A part of him was pissed off, and he wasn’t sure why. If Yellow Bird didn’t come through, then James was going to ruin Maggie’s hard-won reputation by putting her on the stand. He was personally going to destroy the life she’d worked so hard to make for herself. If he were his father, it would be all in a day’s work. People got hurt. People got used.
But James wasn’t his father. He had personal and professional codes. And he’d broken the most important one by getting involved with Maggie. If anyone found out about him and Maggie, he could kiss this case goodbye. He could kiss the White House goodbye. He’d known that well in advance, but in his moment of weakness, it hadn’t been enough to stop him. It was almost as if he’d wanted to screw up his future electability.
But worse was knowing that, if he put her on the stand, Maggie’s name would be out there. And if he had to do that, the responsibility would rest entirely on his shoulders. It was bad enough that Agnes had already handed Maggie’s file over to the defense as a part of discovery.
James knew he was the one who hadn’t double-checked the wiretaps. He hadn’t played by the rules. He’d put her at risk. The least he could do was buy her something pretty to make up for it.
He’d always thought he was a smart guy, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where he stood with her. So he left her alone while he stewed in his own thoughts.
Not that that helped. If he was looking for clarity, he wasn’t going to find it. He’d gotten…involved, one could say, with a witness. It would have been bad enough just to have slept with her, but to have all these feelings? To want her? To worry about her? To have that urge to protect her, no matter what? He was hard-pressed to remember a time he’d felt this way about any woman, much less a witness. And that was the problem, in a nutshell. He had to get things back under control, and fast.
At one point, she jumped a little. He looked over to see a look of gentle peace on her face. The innocence of her beauty hit him midgut. She’d disappeared into the ladies’ room before boarding and come back out with her makeup on and her hair twisted up. Now, though, her lips were slightly parted, her head propped up against the window. A few pieces of hair had come loose, framing her face with softness.
That urge to make it up to her—he was going to have to keep that in check. What she needed, he realized, wasn’t payback. It was protection. Expensive necklaces and gadgets weren’t enough. He’d promised to protect her—and that meant not only from her past, but from his present.
The captain came over the intercom and announced that they would be arriving at the terminal in Dulles in forty-five minutes.
With a shudder, she shook herself awake, meeting his gaze with a hesitant smile. “Hi.”
She made him ache in ways that had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with his heart. “Hey. We’ll be landing soon. How are you doing?”
She stretched out, taking full advantage of the first-class seats. “I fell asleep.”
James grinned at the wonder in her voice. “That you did.” He again fought the urge to touch her. “This flight was much smoother.”
She gave him another tiny smile before she appeared to remember that she was mad at him. James didn’t give her the chance to retreat this time. “Listen, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you earlier.”
She froze, but quickly regained her composure. “It’s fine. Really.”
“You don’t have to keep any of those things. We can return the necklace when we go back through Minneapolis tomorrow.”
Pink flushed across her cheeks. “It seemed like a lot of money for fake stuff, you know? And I don’t have anyone to call, really.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Just you and Rosebud.”
He wanted to tell her that the money was worth it, because that particular fake was indistinguishable from the real, and that’s what he needed her to be on this trip. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded as the plane dipped toward Dulles.
By the time the wheels bounced down, Maggie had undergone a minitransformation. She’d smoothed her hair back. She’d squared her shoulders, straightened her spine and put on this air of superiority that even impressed him. Her polished demeanor didn’t falter when they got off the plane and found they had someone waiting for them.
“Mr. Carlson, how good to see you again.” The uniformed limo driver was standing in a crowd with other drivers, but James would have recognized the tall black man with graying temples anywhere.
James met him with a hearty handshake. “Desmond, we weren’t expecting you.”
Damn it, his mother knew he was in town. Why else would she have sent Desmond? At least this would be a good test of Maggie’s professional persona.
“Desmond, this is Maggie Eagle Heart, legal assistant to Rosebud Armstrong. She’s assisting me with a case. Ms. Eagle Heart, this is Desmond Pyatt, my parents’ driver.”
Desmond nodded deferentially. “Let me get those bags for you, ma’am.”
Maggie stood stock-still. James could almost see her trying to guess the correct response. “Thank you, Desmond. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Satisfied with this, Desmond took her and James’s cases and led the way to the car. Ah, James thought when they stepped out into the D.C. swelter, Mother had sent the Bentley. Wonderful. She was in a take-over-the-world mood.
Maggie hesitated before climbing into the backseat while Desmond held the door for her. James slid in after her and promptly sat on a thick envelope—the kind used for formal invitations. He glanced at Maggie, who was staring in shock at the custom leather interior, the built-in cocktail cabinet and the surround-sound speakers. Then she blew out a long breath and gave James the kind of look that said, Are you serious?
“This is my mother’s preferred car,” he explained as he opened the envelope.
“Darling James,” the note began.
