One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1)

by J Russ Briley

  “So, how was your day?” She dropped the lobsters into the hot, steaming pot and put the lid on. When she turned toward him, her negligee flared open, exposing the sheer black lace and satin trim of her teddy. The legs were cut extravagantly high and the sweetheart neckline showed off her breasts to the best advantage. Pushup pads enhanced her cleavage. The line from her stomach to her thighs was smooth and firm from all her Pilates work.

  Robert pulled himself back to the conversation in time to say, “Fine. Just fine.”

  Tracie immediately noticed Robert’s distraction. Knowing it was her physical presence that had him captivated, a feeling of power coursed through her. She pulled the negligee open farther, and put on her best coquettish smile as she raised her long leg, her toe pointed to rest on the handle of the lower oven door. Robert’s gaze focused on the underside of her leg as it curved upward. His passion aroused, other concerns in his mind faded. The days when Tracie felt sensual had become rare, and his animal instincts were unfamiliarly near at hand. He swept forward and wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, his hands pressing against her back and pulling her breasts into his chest. They kissed again. His lips moved to the side of hers, across her cheek and down her neck. As he moved one hand around to her breast, his lips descended to touch her nipple as it pushed out from under the lace. Her head went back, arms opening as she almost dropped the potholder. The buzzer went off, its raucous noise abruptly ending the moment.

  “Mmmmm.” Her murmur faded as she turned away to pull warm bread out of the oven. Robert had to move back quickly, or get burned by the door.

  Tracie clearly hadn’t been swept away by the moment. Her focus was still on her achievement. “I just can’t believe I got the job. You know the girls will be beside themselves when they hear about it.” She didn’t skip a beat.

  Robert felt the air escaping from his body, leaving him deflated. She was much better at turning on and off in rapid succession than he.

  Tracie gave the prepackaged hollandaise a stir and checked the asparagus for tenderness. “I think we’re about ready.” The fifteen-minute timer on the lobsters was counting down. “Could you put on some music?”

  The hunger that had built up in Robert fell away as quickly as it had rushed in. He walked off to the stereo. Pushing a few buttons and spinning the display with his finger, he selected a collection of light jazz from the stored playlists. His libido had sufficiently recovered to tactfully pursue this possible romance. He turned the volume to a soft level, filling the house with sound from multiple speakers in almost every room. Going to the cabinet, he pulled out the wine bucket for the table. It was a sleek design that would keep the Chardonnay chilled. He heard the timer go off.

  “The lobsters are ready. Could you help me with these?” She called.

  He went back to the kitchen and grabbing the steaming pot, lifted it into the sink where Tracie snatched the lobsters out with a pair of tongs. Safely on the plates, corn on the cob and pale green asparagus with creamy yellow sauce framed the bright red lobsters. Sourdough bread finished the table array as they each carried their plates into the dining room. Robert pulled her chair out, looking down her décolletage, with its teasing view of lace and skin. His hand caressed her shoulder, his fingers gliding forward down her exposed neckline.

  Her head tilted slightly back, her eyelashes sliding gracefully closed. “Oooh, that’s nice.” Then her eyes popped open again. “Come on. Sit down and eat before they get cold.” She leaned forward and grabbed her napkin.

  On and off again with blinding speed, he thought.

  Robert obediently took his chair at the head of the large table. Tracie sat at the far end. There was only one leaf in the table, but still, he wondered how romantic this dinner could be over the distance of a six-foot table? He reflected on how, in the past, passion would have let this meal go cold; or, at least that was what he vaguely remembered. He knew the passion could return after the food and wine were consumed, but lukewarm lobster, on the other hand, was a sin.

  They mimicked clinking glasses without toasting, and went to work on the lobsters. With hands prying and shells cracking, the lobsters were a messy meal, but they tasted great dipped in the hot, clarified butter, with just a hint of lemon.

