Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Robyn knew first hand what it was to give up some­thing she loved. If it hadn’t been for the computer chip her decision might have been different. And it was only by chance she found it. Grant’s uniform had needed pressing. The iron passed over a lump in the lining. She could find no rip and thought the uniform was flawed. Gently opening the fabric, she found the chip. It was concealed inside a fake diamond. Anyone else would have thought it was an unset gem. Robyn noticed the flaw wasn’t natural, but man-made. Grant had told her the project was called Eagle, and it had national security implications. She immediately thought he was spying. He explained he wasn’t but couldn’t tell her anything more. When she found out her testimony would put her in the WitSec Program, she started digging for information on Project Eagle. Director Christopher found her one night and invited her to his office. He explained the position Grant held. He was friends with one of the men who’d stolen a vital component of a defense system. Grant had been trying to get enough information to ensure the government would find the device. His po­sition was unique, easy access in and out of the coun­try, no association with any government agency, and a prior affiliation with the prime suspect.

  Robyn was stunned. What were the odds that her Grant could be working undercover for the gov­ernment? The director could give her no definite time that he might complete this project, but that it was vitally important. When he was released from the Lebanese jail, they’d wanted him to continue his as­signment. Afterwards, he could join her in the pro­gram, but there was no telling if that would be one month or one year.

  Robyn left the director’s office with the weight of the free world on her shoulders. It was history now, she shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it. Jacob was right. She couldn’t be protected if she ignored the rules.

  "When do you plan to let him know?" Marianne broke into her thoughts.

  Robyn was jarred. Let who know? Then, she re­membered her decision not to see Grant again.

  "I thought I’d call his air service and leave a mes­sage." She expected to hear Marianne call her a coward, but the redhead remained silent, concentrating on dabbing the inner ear of the rabbit-shaped cake with dark pink icing.

  "Marianne, you’re awfully quiet. Why aren’t you trying to talk me out of this?"

  "It’s your decision."

  "What happened to all those speeches you gave me about dating? Not leaving any room in my life for a man?"

  "Do you want me to talk you out of it?"

  Robyn was silent for a long time. "I guess it’s best if I stick by the decision I’ve made."

  "Which one? Today’s, Yesterdays, or the one you might make tomorrow?" Marianne sounded unusually cynical.

  "I thought you liked Grant, Marianne?"

  "I like him as well as the next guy."

  Robyn’s head came up to look at her partner. "As well as the next guy," she repeated. "This from the woman who referred to him as the man with the Greek god physique."

  "You don’t need me to talk you out of this. You’re doing it yourself."

  She was talking herself out of her decision. Robyn sat down. Her arms and face were coated with flour. Usually a neat cook, today she’d made a mess of the floor and herself.

  "What would you do in my place?"

  "I’m not in your place. And you haven’t explained why you think going out with him will ruin your life."

  Oh, Marianne, if only I could, Robyn wanted to say. So many times since she and Marianne had become partners, she had wanted to confide in her friend, but she’d remember one of Jacob’s lectures on trust and worked out the problems for herself.

  "Well, since you won’t tell me, maybe you should stop killing that bread and go expend some of that energy through your feet." Marianne had finished the cake. She cleaned her hands and took the bowl of dough.

  "You’re right. If I practice, maybe it’ll take my mind off Grant." She tried to smile as she cleaned the flour from her face and arms. Robyn paused next to the pink and white rabbit cake. "Who’s this for?" she asked, licking some of the excess icing.

  "Mercedes Snodgrass. She feels about rabbits the way Kari does about bears."

  Robyn smiled. "Will has just added to her collec­tion."

  "What did he make this time?"

  "A trolley car full of bears. Kari loves it." Robyn smiled, and left Marianne in the aftermath of her mess.

  In the lounge, the chorus line was busy working on a new routine. Sue-Ellen, the newest recruit, was hav­ing a hard time. Robyn slipped out of her warm-up suit and joined the line. She wore a navy blue leotard with white footless stockings and beige pumps.

