by Kim Baldwin
And my God, Kennedy, behind her all this time, silently watching; she’d heard it all. Ryden didn’t dare turn to look at her. She didn’t know how she could ever face her after this.
If Kennedy was in on this fiasco with Ratman, how much had they told her about Ryden and her previous life? Was she aware of how they’d set her up to blackmail her to cooperate? And did she know what Ryden looked like before the surgeries and other alterations?
Ryden could see the resemblance between her old self and new. Sure, they’d tweaked a few of her features: cheekbones, chin, nose. But the changes seemed minimal. And most of the other alterations—the stylish haircut and coloring, the Lasik to get rid of her glasses, the dental work, contacts, the classy makeup and flattering clothes, all were changes she could have made on her own but never had any interest in.
Maybe she should have taken more notice of her appearance in the past. In the photo on the news, she appeared older than she really was, haggard and unkempt. Only now did she fully realize how much she’d let herself go. If Kennedy had met her before all the changes, she probably wouldn’t have noticed her even if she’d slapped Kennedy on the ass. Why am I even thinking about another woman? Is this latent lesbianism?
If it was, it couldn’t be happening at a more unsuitable time with a more inappropriate person. She was trying to gather the strength to get up and go to the Oval Office but didn’t know how to face Kennedy. Think of an icebreaker.
Ryden made a point of looking out the window. “So, how about the weather? Pretty mild for March,” she said, not daring to turn around.
Kennedy cleared her throat. “Quite.”
Way to go on picking a topic, Ryden. What kind of exchange could she expect from that? A breakdown of this week’s forecast, accompanied by a statistical pie chart? “Anyway, I have to deal with some matters, so…” She actually had a lot to do to prepare for tomorrow’s state dinner, her first as host.
In addition to memorizing the speech Ratman had written for her welcoming the Argentine president, she had to familiarize herself with the many protocols that surrounded the event. One of her first meetings this morning was to finalize preparations with the key White House staff who were involved in organizing the massive undertaking: the chief of protocol, executive chef and executive pastry chef, social secretary, chief floral designer, chief usher, and chief calligrapher, among others. Tonya had already briefed her to a large degree on what to expect at such functions, and Ratman would be present today to help her with any last-minute decisions, so she didn’t expect any snags that might tip off any of them that she was doing this for the first time.
“So…?” Kennedy repeated.
Ryden finally turned around. “I just mean, I…” God, think of something. A knock interrupted the process of sticking her flat-heeled shoe in her mouth.
“Come in,” she said, and both of them turned toward the door. Ryden felt almost giddy for the disruption.
Ratman came in and handed Ryden an envelope. “It just arrived.” He looked from her to the envelope, as if asking her to see what it contained.
She tore the envelope open, and he stood over her as she read. Her hands shook and she had to steady her elbows on the table. “It’s from Juan Carlos.”
“What does he want?” Ratman asked.
“The president is asking for my permission to dance with him at the state dinner tomorrow,” Ryden replied.
“You can always decline, Madam President, but I advise against it. We have certain common interests.”
“I haven’t danced in years. You know my husband wasn’t much for it.” Tonya hadn’t included dancing in her training. Higher priorities dominated, and it wasn’t expected that she’d have to, since Thomas was newly widowed and rarely if ever had danced in public.
“It’ll just be a waltz.”
“But I…I don’t know how to,” Ryden mumbled.
Moore hesitated before saying, “You have a day to learn.”
“Or I can tell him I’m mourning my husband and find dancing premature.”
Ratman looked at her sternly. “We have common interests, Madam President, and we need his…cooperation.”
Ryden sighed. “How am I supposed to learn in a day?”
“We’ll find you a teacher.”
Ryden gasped at the thought of going through such a thing. The idea alone was excruciating. Not just because she’d never danced in her life, but the touching…she hated the touching. She couldn’t stand anyone so close to her, invading her personal space. “I can’t.” Ryden stood her ground. “I don’t want someone touching me, even if it’s a teacher. I’m not ready for that.”
“Just one dance, Madam President. It’s important.” When Ratman loomed over her, her hands began to shake again.
“With all due respect, Madam President,” Kennedy said from behind them.
Both Ryden and Ratman turned to look at her.
“Yes?” Ryden replied.
Kennedy took a step forward. “I can teach you the basics, if you will allow me.”
“You know how to?” Ratman asked.
“I wouldn’t offer otherwise.”
Ratman turned to Ryden expectantly. “Kennedy can teach you.”
“What can I possibly learn in a few hours?”
“Anything is better than not at all.” Ratman glared down at her.
Oh, peachy. She could barely stand to look at Kennedy this morning. How in the world was she going to dance with her? “But…she’s a woman.”
Kennedy turned to her and said stoically, “I can teach you, Madam President, even if…I’m not a man.” The words were polite but the tone icy.
“We need this,” Ratman said.
She got up and walked past Kennedy without looking at her. “Fine. I’ll be ready in an hour.” Because that’s how long it’s going to take me to mentally prepare myself for humiliation.
