The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  But hell, this was his area of expertise, and she should trust him. He did know what was best—at least this time. And she didn’t need to worry about it. As he stuck the phone in his shirt pocket, he turned and saw her standing in the doorway. The smile on his face was immediate, and he was confident that none of the panic showed through. It was no different than undercover ops. He’d been excellent at being evasive and deceptive. He’d had no idea at the time exactly how handy that training and experience would be. Not even he was cynical enough to have guessed the extent to which he would use it for the rest of his life. But she wasn’t fooled.

  “Which one of them are you meeting with? And more to the point, is something going on that I should know about?” She stood with her arms folded, fresh as the morning and wearing a sky-blue number—her best color as far as he was concerned—and was the picture of the stereotypical housewife catching the husband in some misdeed. He laughed—big and loud. She leaned on the doorjamb with an amused half-smile on her face, looking like she’d wait all day for an answer.

  “Probably. But you know me. If and when I think you need to know I’ll tell you about it.” There was no sense in sugarcoating it now, although he did match her smile. He walked over and hugged her, nuzzling the soft-scented hair draping around her long neck. Then he shoved past her and headed for the stairs and the back door.

  The strain of her anger definitely showed on her face, she realized when she walked into her campaign office later that morning and saw the looks she got from the staff. Shock mostly. Except Sarah, who looked disgusted. That meant she knew what was going on. Mad crooked her finger to indicate to Sarah to follow her into the private office, otherwise known as Madeline’s suite. She glanced at the ridiculous scoreboard flashing the boldly lit numbers as if taunting her, showing Peter ahead by eleven points. The margin had increased overnight, after the fiasco at the mall, of course. That reminder was all she needed to bring her focus back to the campaign.

  After Mad blew through the door, she headed straight for the bowl of chocolate balls, grabbed a handful and threw herself onto the chair, hitching her leg over the arm in a very unladylike pose.

  “What does he have going on?” Sarah stood with her hands on her hips in complete empathy with Madeline’s anger.

  “He won’t tell me.” She felt every bit as childish as she sounded, and that made her even angrier. She shouldn’t be more than mildly frustrated.

  “Aah, I see. Back to his old tricks.” Sarah sat with an empathetic frown on her face.

  “And I’m angry, a useless waste of energy. And worse—an emotional state that indicates that deep down I think there’s something I can do about it. I used to be sad—feeling I had lost, that there was nothing left to be done.” She stopped talking and looked at her friend, knowing that Sarah would understand the very odd outburst of self-analysis.

  “Now this is worse. You’re not over him after all.” Sarah sounded calm as she shook her head. She was probably confident that Madeline would snap herself out of it.

  Madeline only snorted at the thought. “Not even close. I’m still in love with him and what’s worse—I want him.” Mad figured the frank words would shock Sarah out of her delusion that all would be well any time soon.

  “What do you mean, you want him?”

  Madeline gave her a withering look without bothering to elaborate. Enough was enough. She did need to calm herself. This moment of panic was all she could afford to allow. She had to get ready for the special appearance at Northeastern’s Fordham Hall.

  There, she had to be serious and focused on her speech, not on her love life—or what sadly passed for one. She reminded herself that her speech was on sex, the media and politics. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Dennis rapped on her door as he walked through it and came to a stop in front of her.

  “The latest polls from the other side, a couple of their news outlets including their TV station. Not favorable as usual but…”

  “Let me guess—something troubling.”

  “They’re trying to make an issue of something—something that’s a relative non-issue in this state—the abortion rights issue, to be exact. Now I find that damn puzzling. In a very disturbing way.”

  “Me, too. Coupled with the fact that Peter intimated that I’m being set up by someone in a more underhanded way.”

  “What?” Both Sarah and Dennis spoke at once, with almost identical expressions of alarm, both knowing that Madeline was no alarmist.

  “Sarah, I told you. Dennis, as I was telling Sarah, Peter got a call from someone and he’s not telling me the details. I got the impression it is about me—or my campaign. Call it a sixth sense, but I think it’s nasty enough for him to not want me involved. His charming protective streak at work. I suspect he’s calling in his old special ops buddies to help him deal with it. He’s been in communication with a couple of them. There’s someone on the other side that’s gotten through his subterfuge, though, gotten past whatever cone of silence he thought he had set up. He was unnerved by that and still overly confident that he can deal with it, which is typical for him.”

  “What?” They said it again. This time she laughed and stood up. Dennis sat down and grabbed a chocolate ball for himself.

  “Looks like I ought to try one of these. They seem to be working for you.”

  “I’ll say. Give me one. ’Cause I could have sworn you were all out of sorts just a minute ago.” Sarah took a chocolate from Dennis and narrowed her eyes at Madeline.

