by Josie Brown
Will you love him good or bad?
When he’s happy, even though you’re sad?
Yes, I’ll take her for my wife!
Yes, I’ll love her all my life!
Vow No-No Number 2: Stay away from single-syllable responses. Let’s face it: you’re the entertainment at your own wedding. Unless your marriage is doomed from the outset, you may not get a second chance to razzle-dazzle them. So go ahead and give it all you’ve got, both in a few well-chosen words and with heartfelt emotions.
Vow No-No Number 3: Don’t wing it. A course or two of Improv in college cannot prepare you for the rush of emotions that takes place when you stand, face to face, with the one person who is willing to spend the rest of his life with you. That being said, riffing just won’t do.
Write something down. Take the time to memorize it, verbatim. That way, you’ll breathe easy until the point which you both say, “I do.”
At that point, if he refuses to speak those two last words, any profanities coming out of your gaping maw are understandably forgiven.
“How long have you known Lee and Babette?” I ask, not just for reconnaissance purposes, but to engage Salem in any way that breaks his smoldering Blue Steel gaze. To top it off, he sits practically on top of me, despite the length and depth of his limo.
It doesn’t help that, when the limo slides from one lane to another, it tosses me into his lap.
And he certainly doesn’t mind it when the glasses of champagne he insists on pouring us slosh onto us, like tidal waves spilling over a New Orleans Parish floodwall during a hurricane.
The question takes him off guard. He leans back and his eyes narrow as he considers the question. “Lee and I were at Columbia Graduate School together.” He chuckles. “Without him, I don’t think I would have made it through.”
Hearing this, my heart sinks. If the two men are that close and have known each other for that long, then perhaps Lee really is our target. Was Babette put on Graffias’ board as Lee’s surrogate?
In mock dismay, I playfully circle the rim of my champagne glass with my index finger. “How did he save you? Did he take your exams for you or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Although I was the party animal of our dynamic duo.” He raises a brow. “It’s an occupational hazard for men like me.”
I take a sip from my glass. “Oh? What kind of man is that?”
“One whose wealth is larger than most European countries. One who is easily bored with virgin wives, no matter how many he takes.”
I guess that’s where Babette comes in.
And by the way his hand slips up my skirt, me too.
I shove it away. “Sorry, not interested. I’m two days away from getting married, remember?”
“Isn’t that the time a woman is tempted to have one last fling?” He pulls me into his lap.
“Depends on the woman.” To make the point that I’m not one of them, I leap up.
Gravity has other plans for me. A fast turn around a corner sends me toppling back down, right on his lap.
He shoves his tongue deep into my throat. Okay, I’ll play—for as long as it takes me to swipe his cell. While he paws at my breasts under my tank top, my hands sift through his jacket pockets. Damn it, where is his phone?
When he comes up for air, he’s smiling. “You’re good at faking your virtue.” He hefts a breast, as if weighing its value.
I slap his hand away. “Who says I’m faking?”
“Babette.”
I sit down on the seat opposite him. “Oh, yeah? How would she know?”
“The dalliance between her husband and her best friend drives her up a wall.”
I’m the best she can do for a friend? That’s her first mistake.
I wink coyly at him. “And into your arms, I suppose?”
He shrugs. “What Lee doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
I look him right in the eye. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”
He frowns. “He would have said something to me. We are that close.”
“Since when do true friends bed each other’s wives?”
“The stronger man always takes, even if the prize is another’s wife. The weaker man accepts this. They are subjugated to their proper roles—either ally, or slave. It’s how wars are won.”
What a pompous ass. “Have you ever wondered if Lee has fucked any of your wives? He is the leader of the free world, after all, which makes him a much more powerful man than a mere supplicant to the Arab princes.”
Anger darkens Salem’s eyes. He jerks me toward him, then hisses, “I’m a supplicant to no one!” Seeing the taunt in my eye, he smiles. “And my wives are too obedient. They’ve learned the hard way that I don’t spare the rod.”
