by Shelly Bell
“Yes, as the chairman of the Senate HELP Committee—the Health, Education, Labor, and Pension Senate Committee, which overseas public health and health insurance laws, including governmental agencies such as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Food and Drug Administration—I’ve come across disturbing statistics regarding the probability of certain life-threatening viruses crossing into our borders both naturally and intentionally.”
She cocked her head. “Intentionally? What do you mean by that?”
His expression grew somber. “I’m talking about biological warfare. Terrorists or even governments using viruses to kill our citizens and weaken our economy. Unfortunately, as you learned this week, Ms. Dawson, the probability has become a reality. Two agents in our Federal Bureau of Investigation conspired along with an alleged serial killer to smuggle the Leopold virus into our country from the Congo, in a gas canister meant to hold oxygen. It was only due to your bravery that our country is not facing one of its worst terrorist disasters since 9-11. Thousands of people may have lost their lives if the airborne virus had been spread into the Tuscany Casino. Which is why I’m proposing to increase our funding to Homeland Security and to both fast-track drugs through the National Food and Drug Administration and loosen restrictions in case of no alternatives.”
She frowned. That was the first she’d heard of that portion of his proposed legislation. “I’m sorry. You lost me. No alternatives?”
The senator crossed his leg, reclining in his chair. “For example, there are diseases with treatments that may not cure but will lessen the severity of the symptoms or extend life expectancy. If a new drug is invented that will cure the disease in a percentage of those suffering, but will cause severe side effects for others up to and including death, it would never be approved for use in this country. But let’s say there’s a disease like the Leopold virus that has no treatment, an airborne virus where eighty percent of those infected will die within days of transmission. We must approve those drugs for use until an alternative is available.”
Rachel continued questioning him for another hour until her throat had grown dry. Then she asked, “Senator Hutton, have you questioned why you were targeted by those seeking to release the virus?”
His eye twitched as he paused, a bit thrown off by her question, but he recovered quickly with a shake of his head. “I’ve thought about this all day, Ms. Dawson, and I’ve come to this conclusion: Infect the man who has been warning our country about the virus and send him back to Washington, DC, unaware of that infection. Within days, I could’ve spread Leopold to the entire Senate. I was selected as their nuclear bomb, unaware that I was programmed to go off. They chose me for both the irony and the opportunity.”
She wasn’t sure if she bought his explanation, but she’d wager most of those watching the interview would. “I’ve heard rumors that you plan to run for president of the United States in the next election,” she said.
His shoulders dropped, the tension in his body gone from when he’d answered her previous question. “I love this country, Ms. Dawson. My father was president, my brother was president, and someday, if God graces me with the opportunity, I’ll serve our country as president too.”
She knew she was playing with fire, but she had to see if she could garner a reaction from him. “You’re a national hero. Donations into your campaign must be pouring in faster than you can count them.” She held his gaze. “Contributions from, say, A Better Tomorrow.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I don’t know anything about contributions. I have people who do that for me.”
She flashed him a smile. “Of course.” She stood and offered her hand. “Thank you for the interview, Senator. It was absolutely enlightening.”
He didn’t move from his chair for a moment, and then suddenly he was right in front of her, a tad too close. “For me as well, Ms. Dawson,” he said quietly, shaking her hand.
She saw the same anger in his eyes as before, when it had been directed at Agent Gossner. Only this time, his wrath was directed at her.
The urge to flee overwhelmed her.
She yanked back her hand and circled around the chair for her purse. “My crew will be out of your way in a few minutes, but I’ll just get out of your way now.”
With homicidal butterflies battling each other in her belly, she bent and retrieved her purse, but as she straightened, a few items spilled out onto the floor with a clatter. She kneeled down, her hands shaking as she picked up her compact mirror. “I’m such a klutz. Sorry about that.” She stood and almost slammed into the senator.
He held her cell in his hand. “I believe you dropped this as well.”
She grabbed it from him and jammed it back into her purse, but not before she saw the words download complete on the screen.
The senator tipped his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Until we meet again, Ms. Dawson.”
Stumbling over her feet, she hurried out of the room and into the hallway, smashing into a familiar body.
His hands gripped her biceps, steadying her. “Easy now.”
Her heart spread wings and hope filled her chest as she looked up at her husband. “Logan. You’re here. I thought you left already.”
“I couldn’t.” He let go of her, his eyes dimmed with regret. “Not until I knew you were safe.” He blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great interview.”
Her hope deflated like an old balloon. “Thank you.”
She should tell him that the senator might be suspicious of her, but she didn’t want to be Logan’s obligation. He’d come only because he was worried about her. If he knew she could be in danger, he’d stand by her, if only to act as her bodyguard.
It was best to stay quiet about it for now. Even if the senator had seen the cell phone’s screen, he wouldn’t know what it meant. She’d be fine.
At least physically.
She’d taken care of herself for years.
