Charlie's lips stretched into a long 'o', puckering sadly at her. Robin decided that meant she was forgiven even though she had insulted him. She had developed a silent form of communication with Charlie over the years. He was surprisingly good company for a fish, anyway.
"I have to fly out to Cincinnati for a job tomorrow," she told him. Charlie seemed all right with this, but that was probably because he was preoccupied chasing after his food flakes. "Mrs. Villancio and her cats will take care of you while I'm gone." Charlie did not like the cats, but since the doting Mrs. Villancio took them everywhere with her, he did not have much of a choice. He fluffed out his gills, opening and closing his mouth almost like he was talking.
Robin's job did not allow her much flexibility to care for a pet or develop a social life, but she liked seeing Charlie swim around in circles when she walked through the front door to her apartment. It was nice to know that someone was happy to see her, even if that someone was only a betta fish. His deep, purple blue fins floated weightlessly in the water like tiny scarves, and he reminded her of an exotic dancer in costume.
Charlie had been a gift from her stepbrother, also named Charlie. His full name was Charleston instead of the standard Charles, after the city where he had been born. His mother had died when he was young, and he attached himself to Robin when their parents married. She had been fifteen at the time, seven years older than him, but she was fond of him anyway and didn't mind babysitting him. Unfortunately, that job had fallen to her all too often during her teenage years while her mother spent time with Jack Daniels and searched for herself in the bottom of whiskey bottles. Charlie's father was a good guy, and he helped when he could, but he was entirely too passive to handle his wife's drinking problem.
Pulling out her laptop and flopping back onto her couch, Robin typed in her password and began reading through her work e-mail. Most of them were mundane, unimportant messages, but she did read one saying that her flight was confirmed for 10:05 AM the next morning.
After copying the confirmation number into her phone so that she would not forget, Robin began searching the Internet for publicly available information on Congressman Saunders. The information that the FBI had provided her with was a good start, but she wanted to know more about this guy than when his birthday was and which schools he had graduated from. She needed personal information – what his hobbies were, where he went grocery shopping, whether he was on good terms with his family or not. Some of these personal details would be impossible to find out online, but she could look up his voting record. That was public, shared information that she could access from several different sources. Going to the Office of the Clerk, she did a search for the voting records of Congress.
"Is this what our elected officials do all day?" Robin sighed in exasperation, scrolling through the list of recently passed bills. Many of the items on their agenda were nonessential bills of congratulation or procedural guideline agreements. Remembering the contents of her e-mail inbox, Robin felt a pang of sympathy for Congress. She supposed FBI agents weren't the only ones that had to juggle busywork while trying to get important things done.
Finally, toward the middle of the list, she found some of the more important laws that Congress had passed in the last six months. Most of them dealt with the budget. Bills coming out of committees Saunders was involved with seemed to like handing out money, but that was nothing strange in and of itself. However, several bills carrying the Congressman's name had gone up for debate and eventually passed.
Robin smiled to herself, warming up to this case despite her initial reservations. The murky nature of politics definitely made corruption charges difficult to prove, but sometimes, she really did enjoy her job.
Chapter 3
Cincinnati, Ohio: September 27th
Kicking off her heels as soon as she closed the front door, Tess shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the coat rack, letting the slope of her shoulders fall from the stiff, rigid line that she presented to the world. She wiggled her toes, grateful for the new range of motion, walking across the carpet in stockinged feet and leaving her briefcase and purse in a pile beside her discarded Jimmy Choos.
Tess was proud of her apartment, the first one that she had truly financed by herself without any help from her father. The view was worth the price tag that came attached to it. Cincinnati's skyline wasn't as memorable as, say, Manhattan's, but the glowing lights above Queen City Square were beautiful at night. Most of the reconstruction going on was blocked in the view from her window, too.
With a sigh, she left the window and wandered into her kitchen, surprised to find an uncorked bottle of wine sitting on the counter and an empty glass waiting beside it. Shrugging, she poured herself some of the red and took a relaxing sip, not too concerned that someone was in her apartment. As she set the glass back on the countertop, a soft noise came from the bedroom.
"Samantha?" she called out, looking at the entrance to the hallway, "is that you?"
"Who else has a key?" came the response. "I almost didn't think you were coming home tonight." Tess glanced at the oven clock as footsteps padded over the carpet in the hallway. It was a little past midnight. She had not meant to stay out so late, but as the election drew closer, her days grew longer and longer. Her only comfort was that she was not alone. Brian was pulling all-nighters as well and accompanying her on trips around the district. At least she got to see him share in her discomfort, even if he was getting paid for it.
A familiar figure appeared in the doorway, brushing back her dark hair with a long, elegant hand. Her makeup, although skillfully applied, was slightly overdone, and her skirt was a little too short. She was beautiful, but mostly in her movements and the way she carried herself and less in the planes of her face. "Hey, doll baby. Take another sip of that wine. You look tense."
Only years of acquaintanceship prevented Tess from protesting the nickname – again – but she knew Samantha wouldn't stop. The younger woman liked to push her buttons just to see her reaction. With a second, deeper sigh, Tess wrapped her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and took another sip. "You can't call in advance before you come over and go through the bottles in my expensive wine cabinet?"
