True Colors

by Yolanda Wallace

  “What kind of letter?” He listened while she recited the message she had received and explained the circumstances under which it had been delivered. “That sounds like a credible threat to me,” he said when she was done. “I can’t leave my post tonight, but I’ll have Ethan or Lily get right on it. Thank you for coming forward. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “No, that’s it, and don’t thank me. Just protect Taylor. And tell her—tell her I’m sorry.”

  “I can do the former. As for the latter, I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of that one yourself.”

  “I would if I knew how.”

  “You’re a resourceful woman. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  “Thank you, Steven.”

  She was glad someone still had confidence in her because she had lost hers.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Taylor dried her wet hair with a towel, then pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. She folded her tuxedo, placed it in her overnight bag, and tossed the bag on Sheridan’s guest room bed. When she came out of the bedroom, Sheridan was waiting for her with a cold beer and several sheets of paper still warm from the printer. Steven sat in the breakfast nook nursing a bottle of mineral water. A copy of the Washington Post lay open before him. He looked so forlorn Taylor wanted to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and give him a hug.

  “What’s this?” she asked, following Sheridan to the living room. With its vast collection of gilded trophies and assorted oil paintings of women in vintage riding clothes, the space could have doubled as a sitting room in a Virginia hunt club.

  “Robby’s latest attempts to rival the Huffington Post.” Sheridan’s long fingers curled around a glass of white wine.

  A plate of cheese and crackers sat on the burled walnut coffee table. Taylor popped a cube of sharp cheddar into her mouth and followed it with a sip of imported Belgian beer. She skipped the fashion wrap-up and focused on the more recent post, which, according to the time stamp, was uploaded shortly after the state dinner ended. She marveled once again at the speed with which Robby was able to receive information and disseminate it to her followers.

  Taylor read the opening paragraph aloud. “‘Prime Minister Patricia Ogilvie may have been the guest of honor at President Crenshaw’s first official state dinner Friday night, but Washington’s new It couple stole the show. Taylor Crenshaw and part-time lobbyist Sheridan Kincaid generated more heat than this town has seen in ages.’” She looked up and met Sheridan’s eye. “Patricia Ogilvie saw right through us, but it looks like we put on a believable show for everyone else.”

  Sheridan reached for a cube of aged Parmesan. “Keep reading.”

  Taylor turned back to the blog. “‘It appears Republican stalwarts James Ferrell and Holly Duvall might have competition for the job he professes not to covet and the one she nearly won last year. Sources say Taylor Crenshaw is quietly putting a team in place to assess her political prospects. If the rumors are true, Rep. Dan Lowry’s resignation couldn’t have come at a more opportune time for the First Daughter. Is she planning on extending her stay in the White House by laying the groundwork in her native Missouri? We could have an answer soon. The First Family, Vice President Duvall, Prime Minister Ogilvie, James Ferrell, and (future First Lady?) Sheridan Kincaid are holding a summit at Camp David this weekend. An official announcement might be forthcoming as early as Monday. Stay tuned.’” She tossed the pages onto the coffee table. “Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of a soap opera?”

  “Because the only thing Robby loves more than money is drama. How did you discover she’s behind The pH Factor?”

  “A little kitty told me.”

  “Am I supposed to understand that?”

  “The name of the blog comes from her nickname for Orson.”

  “I knew I never liked that cat. What are you going to do?”

  “Spend two days at Camp David alternately watching Holly Duvall and James Ferrell plead their case to become my father’s eventual successor, and listening to my parents tell me I’m not qualified to throw my hat into the ring one day.”

  “At least you’ll have Patricia Ogilvie on your side.”

  “What about you? I know you’ll always have my back, but would I have your vote?”

  Sheridan played it coy. “I’d have to hear your stance on the issues first.”

  “And what party I plan to represent?”

  “There is that,” Sheridan said with a sly smile.

  “Thanks for your support. Shouldn’t you be having phone sex with your girlfriend right now?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it, but now that you mention it, that sounds like a wonderful idea. Are you going to be okay here?”

  “I’ll be here. I don’t know about okay.” Taylor’s emotions were so raw she felt like a walking open wound. The only time she felt close to normal was when she was hanging out with Sheridan. Because Sheridan was the only person who could completely understand what she was going through. Taylor knew she couldn’t hide out in Sheridan’s townhouse forever, though. She had to go home sometime. Even if home often felt like enemy territory. “I won’t mind if you decide to bail on tomorrow’s trip. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this weekend for the world.”

  Taylor thought about the disparate personalities that would be inhabiting the rustic retreat. “Whether the weekend turns out to be a horror show or a comedy of manners, it should definitely be memorable.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Have fun.”

  “I intend to. See you in the morning.”

  After Sheridan went to her room, Taylor joined Steven in the breakfast nook. “See what you’re going to be missing?”

  Steven had the weekend off to serve as best man at his cousin Luis’s wedding. “All things being equal, I prefer my domestic drama to yours. My uncle Gus is infamous for the drunken toasts he gives at every family gathering, so I’m guaranteed to have comic relief. In your case, nothing’s guaranteed.”