  The music began, and she felt like Sue-Ellen. She kept missing the steps. Several times, the line stopped because of her mistakes. Then, she put her mind to it and finally found her footing. Every measure of en­ergy she had, she channeled into the dance steps, giv­ing no conscious part of her mind over to Grant.

  "Take a break, everyone." Pete, the music director and choreographer, called.

  Robyn grabbed a towel and patted her face. She hung it around her neck and left the stage. At the bar, she poured herself a glass of water and drank deeply.

  "Brooke, do you want to dance the solo?" Pete asked, taking the seat next to her.

  "No." Her brows went up as she faced him.

  "I’ve seen more energy in your steps today than anytime in the recent past. What’s going on?"

  "I’m sorry. Am I causing a problem?"

  "Of course not."

  "I think you should let Sue-Ellen dance the solo."

  "Sue-Ellen," he laughed. "She’s falling all over her feet."

  "She’s just nervous. She needs a little confidence. And giving her the solo will do it."

  "There you go being kind hearted again. But you know I love it. After all, where would I be if you hadn’t been kind to me." Pete leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "Now, how about going through your song?"

  Robyn smiled. She felt a lot better. "Fine," she nod­ded.

  "Set up for the Time number," Pete hollered to the stage crew. "I think we should try the dancing water with this."

  "What do the sets look like?"

  "There will be a huge moon, and the water will be backlit. On the stage will be you and the piano."

  Robyn watched the movement on the stage. The grand piano was rolled into place, and the lights dimmed until the back wall was the only source of illumination. She went to her mark in the arm of the piano. Pete followed her to his seat at the keyboard. He raised his arm like a baton. Violins began the first notes of "One Moment in Time," and a spotlight high­lighted her.

  Robyn listened to the introduction, then took a breath and came in clear on the first note. Behind her, the water danced to the rise and fall of the piano and her voice. The words took on a secondary meaning as she went into the chorus. She knew where she stood at that moment in time, and it was up to her to decide where the rest of her life was going.

  When the music ended and the house lights began to brighten the room, Robyn froze as the familiar form of Grant Richards stepped away from the bar and ambled toward the stage. He stopped near the four steps to the elevated platform. She was glad the piano was behind her. It provided support since her knees were suddenly weak.

  "You’re early," she said, coming to the end of the stage. Pete called the chorus back, and activity started behind her. "You’re not due back for days. Why didn’t you call?"

  "If I’d called, you’d tell me not to come, right?"

  Robyn leveled her gaze. "Yes," she said.

  Grant spread his hands in answer and smiled.

  Robyn didn’t return it. "We have to talk." She walked to the barstool, retrieving her clothing, and then led Grant toward her dressing room. Before she reached the stairs, his hand took her arm and propelled her past the stairs and through the kitchen.

  "Marianne, Brooke is leaving. She won’t be back tonight."

  "Yes, I will," she contradicted, as he hurried her abou
t the counters laden with food for tonight’s menu and through the door.

  "Decision number four?" The redhead pushed her hands through her hair as she sat down on the chair behind her.

  ***

  Reagan National Airport was alive with activity. It was Friday. The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, and weekend travelers scurried to escape the city. Ja­cob leaned against the wall of windows in the waiting area of US Air. The tarmac was hot, and he could see the waves of heat rising from the black surface. A steady stream of planes entered and left the retractable jet-ways. Marianne was due in for her once a month report. Usually, she made her own way to the Watergate Hotel, and a car would pick her up on Saturday morn­ing. For the rest of the weekend, they’d work in his office.

