“I see your point, Mr. Stilton. However, I am inclined to let Ms. Washington speak. Just as I am inclined to let any victim or their families speak.” The judge banged his gavel, and I dared to sneak one look back at Avon, who gave me a slight nod of encouragement.
“Ms. Washington, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” I approached a podium placed in the front of the courtroom. My hands trembled as I placed my typed speech on the slanted, smooth surface. I scanned the page, gathering my courage and calming my nerves.
“Your Honor, every night when I close my eyes, I see the face of one man in my dreams. Russell Hunt. And I no longer have dreams. I have nightmares. I feel his hands on me. I hear the hiss of his breath in my ear. And I see his eyes, cold and ruthless, as he knocked me unconscious on the day of the ambush. But I have an amazing system of support to help me. I’m not concerned about myself. Eventually, I’ll be able to move on.
“Instead, I think about the twenty kindergarteners who just wanted to hear a story read to them by a pretty lady. How are they coping in the aftermath of this event? Who is the star of their nightmares? I think about the daughters of Agent David Hanna. They will never get to experience the joy of having their father walk them down the aisle on their wedding day. Russell Hunt’s selfish actions denied them that experience. Agent Alex Myers left behind a pregnant wife. Russell Hunt took away that child’s father before he or she was even born. Russell Hunt hurt me, but I wasn’t the only one, and today, I’m using my voice to speak for those who cannot be here today; who cannot speak for themselves. Your Honor, I ask that you impose the harshest penalty possibly. Not for my sake, but for the children who suffered horrifically and for the children who are now fatherless. Thank you.”
I stepped away and turned back to face the rest of the courtroom. I made eye contact with Agent Hanna’s daughters, Emily and Sierra. I gave them a weak smile. Then I found the eyes of Agent Myers’ widow, Celine, and repeated the same action. And because my stomach was about to revolt, I left the courtroom and headed back to the ladies’ room.
It all came up, whatever remained in my stomach, which was mostly water. Tears streamed down my face and sweat poured down my body as wave after wave of nausea wracked my body. I used one hand to steady myself against the metal wall of the bathroom stall.
“Georgie?” Avon’s voice echoed in the empty room, and I croaked out a reply. The door flew open. Apparently, I was in too much of a hurry to lock it. “Oh, you poor thing.”
Avon knelt next to me and rubbed my back lightly. “Do you want me to get Tweedledee and Tweedledum so we can leave? The judge won’t make his decision today anyway.”
I nodded and flushed the toilet. My throat burned, and my eyes were watery. I splashed cold water on my face and patted it dry before leaving. Lewis and Jenkins were waiting in the hall like two protective brothers, and that warmed my heart.
No words needed to be exchanged. Avon walked beside me, holding the crook of my arm, while Lewis resumed his place on the opposite side and Jenkins followed closely behind. They all closed ranks when we stepped outside the courthouse and the press began to swarm. I dipped my head; Avon and Lewis huddled into me, leading me through the masses. Jenkins placed a firm hand on my back and propelled us all forward.
I collapsed into the back of the SUV waiting to take us back to the airport. I wasn’t staying in Memphis. I wanted to be far, far away from it, and lucky for me, I was engaged to a man with enough money to charter a private plane. Thank God for small miracles.
Once I was free of the stress and anxiety of seeing Russell Hunt and making my statement, my nerves and my stomach settled. But I felt like absolute shit. I was achy and weak. The only thing I wanted was a warm bed and soft pillow. And Jameson.
The ride to the airport wasn’t long, and I felt relieved to board the plush, private plane. The flight would only last a few hours; long enough for me to catch a nap before I was back with Jameson.
“You don’t look good,” Lewis told me, his eyes filled with concern.
“I’ll be fine as soon as we land. I’m just tired.”
He nodded and accepted my excuse. I leaned back against the leather seat and closed my eyes, hoping that some rest would release some of the tension.