  “Are you taking a date, or are you going to be the sad, single guy all your female relatives try to set up on blind dates with the one gay man each of them knows?”

  Steven walked the bottle cap across the tops of his fingers. “I’m taking Miles.”

  “What? When did you ask him?”

  “He called while you were in the shower.”

  “And?”

  “And I listened to what he had to say.”

  “Are you back together?”

  “No. We’re attending the wedding as friends. If he survives the inquisition my mother, grandmother, and sisters are bound to put him through…” He shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Painfully.” Taylor hoped things worked out between Steven and Miles. As for her and Robby, that ship had not only sailed, it had sunk like the Titanic. “Good luck this weekend.”

  “Ditto.”

  Steven bunked down on the couch, and Taylor headed to the guest room. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. She wanted—needed—to hear Robby’s voice. Robby had flat-out lied to her over and over again, yet she kept coming back for more. Was she a sucker for punishment, or simply a fool for love?

  * * *

  Robby related the story of her encounter with the man on the street, then spent the next hour trying to answer Lily’s questions.

  “What did he look like?” Lily asked, taking notes in a leather-bound journal.

  Robby tried to remember details, but everything had happened so fast. And when the man had glared at her, she had been so scared she couldn’t think straight. “He was a little over six feet tall. Probably around two hundred pounds. He was wearing a Washington Nationals cap, so I couldn’t see much of his face. I remember two things, though: his eyes and his voice. His eyes were gray. Almost silver. And his
voice was so deep he makes James Earl Jones sound like Tiny Tim.”

  Lily looked at her as if she’d said something important.

  “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Every detail counts.” Lily reshaped her features into an expressionless mask as she snapped her notebook shut and rose from her seat. She carefully bagged the letter and accompanying envelope. “I’m going to take a look at the available surveillance footage and see if it reveals anything. I’ll give you a call if I have more questions. Thank you for coming forward.”

  Robby felt more like a heel than a hero. After Lily left, she collapsed into bed wanting nothing more than eight hours of uninterrupted slumber. Preferably ten. She slipped her sleep mask over her eyes. Orson walked in a circle before snuggling in behind her. She moved closer, enjoying the additional body heat.

  “At least someone loves me.”

  When her phone rang, she lifted a corner of the sleep mask to check the time. Three thirty. She answered the phone with all the wariness the lateness of the hour demanded. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Miles? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. As a matter of fact, everything’s right. Steven said he talked to you. I don’t know what you told him, but I could kiss you right now.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s decided to give me another chance. We’re going to Annapolis tomorrow.”

  Robby tossed her sleep mask aside since it was obvious she wouldn’t be going back to bed any time soon. “What the hell’s in Annapolis?”

  “Steven’s cousin Luis is a senior at the Naval Academy. He’s getting married tomorrow afternoon, and Steven invited me to the wedding.”

  “That’s huge. You don’t ask a casual acquaintance to be your wedding date. You ask someone you plan on keeping in your life.”

  “I know.”

  She heard the emotion in his voice. “I’m happy for you, Miles. I’m also a little jealous.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

  “Don’t bother. If this weekend turns out to be as romantic as I think it might, you’re going to need your hands.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears. Do you think you can run the shop on your own for a couple of days?”

  “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”

  “Yeah, and I’m still paying for the damage.”

  “The temperature was below freezing. It’s not my fault the pipes burst.” When the expanding ice had melted, the rushing water had ruined a substantial section of the hardwood floor.

  “If you had dripped the faucets in the supply room like I asked you to—”

  She cut him off before he could continue his lecture. “Point taken. Have a good time at the wedding, and don’t give the shop a second thought. I promise everything on the inventory list will be in one piece when you get back.”

  “You’re the best, Robby.”

  Except when it came to matters of the heart. At those, she couldn’t get much worse.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take the chopper?” Ethan asked as he stowed Taylor’s and Sheridan’s luggage in the back of the SUV. “President Crenshaw is still preparing his weekly radio address, which he’ll deliver from Laurel Lodge. There’s plenty of room onboard Marine One if you and Miss Kincaid would like to amend your travel plans.”

  “Camp David’s a little over sixty miles from here,” Taylor said. “If traffic’s not too congested, we’ll get there in an hour and a half. I’ll be cooped up with my parents soon enough. Why rush?”

  “You sound like me after Christmas dinner with my in-laws. Thank goodness the holiday only comes once a year.”

  Taylor and Sheridan climbed into the backseat of the reinforced vehicle. Ethan lowered his mirrored sunglasses into place before he sat in the driver’s seat. Lily rode shotgun.

  Ethan dangled the car keys in front of Lily’s face, a roguish grin on his face. Lily grabbed for the keys, but Ethan pulled them out of reach.

  “Enjoy it now, funny man,” she said, buckling herself in. She patted the dashboard, where a GPS unit tracked their progress. “This baby’s mine on the ride back. It’s my reward for the wild goose chase our fearless leader sent me on.”