I’m so glad you’ve decided to come home for a visit. I’ve had your rooms prepared and I’m looking forward to chatting with you about your plans for the future. Todd is hosting a cocktail party tonight, which begins at nine. Please be prompt, as Pauline will be awaiting your arrival with great interest.
Regards,
Julia
Double damn.
“Desmond,” James said, lowering the window between them, “please take us to the Watergate.”
“Mrs. Carlson has your suite ready at the house, sir.”
Maggie’s eyes got wider. He’d tried to warn her about this. Apparently, he hadn’t done a good job. At least they were safe from prying eyes here in the car.
“I’m not here for a visit, Desmond, a fact my mother is fully aware of. Take us to the Watergate. And knock off that sir crap. She’s not here now.”
Maggie shot him a wild look.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “Desmond’s been driving me around for—how many years, now, Desmond?”
“Going on twenty. Been driving you around since you were Jamie.” There was no mistaking the gentle teasing in the older man’s voice.
“Jamie?” Maggie’s voice was pitched low, so that only James could hear her. “Really?”
He grinned at her. “That was a long time ago.”
“Took him to all those dances—remember your first homecoming? Boy,” Desmond said, and James heard the sadness creep in. “Remember Stephanie? We sure lost a good one in her.”
Of course he remembered Stephanie. “Hard to believe it’s been almost seven years.”
“Old girlfriend?” Maggie had relaxed a little bit now, but he could see that she still wasn’t completely comfortable.
James debated not saying anything, because he knew this information was not going to go over well. But Maggie was going to be at a cocktail party with his mother and her chosen daughter-in-law. Odds were good that someone would bring up Stephanie. Knowledge might not be power in this particular situation, but it was a hell of a lot better than a straight-up ambush.
“Stephanie was more a ‘friend who was a girl’
than a ‘girlfriend.’ We went to a lot of dances together—the safety date.” Maggie nodded in understanding, but James had to wonder how many school dances she’d made it to. Not many, if any at all. Well, tonight she’d get a taste of what she’d been missing.
“What happened to her?”
“She died in a car accident.” Maybe Maggie already knew. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “She was married to someone you know.” He gave her a look that he hoped reminded her she was supposed to be a legal assistant. “Thomas Yellow Bird?”
She choked, her hand flying to her mouth. But she got herself under control and managed a faint “Oh?”
For a man who prided himself on a thorough preparation of his witnesses for any situation, he was doing a lousy job. The analytical side of his brain wondered if the befuddling effect Maggie had on him was to blame.
“Those were some good days, huh?” Desmond hadn’t picked up on Maggie’s shock. “Hasn’t been the same since you hightailed it out of D.C.”
This was familiar territory for James. Desmond appreciated his job and all the benefits that went with it, but they both knew that working for Julia Carlson could be challenging, to say nothing of his father. The car had always been a safe spot for both Desmond and James to blow off steam.
“You should come out west, Desmond. Might do you good to see life outside of the Beltway.” As he said it, though, he watched Maggie. She still held her hand to her mouth, and the color was draining from her face.
He and Desmond talked some more, but James wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. He was focused on the woman next to him. She’d ducked her head forward, so that it was almost between her knees. She was breathing heavily. He had to do something fast, or she was going to black out on him. He opened the cocktail cabinet and rummaged around until he found a can of La Croix seltzer water. It was the only nonalcoholic beverage he had.
“Drink this.” He held the fizzing can near her face. She weakly shook her head no, but he repeated, “Drink this, Maggie.”
Hell. This level of “overwhelmed” made the silent treatment look like a sunny day at the beach. But she took the can and drank it.
This was never going to work. Maggie wouldn’t be able to pull off the level of artifice D.C.—and his family—required. She was too honest, too innocent. Instead, he was going to drag her further down into his mud and if Yellow Bird didn’t come up with something else to use against Maynard, James would end up obliterating everything she’d made for herself.
By the time they got to the Watergate, Maggie was sitting up again. She took Desmond’s proffered hand when she got out of the car, and walked with slow precision into the massive lobby.
“She okay?” Desmond asked as he unloaded the bags.
“First-time flyer,” James replied, hoping that would be enough.
“I hear that.” James fished out a fifty and tried to hand it to Desmond. “Not gonna happen, and you know it.”
“Mother’s going to tear you a new one for bringing us here, Desmond. The least I can do is make it up to you.” Desmond gave him a long look before James tucked the bill back into his pocket. “Are we going to see you again?”
“I gotta drive your parents tonight, but I can take you back to the airport tomorrow. When’s your flight?”
James watched Maggie disappear through the doors. She looked as if she knew where she was going, but he couldn’t let her wander too far. “We might want to do some sightseeing tomorrow. Can I call you in the morning?”
Suspicion wafted across Desmond’s face, but he was too experienced in how D.C. worked to give anything away. “Sure can. Good seeing you again, James.”
“You, too, Desmond.” The two men shook hands, and then James went to find Maggie.
He hoped she was waiting for him.