But as she walked away from her husband for the last time, she knew she’d never fully recover from her broken heart.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A DAY AFTER Rachel’s interview with the senator had aired all over the country, she’d returned to her small house in Michigan and discovered she had eighty voice mail messages. Not only had she received calls for interviews, she’d gotten several job offers from prominent news stations across the globe. It should have been a dream come true.
Instead, it gave her a giant headache.
Even the offer from New York didn’t excite her. Regardless of what had happened with Logan, Michigan was her home and her friends were her family. She didn’t want to leave them.
Staring at the two empty wineglasses on her coffee table, she sat on her couch next to Lisa, twirling the wedding band she couldn’t make herself remove. “I never thought I’d need a publicist to keep the media away from me.”
Lisa had taken the situation into hand and was now fielding all her calls. She’d catalogued all eighty voice mail messages from most to least important. “You’ve got interest from all the major networks, but it’s your call. Personally, I’d love to see Barbara Walters interview you. She can get anyone to cry.”
She shook her head, a slight smile on her face. “I’d never cry on television.” Before Logan, she’d never cried period. But once she’d opened the floodgates, the waterworks kept flowing. How embarrassed she’d been to return to Paradise Lost and have Logan’s friends try but fail to console her.
But at least they were busy now digging through Hutton’s files. The app had worked well—almost too well. Along with the senator’s files, it had also downloaded the files from three other computers. Because of the way the program was designed, they couldn’t tell which files belonged to whom until they opened them. And according to Sawyer, there were thousands.
“Exactly,” Lisa said, adjusting her glasses. “Why not show your sensitive side?”
Curled into the corner of the couch, Rachel tucked
her feet under her. “Because I don’t want to be known as the tough reporter who cried. I want to be known as the tough reporter who kicked some ass and saved the world from one nasty virus.” Rachel angled toward her friend. “I’m not granting any interviews. I’m not ready to talk about what happened. Besides, I’m a reporter. I have no desire to sit in the other chair, even if it’s for Barbara Walters.”
“Have you heard from Logan?” Lisa asked gently.
Earlier that day on the phone, Rachel had given Lisa a quick overview of what had transpired between her and Logan. She’d also filled her in on their suspicions about Senators Hutton and Byron, leaving Sawyer’s name out since he didn’t want anyone to know about his ties to Paradise Lost.
“No.” She looked up at the ceiling, warding off the tears. “Guess there’s a good reason they say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
“Fuck that,” Lisa said, shocking the hell out of her with the profanity. “Listen to me. Both of you are just too stubborn to lay it out there. You love each other. That’s the only thing that matters.”
She’d almost believed that for a little while in Vegas, but now, the pessimist in her had returned. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough. I thought he accepted me. All of me. But he wants a woman he can control. He wants a . . . submissive.”
Lisa blew out an exasperated breath. “How do you know that’s what he wants? Just because he’s dominant in the bedroom and he likes his lovers to give up control to him doesn’t mean he wants a submissive woman.”
“What do you know about dominance and submission? You’ve never made a single comment about the lifestyle before.”
Lisa played with the ends of her short brown hair. “Before I became a born-again virgin, I may have dabbled in kink.”
“What the hell?” Rachel said a bit too loudly, knocking over a wineglass and Lisa’s purse on the coffee table with her foot. “How have you been keeping this from me? Does Kate know?”
“No,” Lisa said vehemently. “And you have to promise not to say anything.”
“Why? Why would you keep that from us, especially from Kate when she’s in the lifestyle? No one would judge you. In fact, I’m sure Danielle would give you a membership to Benediction at a reduced rate.”
Lisa looked down at her lap. “It’s a part of a past I’ve put behind me. Some people don’t deserve pleasure or passion or love.”
“I think I’ve come to know you pretty well over the last year or so. The woman who I call my friend deserves all that and more.”
Sadness registered in Lisa’s eyes. “That’s just it, Rachel. You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all. No one does. But that doesn’t mean I’m not your friend. I made a mistake five years ago that cost me the man I loved. Don’t give up without a fight. You may be a submissive in the bedroom, but you’re one hundred percent dominant outside of it, so don’t wait for him to come after you. Decide what’s most important to you, what will truly make you happy, and make it happen. Don’t lose your chance like I did.”
If only it were that simple.
“Thank you for revealing that part of your life to me,” Rachel said, patting her friend on the leg. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Even Kate. But maybe you should take your own advice and stop punishing yourself so that you can go after your happiness. You never know. You may find love a second time.”
Lisa bit her lip. “It’s not in the cards for me.” She rose from the couch and slipped her purse over her arm before giving Rachel a hug. “Call me if you need anything. And we missed you at Girls’ Night last week. Make sure you come this Thursday or Gracie’s going to march over here and harass you until you tell her everything.”
Rachel walked Lisa out and shut the door. Back in the family room, she picked up the wineglasses and brought them into the kitchen to wash. The rest of the bottle sat on the counter by the cheese and crackers she’d forgotten about. Her appetite must have stayed with her husband because it hadn’t come back with her from Vegas.
