Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “House?” Jonathan asked.

  “Secured.”

  “Personal records?”

  “Protected.”

  “Christiana?”

  “Safe.”

  “Are you sure?” Jonathan rarely questioned Mark’s abilities. Recognition of the anomaly showed on his friend’s face. Yes, he was his friend. He’d proven it over the last few days. Jonathan now understood how your life could flash before your eyes when faced with death, and the most important people rise to the top.

  “No one suspicious has been snooping around. Her house, The Oak, all seem normal.”

  “And the media haven’t started sifting through my romantic liaisons to spice up their stories?”

  “A little. But nothing leading you to Christiana yet. Your phone’s been wiped, computers, all of it.”

  “What about Yvette. Still calling?”

  “Every hour. Even offered to call on Arniss for you.”

  Jonathan grunted. “I must be in danger. Make sure she’s okay, too.”

  Mark nodded. “I know who’s been following you, sir. The car was registered to Judge Marcus Churchill. It made no sense for the stalker to be the Judge, however. So I investigated further.”

  “And?”

  “Avery Churchill crashed her Fiat over four weeks ago.”

  “So, she was driving a car licensed to a federal judge.”

  “In all probability, yes.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely bad news. She’s had a crush on me all summer. Christiana can confirm that. And, fuck, she broke into my house. What’s happening on that, by the way? No fingerprints found on the photos, nothing?”

  “No, sir. And, I think it’s more serious than that. I did a little more digging. Avery Churchill failed her first year at Stanford. In addition to the failing grades, apparently some trouble involving the son of an Internet mogul arose. The boy’s family got a restraining order on her. And there’s something else. The bullet in your shoulder matches a gun registered to—”

  “Judge Marcus Churchill.”

  “Not sure it’s enough evidence to get a warrant, but it’s a start.”

  “Call Judge Henderson. Get the gun. Prove it.”

  Mark left, ostensibly to give Jonathan time to absorb the new developments. Jonathan’s mind roiled. If Avery Churchill sent a bullet his way, she’d probably reserved several more for the object of his affection. He told Mark to do whatever he needed to do to protect Christiana, including letting the precocious, insane, Avery feel a bullet herself, if necessary—warrant or not.

  Jonathan listened to the machines click in time with a nurse’s squeaky footsteps in the hallway. An assassination attempt was not part of his ten-year master plan, yet Christiana hadn’t been either. He’d taken many risks with her, though every second seemed worth it. This is why you’ve never gotten heavily involved. His world proved too treacherous for love—for Christiana. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t sacrifice her life for his own selfish lust. That was his father’s way.

  Regardless, it was time for a new plan. He let his life blueprint crumble to the ground.

  Slurring feminine words came over her phone. Christiana asked, “Who is this?”

  “Oh, Christiana, dear.”

  “Mrs. Churchill?” Christiana hadn’t expected Avery’s mother’s coherent voice to follow the incoherent sounds she’d been trying to decipher.

  “Yes, dear, I’m so sorry. But Avery isn’t feeling well.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I think.

  “I’ll tell her you called.”

  “But Avery called—”

  “Ta-ta, dear!” The phone line went dead. So, that’s where Avery learned how to craft her own reality. Mrs. Churchill’s ability to paint her world as she’d prefer to see it rivaled Matisse’s.

  Christiana’s phone rang again. “Mark?”

  “Who the hell’s Mark?” her father’s voice rang out. Shit, she should have checked the caller ID before answering.

  “Hi Dad. I was expecting a call from work.” Lying came so easily now, too easily. “But I’m glad you called.”

  “I’m on my way home.” His gruff voice showed his irritation.

  “Good,” she said. “Cuz I need to—”

  “We’ll talk then. Make sure you have on more clothes than a macramé pot holder when I arrive.”

  Great. Her hope he hadn’t recognized that girl on the runway had been futile.

  “Dad—”

  “Soon, Christiana.” He sounded stone cold sober. It was official. The world had gone mad.