  “Are you talking about the items Steven asked you to run prints on?”

  “Yeah. I found plenty of trace DNA from the recipient, but nothing from the sender.”

  “What about the wording?”

  Lily shook her head. “Didn’t match anything in our database.”

  “Sounds like a false alarm to me.”

  “I think so, too. We need to keep our eyes peeled in case we get another one. Unless the current situation changes, I doubt there’ll be an issue.”

  “Is there something I should know?” Taylor asked.

  Lily glanced back at her, then quickly looked away. “No, ma’am. I was following up on a lead, but it didn’t pan out. Nothing to worry about.”

  “You’ll let me know if something changes?”

  “Of course.”

  While Ethan piloted the car toward Catoctin Mountain Park in Frederick County, Maryland, Sheridan worked on a legal brief, and Taylor introduced herself to the complex and often arcane set of rules governing campaign contributions.

  “I don’t know which of us has the more boring read,” Sheridan said, looking up a legal statute on her tablet computer.

  Taylor stifled a yawn. “At least I’ll know which book to reach for the next time I’m suffering from insomnia.”

  The city soon fell by the wayside, and the country came into view. Taylor peered out the tinted bulletproof windows when the car stopped outside the gates of Camp David. Nestled in the middle of a naval installation guarded by the Marine Corps, the one-hundred-twenty-five-acre compound was rumored to be the safest place in the world. So why did she feel like she was going to spend the weekend under attack?

  Ethan lowered the driver’s side window and showed his ID to the members of the Marine Security Company stationed at the Gate House. Dozens of their compatriots patrolled the grounds. Each member of the security detail and the sailors on staff had been handpicked for the assignment, then subjected to a series of physical and psychological tests as well as the extremely thorough Yankee White-level background check. As a result, only the best of the best were allowed to tackle the eighteen-month posting.

  After the guards searched their bags and catalogued the agents’ weapons, Ethan saluted the guards at the gate and edged the heavy black SUV forward. Picturesque trails lined both sides of the winding Entrance Road.

  Taylor pressed her nose against the glass. “I can’t wait to take a run through these woods.”

  “I was thinking they’d be great for horseback riding,” Sheridan said.

  “Or snowmobiling.”

  “You’re both in luck,” Lily said. “There’s a working stable onsite as well as a storage shed fully stocked with every piece of recreational equipment you could ask for.”

  “Every piece?” Sheridan asked.

  Lily tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Some you should have brought with you.”

  “I knew I forgot something.”

  Marine One rested on the helicopter pad, which meant Taylor’s parents and the other guests had already arrived.

  “What’s the agenda for this weekend?” she asked.

  “After their scheduled photo op, the President and Prime Minister Ogilvie will meet for most of the morning to discuss the progress of the rebuilding efforts following the floods,” Lily said.

  Taylor remembered the epic floods that had wreaked havoc on a wide swath of the island nation a few years before. She had watched in disbelief as the rising water forced thousands from their homes, reminding many of the devastation in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Like the displaced Louisiana natives, some of the residents of New South Wales had not returned.

  “Later this afternoon,” Lily continued, “the Presiden
t and First Lady would like to sit down with you, Vice President Duvall, and the Ferrells.”

  “So I’ll have only a few hours to relax before the shit hits the fan,” Taylor said under her breath.

  Sheridan squeezed her leg to let her know she wasn’t alone. Taylor wondered how it would feel to have Robby at her side now instead of Sheridan. What would it be like to have Robby standing shoulder to shoulder with her as they took on all comers? Incredible, if she had to hazard a guess. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  She kept trying, but she couldn’t come to terms with the loss. All of her previous relationships had eventually come to an end, but none of the other breakups had been this debilitating. Was that a testament to the extent of her public embarrassment, or the depth of her feelings for Robby?

  Ethan passed by several guest cabins before he parked in front of the primary residence building. Smoke drifted out of the fireplace, adding to the rustic building’s picturesque look. Taylor felt as if she were staring at a postcard—beautiful but flat and unwelcoming.

  “We don’t have to stay in the Aspen Lodge.” She unfolded a map of the compound and located one of the guest lodges reserved for VIPs. “Birch Cabin is fine.”

  “Prime Minister Ogilvie and her staff will be housed there.”

  She referred to the map again. “What about Dogwood?”

  “Dogwood Cabin has been assigned to Vice President Duvall,” Lily said. “Before you suggest something else, let me save you some time.” She consulted her notes. “Mr. and Mrs. Ferrell will be in Maple Cabin, and the president’s staff will be in Witch Hazel Cabin, the closest building to this one.”

  “And Red Oak?” Taylor rested her index finger on an illustration of one of the most secluded guest cabins on the grounds. The two-bedroom lodge was surrounded by woods and afforded its inhabitants plenty of privacy. “Is it available?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll take it,” Taylor and Sheridan said simultaneously.