"I could, but where's the fun in that? Gotta take my perks where I can, since you don't pay me anymore."
"That was your idea," Tess reminded her. Even though Samantha offered services that not all of her colleagues would – or could – provide, paying someone for sex had always rubbed her the wrong way. Tess didn't see anything wrong with Samantha's line of work, since she operated independently and from a healthy emotional place, but she was relieved that money had been removed from their arrangement when she became Samantha's friend instead of a client.
Samantha shrugged. "I happen to genuinely like you. It wouldn't be good for your spotless reputation if some reporter caught you hanging around a sex worker."
"And what am I doing now, exactly?"
"Hanging around with a sex worker you don't pay... which is essentially just as bad for your image, but much better for your conscience. I knew you hated paying for it, and sweetie, looking the way you do, if you weren't so deep in the closet that you could probably find Narnia, you wouldn't have to."
Tess rolled her eyes, setting her glass back down on the counter and glancing at the one that was still cradled in her companion's hand. "How much did you have before I got here?"
"Not enough." Noticing that her own glass was empty, she picked up Tess's abandoned one and finished it with a smooth swirl of her tongue, leaving behind a deep red lipstick print.
"You didn't have to go through the effort just for me," Tess said, eyeing the mark on the clear glass. "You know I don't like all that war paint on you... or the skirt and heels, as a matter of fact." Samantha often teased Tess for being fond of more ‘butch’ women whenever she complained about Samantha’s fashion.
"You have your barriers, I have mine. I know you sometimes like to pretend that we're..." She could
not bring herself to say the word 'lovers' when there were no illusions of romantic feelings between them. "Think of this as a gentle reminder." Samantha had known Tess for a long time, and she knew that the politician had a big heart underneath the frozen marble exterior. When she fell, she was going to fall hard. She and Tess would never be anything more than friends that occasionally found release together for nostalgia's sake, but it didn't hurt to remind her what they really were to each other. Secretly, she hoped it would make Tess dissatisfied enough with their arrangement to go out and find what she really wanted.
Tess's spine stiffened and the line of her shoulders grew rigid. "I know what I am and what I want," she said, a little defensively.
"Do you?"
"I'm a big girl, capable of making my own choices." She closed her eyes. "Listen, I might not be able to see you for a while. I'm going to be living under a microscope with this campaign."
"You didn't worry about that during the primary. In fact, you might win more votes if you’re outed. ‘Lesbian’ seems to be the latest fashion trend."
Tess ignored the sly comment. "This time, I'm running against an opponent that likes to dig up skeletons."
Samantha looked concerned. "You know I'd never betray you, right?"
"I know. So far, I think I'm all right. The other women I've been with, they're people who are still in the closet themselves, or people who never knew my name and were probably too drunk to remember my face."
"You need to be careful, doll baby. Remember what I said the first time I refused to let you pay for my time?"
Soft pink lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "You said you wanted the chance to vote for me someday, even though you hate Republicans, because you knew you could bribe me with sexual favors."
Samantha nodded, drawing closer to her friend and resting a casual hand on Tess's waist. "Yeah, well, the first and second part of that statement still hold true. I know better than to try and talk you out of anything you've set your mind to now." Tess leaned down to open the dishwasher, pulling away from Samantha's touch and sliding the two wineglasses onto the top rack. Samantha snorted. "Neat freak."
"Don't worry about me, Sam. I'm careful. Discreet."
"Do they teach that at whichever expensive finishing school for debutantes you graduated from?"
Tess snorted. "Yeah, 'How to Keep Your Sexual Liaisons Out of the Newspaper' came right after 'How Not to Appear Drunk at Parties 101'." She paused as warm, familiar arms snuck around her waist, pulling her backwards until her shoulderblades touched firm breasts. Her eyes drifted shut again as Samantha's nose and lips nuzzled the crook of her neck.
Too often, Tess felt like her life was a staged production, not based in reality, but a carefully crafted script with lines that she had to follow. She had become adept at acting her part over the years, but she knew that her heart wasn't really in it anymore – if it had ever been. She loved her work, was committed to her goals, but the role she slipped into in order to do her job was exhausting. This thing with Samantha, however unhealthy it might appear, was one of the only things in her life that truly belonged to her. At least it was real.
"If someone starts asking questions, just play dumb. I don't think anyone will connect the two of us, but..."
"You talk too much." A gentle nip to her throat. "You worry too much." A light kiss.
"At least let me start the dishwasher."
"Leave it. You're still all wired up from whatever you spent all day working on. I can feel it through your clothes."
"Meetings. Lots of meetings. Mostly with Brian. He's a bastard, but a smart bastard. I lied about never having paid for sex, but he knows I'm a lesbian. He doesn't know..."
"About some of the unconventional things you enjoy?" A warm palm undid the bottom of Tess's blouse, sneaking up to caress her stomach. "Even without adding that part, I bet that was a fun conversation."
Even though she was facing the other direction, Samantha could feel Tess's eye-roll from behind her. "That's the understatement of the century."
