms came around her she hugged the girl hard to her chest, and they cried together.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The agent who patted him down was one of Suzannah’s regulars. He still didn’t know which one was Barry and which one was Dennis, and whenever he asked they never answered. When the agent was satisfied that Joe hadn’t lured the second lady to Garrett’s Restaurant with the intention of assassinating her in the middle of Georgetown, he went over to join Suzannah.
She was seated in the far corner of the high-backed booth in the darkest corner of the room, her back to the street, sipping a glass of red wine. Joe started to sit on the bench across from her, but she shook her head. He slid in beside her, against his better judgment.
“You can kiss me,” she said. “They can’t see us from their stools.
Joe laid his hands on the table and sighed. “What’s so important that you had to sneak us both in here in the middle of the day?”
Suzannah pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. “Does it always have to be something important for two old friends to meet for lunch? Although I still don’t see why you couldn’t meet me in McLean.”
“I work in the city, Suzannah,” he said dryly. “It’s not that easy to get away. And things have been tough with the kids.” Tiffany had been a zombie since she visited her mother in the hospital. In her struggle to deal with the reality of Evie’s imminent death she wandered around the house at all hours of the night, turning the TV off and on, flipping through magazines. Sometimes she sobbed quietly in her room, and Joe got up to comfort her. Neither of them was getting much sleep.
Suzannah went on without asking about the kids. “The hardest part for me was slipping away from my assistants. They’re so darn protective.” He’d heard she was meeting that morning with a charity group supporting Iraqi women and children, and she was dressed in an expensive designer suit. Every strand of her hair was in place, and she was wearing tiny pearl earrings.
“Wearing your second lady costume today,” he teased. “I was hoping for a more original disguise, maybe Pocahontas or the little mermaid.”
She swatted his arm, then slid her hand up his sleeve with a coy smile. “I’d rather show you my Lady Godiva outfit.”
Christ. He’d known it was a mistake to meet her, but he hadn’t seen any way around it. And he couldn’t go through another scene at the cabin. He pulled her hand out of his shirt.
“How do you know these guys aren’t eavesdropping?”
“They didn’t have time to bug the place. I only told them where we were going when I got in the car.” She smiled. “Relax, Joe. They’re not out to get you.”
He wished he had ordered a beer, but that would have encouraged Suzannah to keep drinking, and that would be a mistake. “Listen, I have a lot of work to do, so if you have something for me would you mind telling me now?”
Suzannah stared at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. “That’s it? Just like that? You want me to pass you some juicy information and leave?” She sipped her wine, undaunted. “Why don’t you ask me a question? Maybe something will pop up.” She cupped her chin in her hand, watching him.
He shifted, uncomfortable. “Okay, fine. What’s the latest on the handyman?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Why the hell do you think?”
Her eyes flashed. “I changed my mind. I have a few questions for you.”
Joe rubbed a hand over his face and wished again that he’d ordered a beer. “About what?”
“What’s going on between you and Catherine Morrissey? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”
He sighed. “We’re working together to get some answers about Blair’s murder. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unimpressed. “Why didn’t you bother telling me that you two had a long-distance relationship before she showed up?”
“How the hell did you—” Her triumphant smile told him he had confirmed what she already knew. “What did you do, beat it out of her? Because I’m sure that’s the only way she would have told you that.”
Suzannah lifted a shoulder innocently. “She’s a woman in love with a man who used her and betrayed her. Who better to confide in than another woman, especially one who’s known you as long as I have?”
Heat rose to his face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh? What was it like?”
Joe closed his eyes, clasped his hands in front of him and pounded them lightly on the table. “I am not, I repeat, not, having this conversation with you. Whatever has been or is between Catherine and me is no one’s business but ours.”
“So, you’re sleeping together,” Suzannah said. She moved a couple inches away on the bench, to Joe’s relief. “Are you in love with her?”
“Suzannah...” It should have been obvious from his tone that she’d overstepped the line. But once Suzannah had the bit between her teeth it was next to impossible to get her to back off.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Either you’re in love with her or you’re not.” She took another long sip of her wine.
Joe glanced at his watch. Which answer would get rid of her the fastest? If he told her he was in love with Catherine, would she get upset? Make a scene? Or would it signal to her that it was time to give up this game they’d been playing all these years?
“What if I told you I was in love with her?”
He had never seen a more startled expression on Suzannah’s face. It was almost comical. She stared at him for a moment, speechless. “Are you,” she stammered. “Are you telling me—”
“I asked you a question,” he said, hedging, yet strangely pleased by her reaction. Not because he wanted to hurt her or make her jealous, but because she was so goddamn insistent that she was the love of his life. It would be better for
everyone in the long run if he told her the truth.
“Maybe you were right,” she said, surprising the hell out of him. She shifted her legs and pushed him, trying to get out of the booth. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation. It’s late and it’s really none of my business anyway, and—”
Joe laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin with one finger. After a moment she met his gaze. Her eyes were wary, almost frightened. “I am in love with her,” he said softly. “I think I was in love with her before I ever met her. Now that she’s here I—”
Suzannah jerked her head back and batted his hand away. “I’m not listening to this. I know you too well. You might think you’re in love, but once she goes back to New Hampshire you’ll forget all about her. She’s just another conquest to you.”
Joe smiled sadly. “I’ve never felt like this about any woman before.” The unspoken words hung between them. Not even you.
She shoved at his arm, and he slid out of the booth. Suzannah was up and brushing past him before he could say goodbye.
“I’m sorry, Suz. You asked.”
She turned and her smile chilled him. She held out a hand and he shook it. “Thanks for meeting me, Joe. I’ll tell Sam you said hello.” Then she followed her agents to the doorway, waited while they scanned the sidewalk and talked into their collars. At the last moment she turned back.
“We both know this doesn’t change anything,” she said. “She’ll never be enough for you. None of them will be.”
“‘Bye, Suzy,” he said to her back.
* * *
Suzannah smiled warmly at Dale French and gave him a friendly wave as they walked toward each other outside Sam’s West Wing office. She was fiddling with some kind of pendant hanging off a gold chain around her neck. When she stopped in front of him, he stopped as well and greeted her. As usual, White House staffers moved up and down the red-carpeted corridor, crossing in and out of offices, most carrying files, some reading or making notes as they walked. Suzannah stepped out of their way and leaned against the wall beside a gold-framed photo of President Kennedy. Dale did the same.
