by Josie Brown
As federal crimes go, hacking his phone is bad enough, but it’s certainly a much quicker way to deduce if he was in fact the person texting Xia than the microdot’s surveillance would give us.
I gaze up at Lee in order to look him straight in the eye, in the hope of distracting him enough so that he doesn’t catch on while I pocket his phone. “Does it bother you, the amount of time Babette spends with Jack?”
He shrugs. “No, not at all. Babette loves…I guess the word for it is ‘diversions.’”
My back stiffens at the thought that he presumes Jack is that for her. “I’m sure Jack is flattered, and that’s all there is to it.” My brittle tone isn’t all an act.
“Donna, we both know he couldn’t care less because he isn’t attracted to her.” Lee’s smile melts into a grimace. “He only has eyes for you.”
I untwine my hand from his in order to place it on his chest. This act of intimacy must take him by surprise because his heart seems to have picked up its pace.
Oh, hell—I forgot to palm the duplicate iPhone.
If I snatch his, how long will it be before he realizes it’s missing?
I can’t think about it now. I’ve just got to go on the assumption that if I divert his attention long enough, Emma can scan it quickly, and he’ll never know it was missing in the first place.
I look him directly in the eye, even as I move my hand toward his inside breast pocket. “You can’t say you feel the same way about Babette?”
“When it comes to Babette’s fidelity, I’ve given up the ghost.” He sighs. “When I was asked to be Catherine Martin’s running mate, I should have passed on the opportunity. I guess my sense of self-importance got the better of me—as if I could truly make the world a better place, being a heartbeat away from the presidency.” He shakes his head at what he now sees was his naivety. “I married a beautiful, vain, insecure woman. If you think the Veep’s wife lives in a fishbowl with no place to hide, you can only imagine what it’s like to be FLOTUS.”
“But Babette lives for the spotlight. To have that position, you can’t be shy. And being beautiful is always an asset.” He doesn’t feel my palm on the broadcloth of his crisp white dress shirt slipping ever closer to the satin pocket holding his cell…
“Considering her ego, it’s all the more reason I should have said no. She approaches it as a privilege, not an honor.” There is such sadness in his eyes. “People aren’t stupid. The more they know of her, the more they resent her position, and how she misuses the power that comes with it.”
“Lee, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” I counter gently. My thumb and index finger inches closer…closer…until… “Every first lady has had her detractors.”
I’ve got it: his cell.
My next move may give him the wrong idea, but it’s necessary if I’m to accomplish my goal: I lay my head against his broad chest. Sighing, I murmur, “I’m sure that it’s warmer in here than it is outside.”
“On my way,” Emma says into my ear bud.
I see them—Emma and Arnie, waltzing in our direction.
Gently, I lift my hand from his chest…
And put it into my skirt pocket.
But for only a second before placing it back on his chest.
He shrugs. “True. But most first ladies were politicians’ wives for most of their lifetimes. Babette and I came out of the private sector. Our public relations training taught us to be daring and flaunt conventions, not kowtow to them. I have a sneaking suspicion that my dear wife’s endgame has nothing to do with my historic legacy, and everything to do with her own notorious place in world history.”
My ears perk up. “Lee, what do you mean?”
He frowns. “I’ve never had to paint a picture for you, Donna. My God, you know Babette as well as I do! Everything she does is for personal gain.”
I nod. Babette has given me lots of reasons to despise her, whereas Lee has given me none, despite the fact that too many times he’s been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jack doesn’t feel this is coincidence, but I’m still willing to give Lee the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty.
Besides, to Lee’s credit, once there, he’s done the absolute right thing, including undermining Carl. To my mind, that alone proves he’s not Quorum.
Arnie bumps into me—too hard.
Naturally, I let go of Lee.
At the same time, I slip the phone into Emma’s hand. She pockets it immediately.
“Oh! So sorry,” Arnie chatters. He’s obviously nervous. “Great song. Great night. Great—”
Lee laughs, unperturbed. “Partners,” he answers for Arnie. Then he turns to Emma. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Emma murmurs, blushing bright red. “Why…thank you!”
“In fact,” Lee adds, winking at Emma, “may I have this dance?”
Oh.
Hell.
Emma and Arnie stand there, speechless. Finally, Emma turns to me, wide-eyed. “You don’t mind…do you?”
“Not at all.” I’m grinning like a jack-o-lantern. A part of me wants to cry, while another part of me wants to burst out and guffaw at our predicament.
Not that jail would be any laughing matter, for me, or these two new parents.
I give Lee a kiss on the cheek then I lean into Emma for a hug—
Taking the phone from her hand.
Her face eases into a radiant smile. “Well then…yeah, sure.” She takes Lee’s hand.
Off they go.
Arnie stares after them. “What the…Did you see that look on her face?”
I squeeze his hand. “No time to be jealous, lover boy. We’ve got work to do, remember?”
He nods, but he’s frowning.
He steps on my feet at least three times before we’re out of the ballroom. It doesn’t help that he can’t seem to keep his eyes off his wife as she glides and giggles with the President of the United States.
“Now I know how Jack feels,” Arnie grumbles.