  Today, he wanted to talk to her as soon as she arrived. There were pressing problems that needed to be resolved. Brooke’s position was getting dangerous. Jacob had kissed her. He had no doubt that he loved her. He’d done so since first seeing her and she’d challenged him at every turn. But he’d never put a hand on her until that night in the garden. That kiss told him something. He loved her, but it also said he could live with that love. She loved her husband. Of that he had no doubt. He knew by the way she trembled in his arms. Her heart would always be buried with another man. And his heart was suddenly released from a prison he hadn’t understood or known claimed it. This was a new kind of discovery on his part. He could love, be loved and be free to love at the same time.

  Jacob stood up straight moments later when he saw Marianne’s short bob of curly red hair. He took a step forward then stopped when he noticed she wasn’t alone. The man with her was tall and muscu­lar, with straight black hair cut neatly above his shirt collar. He was dressed in a business suit instead of the jeans and T-shirts that were the uniforms of American travelers. Something around Jacob’s heart tightened. He refused to acknowledge it as anything except disappointment at not being able to execute his plan.

  The couple walked briskly toward the indoor run­way that led to the baggage claim area, ticket counters, and taxis waiting outside. Jacob followed at a discreet distance. They both went to baggage claim. Jacob lifted a courtesy phone and had Marianne paged, leav­ing a message that a car was waiting for her. He watched as she found her bag, shook hands with the man, and made her way through the maze of people waiting at the carousel and its endless circle of lug­gage. He went outside and was there when the auto­matic doors opened and she came through them alone.

  "Jacob," she greeted. "I didn’t expect a car." Her smile was radiant.

  "Let me have that." He took her suitcase and led her to the government cars parked next to the entrance of the north terminal. "I wanted to talk to you," he said after he’d helped her inside, stored her luggage in the backseat, and slid into the driver’s seat.

  He started the car and reversed out of the space. He didn’t go far before turning onto Boundary Drive and heading for Lady Bird Johnson Park. Puzzled, Marianne looked at him when he bypassed the entrance to the George Washington Parkway that would have been the route to the Watergate Hotel.

  "Let’s walk," Jacob said when he’d parked in the empty lot.

  Marianne followed him down a path that led to a railing along the Potomac River. They were in the di­rect flight path of outgoing planes, and overhead, a huge jumbo jet thundered on its route toward an un­known destination.

  Jacob rested his arms on the rail. He looked out over the water for so long, Marianne thought he had forgotten she was there. Jacob was different. What had made him come to the airport? He had never done that before. Not even the first time she came to report to him. The last time she’d been here she thought he acted slightly out of step, but this time he was totally out of character. Marianne wondered what had happened to change Jacob? She stepped closer to him. He made no move to acknowledge her presence.

  "Jacob," she called quietly. "Is something wrong?"

  He didn’t turn immediately but kept staring across the water. Then, he shifted and looked at her. Marianne had the feeling that he’d never seen her before and that he found it strange that she was standing before him. She reached for him, touching his sleeve.

  "Are you all right?" she asked again.

  He nodded covering her hand, then resumed his po­sition at the rail.

  Marianne let her hand stay where it was. She would have liked to explore the emotions rioting through her system, but she had an important report to give. With her free hand, she opened the large purse on her shoul­der and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  "Have you ever seen this?" She handed it to Jacob.

  He took it, letting go of her hand to open the fold. "Where did you get this?" He glanced at the photo­copy of the picture of Robyn Richards.

  "I found it in the safe at the restaurant, hidden be­hind some papers we keep there."

  "Did Brooke say anything about this?"

  "No," Marianne shook her head. "If she hadn’t folded the envelope it was in, I’d never have noticed it." Marianne pointed to the bottom part of the pho­tocopy where she’d copied the envelope and an en­largement of the postmark.

  Jacob squinted in the bright sunlight. "This arrived before my visit. Why didn’t she tell me about it?"

  "I don’t know. Since Kari’s accident and Grant’s arrival, she hasn’t known which way to turn."

  "But she must know someone has discovered who she is." He looked at the grainy photo. "That her life is in danger."

  "Her life has been in danger for five years," Mari­anne hesitated. Jacob looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "She could think Grant sent it."

  "Do you think she told him?"