Movement roused me from a deep sleep. Strong hands held me close against a warm, firm chest. And a familiar smell.
“Jameson,” I murmured hoarsely.
“You’re in bad shape, little darling.” His voice was low and laced with distress.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep some more. It’s been a long day.”
“I think you’re dehydrated. We need to get to the hospital.”
“No, Jameson. I don’t want to leave you anymore.”
“Oh, don’t worry, little darling. I won’t be going anywhere.”
“Isn’t there some fancy campaign doctor who can make house calls?” My voice sounded like a whine. The last thing that I wanted was a hospital with its bright fluorescent lights and constant beeping.
“If that’s what you want, fine. We’ll find someone.”
I was being jostled, which didn’t help my headache, but I wasn’t about to complain since Jameson was the one carrying me. I drifted in and out while I was moved from the cabin of the plane to the back seat of a limousine. I giggled when I heard the Secret Service agents refer to us as “Maple” and “Mustang.” I loved those names.
“I should have been there with you,” Jameson muttered as he settled against the back of the seat, holding me tightly against his chest. “I should have said ‘fuck you’ to the lawyers and gone anyway. I’m the fucking president-elect.”
He placed a light kiss on top of my head, and I slipped a hand up his chest to his neck. “It’s okay, Jameson. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry? Look at you, Georgie. You’re pale and weak. Jenkins said you were throwing up the entire time. Something could have happened to you.”
I felt the gentle movement of the car, and we swayed together as it made its journey back home.
“We have a doctor coming to the house to treat Ms. Washington,” the agent sitting in the front informed us.
“Thank you.”
“I wished you were there, too,” I confessed. “I hated seeing him. I hope I never have to see him again.”
“You won’t, Georgie. Never again. You did well.”
For the remainder of the car ride, I stayed curled up in my favorite spot: Jameson’s arms. He stroked my hair while whispering softly, telling me about the campaign events. I enjoyed hearing about his day and the people he met because it was what he loved to do. He was in planning mode, vetting the very best to serve in his administration. This was his dream, and he wouldn’t accept anything or anyone but the best.
When we arrived home, I insisted that I could walk inside on my own, but Jameson wasn’t listening. Or rather he heard me perfectly fine but ignored me, continuing to carry me through the foyer up to our bedroom.
He finally set me down on the bed, and I sighed contentedly as my head made contact with the pillow. Jameson informed me that the doctor would arrive any moment; I simply nodded, oblivious to what was happening. He slipped off my shoes and then unbuttoned my pants before gently tugging them down my legs. His fingers worked the buttons of my blouse until he had it opened, and he lifted me gently to slip it off.
“I’m cold,” I complained, my teeth chattering.
Jameson placed a hand over my forehead and grunted. “I think you have a fever. I’ll get you another blanket.”
He was gone only moments, but it felt like an eternity. Especially when you’re freezing. A heavy weight covered my body, and a hand brushed hair from my face. Jameson leaned over me and kissed my cheek softly. “I’ll let you rest while we wait for the doctor.”
I latched onto his hand and stopped him. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.”
“Okay.”
The quiet would break me, and I feared if he left
me alone with my own thoughts, I would crumble. As much as I tried to focus on everyone else—the children, the teachers, and the two agents—I couldn’t escape my own fear. Every ounce of courage that I summoned to appear in court and make my statement was gone, leaving me a hollow shell. If Jameson left, then the crippling fear would creep back inside, and I refused to be the woman paralyzed by her anxiety again.
A knock on the bedroom door indicated the doctor’s arrival. Jameson ushered him in, and he introduced himself as Dr. Campbell. I complied as he examined me. He indicated that I was, in fact, dehydrated and hooked me up to an IV of fluids.
“Just let her rest, and she’ll be fine,” the doctor informed Jameson. Jameson sighed with relief, and I was already beginning to drift away when I heard him thank the doctor and the door click shut.