I want to retort, What the hell do you mean by that?
But, of course, I already know.
“This way. I’ve scoped out the perfect place.” Arnie nods toward a small hallway leading away from the ballroom’s grand foyer.
It’s a small sitting room that includes a powder room. “The Secret Service has been ushering guests with tiny bladders toward the lavatories on each side of the ballroom’s entrance,” he explains. “We should have this one all to ourselves.”
Still, just to be on the safe side, as we enter, I shut the sitting room door, and then the powder room door.
Arnie takes the cell phone from me so that he can connect it to the scanner. I don’t like the droning beeps emitted. “Damn it! It’s got some kind of dual encryption. Let me see if I can break it.”
We hear the squeak of a door, then footsteps.
“Hurry,” I mutter. “Someone is here.” Silently I ease toward the door. As I turn the lock, it clicks so loudly that we both freeze.
I put my ear to the door to check for footsteps.
Instead, I hear giggles. I roll my eyes. “Whoever it is should thank you for disarming the security feed.”
He nods as he attaches the cell to the scanner. Immediately, the phone chirps—a good thing, from the way Arnie is fist-pumping the air. I watch as he attaches the scanner.
“How long will this take?” I whisper.
He holds up a hand. As each second ticks away, a finger falls.
Thank God, I think, when he folds his thumb—
Only to raise all five digits again as he starts the process all over again.
“Not funny,” I hiss. We hear moaning in the next room. “We’ve got to hurry! Eventually they’ll want to…er, clean up.”
Arnie’s fingers are falling again. When he gets to the fourth one, we hear another chirp. This time he holds his thumb high.
He’s swiping through texts—
His eyes open wide. “Bingo!”
Oh, no. Our target is now confirmed: Lee.
Everything I know about Lee is a sham.
It takes a moment for it to sink in. Memories flood my consciousness. There was the first time I saw him, on Fantasy Island, playing Dominic in Baccarat, then realizing he was Babette’s new boyfriend; learning that he’d bid on the right to own me, in order to keep me out of Carl’s hands—only to lose. Thank goodness, “Carl” was really Jack, who had come to save me.
Then there was the time Lee divulged to me how he’d been blackmailed by Carl into appointing him as U.S. Director of Intelligence. Together, Lee and I formed an off-the-books alliance to put Carl in jail.
Instead, I killed him.
Now I know it only helped Lee’s power play for the Quorum.
My faith in Lee Chiffray has been for naught.
I feel violated.
As gently as possible, I ease open the lock on the door. Not that it matters, what with all the moaning going on out there.
Arnie follows my lead as I inch my way through the bathroom’s door and through the room—
Where Jack is kissing Babette.
She is straddling him on a settee, her gold Herve Leger foil-print bandage gown is bunched at her hips. Her back is to us, and her head is angled in such a way that it gives us coverage from Jack’s eyes, so I can’t tell if they are open or closed.
Not that it matters. His hands roam over her as if they have eyes of their own. To be honest, it doesn’t look as if he’s on the hunt for her cell phone, unless he feels a full body cavity search will reveal it.
I stop, stunned.
Arnie bumps into me.
Before he can yelp, I put my hand over his mouth.
At the same time, Jack opens his eyes—even wider when he realizes it’s me.
I shake my head silently. He knows I mean I won’t make a scene.
Not now, anyway.
I tap Arnie’s shoulder to break his trance.
I don’t know which one of us wants to get out of there faster, him or me.
From the sad look on Jack’s face, it may be him.
Arnie holds up the cell and gives Jack a thumbs-up, to indicate that the search is over.
Now that we know Lee is our target, Jack has an excuse to quit groping Babette.
That is, if he wants one.
I tap Emma on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”
When she turns around, I can tell she’s truly surprised to see us. Her smile wavers, as if she doesn’t want this Cinderella fairy tale moment to end.
Apparently, Lee has worked his charm on her as well.
He relinquishes her to the scowling Arnie. “It was…grand,” she murmurs as Arnie tows her away.
Lee grins as he takes me in his arms for yet another dance. “I wish I’d had her as a teacher. I might have been an even better math student.”
“Emma? ...Oh, yeah.” Good for her for coming up with the profession of teacher as cover, on the QT. It fits, considering her genius skillset at computer science, cyphering, and analysis.
What a different life she might have had if teaching had been her chosen path.
Or, Lee’s for that matter. “I would imagine you were a wonderful math student. And businessman. Then, to have combined all of it into morphing Global World Industries into the tech behemoth it’s become.” Once again, I palm his cell phone, all the while gazing up in mock adoration at the man I now loathe with all my heart.
His eyes lock on mine. Despite his modest shrug, he’s pleased with himself. “I’m just one lucky guy. I was at the right place at the right time, had the right idea, and played it for all it was worth.”
In hindsight, he’s spot on.
The right place: working with the Quorum.
At the right time: during a management transition. Out with the old (Jonah Breck, thanks to Carl) and in with the new:
Lee Chiffray.
He had the right idea all right: to use the unwitting Babette as his entrée. Yes, I finally agree with Jack: she isn’t smart enough to carry it off.