  32

  “Sit down, Congressman.” The Judge motioned toward the two wing-back chairs in front of the blackened fireplace.

  Jonathan stood. He’d been out of the hospital for a day, and already he’d been summoned to the shooter’s home. Damned if he was going to stand in front of the man’s desk like a kid sent to the schoolmaster. The meeting was timed, of course, so that Jonathan still reeled from blood loss and trauma. Judge Churchill handed him a tumbler of scotch from the bar cart.

  “I’m a vodka man, myself.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Jonathan walked to the fireplace. “Going to order me to stand down on filing charges?”

  “Do you need to be ordered?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Getting a little hot under the collar, aren’t we?”

  “Getting shot will do that to you.”

  “Fair enough. But I’d rather . . . negotiate.”

  The Judge couldn’t have any incriminating evidence that would stop him from ensuring Avery got what she deserved. The few pictures Avery had stolen could be explained as research findings on the dangers of the Internet to minors, perhaps. After all Jonathan was the Internet piracy guru on Capitol Hill.

  “We wouldn’t be here if Avery wasn’t left to run amok. She could have used some discipline.”

  “Giving me parenting advice? Yes, I understand you like discipline . . . among other things.” The Judge sipped from his glass.

  “Let’s talk about your daughter, Judge, and her attempted murder charges.”

  The Judge’s face didn’t register Jonathan’s words. He settled his ample posterior in one of the wing-back chairs. “My daughter took quite an interest in you.”

  “Interest not returned.”

  “Now that I know more, I’m quite glad it was not. I have no intention of my daughter ever getting near you.”

  “I’m quite relieved to hear it, given her aim.”

  “My daughter is many things, Congressman, but a murderer she’s not.” The Judge sipped his drink and appraised him. “Please, Congressman, sit, sit.”

  Jonathan settled into the chair opposite the Judge’s practiced congenial smirk.

  “You know as well as I do that Avery shot me.” Jonathan coolly dangled his glass off the chair’s arm.

  “You’ll never hear that from my mouth.”

  Deny the inevitable. She’d already been named a suspect after the Judge’s gun was confiscated, thanks to Mark’s tip to the police.

  “God knows why Avery has a thing for you, even after what she discovered—” the Judge said into his glass. “She really should go into intelligence. I’m sure the National Ground Intelligence Center would appreciate her sleuthing abilities. Really, Jonathan, you sick fuck. With a nineteen-year old? Chris Snow, of all people, too.”

  “You leave Christiana out of it.”

  “The Snows always were a lot of trouble,” the Judge said into his glass as he took another large swallow.

  “The Snows?”

  The Judge softened, as if a memory had brushed over him. He swirled the ice in his glass, his cold demeanor returning in force. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? I won’t see the party harmed from a scandal. Something tells me the majority leader wouldn’t be pleased to learn about your sexual antics. Some of them with a girl barely of legal age—and her age is only the tip of the iceberg.” He arched an eyebrow a
t Jonathan. “Let’s say I’ll avoid the Cabinet Room from now on.”

  Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to Jonathan The Oak Room had so much security. He wished he knew how Avery got ahold of the surveillance video—and why he hadn’t already been blackmailed by some security guard attempting to make a name for himself.

  Jonathan shrugged delicately. “Have you seen what’s gracing the New York Times Best Seller list? I’ll be every woman’s fantasy lover. And your daughter? Just another pathetic, mentally unstable rich kid who didn’t get the toy she wanted. The exposure in the press might push her right over the edge.”

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself, given your situation.”

  Jonathan’s languid eyes held the Judge’s with mocking challenge. “Bring it.”

  The Judge rattled his glass. “Fantasy lover to every woman, is it? But, you don’t want every woman, do you, Congressman? Just one in particular.”

  A steel arrow of fury shot up Jonathan’s spine.

  The infernal Judge continued to swirl the ice in his glass. “The minute my daughter is revealed in this unseemly affair, your precious Christiana will be too, along with your sick ways. Ways that might cause a woman to want to, let’s say, defend herself?”