The bed shifted beneath me as Jameson settled in next to me. He took my hand gently in his and stroked the back of it with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re everything to me, Georgie. Without you, I’m nothing.”
Jameson
“Jameson.” Georgie’s soft voice stirred me from a fitful sleep. I groaned and turned away; I wasn’t ready to be awake yet.
“Jameson.” She poked me in the back, her voice more insistent. I swatted at her hand.
“Jameson, wake up.” Georgie’s poke turned into a shove, and I practically rolled right off the bed.
“Damn, Georgie. Can’t you let a guy sleep?” I grumbled.
“I can’t sleep anymore. My stomach is growling.”
After a few days of dealing with the flu, that included puking up everything she tried to eat, Georgie’s appetite was slowly starting to return.
“Do you want me to get you something to eat?”
“Please,” she cooed. As if she had to try very hard; I’m man enough to admit to being wrapped around her finger.
“What would you like?”
I turned over to face her, and I couldn’t contain the grin that exploded on my face. Her eyes were gleaming wickedly, and she bit her lower lip. I reached up and pulled her finger away and then I stretched to kiss her lightly.
“How about a piece of that cake your mom made?”
Clearly, Georgie’s sweet tooth wasn’t impacted by her illness. I nodded and then rolled out of bed. I didn’t even bother putting on a pair of lounge pants even though it was freezing outside. I padded out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen where I sliced a “Georgie-size” piece of cake and placed it on a plate.
Before I headed for the stairs, I grabbed the thick envelope that arrived this morning. With the holidays and Georgie’s birthday approaching, I wanted to take her someplace special. We’d had a rough few months, and after the New Year, our lives would become even more chaotic.
When I returned to the bedroom, Georgie was sitting up in bed, the comforter pooled around her waist. She wore a navy blue long-sleeve thermal, and I knew her legs were covered in flannel pajama bottoms decorated with prancing reindeer. Her amber-colored hair was messily piled on top of her head, and she was staring down at the screen of her phone.
“I have a surprise for you,” I announced.
“Is it two slices of cake?”
I set the plate down on the bedside table next to her and perched on the edge of the bed. “Easy there, little darling. You just got your appetite back. Let’s not overdo it.”
She pouted briefly until I placed the thick envelope in her lap. “What’s this?”
“Open it. It’s your birthday and Christmas present.”
Georgie practically became giddy as she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope. When she had it opened, she dumped out the contents, which was a pile of brochures. Instantly, she looked confused. “What is all this?”
I rifled through the pile until I found the specific brochure for the exclusive Hawaiian resort where I was taking her. “This is where we’re going in a few days. And these are all the different things we can do. Or we can simply do nothing.”
“Oh my God, Jameson! Are you serious? Hawaii for my birthday?”
“And for Christmas and for New Year’s.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Happy Birthday, little darling.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Her phone beeped with a message from the covers below, and I pulled away. “What were you up to when I walked in? You’re still supposed to be resting.”
“I wanted to know how your meeting with Max went. I forgot all about it.”
There went my good mood. “Oh. Well, maybe you should eat some cake now.”
“Jameson,” she scolded me. “Don’t try to change the subject, even if it’s with cake.”
That didn’t stop her from grabbing the plate, though, and plunging her fork right into it.
“He’s got a lot of messes to clean up. Frankly, I’m not entirely certain why Governor Neill didn’t fire him.”
She frowned as she pulled the fork slowly from her mouth. “Oh. That’s disappointing. So does that mean you’re not going to nominate him?”
“I have a conference call scheduled tomorrow with Governor Neill. I won’t make a decision without talking to her first.”
Georgie nodded, and I could see the disappointment written all over her face. I wondered who let her down—me or Max Edison? I took the plate from her and gently set it down.
“Let’s go back to sleep, okay? We’ll discuss this after I talk to the governor.”
“Okay.” Georgie found her phone and didn’t even bother checking it before she placed it inside the drawer of her bedside table.