And he played it right: by getting me to buy into his scheme to turn the tables on the competition—Carl.
Then use me to take down Carl.
“Imagine that,” I murmur.
While he preens, I rest my hand lightly against his chest and start inching toward his inside jacket pocket.
As he rocks me back and forth to the music, he replies, “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go back to the life I had.”
“Is that even possible?” I ask innocently.
We both know the answer: a resounding NO.
The smile fades from Lee’s face. “You’ve been crying,” he says softly.
I nod, though I’ll be damned to tell him why.
You lying son of a bitch.
As he wipes an errant tear from my cheek, I slip his phone into his pocket.
“Well, well, don’t you two look cozy!” Babette purrs from behind me.
From me, Babette aims for trepidation. Tonight, however, when I turn to her, what I offer is pity:
For the life she must live.
For the lies she must tell.
For the choice she has made.
The sympathy she sees in my gaze causes her to blush hotly. Whereas she came to triumph over me, she too now knows the tables are turned.
Jack and Lee realize something has happened between us, but they can’t figure out what, when, or why. Wisely, they pretend otherwise.
When Babette finally collects herself, she taps her husband’s arm. “Lee, darling, Narcissa says she left my cell phone with you.”
Instinctively, Lee reaches into his inside right breast pocket—
Oh, my God—
As well as his tux’s left breast pocket.
The cell phones are identical.
“Which one is mine?” she asks impatiently.
“Jesus, Babette, I don’t know. Just give me a moment.” He shuffles them from one hand to another as he tries his password on one.
It doesn’t work.
He hands it to her. “It must be this one.”
But which one was scanned?
Jack notes my confusion. I shake my head, warning not to say anything.
A moment later, Lurch and Zeb are by their sides, ready to shuttle them out of the ballroom. With their help, the guests will soon follow: time to call it a night.
Soon, a cavalcade of limousines, their back seats filled with tonight’s tonier guests, will make their way back up to Los Angeles. I’m sure some afterparty has already been planned to keep the festivities going without the rabble around to gawk and point.
As for the Hilldale natives, they’ll head off to bed, reliving tonight’s memories of hobnobbing with the town’s—and the nation’s—first family in their blissful dreams.
For Jack and me, it’ll be a long night for a very different reason now that we’ve narrowed down the POI list to two.
On the way home, my way of ignoring Jack’s attempts to hold my hand is to hold my hands together in my lap. Finally, Jack speaks first. “At least now I know why I couldn’t find her phone.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t for lack of trying, I’ll grant you that.”
“Frankly, I was never more relieved than when you gave me the thumbs-up. I thought to myself, ‘Finally I can quit sucking up to this bitch.’”
“That is a poor choice of words,” I warn him. “From the way it looked, the sucking was next on her agenda, not yours.”
Jack shudders at the thought. “That should be a point in my favor, don’t you think? That I stopped at second base?” He takes his eyes off the road in order to look at me. “Speaking of which, how far did Lee—”
I punch him in the arm so hard that he swerves the car. “How far did Lee get? Let’s see…He got me onto the dance floor, that’s how far.”
“Oh.” Relieved, Jack chuckles. When he realizes I’m not laughing with him, he adds, “Look at the bright side. It’s still a toss-up a
s to whether Lee is Quorum or not.”
I look out the window. “True. But I’m leaning toward your theory: that too many of his actions have been more than pure coincidence, and that Babette is too stupid, vain, and horny to be a criminal mastermind.” Finally, I take his hand. “Speaking of horny, let’s get home. We both need something to purge the memory of her dry-humping you, and I think I know what that is.”
I don’t have to ask twice. We pull into the driveway in record time.
Chapter 11
Pre-Wedding Pampering Pleasures
Planning a wedding is such hard work! All the more reason you should take some “me” time. So you don’t stress out over it, here’s how to relax, refresh, and renew:
First, find a sanctuary. This can be a posh day spa (preferably with a wonderful masseur), or better yet, a quaint cabin in the woods (preferably without an axe murderer lurking about).
Next, think happy thoughts. This is not the time to worry about the inevitable vulgarity of the best man’s speech, the probable intoxication of your least favorite uncle, or the amount of weight you’ve gained since your wedding dress was altered. Save these worrisome downers for some other day. Trust me, they’ll still be there when you get home.
(Unless beastly best man’s and horrid uncle’s invitations get conveniently lost in the mail; as for your dress: perhaps your getaway day should double as a fasting period. Just a suggestion, no pressure…)
Finally, consider making your pampering pleasure a romantic getaway with your groom. But one caveat: no discussion about the wedding. This is a time to focus on your love, lust, and life…not on your choice of appetizers.
Having him there with you has one more advantage. Should an axe murderer indeed appear, you don’t have to be able to outrun him—
You just have to run faster than your groom (may he rest in peace).
“Par-TAY!” Aunt Phyllis yodels into my cell so loud that the whole mission team—right now, camped out in Arnie and Emma’s living room—can hear her. “Don’t forget! Meet us at the Meat Market, nine sharp tonight!”
“What?” What is she rattling on about? “Where again? And who is ‘us?’”