My stare doesn’t waver. His does, however, when I whisper, “How about Babette? Has she too learned this”—I lick my lips—“the hard way?”
He chuckles. His hand eases off my arm. “By their nature, all women are submissive. Allah deems it so.”
I throw my legs over his lap. Leaning down on one elbow, I declare, “Strong men need challenges or they get bored.”
He takes this as his cue to heave himself over me. His fondling of my breasts is rewarded with fervent kisses and my own roaming hands—over his back pockets—
But, still no cell, damn it.
The car slides to a stop. We must be in front of my home.
Time for Plan B: My right hand roams over his head, neck, face, and ears before I clench his hand with my left. With one gentle tap, a microdot adheres to the crest of the pinky ring on Salem’s right finger.
Finally, our lips part. He too realizes the party is over. Before righting himself on the back seat, he flips my top down over my breasts. “I want you as my conquest, Mrs. Stone. Imagine, taking a bride before her wedding night! Slip away tomorrow, at noon. I have the penthouse suite at the Beverly Wilshire.”
Plan C has just presented itself.
No. Enough.
“Sorry, Salem, but playtime is over.” I grab my clutch and reach for the door.
He grabs hold of my wrist. “Your loyalty to Lee is intoxicating. Sadly, it is also misplaced.”
I wrench my hand away. “Says who? You?”
“I don’t have to say it. Lee shows it in his actions. He’s released you to me.”
“He did nothing of the sort!”
“Don’t kid yourself. Because of my attentions, he lusts for Babette again. He knows I’ve taught her a few new tricks.” He laughs. “I’m sure Babette is ecstatic. She’s always been so jealous of his trysts with you.”
“Babette was wrong,” I retort. “You see, Lee never had me to begin with.”
“All the more reason for you to submit to me.” His grin widens at the thought. “Yes, I should have you first. Lee will be angry at first, but then he will thank me for breaking you in for him.”
“Fuck off.” I reach for the door.
The force of his hand against my cheek sends my head reeling into the limo’s back seat.
He straddles me. After pinning me down across my chest, he hisses, “I have so many fun little toys at my disposal to help me break you of your of vanity. When I am done, you will plead for mercy. And yet, you will beg for more.” He squeezes my mouth into a pout so that he can kiss me.
There is nothing I can do to stop him.
He finishes by licking my lips. Seeing the shock on my face, he laughs. “Consider our liaison my wedding gift to you.”
A better present would be his head on a platter.
I could start by severing his jugular vein with the broken stem of my champagne glass—
But no. It would defeat the purpose of watching him be tortured for all the terrorist acts he committed in the name of the almighty dollar.
He slides onto the backseat. My heavy breathing earns no sympathy from him, only a chuckle.
He raps once on the chauffeur’s window. The door flings open. Strong arms grab me and pull me out.
&
nbsp; I stumble into the house. I’m still breathing heavy from the weight of that oaf on my chest.
Jeff doesn’t look up even as he waves me over to his computer. “Yo, Mom, you’ve got to see the feed on the bachelor party! It’s a hoot! Evan didn’t get in, but two Bunnies brought him food and sat with him in the limo. One was last year’s Playmate of the Year! She even wrote her telephone number on his wrist! I bet he never washes it again.” He clicks onto another screen. His eyes open wide at what he sees. “Oh my God! Who knew Dominic was such a horn dog?”
Aunt Phyllis sighs. “Everyone knew, dearie. Welcome to Planet Earth.”
I start toward the great room, but as I pass the foyer mirror, the red handprint impression on my face stops me cold. “Um…I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to take a bath.” I curse myself for the quiver in my voice.
“Donna, if you’re worried about Jack, don’t.” Phyllis says, as she looks up at me. “No matter how many Bunnies shake their cottontails in his face, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”
I hope I turned quick enough that she missed my bruise. “I’m sure it’s just good clean fun. See you in the morning.” I run up the stairs.
