by Dan Alatorre
Chapter 15
Dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin, Addleson set his silverware in the center of his plate. Cicely’s dinner remained mostly uneaten, but several more glasses of champagne had disappeared.
Bree sliced into her half-eaten filet mignon, lost in thought. Blumenthal’s campaign couldn’t be prepared to triple the security bill for the outdoor debate. Their team had to be kicking around options, the same as Addleson’s. She raised a piece of steak to her mouth and stopped halfway. “Oh, my gosh. Wait a minute. What’s Blumenthal doing, as far as the outdoor debate?” Setting her utensils down, she peered at Addleson, then Cicely. “We all have contacts over there. What have you heard?”
Cicely turned her nose up, reaching for her champagne glass. “I don’t know.”
“I haven’t talked to anyone over there.” Sliding his plate to the center of the table, Addleson crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table. “Not since I got the update myself. Why?”
“Because . . .” Bree leaned forward. “Maybe there’s an opportunity for us. What if we reach out to them—casually, of course—and see what they think? Maybe suggest moving the debate indoors because of the security issues, or even cancelling it.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Cicely sneered. “We’ve spent weeks preparing to—”
Addleson held a hand up, but kept his eyes on Bree. “Go on. How does that help us?”
“Well, sir, I was thinking. If I were to talk with them privately, behind the scenes, I could learn what their thoughts are. Maybe even informally hint that we’d be open to moving the event inside, like to the hockey stadium, where we can screen anyone who comes in.” She was lost in the idea, imagining it as it unfolded in her mind. “We get them to agree, even if it’s not one hundred percent official—and then we leak it. We make it seem like it was their idea to cancel or move, while also saying we want to go full speed ahead outside.”
Cicely shook her head. “You do know there’s a sniper shooting people out there, right? We can’t have our candidate be in an open, vulnerable forum with a target on his chest.”
“We don’t have to do it.” Bree smiled. “We only have to say we will.”
Cicely got up and headed for the champagne again. “It’s insane. Blumenthal’s campaign will never go for it, and even if they did, we can’t simply call a reporter and say, ‘Guess what the other side wants to do?’ It’ll never work.”
Rubbing his chin, Addleson’s gaze remained on Bree. A big grin slowly stretched across his face. “So—a game of chicken?”
“We make them blink,” Bree said. “We publicly insist on going ahead with the outdoor debates. Our guy isn’t afraid, he trusts law enforcement to keep the area secure. Why doesn’t G. I. Joe?”
“It’ll raise questions he won’t have answers to.” The candidate nodded. “Not without looking scared.”
“It might make us look crazy,” Cicely said. “Irresponsible.”
“No, it won’t.” Bree faced Cicely. “The pollsters told us—the people trust Rex. They like him. If we can deliver the message in a way that looks brave and not foolish, it’ll work.” She turned back to Addleson. “And we don’t actually have to go through with it. Once Blumenthal bows out, we’re home free.” Exhaling, she sat back in her chair. “And if they catch the sniper before the debate, we get ninety minutes of messaging—without rebuttal.”
Addleson hooked his arm over the back of his chair, smiling at his assistant campaign manager. “That’s a gutsy move, all right.”
“It’s shrewd,” Bree said. “We get them to move, and then we double cross them. We look strong, and if they change their minds, they look indecisive. We just need the right way to say it.”
Addleson sat upright, squaring his shoulders and raising his voice a little. “I’m not afraid of my constituents.” He pointed to the wall across the large dining room. “And I trust the good people of law enforcement to secure the area. They said they can, and that’s good enough for me!”
“So why isn’t it good enough for soldier boy? That’s it!” Bree applauded. “That will totally work!”
Putting a hand on her hip, Cicely frowned. “It better or it’s our ass.” She raised her glass to her lips.
“It’s the right move at the right time,” Addleson said. “As long as I don’t get shot onstage.”