"I think you need some help relieving tension." Tess noticed the change of tone and lowered her eyes, relaxing the line of her shoulders. Samantha was right. She did need to relieve some tension. "What do you say?"
Tess surrendered. There would be time to worry about the future later. "Yes, ma'am."
Chapter 4
Cincinnati, Ohio: September 28th
Robin glanced out of the window as she drove her new rental car, trying to get a feel for the layout of Cincinnati's downtown area. Strangely enough, the Cincinnati airport was actually located in Hebron, Kentucky. She had triple checked her boarding pass when she saw the state abbreviation, but the city was only a ten-mile drive to the north.
Following the directions on her GPS, Robin turned onto Main Street and kept an eye out for the Federal Building. The music coming from the radio began to get fuzzy, probably a result of overhanging clouds, and Robin fiddled with the dial, finding another station. The Beatles came in over the speakers and she smiled.
Apparently, medium-sized cities were the same no matter what part of the country they were in, because Robin had difficulty finding a parking space anywhere near her destination even though the sidewalks weren't particularly crowded. Lots of workers commuted to the city during the day, but only the very wealthy and very poor actually lived there full time. Eventually, she settled for walking a few blocks, hoping that her meeting with Cincinnati's Special Agent in Charge wouldn't be too painful. Usually, the field offices resented Washington's presence on their turf, and Robin knew she had to figure out a way to keep from ruffling their feathers even as she staked her claim to the Saunders investigation.
Clearing security took less time than the same process at the airport, for which Robin was grateful. After taking the elevator up to the ninth floor, she located the Cincinnati field offices. Several heads looked up from their work stations at the sound of the door opening, a few with distrustful expressions. Keeping her face and posture neutral, Robin approached the nearest desk. "Special Agent Robin Hart, here to speak with SAC Slade?"
The young woman sitting at a computer terminal looked up to address the intruder, assessing her silently before saying, "Second door to your left."
"Thanks," Robin answered, figuring it couldn't hurt to be polite. She headed left through cubicle-land before finding the correct door and asking another assistant, this one male and seemingly much more interested in 'helping' her, to inform Slade of her arrival. After three minutes of gazing coolly at the overly attentive assistant, trying not to give him any encouragement, she was finally sent in.
SAC Slade was muscular for someone in a management position. Robin had been expecting a beefy, football player type that had gone to seed and expanded at the waist over the years, but despite his average height, his form was well maintained. He had dark hair in a short buzz cut, large arms and hands, and light colored eyes. Although he wore a neat suit, clean shirt, and nondescript tie, they looked like they made him feel uncomfortable. He was obviously used to more physical activity than his current job provided.
When Robin entered his office, he stood and held out his hand to greet her. "Special Agent Hart, good to have you."
She gave his hand a firm shake. "Good to be here. My ADIC briefed you?" Slade nodded in the affirmative. "Look," she said, getting right to the point, "I don't want to have a pissing contest over Congressman Saunders. The higher-ups in Washington are going to be all over this. I'll hand over the information to both offices and let you fight it out. When I see a stampede coming, I like to get out of the way."
To her relief, Slade began laughing and gave her a genuine smile. "Hart, I think this is going to work out just fine." In his history of working with Washington agents, Slade had probably never interacted with any as candid as Robin. "Our investigative agents have their hands full, but we can give you space, people, and any other resources you need. Just ask the guys in charge of White Collar or Cybercrimes to accommodate you."
Robin smiled, pleased that the meeting had been so painless. Slade seemed like a down to earth kind of guy, and she wondered if his promotion had been recent. He hasn't been turned into an administrative cyborg yet, she thought. "Thanks. I thought this was going to be a real pain in the ass."
"Me too," Slade admitted. "Just keep me informed, and if you use some of our people, I'd appreciate it if you asked your ADIC to give them the credit they deserve for doing the groundwork."
"Eh," Robin said, giving Slade a shrug. "Greely likes listening to himself talk, but if I can get a word in edgewise, I'll remind him. By the way, I know this isn't an undercover assignment, but I came up with an idea that I ran by my ADIC, and I thought I'd tip you off before I started. With the election coming up, the media is going to be following Saunders and his opponent everywhere. I figured I could press on the editor of a paper or something and get him to let me pose as a reporter. Just a way to observe and ask questions without looking like a suit."
Slade's eyes brightened, and Robin wondered if he missed being in the field. "Not bad. I've got a name for you: Richard Harkiss, editor of the Cincinnati Sun. He's cooperated with us before. Knows that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar and all that. I bet he'd set you up if you promised him an exclusive after the case is closed."
"My thoughts exactly."
* * *
Robin wasn't much of a newspaper reader, but she did pick up a battered old copy of TIME magazine that was lying around in the Cincinnati Sun's waiting area. She was surprised the newspaper offices had a waiting area, and privately, she suspected that they did not receive a lot of visitors. Abandoning an article about how controversial the president's policies were and flipping through a few pages with large pictures of Asian factory workers, she learned for the thousandth time that China was going to take over the world economy and that America's current administration was a threat to capitalism. Just the kind of thoughts to make mid-level white male executives shake in their polished shoes.
All The Pretty Things Page 2