I pass Mary’s door on the way to my bedroom. It is still closed.
Trisha’s is too, so at least I know she’s in bed, and not shocked by all the men behaving badly.
I turn on my shower and jump in fully clothed.
I see no reason to strip down. Salem has done that for me.
Right now, I just want to scrub the thought of his touch from my memory.
I’m in bed when Jack gets home. I fake sleep, but he’s not having it. He flips on my nightstand light. I’m so startled that it takes me a minute to get my bearings and pull the sheet over my head.
Too late. I know that Jack has seen the bruise because he jerks down the sheet in order to get a closer look. “Aunt Phyllis said she saw this.”
He touches it gently with his fingers. At first, he says nothing. Then: “Why—that son of a bitch!” He throws the book that lies on my nightstand against the wall. “I’ll kill him!”
I leap out of bed toward the door, in order to block it. “No—you can’t!”
In three strides, we’re facing off. He shoves me away from the door. “The hell I can’t! I don’t care if he is the President of the United States—”
“Who…Lee? You think Lee did this to me?”
He stops in his tracks. “But…if not him…who?”
I take a breath before muttering, “Salem.”
“Salem?” He paces the room. “You mean, Lee set up some sort of…threesome?”
“Are you crazy? No! Salem showed up with Babette—”
“A foursome? Oh, my God…” He stares at the ceiling, as if that’s where he’ll find the comprehension he seeks.
“Jack, please! Get your mind out of the gutter—at least, until I finish talking.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Sure. Go for it.”
“The reason Lee asked me to meet with him was to warn me that most likely our trail will lead to Babette.”
“I presume you didn’t tell him we’ve already ruled her out, and that he’s our number one suspect,” he smirks.
“Of course not. In fact, while he was making drinks, I hacked his phone with the scanner.”
“Good girl.” For once, Jack has a reason to smile. “I can imagine he was fine with throwing her under the bus? What a guy.”
“As it turns out, Lee was in the middle of his riff as to why Babette would turn out to be our suspect when the lady herself walked in with Salem. He’s interested in buying the Chiffrays’ yacht, and was there to tour it.”
“When did he slap you, and why?”
“Babette and Lee decided to spend the night on the island. I came back to Hilldale with Salem.”
“And knowing Salem, he made a pass—and you rejected it.”
Very gently, I rub my cheek. “You could say that.”
“Were you able to scan his phone too?”
“Unfortunately, no. I was somewhat preoccupied.” I wink. “But I planted a microdot.”
“Nice. Where?”
“On the crest of his ring.” I run over to the closet and pull out a sundress. “In fact, we should have Ryan and Arnie meet us at the office. The sooner we see what’s on the scanner for Lee’s phone, the better.”
“By the way, who suggested that you hitch home with Salem?”
I think a moment. “Lee. You see, Salem gave Babette a lift from Hilldale. He and his family are staying at Lion’s Lair, so it made sense.”
“Not necessarily. For that matter, Lee could have had one of his Secret Service agents take you home.” He lets that sink in. Seeing my frown, he adds, “Admit it, Donna. He set you up.”
I stop zipping mid-back in order to face him. “Which is it, Jack? Is Lee gaga over me, or is he using me to service his friends?”
“Maybe both. In any event, we’ll know as soon as Arnie downloads the scanner intel.” He kisses my forehead. “I hope you’re prepared for the worst.”
“You’ll be happy to hear that I am.” I walk out the door first, so that he can’t see the disappointment in my eyes.
When Arnie answers the door, he doesn’t look too happy. “Emma threw me out of the bedroom,” he mutters.
Jack frowns. “How come?”
“Jeff hacked the Playboy Mansion’s webcam. He copied footage of a Bunny begging me to go into the grotto with her.”
Jack furrows his brow. “If I remember, you passed on the honor.”