“You let me worry about that.” Bree opened her purse and took out a notepad and a pen, scribbling frantically. “I’ll call their campaign manager and get a feel for things. They can’t be any happier about an outdoor event than we are. I bet they’ll jump at the chance to cancel or move.”
Coming back into the dining room, Cicely leaned on the back of her chair and glared across the table at Bree. “Simply as an aside—what if they don’t?” She waved her champagne glass as she spoke. “What if they sniff out your little scheme?”
Bree didn’t look up. She put her pen to her lower lip, her voice falling to a whisper. “The key will be to make it seem like their idea, even to them. I can call for a routine detail discussion. That’ll open the door. Then I’ll wait for the right opportunity and hook them.” She beamed at Cicely. “They’ll never see it coming.”
“Bree, you are absolutely cunning.” Addleson stood. “Hanging around Cicely has changed you.”
Cicely turned her nose up, sliding back into her chair. “Thank you.”
“Which brings us to the next order of business.” Addleson rubbed his hands together as he walked around the dining room table. “I know you’ve both been anxious to learn who’d be stepping into the role of Campaign Chair. You’ve both worked hard in different ways, so it was a very difficult decision.” He sighed as he looked at the two of them. “Cicely, with all your connections and big donors, you really set us up nicely.”
She sat up straight. “It will be an honor to serve as your—”
“But Bree beat the pants off you in fundraising, both in donors and dollars. Our base is twenty percent larger this month alone.” Addleson smiled at Bree. “I’ll formally announce this at tomorrow’s staff meeting, but I’ll make it official now. Bree, I’m promoting you to Campaign chairperson. Cicely will remain as assistant campaign manager. Congratulations.”
Bree sat still with her jaw hanging open. “I . . . I don’t know what to say! This is . . . overwhelming. I’m very grateful, and I’ll continue to earn your trust, sir.”
Cicely managed a thin smile. “Congratulations. Well done.”
“Thank you, Cicely,” Bree said. “Coming from you, that . . . well, it means the world to me. Truly.” She held her hand out. Cicely stared at it.
“Now, now.” Addleson wagged a finger. “One of you was going to be passed over tonight, but there’s plenty of work for everyone. I hope we can still function as the team we’ve always been. Ladies?”
“Of course.” Cicely took Bree’s hand, moving it up and down in what could have been measured in microns. “It will be a pleasure working with—for—Bree. My efforts for the campaign won’t slack off.”
Addleson pounded the back of the chair, smiling. “Terrific.”
“But it is getting a bit late.” Cicely pushed her chair away from the table. “I should probably be going.”
“Oh. Yes.” Addleson patted his pockets, withdrawing his phone and glancing at the screen. “Sorry. I forget to look at a clock when I’m working.” He straightened his necktie. “Yes, I suppose we should wrap things up here. I’ll see you both at the staff meeting in the morning. Thank you again for coming tonight.”
Bree rose from her chair, clutching her purse. “Sir, may I use your bathroom before I go?”
“Of course! It’s right down the—well, you know where it is.” He followed Cicely out of the dining room.
Bree stepped to the bathroom, almost closing the door but leaving a small gap. She turned the bathroom light off and leaned close to the door.
Addleson helped Cicely with her coat. His voice carried down the long hallway. “Now, are yo
u okay to drive? I’m happy to call a cab.”
“I got a bit of a cold shock just now,” Cicely said. “It seems to have sobered me up.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning, right?”
“Of course, Rex.” She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I have friends at the yacht club who’ve been saying they’ll host a fundraiser party for you. I’ll call them tomorrow and say their procrastination has resulted in my rival getting my promotion.” Pulling her collar close, she turned to the door. “The guilt alone should raise half a million dollars!”
“I like the sound of that.” Addleson grabbed the doorknob and opened the door, smiling as she passed him. “Okay, drive safely.”