  “That was then. This is now. Time to deal with the problem. For the moment, we’re going to have to assume the worst. Let’s assume Peter doesn’t handle the problem he’s run into—I assume it’s blackmail—and let’s assume this unusual polling issue is not only a calculated one, but also related to what’s going on with Peter.” Madeline paced back and forth as she spoke, studying the chocolate she unwrapped in very precise and well-practiced movements, like the robotic machinery that wrapped the candy in reverse. She and Sarah knew there were more secrets from her past to be concerned about. No one else knew, not even Peter. The fact that Peter didn’t know was the most troubling part if the secret got out. She was not going to tell Dennis. No need. It was that well kept a secret. Sarah would never tell a soul.

  “And we’re supposed to figure you’re the target and not PJD?” Dennis assumed.

  “Let him worry about himself,” Sarah said without taking her eyes off Madeline. Madeline looked at them both as if she were a schoolmaster proud of her two prize pupils. She didn’t stop pacing, now with her hands on her hips.

  “Yeah. Except I don’t figure we’ll be lucky enough to puzzle out what they have or be able to stop them from producing some kind of smoking gun—real or imagined. We’ll have to be ready for something, though. Brief everyone,” Dennis said.

  “Do we prepare to flat-out deny whatever it is no matter how convincing the smoking gun is? Even if we don’t have any way to refute it cause we don’t know what it’s going to be?” Madeline asked.

  Dennis nodded. “Believe it or not, ladies, I’ve been here before. But not for some minor race like this. Or what I thought was a relatively minor race. Obviously someone else thinks it’s a big deal. Probably the national party people, if I had to make a guess. And maybe it’s not all about you, Mad. I hate to say it, but they could be just using you to get to him. He’s probably the bigger threat in the party’s mind.”

  “And with you as lieutenant governor, he’d be all but unstoppable in the bigger picture. What they want is to destroy you so that you’ll be no help to him as a running mate of any kind,” Sarah concluded in a dull voice.

  “You’re probably right. I’m not saying they’re right about their assumptions. But those could be the assumptions they’re making.” Madeline stopped pacing and stood in front of both of them with her hands on her hips again. “What we have to do is teach them a lesson about underestimating their opponent.”

  “I’ll brief the troops on how
to handle the press when the third shoe drops.” Dennis stood.

  “I’ll see what else I can get on the polls—talk to some media people, see if any of the campaigners have a clue what it’s about.” Sarah stood.

  “I’ll have a talk with Peter and Rick, his trusty sidekick, whom he may trust, but I most definitely do not. If we put our heads together we may figure out where this is going before it gets there.” Madeline escorted them to the door.

  “Is that before or after your turning-point speech at Fordham Hall at Northeastern University tonight, which is going to be covered by all the local news stations?” Dennis asked as he walked past her. She felt the jolt he meant to cause, but it was a jolt of adrenaline, and she acknowledged the challenge with a lift of her chin and an arch of her brow as she closed her door behind them.

  Time to finalize that speech. Then she would call Peter.

  At Charles River Park

  Peter didn’t bother telling Rick. It always made Rick nervous anyway. He hated anything and everything connected to the so-called spy business. It was amazing he overlooked such a big chunk of Peter’s past and still managed to at least seem to admire him in spite of it. Maybe it was fear not admiration. Rick wouldn’t be the first guy to show respect for what he feared.

  Be that as it may, with only a small tinge of regret, Peter left his mobile behind and went out of contact with his closest assistant and the one man he was not ever supposed to lose contact with during the campaign. He consoled himself that that was more a field operation rule and this was only politics. Funny how un-consoling the thought was.

  He strolled along the path armed with his sunglasses and dressed in a T-shirt and shorts—incognito again. At least they were multi-pocketed shorts and he wasn’t without a few gadgets for the meet-up. He was almost to the Hatch Shell heading toward town when he spotted the likely contact and congratulated himself that he hadn’t lost his touch. Not completely. He hadn’t realized how out of practice he was until he had to really start thinking like an operative again and actually plan the contact with Acer and Sam. They had used his gym in the basement of his house in Cambridge, a place Peter had built with more than workouts in mind. It was totally communication safe, at least from any ordinary means of bugging. You could take the man out of special ops, but apparently the special ops mentality clung to the man. He closed in on his target, careful to give no indications. It was this guy’s show. He sat down on a nearby bench and put his head back, spreading out as if to bask in the sun for a rest. With his sunglasses on, he kept his eye on the man in running clothes who was pretending to stretch out.

  A woman, mid-twenties with sunglasses and a short skirt, sat next to him. He glanced at her appreciatively.

  “Mr. Douglas?” she said without preamble and without smiling.

  He recovered quickly from under his glasses. He’d have to scold himself later. After a closer look, he recognized the mayor’s daughter and stifled a curse.

  “Theresa? What are you doing here?” It was cliché and obvious, but also the question worked because it happened to be sincere.

  “I love politics. The game just keeps getting more and more exciting, don’t you think?” Theresa said.

  “It’s not a game. We’re real people—not the little make-believe dolls you’re used to playing with.” He moved to stand. If she was for real she’d better make it quick. He wasn’t inclined to play games with this girl. She had a reputation for partying it up with all kinds of men all over town, and he didn’t want any part of that. After a quick survey of the area, he realized that the runner was the only one left and the man now looked back at him. The mothballs in his mind quickly gave way to uncover the knowledge he had stored from his previous life—the knowledge he had hoped he’d never need again, but kept around in case. He moved quickly.