  “My shoulders are broad enough to take the heat. Can your daughter?” Jonathan casually brought the vodka to his lips and sipped. “If she was mentally unstable before, I hesitate to imagine what being so exposed to the hyenas that pass for the media will do to her.”

  The Judge stood. “You have twenty-four hours to decide. After that I blow the roof off.”

  “It’s a little early for clichés, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Congressman. It’s later than you know.”

  Christiana tamped down tears that threatened to rise. Brian’s admonishment for missing so much work almost tipped her over the edge. Christiana wouldn’t break her promise to herself to master her emotions even if the one person who could stop the spiraling inside remained out of her reach.

  Jonathan hadn’t called like Mark promised. She couldn’t go to his office or home, given the likelihood of paparazzi. Jonathan had said he’d need to stay away for a few days until things cooled off, and she’d complied. It almost killed her.

  “Christiana?” She turned to face Yvette DeCord.

  “Mrs. DeCord.” Christiana dipped her head and then blushed for acting so reverential.

  “What may I do for you, Mrs. DeCord?” Brian stepped in between them.

  Christiana noticed Brian’s posture straightened in Yvette’s presence as well.

  “I was hoping you could spare Christiana for a few minutes, Brian. I need her help. Upstairs in my suite?”

  The elegant woman led her away and leaned into Christiana’s shoulder. “We have a mutually beneficial relationship that needs tending,” she whispered.

  Yvette turned to her as soon as Christiana stepped inside the suite door. “First, call me Yvette. It’s high time we met officially.”

  Christiana returned her handshake. “Christiana.”

  Yvette smiled warmly. “Please, come inside, sit down.”

  She followed Yvette into the elegant sitting room and took a seat on the burgundy silk couch in front of the floor to ceiling stone fireplace. Yvette shook a champagne bottle free from a perspiring ice bucket on the side table. She lifted it to Christiana in question.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “I’m making it a project to empty The Oak’s wine cellar. Compliments of my soon-to-be-ex.” Yvette slowly poured herself a tall flute of sparkling bubbles. “Have you seen Jonathan?” Yvette lifted the glass to her lips.

  “Mark took me to see him once. But Jonathan said I had to stay away.”

  “And you honored that.”

  “Of course.” She lowered her eyes.

  “Good girl.”

  Christiana’s head shot up at the endearment she’d only heard from Jonathan. Yvette’s warm smile soothed her anxiety. “Oh, yes, Christiana. I know how well you follow instructions. But I also know that just because you’re a natural-born submissive doesn’t mean you don’t know how to fight.”

  “What? I mean, how do you know—?”

  “I saw it in your eyes the first time you set down my room service order on that settee over there.” Christiana swallowed surprise that Yvette had ever noticed her, let alone remembered her name.

  Yvette lifted her glass and studied the bubbles. “The begging to be told what to do, to have that mantle lifted from your shoulders.” She returned her eyes to Christiana’s heated face. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, or giving over your power once in a while so you can breathe.” Yvette placed her hand over Christiana’s. “Just remember to take that power back when you need it. Like now. Christiana, you and I are more alike than you know. We both want men who’d make sure our lipstick wouldn’t stand a chance against one single kiss.

  “Don’t look at me like that either,” Yvette added. “I’ve just been around a little longer than you, that’s all. Though I’m impressed you’ve come into yourself so quickly. It took me longer, and now . . . .” She trailed off and stared over the back of the sofa out to Pennsylvania Avenue. “Well, let’s say I may be batting for the other team soon.”

  Christiana pulled her hand back instinctively.

  Yvette returned her gaze and patted her on the hand once. “Not that team, dear. The Dominant one. Spend a little time with a submissive male.”

  “I know someone who could teach you how to do that.”

  “Sarah.” Their unison answer had them giggling as if they were old girlfriends.