  Tracie seemed to eat daintily, despite the barbaric shell cracking. She also ate quickly. Her voracious appetite had always exceeded Robert’s. He chuckled to himself. She couldn’t talk as much with her mouth full, and he could tell she wanted to keep talking. He knew there would be no touching until the meal was over, the dishes put away, the kitchen clean, the remains deposited outside in the garbage, and last but most important, their hands washed...several times. Robert ate a little faster, in anticipation of a little sensual exercise.

  The plates had been cleared away, and what was left of the wine was poured into the glasses. Robert stood leaning on the counter as he watched Tracie. Her long legs moved back and forth under the lace as she chattered about how great her event would be, and what dignitaries would attend. Tracie was putting the smaller pots in the dishwater when the phone rang.

  They seldom answered the phone, preferring to screen their calls through the answering machine, and checking the caller i.d. Robert walked into the office to hear who might be calling, just in case it was important. The machine finished its message and beeped. The caller spoke. It was Lorraine. She sounded upset.

  “Mr. Carlton. This is Lorraine...”

  Lorraine rarely called him at home. Robert picked up the handset wondering what could be wrong. “Lorraine, what’s the matter?”

  “Mr. Carlton. I’m glad you’re home. I know you’ve been expecting a call from Chris Stoker, so I thought I should call you as soon as I heard.”

  “Yes, Lorraine, I’m glad you did.” Robert thought she sounded uncharacteristically anxious. “What is it?’

  “I just saw a report on television talking about crime in D.C. I’m so sorry, Mr. Carlton. Your friend Mr. Stoker’s been killed.”

  “Killed?” Robert was stunned. “Chris Stoker? Are you sure?” He asked, knowing that Lorraine didn’t make mistakes like this. She would never have called him without being positive.

  “Yes, Sir. It happened Friday. They were interviewing his wife, Anne Stoker.”

  Friday? He’d seen Chris on Friday. It couldn’t be him, Robert thought. But Anne was Chris’s wife’s name all right. Robert slumped down into his chair, feeling disoriented.

  “Who is it?” Tracie stood posed in the doorway.

  “It’s Lorraine.” He answered. “Chris Stoker’s been killed.”

  “Who?” Tracie looked confused.

  Robert waved off the question with a feeble gesture, and turned his attention back to Lorraine.

  “Mr. Carlton?” Lorraine was asking, “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Lorraine. I’ll pull up the news online and see if I can catch the report. I’ll let you know if I need anything tomorrow. Oh, which channel were you watching?”

  She gave him the number of the news channel. He thanked her again, and hung up.

  “Who has been killed?” Tracie queried again.

  “Chris Stoker.” Robert answered shortly. He was still taking in the idea that Chris was dead. He didn’t think he was up to explaining anything to Tracie at the moment.

  “He was that friend of yours from school, wasn’t he?” Tracie remembered.

  “Yes.” Robert replied distractedly, opening his computer.

  “How did it happen?” Tracie asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m going to see if I can catch the report on the news.” Robert had opened the browser and was typing in the station to search for its web site.

  “Will you be long?” Tracie asked.

  “No, I just need to hear this.” Robert was completely distracted.

  “I’m going upstairs.” Tracie told him, leaving the study.

  Robert didn’t seem to notice.

  Robert sat reading
the report on the news station’s web site, while the video loaded. The site gave limited details, but there was Anne on the video turning away from the camera as tears filled her eyes and her voice failed. He gleaned that homicide had been called in to investigate, but there was little information beyond that. The story was about many crimes, and the growing number of murders in the city.

  Picking up the phone, he called Grady’s cell phone, but he got his voicemail.

  “Grady, Chris Stoker has been killed. It looks like it might have been a carjacking but I have a really bad feeling about this. Call me. And watch your back.” He didn’t know why he added that last part. Surely there was no connection to Grady, or to him…was there?