“One more thing.” Cicely lowered her voice. Bree pressed her ear to the gap in the bathroom door, rising on her tiptoes. “Don’t trust your new Campaign Chair too much.” Cicely poked Addleson in the chest. “I’ve always suspected the conniving little . . .”
Rex groaned. “Is this some petty jealousy rearing its head? Because—”
“Call it women’s intuition.” Cicely glanced down the hallway.
Bree flinched, pushing the door almost closed, then slowly opening it a fraction of an inch. Her pulse throbbed in her throat.
“You be careful,” Cicely said. “I can see it in her eyes. That little bitch is hiding something.”
Cicely turned and left.
Easing the door shut, Bree sat against the sink and exhaled. She turned on the light and flushed the toilet, then ran some water in the sink. When her heart rate had settled, she exited the restroom.
Addleson was standing at the dining room table, a laptop open in front of him.
“Thank you for the kind words about the fundraising.” Bree crossed the room. “We worked very hard on that.”
“Bree, the more I look at these numbers, the more impressive they are.”
She peered over his shoulder. “Which numbers are those?”
“Well, these are your fundraising stats.” He tapped the screen. “It’s absolutely incredible. But these . . .” He clicked the mouse, causing another screen to appear. “These are your recruiting stats. Volunteers who reported they joined us because you reached out to them. Each one is pulling in much more than average, and it’s making all the difference. I didn’t want to say this in front of Cicely, but according to the goth twins, we could really be sitting pretty if we play our cards right.” He turned to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I have the lead, and I have the momentum, but your plan for the debate . . . That’s exactly the type of strategic thinking I need at my side to win. And we’re set to win, Bree. We’ll smoke Blumenthal and then knock down whoever they run in the general election, hands down.”
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “I knew we could do it!”
“Yep,” Addleson said, his arms falling to his sides as he stood there in her bear hug. “I think you’re looking at the next Mayor of Tampa—thanks to you.”
“I knew we’d get there!” She leaned her head back, then thrust forward, pressing her lips to his.
She lingered there, enjoying the warmth of his soft, full lips, and the scruff of his beard stubble against her delicate chin.
Bree stopped, opening her eyes. “Oh!”
She pulled away quickly, her jaw hanging open. “Oh . . . Oh, sir . . . Rex, I—I shouldn’t have done that. I’m—I’m very sorry.”
His face was frozen. Expressionless.
She looked down, backing away. “Rex, I apologize. It will never happen again.”
“No, no, it’s . . .” He cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “It’s an emotional moment. Heat of the, uh . . .” He blinked a few times. “I have to say, it’s—well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve been kissed like that!”
“I’m so sorry.” Heat rose to Bree’s cheeks. “It was completely unprofessional.”
“Yes, it was.” Addleson lowered his chin and gazed up at her from the corner of his eye. “That’s probably what was so nice about it.”
“Well, yes, but . . . I, uh . . .” She rubbed her neck. “If I’m being completely honest, I can’t say it was all heat of the moment.”
“No?”
Staring at her shoes, she whispered. “You’re very sexy, Rex. I can’t be the first woman who’s told you that.” Raising her gaze, her eyes met his.
He was blushing. “You . . . you’re the first in a while.”
He stood there at the dining room table, his face still just inches from hers.
“Are you, uh—are you in a rush to go?” Addleson took a step toward the living room, holding his hand out toward a desktop computer piled high with campaign brochures and binders. “I mean, I was planning on . . . the goth twins downloaded a pile of reports on my computer. I was going to have a drink and then dive into it, but I could probably use some help. You know all that data.”
“A second pair of eyes?” Bree walked toward him. “Couldn’t hurt.” She put her hand on his suit coat collar, sliding her fingers along the edge and upwards until they caressed his neck.
Addleson trembled at her touch. “Then you’ll, uh . . . stay for a bit?”
Bree tugged at the knot in his tie, loosening it. “Why don’t we set work aside for now and see if Cicely finished off all the champagne? I just got promoted. I need to celebrate.”