Rinsing the glasses in the sink, she was startled to hear the doorbell ring. She frowned as she turned off the faucet and wiped her hands dry on a kitchen towel. Lisa must have forgotten something. Rachel headed out of her kitchen and crossed her living room to the front door. “What did you forget this time, Lisa?” she asked, swinging her door open.
She didn’t have time to process that the person behind the door wasn’t her friend before it flew all the way open, hitting the wall with a crash, and Senator Hutton had barreled his way into her apartment, the force of him knocking her to the floor.
As she lay there in shock, her brain not caught up with the moment’s events, Senator Hutton swung the door shut and locked it, the thunk of the lock turning causing her throat to spasm from fear. Clutching a gun in his hand, he loomed over her, his gaze glued to her as if he was the hunter and she was the prey.
With her in a heap on the ground and him standing right in front of her, blocking the door, there was no way to escape. He could shoot her at close range, here in her house, make it look as though a burglary had occurred, and no one would ever learn the truth.
Somehow, she managed to find her voice. “If you had wanted an invitation inside, you only had to ask, Senator.” She didn’t know what possessed her to speak to him like that, but she was shocked her voice had come out as calm as it had.
His gaze narrowed on her as he pointed the gun at her head. Attached to its barrel was a long cylinder extension. A silencer. So no one would hear the resounding boom when the gun went off. No one would even know she was dead.
Rather than cry or plead, her eyes dared him to shoot. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. Even in death, she refused to be a victim.
“Get up,” he said with a snarl.
He wasn’t going to kill her? Her surprise must have shown on her face as she stood.
Keeping his gun away from her, he used his other hand to yank her up, holding her tightly under her armpit. Then he nudged her back with the butt of the gun, shoving her into the living room and propelling her onto the couch. “You and I are going to have a conversation. If you’re a good girl, I won’t make you suffer before I kill you. But if you’re bad—there’s a part of me that’s hoping you are—I’ll torture you first and make your death as excruciatingly painful as possible. And trust me. I’ve learned all the ways to hurt someone without killing them.”
Since her only hope at this point was to keep him busy talking, she went for a basic conversation starter. “Why are you here?”
“Let’s not play games, Ms. Dawson. You took something of mine, and I know you don’t have the capability of doing anything with it on your own. I need to know who has that information and get it back.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have—”
Her head snapped back from the force of his backhand against her cheekbone. “Don’t lie to me. I wasn’t bluffing when I told you I’d enjoy hurting you. There are spots on the body I can shoot that won’t kill you right away, but will cause you misery beyond your darkest nightmares. Lie to me again and I’ll prove it to you.” He bent over her. “Who else has the information?”
“A friend of mine in Las Vegas. But he hasn’t found anything yet.”
He smiled, all teeth like a rabid dog. “His name. I want his name.”
“Sawyer,” she said, her voice cracking. “Sawyer Hayes.”
He jerked. “Of Hayes Industries?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
She hated throwing him under the bus, but at least Sawyer had distance between him and the senator. Not to mention, Sawyer was at his hotel, and as he had mentioned, his name wasn’t associated with it, making it difficult to find him for now.
She eyed the iPad sitting on her coffee table. Lisa had forgotten something after all. Would she come back for it tonight?
Panic shot through Rachel, making her heart race as if she was running a marathon. As much as she hoped for a miracle, she
didn’t want Lisa getting pulled into this mess. She prayed Lisa would stay far away from here.
“What were you looking for on my computer?” Senator Hutton asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She laced her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling. “Anything to connect you to Rinaldi or the release of the Leopold virus. Why risk your life by exposing yourself to the virus? With an eighty percent mortality rate, the odds were stacked against you surviving it.”
He waved his gun at her. “With Exulanab, my odds were much better. I calculated the risk and decided it was worth it.”
Thankful he hadn’t shot her yet, she asked another question. “What is Exulanab?”
“During my interview, I spoke about fast-tracking drugs by loosening the restrictions in case of no alternatives. Exulanab is one such drug. Three years ago, the FDA rejected the application for the drug’s approval for further studies due to the fact that thirty-five percent of those test animals that received the drug died within hours of the infusion from massive heart attacks. They were too shortsighted to see that while thirty-five percent might die, sixty-five percent would survive. That meant if one hundred thousand people were infected with the virus, sixty-five thousand people would live versus twenty thousand without it. Over forty-five thousand lives saved. Tell me, if you knew you had a greater chance of living if you took the drug, would you take that risk?”
She trembled. The man was certifiable if he was willing to expose himself to Leopold, which made him more dangerous than she could’ve ever imagined. “Probably. But it’s an awful gamble.”
He shrugged. “It’s one I was willing to take. I believe in this drug, Ms. Dawson. Now that the American people have seen Leopold and Ebola are not restricted to African borders, they’ll want reassurance that this country has taken every necessary precaution. What happens when the news leaks out that there are experimental drugs for these viruses but that they’re not readily available? How many people who died in the latest African Ebola outbreak could have survived if only they’d received the drug?”