Twelve
The key to surviving was not to talk. This was what Maggie had decided. Far better to let James do the talking with the front-desk people, all of whom were wearing fancy matching outfits and speaking in serious voices. And with the bellboy, who loaded up their bags. She didn’t know what to say, anyway.
Tommy had been married to James’s best friend. And she had died in a car accident. Maggie wasn’t sure why this information was throwing her for such a loop, but it was. If the world around her was a web of connections, she felt like a stuck fly, waiting to be some spider’s dinner.
And that car? With a driver?
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
The situation did not improve when the bellboy showed them into their room. Their apartment was more like it—the place was huge, with one whole wall that was nothing but glass. Leather sofas, nice tables—even the lamps were classy. The whole thing was twice the size of the little dugout house she shared with Nan. James took a tour of the place, but Maggie couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think.
James tipped the bellboy, and mercifully, the man left. Immediately, James came over and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
If she were really some legal assistant, she could probably come up with a witty, intelligent-sounding response that would make both of them laugh in that polite, not-really-funny sort of way. Everyone here probably did that. No one here felt as if they were drowning while they walked around.
“Breathe, Maggie.” James’s hands moved from her shoulders to her back, and suddenly he had pulled her into his chest. His scent—woodsy and clean—surrounded her as she struggled to get her mind working properly. “It’s okay. You’re doing a great job, sweetheart.”
“It’s not okay.” As much as she wanted to stay in his arms, she couldn’t. She pushed him away. The action freed her, and suddenly she was pacing in wide circles—because there was enough room in this place to do that. “It’s not okay. Tommy was married to your best friend?”
“For about three years.”
Maggie knew she was going faster and faster, but she couldn’t stop. She’d always poured her nervous energy into her beadwork, baking, gardening—something that let her work through it. Here? She had nothing but her feet. “Were you and Tommy friends? Before you were a team?”
“Yes.”
She would give James this—he was one cool cucumber over there. Part of her wanted to calm the hell down and be cool with him. The other part of her got angrier. Why hadn’t she known any of this? Did Tommy—did James—think she was too stupid to handle the truth?
“But he changed after Stephanie died,” James added. “I don’t think we’re friends so much anymore. Just a team.”
The way he said it—she couldn’t stop to figure out which friend he was sadder about losing—Stephanie or Tommy. “What about Rosebud?”
The question hung in the air. James looked miserable. She shouldn’t have asked that—she shouldn’t be jealous of whatever James and Rosebud had been. But she had to know—was James a love-them-and-leave-them man?
He half sat, half collapsed onto a couch—one of four in the room. “She thought I wouldn’t come to South Dakota—that I couldn’t handle the rez or the way people lived out there. She thought I wanted what my parents wanted—and, back then, I did.” He looked up her. “But now…I don’t know what I want anymore.”
Sweet Lord in heaven, he was serious. He was looking at her and talking about a future that didn’t involve D.C. or the Oval Office.
“What about me? What are we, James?”
He pushed himself off the couch and walked toward her. With more tenderness than she had ever felt, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, then cupped her cheek in his hand. With deliberation, he lowered his lips to hers—a simple kiss.
But one that changed everything, nonetheless.
“I know what we should be, and what we shouldn’t be,” James whispered as he touched his forehead to hers. “But we aren’t either one. We’re something else, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
They stood there, arms wrapped around each other, for what seemed like both a very short and
a very long time. Maybe it was peace, maybe it was acceptance of a situation beyond her control—but whatever it was, Maggie felt the tension leave her body. It was strangely comforting that he wasn’t a hundred percent confident about this fine mess they’d gotten themselves into. Maggie felt less lost, knowing that.
His phone rang, shattering the protective quiet that had surrounded them.
“Damn,” James muttered, more to himself than to her. He glanced at a huge, artsy clock hanging on the wall. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Something else would have to wait.
But for how long?
* * *
Dressed in her white interview suit and matching shoes, Maggie kept her chin up and her mouth shut as they entered the Department of Justice. This office had to have the same number of people scurrying around it as lived in the whole of Aberdeen, she concluded, which was disorienting enough. But Maggie also felt out of place. In South Dakota, she’d blended in. An Indian woman driving a beat-up Jeep was a part of the everyday landscape—something she’d used to go completely unnoticed for years. James had been the one to stand out back there. Not too many people wore the expensive suits he liked, or talked with the same inflection.
Now? The situation was completely reversed. Maggie could feel hundreds—if not thousands—of eyes on her. Judging her. Deciding if she was one of “them” or not. In that instant, she understood the expensive fake jewelry and the phone—and they weren’t even at the cocktail party yet. She’d completely underestimated the size of the magnifying glass she was operating under.
James, on the other hand, was all but invisible here. The place was crawling with serious men and women wearing a sea of gray, blue and tan suits, each one more tailored than the last. The Office of the Attorney General of the United States made their hotel room look like a hovel. Marble floors, oil paintings on the wall and furniture that was so large and polished it should have been in a museum. Behind a so-organized-it-hurt desk sat a middle-aged woman in a pale pink suit.
A Man of Privilege Page 11
