by Kim Baldwin
“Really, Monty, do you think I didn’t want to? Jack would have killed me if I told you I was worried about her, let alone ask you to check on her.”
“Why didn’t you ask a friend?”
“She doesn’t have any, except for Landis. I tried her, but she’s away on a job.”
Monty covered the receiver. “Why is David taking so long?” he asked Joanne.
“He’ll be here any moment, honey.”
“Part of me hopes she’s passed out on the floor,” he said into the phone to lighten Cassady’s worry. “Who knows what she’ll do if she sees me there.”
“Deal with it,” Cassady replied seriously. “She’d be a lot less messed up if you were honest with her.”
“Honest with her?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
Cassady sighed. “Stubbornness, like denial, is hereditary, after all. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots, you know. She may look like her mother, but the rest is all you.”
Just then, David Arthur walked into the living room. Cassady’s statements had shocked and appalled Monty so completely, he hadn’t heard the doorbell. “You haven’t told her,” he said, gripping the phone tightly.
“I haven’t told anyone,” Cassady replied. “It’s not my place, and I’m not about to make your life easier by being the one to tell her.”
“How would the truth make a difference?”
“Jack has more trust issues and disregard for her well-being than the rest of us put together.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because on some instinctual and very deep subconscious level, she knows. And I gotta tell ya, the realization that the man you’re supposed to trust blindly turned an indifferent eye to the fact that you were practically beaten and raped to death is a pretty damn hard fact to forgive.”
“I’m not…wasn’t…indifferent to what happened,” he said. “I was devastated but couldn’t show it. I didn’t know how to. If I could—”
“Don’t tell me, tell her. Because if something happens to Jack because of how she is, who she’s become because of you,” Cassady paused for emphasis, her voice like ice, “I am going to personally kill you.”
“Do not threaten me, young lady, and do not forget who I am.”
Cassady was apparently too worked up for his rebuke to affect her. “Where the hell is Arthur coming from, Siberia?”
“He just walked in. We’re leaving now.”
“Call me ASAP.”
“Of course.”
“And, Monty?”
“Yes?”
“Grow a pair,” Cassady said, and hung up.
“What was that about?” Joanne asked, clearly having guessed the gist of the conversation.
“You heard. Cassady knows.”
“And Jaclyn?”
Monty shook his head. “Maybe Cassady is right. Maybe I—”
“Yes, you do, Monty, but first things first.”
“What’s going on?” Arthur asked.
“Jaclyn’s missing.” Monty got his Glock and shoulder holster from the bedroom and put them on. “We’re checking their house.”
“Let’s go,” Arthur said immediately.
“Joanne, call whoever we have in the New York area and send them to Jaclyn’s address.” Monty gave her a quick kiss good-bye.
She nodded as she handed him his car keys and coat. “Your cell and lock-pick kit are in the pocket. Call me as soon as you know something.”
Monty made the normally three-hour drive to Colorado Springs in two hours and fifteen minutes. He told Arthur about his conversation with Cassady, and Arthur listened without interruption.
“She’s right, Monty. You need to tell Jack.”
“I do. It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s also the most. We all know what it’s like to grow up without a family,” Arthur said as they neared Cassady’s street. “The same way we all know what it’s like to want and need one. Jack has Cass now, but take it from an old bastard like me. Jack needs a family more than any op we’ve ever had.”
“But I was there all along.”
“You weren’t there, you were around. You never made her feel anything other than necessary for the organization—an operative.”
Monty gripped the wheel tighter as the two-story adobe-style home came into view. David was right. “She never knew how necessary she was to me.”
“You’re the lucky one, Monty. You had what the rest of us only dreamed of—a family—and you never acknowledged her.”
“I screwed up.”
“Sure did.”
“How do you think she’ll take it?”
“How would you, if your father was under your nose the whole time and never told you?”
“I should probably wear a vest.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Arthur replied seriously.
He thought about what Cassady had said. “Time I grew a pair.”
They pulled into the driveway and Arthur put his hand on Monty’s arm. “Life is getting shorter by the second, and we’re getting too old to wait for right moments. At our age, buddy, every moment is the right one.”
They went to the front door, and Arthur knocked loudly several times. When no one answered, Monty pulled out his lock pick and opened the door.
“We’ve made these kids too arrogant to realize an alarm system is not useless,” Arthur said when they entered the house a second later.
Monty turned on the lights next to the door. “Jaclyn, it’s Pierce,” he called out.
“And Arthur. Probably wise to warn her,” he said to Monty, “before she puts a hole in your head.”
“Jaclyn?” Monty called out again. “Cassady is worried about you.” When no one answered, he looked around the room. “They have an alarm, after all,” he said, gesturing to the small control panel on the wall and the two motion detectors.
They looked at each other and drew their automatics. Arthur signaled to Monty that he was going upstairs.
Glock in hand, Monty headed for the kitchen. He found a half-eaten sandwich and a carton of milk on the counter. The carton was half-full. “Doesn’t look good,” he mumbled.