Arnie turns to me to plead his case. “I did! I swear! But Jeff somehow edited it so that it looks like I entered. It’s so dark in there that you can’t see anything, but you can hear some girl screaming, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’”
He shouts with such verve that I have to hold my hand over his mouth. “Okay, I get the picture. I’ll have a talk with him the moment I get home.”
Arnie wipes away some flop sweat. “Thanks, Donna. I mean, I know he’s always had a crush on Emma, but this is going too far.”
Knowing Emma, she’s also in on Jeff’s joke. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put my son up to it.
Frankly, I wish I’d thought of it. Jack and I could use a laugh tonight.
Ryan pokes his head out the door. “Are you going to stand out there all night, boohooing?” he grouses.
Arnie and I hurry in after Jack.
“It ain’t him.” Arnie tosses me the scanner.
I stare at him. “What are you saying?”
“Lee didn’t send the texts to Xia. At least, not with the cell phone containing this text archive.”
Jack sits up straight in his chair. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Arnie’s apology is a shrug.
“So, both Lee and Babette are eliminated?” Ryan asks. “I guess that’s good news.”
“But…how can that be?” I ask. “It’s the only cell phone he carries! And we know for a fact that one of the two phones Lee had on him during our engagement party was used to contact Xia!”
“Remember, our POI was on to the fact that you were subbing for Xia on the night of their rendezvous,” Ryan reminds me. “If he, or she, has access to the first couple, maybe it was planted on one of them that night in order to implicate him or her.”
“Or, perhaps Lee or Babette got a new phone in the meantime,” Jack counters. “In any regard, there goes any evidence against the first couple.”
Suddenly, a thought hits me. “According to Todd, the person assigned to the phone—Bradley Kazinsky—is dead. It doesn’t mean he died with his phone on him. If the phone’s signal is still live—”
“Then it would stand to reason that it’s in the hands of our top suspect,” Jack says.
“The other person who was blind-copied on Xia’s text correspondence regarding Catherine’s assassination is just as important to us,” I add.
Ryan frowns. “We’ve got no leads on either. We’re back to square one.”
“Not necessarily,” Arnie counters. “If the contact cell is still in use, we can intercept its signal if we’re in the right place at the right time.”
It hits me. “Lion’s Lair.”
“Exactly.” Arnie is now so excited that he’s pacing through the dining room.
“But, how?” Jack asks.
“We activate a phony cell tower, which acts as an ‘interceptor’ for all cellular data going in and out of Lion’s Lair,” Arnie explains. “It’ll allow us to retrieve archived data, and identify what phone it was retrieved from. We’ll even be able to trace it via its GPS signal.” He snaps his fingers. “In fact, we’ll be able to actively control the phone’s incoming and outgoing messages as well.”
“And when the time comes, we can spoof the cell with any text message we want to send,” Ryan replies.
“You’ve got it.” Arnie lifts his hand for a high five. It hangs there uncomfortably until he realizes Ryan isn’t playing.
I punch him in the arm. “Why didn’t you mention this before now? I could have avoided being mauled by Salem.”
“I thought about it,” he concedes, “but had we begun monitoring in D.C., odds are we would have gotten caught and it would have been for naught. In the first place, the NSA is on the lookout for phony cell towers. The Chinese and Russians are notorious for putting them up all over the town.”
Jack shrugs. “Figures.”
“Not only that, the other issue we would have faced is monitoring the massive amount of intel,” Arnie adds. “Considering all the cell phones used at the White House, it would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Whereas, at Lion’s Lair, there are a finite number of cell phones to monitor. Even with the Secret Service detail, the staff is less than sixty people.”
“It doesn’t sound easy to erect without notice,” Ryan points out.
“Frankly, the latest models of the StingRay—it’s a specific brand of cell-site simulator—are as small as a handheld device. The trick is mounting them on a pole, or a tree, or somewhere else, as high as possible.”