It wasn’t that she was a slow learner or lacked grace. She found physical closeness difficult, and for some reason she didn’t want to give Kennedy that impression.
*
Near Colorado Springs, Colorado
Jack stuck her cell into her back pocket and went into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. She was restless and had no appetite, but she should get something in her stomach since she hadn’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours. Cassady was in Boston and still not answering; the conductor required all the musicians to turn off their cells during rehearsals. She’d already sent a half dozen texts and left a voice mail for Cass to call her the minute she was free again. If she wasn’t careful, the constant barrage of I love you and I miss you like crazy. Is everything okay? messages might soon annoy Cass.
She retrieved the disposable prepaid cell she’d bought the day before and dialed the number Yuri had given her.
“So, how’s your brother?” Jack said as soon as the line picked up.
Without skipping a beat, TQ replied, “Dead.”
She snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting I killed him.”
“You called. How wonderful.”
“Yeah, well, once in a while someone amazing comes along…and here I am.”
“Indeed.”
“So, how do you see this playing out?”
“You’re going to come to me,” TQ replied confidently.
“How clairvoyant of you,” Jack said. “What else do you see in your crystal ball?”
“Options.”
“I can either bury or burn you. I’m open to both.”
“The options, arrogant friend, are for you.”
“Interesting. Do enlighten me.”
“You are either going to come to me out of your own free will, or I am going to force you.”
“Chilling scenario,” Jack said as she slathered some mayo on a piece of bread. “You should sell the movie rights.”
“I see the financial possibilities in that.” TQ laughed. “But I’m holding out for a conclusion.”
“I hate to
keep you in anticipation, so here’s how many fucks I give: I’m holding up a finger. Guess which one.”
“Although I’m enjoying the banter, this conversation is becoming more counterproductive by the retort, and I’m a very busy woman. I suggest we bring it to a close fairly soon.”
“Good, because I’ve gotten more excitement out of a Cracker Jack box, and I’ve got things to do myself,” Jack replied. “That BLT ain’t gonna eat itself.”
“Very well.” TQ paused. “You either come to me, or I can come and get you.”
“I’m more than willing to meet you in person,” Jack said.
“And what would you do once we met?”
“Pretty much the same as you, and something tells me that doesn’t include dinner and drinks.”
“You’re wrong, Jack. I don’t want to hurt you. I merely want your cooperation.”
“Explain.”
“I want you to work for me,” TQ said.
“Say what?”
“You come highly recommended.”
“Have you been taking expired drugs?”
“I’ve experienced firsthand how…capable you are.”
“It doesn’t take a lot of skill to execute point-blank,” she said.
“But it takes a lot of nerve to kill someone like my brother.”
“Not really, him being a cripple and all.”
TQ chuckled. “It’s not polite to mock the physically challenged.”
Jack took a bite of her sandwich. “It is when they’re organ-stealing murderers. In other words, deranged assholes. Pretty much like you.”
“My brother was a talentless little man who depended on me for a reason—to wheel his sorry existence out of bed. I, on the other hand, Jack, am a savior. I give to people what doctors and belief cannot. I give them life.”
“I think I just heard harps play and angels sing. You do realize you kill people every time you save a life.”
“Some deserve to live more than others.”
“The ones who can afford you,” Jack said.
“Those who put a loved one above the costs.”
“Let’s just agree you’re—”
“God?” TQ sounded serious.
Jack laughed so hard she thought she might lose her lunch. “You…are…hysterical,” she said between spurts of laughter.
“You know what else is hilarious, Jack?”
Jack poured a glass of milk to wash down the sandwich. “Let me have a swig of milk before I choke.” She lifted the glass to her mouth.
It was TQ’s turn to laugh. “I hear a talented violinist is rehearsing for this weekend’s performance of Albinoni’s ‘Adagio in G minor.’ And I happen to know you’re not with her, since her every move is being monitored.”
Jack slowly placed her glass back on the counter. “This is between you and me.” She reached in her back pocket for her regular cell phone.
“Oh, and don’t bother warning Ms. Monroe. You see, a certain gentleman is seated in the dark auditorium as we speak. Should she happen to reach for her cell, he is instructed to execute her on the spot.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“The only one who can harm her is you. It’s your call, Jackie. Had you agreed to come to me of your own will, you would have saved yourself the agony of option number two.”
“Where?”
“Someone will pick you up at the old Bingham’s warehouse in Denver.”
How the hell did she know they were in Colorado? “I can be there in two hours.”
“Oh, and Jack? Please come alone. My men are going to follow Ms. Monroe until you are safe and sound in my company. One wrong move or phone call and I will finish what Rózsa couldn’t.”
Jack’s heart rate accelerated. “That’s ridiculous. Anyone could call her, her work—”
“Then the sooner you get here, the less chance of that happening while she’s being watched,” TQ said calmly.
“Make it an hour and a half, bitch.” Jack hung up.