  "No," Marianne said without hesitation. "If she’d told him, she wouldn’t be flip-flopping on whether to see him when he comes."

  "She’s still seeing him then?"

  Marianne knew about Brooke’s promise to Jacob. "Brooke doesn’t invite him. He just shows up, and how can she refuse to go out with him? He’s hand­some, sure of himself, and he makes her feel like she’s the only woman in the world." Marianne realized she was talking about herself as well as Brooke. "Beyond that, she’s in love with him."

  "Wars have been lost and won over love," Jacob quoted some unknown poet. Marianne had no idea who. She knew how Brooke felt, wanting something she couldn’t have.

  "I’m going to have to act on this," Jacob said, his gaze moving from Marianne to the paper and back.

  Marianne nodded. She knew he’d have to do some­thing.

  "Come on, I’ll get you to your hotel."

  He took her arm and led her back to the car. The drive to Watergate was made in silence. Traffic over the Fourteenth Street Bridge had more than the usual amount of snarl for a Friday. Jacob cursed under his breath as they inched along at five miles an hour. When they hit Constitution Avenue Marianne could see the flashing lights of police cars ahead. Jacob banked left and took the streets through downtown until they reached P Street. Since Rock Creek Park at this hour flowed West, it was apparent they were taking a route through Georgetown.

  Marianne turned her attention to the cobblestone streets. The silence bothered her. She wondered what Jacob was thinking, what he would do with the infor­mation she’d given him and how Brooke would react when she he knew. Over the years Brooke had not known anything about Marianne’s reports to Jacob. Until Kari’s accident there hadn’t been much to say. Now she felt like a traitor.

  "Jacob—," she began intent on asking him the question uppermost in her mind. She stopped sud­denly, whipping her head around to stare at the back of a man walking up Wisconsin Avenue. His back was to her and crowds of tourist thronging the narrow pavement swallowed him up. She was sure—.

  "What is it?" Jacob glanced over his shoulder quickly, then at her before giving his attention to negotiating unused trolley tracks lining the broad avenue. It couldn’t be, Marianne thought. She thought she’d seen Will McAdams.

  "Nothing," she finally said. Turning back she reset­tl
ed her seat belt and stared at the shops and street vendors interspersed with a moving sea of people. Shaking her head she resolved the image as someone who looked like Will. After all, she’d only had a glimpse of him and she couldn’t see much because of the people in her way. Will was probably fixing spa­ghetti for Kari. It was the child’s favorite food and Marianne knew he watched her while Brooke ran the restaurant.

  At the hotel signed the appropriate papers, gave her credit card and smiled at the familiar clerk as she accepted her com­puter-coded key. Thoughts of Will had evaporated by the time the doors to the mirrored elevator opened. Jacob followed her, carrying her suitcase. He’d just dropped them on the king-size bed and turned to leave when the first bomb exploded.

  Chapter 8

  Grant finished checking in, and the green-and-white clad agent smiled and handed him the keys to his rental car. Heading for the automatic doors, he saw her. Marianne looked strained and pale as she awk­wardly pulled her suitcase from the circling carousel with her left hand. She dropped it next to her feet as if the action hurt. He made his way toward her. She looked surprised and frightened when she saw him.

  "Marianne, what happened to you?" he asked. He looked at her face, scrutinizing the side that was red and blistered. When he picked up her suitcase and garment bag, Grant noticed the bandage on her arms. Her face looked as if she’d been in a tanning machine where the lights worked only on one side. And part of her lower jaw was covered by a gauze patch.

  "I’m fine," she said by way of explanation. She offered a smile but it didn’t seem to work. Her eyes winched as if the operation hurt.

  "You don’t look so good. I have a car. Let me give you a ride home." Grant didn’t want to mention how badly she looked. He guided her to the area where the agent had told him he’d find the car and stored her suitcase in the trunk. She dropped her head raising her hand but thinking better of it, dropped it in her lap.