“Monty?” Arthur said from behind him.
“Yeah?” He turned around.
Arthur held up a piece of paper, torn from a yellow notepad. “I found this in the bedroom, on the pillow.”
“What does it say?”
Arthur looked down at the note. “It says: I have to do this. I’m sorry, baby. I can’t bear the thought of anyone ever hurting you again. Know that I will always love you. Jack.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The White House
Next morning, March 5
Ryden awakened with a massive headache that refused to subside even after plenty of coffee and a shower. She’d had three glasses of wine before Kennedy showed up and had asked Betty for another after she’d returned to her room. She was too aggravated and wound up to sleep after her encounter with Kennedy to go to bed.
She’d never been the one to initiate a kiss or any physical contact with another person, but Kennedy had made her feel helpless to do otherwise. So she had reacted on pure instinct, not caring about the fact that it was unprofessional, inappropriate, and unlike her. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after kissing a woman, but she certainly hadn’t counted on spontaneous arousal. It was a simple kiss, but Kennedy’s soft mouth, her breath, and her tight shoulders had made for a remarkable aphrodisiac. If such a quick brush of lips had undone her, she shivered at the thought of what a slow, long, and thorough kiss might reduce her to.
Kennedy, however, had shown no emotion at all at the encounter—hadn’t responded one way or another—and Ryden felt frustrated and embarrassed for disregarding that lack of response. She had reacted like the numerous desperate drunks she’d encountered and despised, and completely ignored Kennedy’s trepidations and obvious disinterest.
Unsteady on her feet, she sat at h
er vanity to prepare herself to face the day. “Snap out of it,” she said to her reflection as she ran a brush through her hair. “You have a million things to worry about, and here you are throwing yourself at a woman and adding problems to the pile.” She needed to concentrate on getting out of here and the new life ahead, and forget Kennedy and this obscene infatuation that would lead absolutely nowhere, anyway. But why was the thought of never seeing Kennedy again disturbing and… “God, how am I going to face her today?”
The ringing phone interrupted her musings. “Yes?”
“I want to meet in an hour,” Ratman said. “We have to prepare your speech on the illegal-weapons issue.”
“The press conference isn’t due for another week.”
“We had to push it up.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“I…no.” And it really didn’t. She was curious about the change in plans but didn’t care either way. The weapons legislation was one of the primary items on Ratman’s agenda for her, so as far as she was concerned, accelerating the announcement just meant she was another step closer to freedom and further away from this complicated existence. She hung up the phone and headed to the massive closet.
“Focus on the prize,” Ryden said aloud as she plucked a coral-colored blazer-and-skirt ensemble from the rack of designer suits. “Nothing else matters.”
*
Shield received an early, terse call from the president, notifying her of a change in the day’s agenda. Thomas was skipping breakfast and would be starting her day with an unscheduled meeting with Kenneth Moore in a half hour.
When the president emerged from her bedroom right on schedule, Shield, waiting outside in the hall, tried not to look at Thomas’s mouth. “Good morning.”
“About last night…I’m not a big drinker.”
“I gathered.” Shield smiled.
“No offense, the wine was exceptional,” Thomas rubbed her right temple with two fingers, “but I woke up with a horrible headache.”
“Like you said, you’re not a drinker.” Shield stood with her hands clasped behind her back. For someone with a headache, Thomas looked beautiful, almost radiant. She’d done her hair and makeup herself, and chosen an ensemble that was tailored to subtly accentuate her slim hips and high, round breasts. “If it’s any consolation, you seem…rested.”
Thomas looked away. “I don’t know what possessed me to enter your room and take your wine.”
“You needed to unwind. No harm done.”
“Anyway,” Thomas said with an air of flippancy, “I can’t remember very much about last night, so if I said or did anything to offend you, please forgive me and forget I was there. I can assure you, it wasn’t personal and it won’t happen again.”
“I’m not thrilled about having my room raided, but that aside, you didn’t say or do anything unpleasant.” She unwittingly focused her gaze on Thomas’s lush, full lips, glossy with a coral lipstick that complemented the color of her suit.
“Good to know.” Thomas sounded relieved. “I’ve witnessed inebriated people make complete fools of themselves.”
Did the president really not remember their conversation, or kissing her? “That may be true, but alcohol also enhances any preexisting mood.”
“Either way…” Thomas waved her hand dismissively. “It’s all a crazy blur. So again, forgive me if I did anything to offend you.”
Shield knew she should leave last night alone and feel glad for Thomas’s memory loss, but she couldn’t and didn’t. Instead, she took a step closer to the president, and as she did, she unplugged the communications device in her sleeve so they wouldn’t be overheard. “There was nothing offensive about your kiss.”
Thomas blushed and looked away. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I know you remember.”
“Then you also know I’m trying to deny any recollection.”
“So you remember.”