  The doorbell chime broke into their laughter. “Speaking of the little Femme Domme. There she is now.” Yvette rose and disappeared for a few minutes to return with Sarah. The click of their heels tapped a syncopated rhythm on the marble floor.

  Sarah stopped at the edge of the couch. Concealer had creased in the bags under Sarah’s eyes, and worry lined her mouth. “I just came from Jonathan.”

  Christiana stood up immediately. “How is he?”

  “He’s been better. Please, sit.” Sarah sank to the couch, pulling Christiana down with her. “He’s home now, and he’ll heal. He was lucky.”

  “I can go see him then.” Christiana almost stood, but Sarah’s arm stopped her rise.

  “Do they know anything?” Yvette asked.

  “I’m sure Mark knows who shot him, but he’s not saying. Not until he clears things with Jonathan first. I have a feeling things are going to get messy.” Sarah turned to Christiana. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Putting on a brave face is good, Christiana. But this is no time to not be honest.”

  Jesus, Sarah was like Jonathan. “When can I see him?” She could not squelch the pleading in her voice.

  “Soon. But we asked you here because we need to know something.”

  “What?”

  “I think somehow you’re involved, Christiana. Not that you had anything to do with the shooting. But something’s not right. He’s thinking about ending things with you, immediately.”

  Christiana’s throat hitched. “He-he can’t.”

  Sarah covered her hand with hers. “I think it would be a mistake too. I haven’t always been a fan of the risks he took to be with you. But quite frankly, when your name comes up, you’d think he was a lion protecting his pride. I’ve never seen Jay make a decision based on a woman. You’re the first such woman, and the only reason he’d let you go is if you’re in real danger.”

  Christian’s mouth fell open. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

  “Yes, you are most definitely his sub,” Sarah said.

  Yvette sighed. “I told you.”

  “But there’s more.”

  “You think he’s in love.”

  Christiana’s face shot up. “He told you that?”

  “Yes, I think he loves you. No, he didn’t say so,” Sarah said.

  “Are you sure, Sarah?” Yvette’s qu
estion emerged as motherly, rather than catty.

  “Positive. Sorry, Yvette.”

  “I saw it that day he took me to The Oak. Sorry about that, by the way.” She sent Christiana a warm smile. “I know it distressed you. But that’s when I knew too. He’s in love with you.”

  A single tear escaped down Christiana’s cheek. She swiped it away. “I hate to cry.” She dropped her head. “So weak.”

  Yvette handed her a tissue. “Weak is not a word I’d use to describe you.”

  “Do you love him?” Sarah’s voice was even and controlled.

  A calm wave washed over Christiana, as if Jonathan’s smooth voice had asked the question. “I’d do anything for him,” she said.

  “That’s not the same thing.” Sarah raised her hand and stopped a protest from Yvette.

  “Yes. I love him.” She tried to sound as resolute as she felt.

  “Good. I believe you. So.” Sarah slapped her lap and rose. “We need a battle plan. His father is doing something right for once and working his connections. But there’s one thing he can’t do. Figure out why Judge Churchill wanted to talk with Jonathan so badly. No way was Judge Churchill offering support. He hates our family.”

  “Why?” Christiana asked.

  “He once ran against Jonathan’s father. He’s been trying to bury Jonathan’s chances in office for years now.”

  Finally, a puzzle piece hovered over the giant mess. The tight band across Christiana’s chest loosened an inch, not nearly enough to make her breathe easier but enough for the lump in her throat to drop.

  “Judge Churchill has to be connected to Jonathan’s assassination attempt in some way.” Sarah examined Christiana’s face. “Christiana, how close were you and Avery Churchill?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that anymore.”

  “Did you talk to Avery about Jonathan?”

  “No. I never told her anything, but she found out by accident.”

  “My mother plays bridge with some of the loudest mouths in Washington. Apparently, Avery talked to her father about Jonathan dating a younger woman, so the Judge feels he has some blackmail material. I’d expect nothing less from the Dishonorable Churchill. He’s not above kicking someone when they’re down,” Sarah spat.