  Robert checked the alarm system on the house, made sure the blinds were closed and went back to the computer, surfing several channels, hoping to find expanded coverage about Chris. Washington considered it just another murder. It was on the Metro Police “MPDC Unsolved Homicides” page already. More than an hour passed before he stopped looking. Grady hadn’t called back. Robert grabbed his cell phone, and headed toward the stairs.

  As he passed through the hallway, he caught a glimpse of the kitchen garbage bag tied up by the doorway. Tracie had cleaned up the dinner, and the lobster remains would definitely need to leave the house. Grabbing the garbage bag, he headed for the garage. The alarm chirped as he turned it off, and he dumped the bag in the bin just outside the door. Re-locking the door, he activated the alarm.

  Everything in order, he grabbed his cell phone again and finally headed upstairs.

  Only one light was left on. Tracie was asleep in lobster fed bliss. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, undressed, and climbed in bed. He switched off the bedside light. Tracie, with a sigh, rolled over on her side toward him and opened one eye.

  “Did you take out the lobster?”

  “Yes.” He said quietly.

  With her arm wrapped over him, they cuddled, which was unusual, and nice. Her breathing returned to a slow, deep rhythm. He was still holding his phone when he fell into a restless sleep full of questions.

  Chapter 22

  Grady had been driving for fifteen minutes before he noticed the lights following behind him. Immersed in freeway traffic, and then the crush of commuters going home through the suburbs, he’d thought little about the car that seemed to be trailing him to the ‘burbs until he got closer to his house. Once he got past the newer developments, the houses got smaller, older, and the lot sizes got a little bigger. The area was thick with mature trees. Hills and valleys kept houses separated, and small streams had narrow bridges over them. With more curves in the road, it made it more obvious that a car was keeping pace with him.

  Grady become more suspicious with each turn. Watching the lights, he deliberately drove past his house and went toward the shopping area where he usually bought groceries.

  Pulling into the parking lot, Grady casually drove through as if looking for a parking spot. Under the lights he could see that the car was a basic sedan. Brown, or maybe grey in color. The parking lot lights made it hard to tell. Reaching the far side, he pulled back out onto the main road. Seeing the car follow, he stomped on the gas and took the nearest turn. Barreling down the neighborhood streets, he kept turning. He knew the area and avoided the dead ends. Concentrating on driving, he didn’t look back right away. When he did, he was pleased there were no longer any headlights in his mirror. Continuing to move through the neighborhood at a much slower speed, Grady kept an eye out. Though he had managed to lose site of the car, he was still uneasy. To test the situation, Grady came out on the main road, and then ducked off again. No one followed him, so he headed back, eventually coming out well away from the shopping area where he had started. He had not seen the suspicious car lights again.

  Feeling triumphant, but also a little bit stupid for being paranoid, he made his way back home. “Ridiculous,” he thought, “nobody is following me.”

  With few major intersections in the area, the only road that headed directly home took him past the same grocery store. He didn’t see the brown sedan as it pulled out of the parking lot, well after he had passed it.

  What Grady didn’t know was that his tail didn’t have to follow him anymore. He had turned back to wait in the parking lot once he’d realized Grady was aware of his car. He’d only followed Grady to find out if he was meeting with someone else. His associate would be quietly parked a few houses down from Grady’s. He started dialing the associate’s cell phone, but realized he’d lost his signal.

  When he pulled up behind the other car, he got out and walked up to the passenger door. With a look through the window, he got in.

  “I saw him come home.” His associate said.

  “Yeah, he didn’t stop anywhere after the bar.”

  “Any word?” The associate asked.

  “No, nothing. I had a signal before, but not here. You?”

  “No bars on the phone,” the man answered, “but the orders were plain enough. Make sure he makes the connection between Stoker and the NSA. Barge in, and demand to know what he has learned. Rough him up a little and tell him to back off.”

  “Yeah, well, I think they made the connection while they were at the bar.” The first man told him.