“I don’t understand you.” Thomas sounded angry. “You vehemently point out every reason in the world why we need to keep it professional, and then you turn around and seek confirmation of my attraction to you. Are you after validation, a need for acceptance, or some sadomasochistic satisfaction?”
Shield stared at her, unable to answer. Thomas was right, and she didn’t honestly know what she was after or why she felt the need to bring up that kiss. She’d always been professional at work and, after Carmen, distant in her private life and relations. As a rule, she didn’t care who remembered her and wasn’t out to make a lasting impression, but for some reason Thomas’s opinion mattered.
She’d struggled all night with how Thomas’s frustration had led to her uncharacteristic confession of what she needed in a woman, and she’d also thought about that spontaneous, sweet kiss, absent any motivation other than unpolluted want. Shield needed confirmation of the purity she’d felt in that kiss. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled, more to herself than Thomas.
“Get over it. I’ve been under a lot of stress, I’m tired, and I miss my recently deceased husband. You just happened to be on the receiving end of misplaced emotions, a temporary distraction.” Thomas turned on her heel and headed toward the stairs.
Shield wanted to tackle her, pin her down and say something, anything to hurt her back.
She quietly caught up and said, “So, who’s playing with whom?”
“You’re a big girl,” the president said. “Deal with it.”
“I can deal with it just fine.”
“I’m glad.”
“Question is, how are you dealing with the political game you’re participating in?”
Thomas stopped halfway down the steps and turned around. “What game?”
“I know Moore is up to something,” she whispered, mindful of the pair of guards positioned at the bottom of the staircase. “It’s only a matter of time before I find out what, but what I don’t understand is your involvement and his power over you.”
“I’ve slighted you and you are obviously being irrational,” Thomas replied in the same low tone.
“Am I? Is it a coincidence your hands shake whenever he’s around?”
Thomas looked at her with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
“You’re terrified of him.”
“I’m not.” Thomas stood her ground.
“What did he make you do?”
“Even if you were right, why would I tell you anything?”
“Because if Moore can kill once, he can kill twice.”
“Kill?” Thomas glanced nervously toward the other bodyguards. “Killed who?” For the first time during this conversation, the president looked sincerely worried.
Before Shield could answer, Kenneth Moore came into view at the bottom of the staircase.
“There you are.” Moore smiled up at them. “Is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” Shield replied as the two women descended to meet him. “We were just talking about our mutual passion for tennis. Madam President agreed to teach me a few tricks tomorrow.”
“I see.” Moore looked apprehensive. “How interesting.”
“Hardly,” Shield said. “It’s common knowledge Madam President is a strong player.”
“Madam President is,” Moore agreed cryptically.
Thomas laughed nervously and clasped her hands together to hide the slight shaking. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s been months, and I’m sure I’m not up to par.”
“Time for our meeting, Madam President.” Moore took the president’s arm and led her away toward the Oval Office. “We have a lot to talk about.”
*
Southwestern Colorado
As soon as Pierce called her with the news of what they’d found at her house, Cassady Monroe booked a ticket on the first plane out of Boston, which left at five a.m. There were no direct flights, so by the time she picked up her car in long-term parking and reached the EOO headquarters, it was almost one in the afternoon. She found Pierce in his o
ffice with Grant and Arthur. “Let me see the note,” she said without preamble.
“Your concert is tonight,” Pierce reminded her.
Cass extended her hand. “The note.”
Pierce gave it to her and Cass read it three times before she looked up at them.
“It’s not a suicide note,” Arthur said.
“And I’m sure she didn’t walk out on you.” Grant put a hand on Cass’s shoulder.
“Then what the hell is going on?”
“When we got there, the alarm hadn’t been activated,” Pierce said.
“Jack always turns it on. She’s afraid of me walking in on a burglar. The fact that I can take him down or sense someone is there doesn’t seem to impress her.”
“We also found a half-eaten sandwich and milk on the counter,” Arthur said.
“She’d never do that.” Cass didn’t know if she should feel relieved or more worried. It was becoming clear Jack hadn’t just left or done something to hurt herself, so that meant… “She left to protect me from something.”
“Someone,” Pierce said.
“Who?”
“Do you know if she had any contact with past…clients?”
“Yuri Dratshev was in touch a week or so ago. He said he had a job for her.”
“You said she stopped taking hits,” Arthur said.
“She has.” Cassady didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Jack said Dratshev wouldn’t stop trying to reach her, so she planned to call him to tell him she’d retired.”
“I want to meet with Dratshev,” Pierce said to Arthur.
“With what excuse? Arthur asked.
“I’ll think of something.”
“You don’t think he did something to Jaclyn?” Grant asked.
“I doubt it,” Cassady replied. “As far as I know, he has a lot of respect for her, especially after the Owens case.”
Pierce got up. “Maybe, just maybe, Jaclyn decided—”
“I know where you’re going,” Cass glared at him, her temper rising, “and no…Jack promised she’d never go back to that life.”
Pierce raised his hand to calm her. “Cassady, listen to me. Maybe she was threatened to do so.”