  “Don’t go yet!” Theresa yelped. She leapt up next to him and rushed to grab his arm, throwing her jacket off at the same time to uncover a very revealing top underneath. He saw the “runner” slip something from his pocket. It was most likely a camera. Peter reminded himself to slow down his adrenaline. He turned and shoved Theresa back into her seat.

  “This is old. Your father in a nostalgic mood when he cooked this scheme up?”

  “No. It was all my idea, actually.” She smiled. “I’ve always had a crush on you, Peter. Figured I could mix business with pleasure. If you think about it, you should be flattered.” She stood again waving her hand at her accomplice. The man was snapping away. Peter was wondering how long Acer and Sam were going to let him play games. A woman with a dog walked in their direction.

  “That’s right. I’m terribly flattered by your attention. Tell your father I know all about his very married girlfriend and her ex-senator husband. Do you have information for me or is this the whole plot?”

  Now she pouted. The cameraman stopped taking pictures and stood looking unsure what to do next. There were a few people scattered around now.

  “He doesn’t know anything about this. But I do have something for you.” She shoved an envelope at him and nodded at the runner/camera man.

  Peter took the envelope, keeping his distance, and backed away from her. He turned in time to see two men walk up to the man with the camera from each side. They looked very friendly, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Almost unnoticed, one of them took his camera from him and slipped it into his pocket. They continued to smile at the befuddled man, and when the runner’s puzzled look turned to alarm, they walked toward Peter.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Theresa said. She followed Peter’s gaze. He kept his distance from her and walked to meet his friends.

  “Beats me. You know that dude?” Peter feigned ignorance and fell in step with Acer and Sam as they walked away from the entire scene. They moved quickly, but not quick enough.

  “Don’t forget the envelope P – J – D!” Theresa shouted at him across the distance. Of course heads turned in his direction—just before he ducked into the car.

  “What’s in the envelope?” Acer asked immediately after they slammed the car doors and he stepped on the gas. Peter ripped it open while he bounced around in the backseat. Sam was in the front with Acer.

  In the envelope was a picture of him and Madeline together on a beach in Marblehead. The picture was very cozy. He remembered the time, six years ago. He didn’t remember anyone there with a camera.

  “There’s someone on the inside.” He handed over the picture with an effort to keep his hand from trembling. He read the note. It was a warning that Madeline would be targeted if he didn’t ditch her as a girlfriend and a potential running mate. The picture spoke for itself. It was not faked. It was taken or acquired from someone close to them. These people knew his friends, his games and his weakness. Someone found it unacceptable for Mad to join him as a lieutenant governor. Evidently they didn’t know her too well, or they’d know she wasn’t going to join his campaign. They were toying with him. This was a personal game.

  “The senator could be behind it. He’s a bigwig in his party. Could be he’s courted an insider. Maybe he’s not a big fan of your career.” Sam said, tossing the note with the insignia onto the seat as if it were contaminated. The senator had been a commander at the Air Force Academy when Peter was there.

  “No. He’d pick up the phone and call me if he had a beef about Mad being my lieutenant governor. He’s a friend of sorts. But his wife, on the other hand, may not be. Then there’s the link between her and the mayor.”

  “The senator’s wife has a motive?” Acer sounded skeptical.

  “I never told you about the Moroni murder case. Good time to mention it now. Never seemed important before.” Peter thought fleetingly of Mad standing with her arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb with disapproval shouting from every pore. At least that’s what he was hearing now. But it was his conscience, after all. Not her.

  “Sal Moroni was murdered by his brother Jack. Allegedly. They were in the import business and connected t
o organized crime, probably drugs, according to the Bureau.”

  “What does this have to do with Senator Brown and his wife?” Acer was impatient. Peter could tell by his driving—or what was supposed to be driving but felt more like racing in the Grand Prix.

  “Priscilla Brown was having an affair with Jack Moroni, the alleged murderer. We became aware of this when she stepped up to provide him with an alibi. I called Senator Brown to let him know, and he insisted we couldn’t count her statement as credible. It would never go anywhere, so he suggested we pretend she never made the statement. We never told Jack’s attorney about the alibi, but we let him plea out on the murder one charge. That was a dicey move because some people thought we had too strong a case. The senator covered my back on that—since I was doing him a favor. He also sent his wife for treatment. Seems she’d done her share of drugs. She also admitted she’d been lying about the alibi. Senator Brown promised her if she ever talked about giving that false statement he’d make sure everyone knew it was a lie. He said he would say he was with her. The threat to her was criminal charges. He didn’t appreciate being played by his wife. He didn’t want any part of the story to go public.

  “Jack was set to do jail time but he ended up OD-ing somehow. The investigation didn’t show much except the usual jailhouse corruption. The spin was that he committed suicide. In the end everyone got their due,” Peter finished.

  “A regular bedtime story with a happy ending and all,” Sam said.

  “Yeah.” Peter looked at his friends.