  “So, we’re still on, and no new orders?” The associate confirmed.

  “That’s how I read it, but I don’t like going forward without confirmation.”

  “You want to tell him you decided not to do what he said?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me, either. Give it another fifteen minutes and let’s get this done.” A sneering grin crept across his face.

  “Roger that.” The man answered.

  Grady’s house was like most of those along the narrow road. Built in the sixties, the brick-sided house had a small front porch. The garage was an add-on near the kitchen, and the trees on the property were large and mature. The house sat on a rectangular acre. A low rock wall bordered the property, running along the road. Grady parked in the center of the two-car garage. The left side was cluttered with yard equipment and woodworking tools. The right side was dedicated to his 1999 Yamaha Road Star, the first model year the big cruiser came out.

  Grady got out of the Jeep and started to walk out of the garage when he noticed that his security light was off. Reaching over next to the door opener button, he flicked the security light timer switch off and on again. “Damn thing. Five year guarantee, my ass.” He’d have to get a new timer. He punched the button that closed the garage door and went into the house.

  Chapter 23

  Grady sat watching TV. The bone of a grilled steak lay on a plate next to the empty skin of a microwaved potato. Nothing was on TV that interested him, so he turned on the news. Grady’s fantasy football team was already set for the weekend, but there might be some update on the Redskins. Most nights he would eat, then work. If he got home early, he would exercise first, eat, and watch TV the rest of the evening. The routine was getting pretty dull. He looked over at the picture of his wife sitting on the roll top desk. She had died of cancer three years earlier. She had been smiling at him as he’d taken her picture, the big red hibiscus flowers from their honeymoon lanai in Hawaii framing her face. Most nights he would look at her picture and re-read the inscription below it.

  “I think of you nightly

  From a distance too far,

  And smile at the memories

  That became who you are.”

  Love, Keisha

  “Hey baby,” he said, toasting her with the last of his beer.

  “Love at first sight,” his friends had kidded him, but it was true. They had met at an Academy Senior’s party and within a few short months, they were married. It had been a massive wedding, the day after his graduation at the Academy. It had taken place in the cathedral-roofed, stunningly designed Air Force Academy Chapel, complete with dress uniforms, drawn sabers, and the Corps of Cadets in attendance. Keisha’s dark skin had glowed, enhanced by
her off-white lace, classic Grace Kelly inspired gown. It had been storybook all the way.

  Grady’s fighter pilot training had been followed up by an overseas assignment to Germany, and fast promotions. Keisha’s elegant smile had charmed everyone they met. They’d been the perfect team.

  The cancer had come on suddenly. He’d been able to take leave, and was with her every minute of the final two months they had together. The first month they lived a lifetime of travel, flying to beautiful places, and seeking out sand and water. The last weeks were crippled with pain and drugs.

  They hadn’t seemed to have enough time to talk about children. Grady was glad for that during the painful last days; sad for it, now that she was gone. The nights were longer when he thought about her.

  The newscaster on the TV had been talking about growing crime in Washington D.C. when Grady heard, “Chris Stoker was shot and killed in an apparent carjacking gone wrong. We interviewed his wife, Anne...”

  Grady stared at the TV.

  “Mrs. Stoker, can you tell us anything about what happened?”

  “He was just headed back to work from a meeting downtown.” Anne Stoker told the reporter. “I don’t know anything about what happened except what they told me. It makes no sense. He just…it makes no sense.” Her voice failed her. She turned from the camera in obvious anguish.

  The reporter turned to the camera. “Mrs. Anne Stoker, wife of the victim is getting no answers from the police. As crime continues to grow…” The story line moved off to generalities, leaving Grady stunned.

  “Could it be the same guy?” Grady was thinking rapidly. “Coincidence, Robert had said… He thought he was followed, and now I thought I was. What are the odds?” Grady stood up, mulling it over in his head. He turned away toward the kitchen to get another beer.