Chapter Sixteen
The White House
Shield wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make the offer, but Thomas’s reply had made her immediately regret it. She couldn’t figure the president out, and that was frustrating. One moment, Thomas was in control: witty, charming, and respectful of Shield. The next, she was afraid, humorless, distant, and rude. The president clearly had regrets about their flirtatious exchange, which was understandable. It was also probably why she had to point out that Shield was a woman and thereby incapable of teaching her to dance. But did Thomas have to keep her back turned to her all morning or act so appalled at being touched?
Shield knocked on her bedroom door an hour later, dreading the alone time with the president.
Thomas opened the door and stepped out. She’d changed from the casual attire she always wore at breakfast to a tailored gray silk blouse and charcoal skirt. “I’m ready.” She’d taken a few steps down the hallway before Shield noticed her shoes.
“Madam President.”
Thomas stopped. “Yes?” she replied without turning around.
“Your footwear.”
“What about it?” she asked, still with her back turned.
“Not suitable for a dance lesson.”
Thomas looked down at her low-heeled black pumps. “They’re comfortable.”
“But inappropriate. You’ll have to learn to dance in heels, because I presume that’s what you’ll be wearing tomorrow night for the dinner.”
The president turned and walked past Shield back toward her room. “I’ll make the adjustment.” When she reemerged a short time later, she was wearing three-inch lavender heels, and the added lift brought her up roughly to Shield’s height.
Thomas swept past without a glance and headed down the Grand Staircase to the East Room, the largest room in the White House, where the entertainment portion of the state dinner would be held. A small stage had already been set up on one side for the orchestra, and folding chairs were stacked against one wall. The rest of the room was bare; the grand piano had been taken out, and the Aubusson-style carpet had been removed from one end to expose the polished oak parquet floor for dancing. Either the president or Moore had evidently called ahead, because a White House aide was standing by with a portable music player and speakers.
“Good morning, Madam President,” he said as soon as they entered. “I’ve gotten the music list from the orchestra and have a couple of their waltz selections for you to choose from.”
“Thank you,” Thomas replied. “That will be all for now. I’ll call you if we need you.”
As he departed, Shield disconnected her communications device. She went to the president and faced her. “First, let’s go over the hold. You place your left hand on my right shoulder, with your elbow bent.”
Thomas placed her hand on Shield’s upper arm.
“Higher, please.” Shield took her hand and moved it to her shoulder. “Very good. Now…” Shield extended her left arm. “Put your right hand in mine, in a loose grip, and I’ll put my right hand around your waist, like this.”
Thomas stiffened as soon as Shield touched her.
“I know I’m not a man.” Shield couldn’t help herself, remembering the president’s previous comments. “But please try to relax.”
Thomas avoided eye contact when she replied. “I didn’t mean…”
“You try to maintain this hold, and this distance, throughout the dance,” Shield said, standing about a foot away. “On the first beat, I step forward with my left foot, and you step back with your right.”
The president moved forward instead, which resulted in a chest-to-chest collision. “I’m sorry.” Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“No need. It takes getting used to.” Shield hurriedly put the correct distance between them. “On the next beat, I step forward and to the right with my right foot, making a kind of L, and you mirror what I’m doing with your left foot, stepping back. Your partner, presuming he’s good at this, will be sub
tly leading you with his hands.”
She demonstrated, tightening her hold slightly on the president. For someone who busied herself with paperwork, phone calls, and meetings, Thomas’s hands felt rougher than Shield expected. “Next, shift your weight to your left foot, while you keep your right foot stationary. On the third beat, you slide your right foot over to your left and stand with your feet together.”
Thomas still appeared tense as she looked down at her feet as if willing them to move. Shield placed her foot between both of Thomas’s and nudged her right foot to the left. Thomas looked at her bewildered.
“You can do this,” Shield said, and Thomas charily moved her foot. “Very good.”
“On the fourth beat, step forward with your left foot, while I step back with my right foot. Great. Now, on the fifth beat, I step back and to the left with my left foot, tracing a backward L and shifting my weight to my left foot, while you mirror me with your right foot, stepping forward.”
Thomas followed her lead.
“On the last beat, slide your left foot toward your right, until your feet are together. That’s the pattern. Now we repeat from step one, and as you dance each pattern, your partner will move you across the floor, turning your orientation slowly to the right by slight variations in the placement of your feet. This is where you really pay attention to how he’ll be leading you with his hand on your waist and with pressure against your palm. Shall we try a few patterns without the music first?”
“You’re the teacher.”
They took it from the top, and although still rigid in her movements, Thomas at least remembered the steps. After a half dozen patterns, Shield released her hold, and Thomas immediately pulled back a few steps like she couldn’t wait to let go.
“I think we’re ready for the music,” Shield said sternly. She hadn’t expected Thomas to launch into a tight embrace, but she didn’t know why she had to act so scared, almost relieved, Shield had let go. She walked over to the CD player. “I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, but can you hold on long enough to try it with music a few more times?”
Ryden tore her gaze away from those penetrating eyes. Kennedy looked frustrated. She understood the sentiment, since she knew she wasn’t a natural at this, but did the bodyguard have to be that obvious? “I think I can manage.”