Georgie slid down beneath the covers, drawing them up to her chin, abandoning her barely eaten cake. I watched her carefully, taking note of the way her color was returning as her illness faded from her body. By the time we left for Hawaii, she would be one-hundred percent better, and we could enjoy a few weeks in paradise.
Paradise couldn’t come soon enough. When I finally woke and left Georgie in bed to sleep, an urgent message from my lawyer, Ron Engle, was waiting for me. That was never good.
“Hello, Ron,” I said in greeting. I hadn’t even had coffee yet, but something told me that I was going to need something much stronger.
“Good morning, Jameson. I’m sorry I’m not calling with happier news.” He sounded flustered, which meant this phone call had something to do with Russell Hunt.
“What’s going on? You never call this early.”
“The judge is supposed to sentence Hunt and the other two men today. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Any indication of what they’ll get?”
“I’m guessing that the other two gunmen will receive life. Russell Hunt, though …”
“Spit it out, Ron.”
“Thirty years, maybe.”
“That’s still a long-ass time.”
“With the possibility of parole,” he added cautiously.
“FUCK! Can we petition the judge to deny him parole?”
“Unfortunately, no. You can petition the parole board, though, when the time comes for a hearing.”
“That’s something, then. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll call when there’s news.”
I grumbled out a goodbye and then walked over to the coffeepot. Today, I was going to need more than just one cup.
I still had a few hours before my phone call with Governor Neill, so I caught up on some of the more mundane tasks of the transition. Georgie wanted my opinion on several pieces of art, so I flipped through the binder she created and placed markers on all the pieces I liked so she could acquire them. Then there was a folder of more design bullshit that I didn’t really want to bother with, so I just tossed it aside. She could do whatever she wanted in the White House as long as she was there. I called the storage unit in New Hampshire and made arrangements for her father’s desk to be picked up and shipped to D.C., then I called the antiques dealer who bought Georgie’s family heirlooms and arranged to purchase them
back. She’d have to sort through them and determine which ones she wanted in the White House and which ones would return to her family home.
All these mundane tasks were just distractions to keep me focused. I wasn’t too worried about my conversation with Governor Neill; in fact, I was looking forward to it because I wanted Max Edison to check out, for Georgie’s sake. I could handle my jealousy, but I hated seeing Georgie disappointed.
The news that was coming, though—Russell Hunt’s sentence—kept nagging me, working its way to the front of my mind. The only silver lining to this whole shit show was that the families of the two agents who were killed filed a civil lawsuit against Russell Hunt and against Governor Lamar Huntley. I wasn’t entirely certain if that part of the lawsuit had any legal legs to stand on, but I was thrilled to see Lamar face the consequences of his buried secrets.
I made my way to my office, still worried about Hunt’s sentence, and prepared for my conference call. I had a list of questions for Governor Neill; namely, how the hell she managed to bury all this personal bullshit that seemed to come pouring out as soon as we began digging deeper.
“Good morning, Governor,” I greeted her warmly.
“Good afternoon, Senator Martin. Or should I call you Mr. President now?”
“Jameson is fine, Marianne. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today about Max Edison.”
“Certainly. I’m not too happy that you’re stealing my Secretary of Education to be yours. He’s really transformed our schools.”
“So I’ve heard. And honestly, Marianne, if I was basing my decision solely on what he did for your state, I would have zero reservations. But his personal life is a shit show. He’s got some questionable involvement with Global Education Initiative, which is now under federal investigation. I want to know how all that hasn’t leaked into his job.”
“Jameson, Max is nothing if not professional. I understand your reservations about him, though, because, at the federal level, his personal life is under much more scrutiny. As are his connections. I can honestly say that what he’s dealing with personally has somehow fueled him. He’s a workaholic. This business with his ex-wife seems to be driving him. I’m not sure why; maybe because he can control work. But I don’t see it hurting him in the long run.”
Capitol Promises (The Presidential Promises Duet ) Page 9