* * * * *
The next morning, Bree hovered over Rex Addleson, kissing her boss softly until she woke him up. She slid out from between the sheets, wearing only his t-shirt and a smile, and promising to see him at the campaign headquarters later.
“Are you sure?” Rolling onto his side, Addleson squinted at the clock. “It’s . . . five in the morning? Good grief.”
Bree clutched the neck of the t-shirt to her chest as she picked up one of her shoes. “I have to go feed my cat and harass a reporter at Channel Thirteen. She owes me a favor.”
Addleson sat up, resting on one elbow. “You have a cat?”
“No.” She rushed back to the bed, kissing him again. He ran his fingers up her back and into her long dark hair. “But,” she said. “I didn’t plan on spending the night. I have some things to take care of—and your neighbors don’t need to see me doing the walk of shame out of here.” She got up off the bed and slipped into her dress.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Get some more sleep, Mr. Soon-To-Be-Mayor. I will see you in a little while.”
“Bree . . .”
“Seriously.” She flung her head back tossing her hair over her shoulder with a wide grin. “I have to go.”
“No, I . . .” He sat up, the sheets falling away to expose his toned, bronze torso. “I wanted to say—last night, it wasn’t a . . . a . . .”
“A one-night stand?”
“Yeah.” He scrunched up his face. “I guess I’m trying to say, I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
“I know.” Bree balanced on one foot, pulling on a shoe. “I’m not a one-night stand type of lady, either.”
He shrugged. “So, what do we do?”
“Well . . . let’s start by me getting out of here and changing clothes before I come to the office, or Cicely will notice—and that stick up her butt might come exploding right out.”
“Geez.” Addleson chuckled. “Okay, what else?”
She put on her other shoe and walked back to the bed. “Then we’ll have a great day at work—and I’ll see you back here tonight?”
“That sounds good. Great, actually.”
“Good. It’s a date.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the nose. “Now, if you really want to become mayor, you’d better let your Campaign Chair get home so she can get to work.”
“Okay. Get going.” He laid back down on the pillows.
Waving, she slipped through the bedroom door and blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight.”
* * * * *
As she started h
er car, Bree’s phone buzzed. An email from Cicely.
Shivering as the BMW’s heater blew frigid air into the car, she opened the message.
The esteemed ladies of the Tampa Yacht and Country Club would like our candidate to schedule a lunch as soon as possible. If you can approve a spot on his schedule, they would probably appreciate it.
Bree chewed her lip. Cicely would normally go ahead and schedule that.
Maybe this is her way of being a pain, or maybe it was her way of showing deference to . . . her new boss!
A warm feeling washed over her. The car alert system dinged, pulling her out of her daze. The gas light had come on.
Bree checked the electronic gage. The needle was pegged at the bottom. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she muttered out loud to herself, her words forming tiny white clouds in the chilly morning air. “I probably have enough to get home, but maybe I’d better stop for gas. Can’t be stranded on the roadside when I have a campaign to run!”
As she looked in the rearview mirror and admired Rex Addleson’s new Campaign Chair, she put the car in gear.
“It doesn’t matter what Cicely Sinclaire, former spoiled debutante and current uptight socialite, does or says.” Turning the car onto Bayshore Boulevard, Bree gazed at the mansions and tidy lawns as they passed by her window. “She can sic as many of her snobby friends and well-connected elites on me as she wants. Everything is falling into place. No one is going to ruin this day for me.”
Chapter 16
The killer tapped the phone screen to check the time.
Seven-oh-three a.m.
Through the rifle scope, a man wearing a tan shirt and green pants started a commercial lawn mower. He drove it down the ramp of the open trailer and across the lawn of the car dealership.
The sniper’s scope followed him. The crosshairs stayed trained on the man’s chest as a steady stream of grass clippings flowed out from under the mower and toward the busy street.
