by Kim Baldwin
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”
She placed her hand on Kennedy’s. “Listen to me.” She squeezed Kennedy’s hand. “You are in danger.”
“Why?” Kennedy looked surprised but didn’t pull her hand away.
“If I could discuss that, I would have already told you. But I can’t, so please don’t make me lie more than I already have. Just trust me when I tell you there’s a lot going on, things you could never begin to imagine. It’s not safe here, Kennedy, and your curiosity has rubbed some individuals the wrong way.”
“Moore and who else?”
Ryden looked away. “Who they are doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“You can’t stop them.”
“I’m not alone. I have a very powerful company behind me.”
“More powerful than the government?”
“Just tell me if the CIA is involved.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“The CIA—to my knowledge, anyway—has nothing to do with it.”
“Will you tell me what your part in all this is?”
Ryden shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Can you at least tell me if you were threatened?”
“I was.”
“What would happen if these people and their game were exposed?”
Ryden tried to hide the shudder that went through her at the prospect, but the goose bumps on her arms betrayed her.
Kennedy must have noticed them, too. “I see,” she said quietly. “I’m going to make some phone calls—”
“No!” Ryden practically screamed and grasped Kennedy’s hand. “If they so much as suspect I had this conversation with you, they’ll…they’ll…”
“They won’t,” Kennedy said. “I’d never jeopardize you.”
How could Kennedy still be so sincerely interested in her well-being, after being told they were in dire danger?
“Please, Kennedy. Just leave.”
“I can’t.” Kennedy’s piercing blue eyes locked with hers.
“I know it’s your job to protect me, but I’m safer without you here.”
“Are you?”
“They can tell I…I like you. They’ll use that and then…”
“What exactly do they know?”
“That I like to spend time with you, talk with you.”
“What else?” Kennedy looked troubled.
“Oh, they don’t know about…that.”
“Which that are you referring to?”
“No one knows I broke into your room, got tipsy on your wine, and…whatever.”
Kennedy smiled. “You kissed me.”
Her face flamed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about that, I—”
“Was confused, troubled, and lonely. Yes, you’ve made that clear. But I haven’t heard you say you regret it.”
“I…” Her breath caught. “No.”
“Good, because the only thing I’m sorry about is that you weren’t sober at the time.”
What Ryden wouldn’t give to be in another place and time right now.
“Is that why you’ve been pushing me away?” Kennedy asked.
“I don’t want you involved or hurt. I couldn’t bear that.” She looked down at their hands and realized she was absentmindedly caressing Kennedy’s palm. She started to pull her hand away but Kennedy stopped her.
“I don’t know what’s going on in this place, or how they managed to involve you, but I can see you’re somehow the victim.”
I’m the biggest con and liar you’ve ever met. Lying to the country was painful enough, but deceiving this woman was agonizing.
“I’m staying here with you, Elizabeth.”
Why wouldn’t Kennedy listen? She was beyond frustrated—with Kennedy’s stubbornness, with the mess she was in, and most of all, right now, with the fact that in the midst of all this chaos all she wanted to do was steal another kiss. “Kennedy, why can’t you just listen—”
“I’m staying. And not because you’re the president and it’s my duty.” She lifted Ryden’s hand and raised it to her lips. “But because you’re you.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Southwestern Colorado
Early next morning, March 8, one a.m.
Montgomery Pierce drummed his fingers on the conference table and studied Cassady’s face as she poured herself coffee and took a seat to his left. The dark circles under her eyes matched Reno’s, sitting to his right; none of them had slept since Jaclyn went missing. But despite the late hour, they were all alert and expectant because the front-gate guard had just phoned to announce Agent Chase’s arrival. Monty hoped their best tracker could come up with a lead, because so far they’d had no luck whatsoever finding out anything about TQ. He’d called every contact he could think of and come up empty. Reno had been working around the clock as well but so far could find no record of anyone with that moniker or initials, at least none that matched.
“I’ve been working for the company for twenty years, give or take,” Landis Coolidge said as she entered the conference room. “But you’ve never pulled me off a job before.” She nodded at Reno as she removed her blazer and draped it over the chair next to Cassady’s. “Hey, Cass, how’s life?”
“They clearly haven’t told you,” Cassady replied, studying her face.
Chase looked at Cassady, then at him. “Tell me what?”
“Jaclyn is missing,” Monty replied.
“What do you mean?”
“He means TQ is avenging her brother’s death,” Cassady answered.
Chase remained silent, staring past him, at the wall. Her jaw muscles twitched. Monty could see she was trying to hide her worry for Cassady’s sake. “Do we know if she’s alive?”
Monty looked at Cassady. “No, but I’m sure she is.”
“Damn it.” Chase retreated a couple of steps and leaned with her back against the wall. “Why can’t that woman stay out of trouble?”
“Have a seat,” Monty said. “I’ll tell you what we know so far.”
“I’m fine. Go ahead.”
Monty told Chase everything they’d learned to date and that searching for TQ was proving an impossible task.
“No one knows who she is or what she looks like. We might as well be looking for a ghost,” Cassady said when he’d finished.
“Ghosts don’t exist. This bitch does, and we have to find her.” Chase started pacing.
Monty had never seen Chase get upset; if she ever was, she never expressed it. But now she paced the room like a beast. “Maybe someone in China. The prisons. Can any of TQ’s contacts there ID her?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Chase stopped beside the window. “We tried when we were looking for her brother.”
“I don’t see how this woman doesn’t have records,” Cassady said.
“What do we know about Dario’s family?” Chase asked.
Reno looked down at his computer printouts. “Parents deceased. A female child, registered as stillborn, born ten years prior to Dario Imperi, but no other siblings. I couldn’t find any record of another sister, which leads me to believe TQ wasn’t really a sister or she paid someone to alter the records.”
“What do we know about the stillborn?” Chase started pacing again.
“The family doctor signed the death certificate,” Reno reported.
“Has anyone talked to the doctor?” Chase asked.
Reno shook his head. “Dead end. He died twelve years ago.”
Chase paused behind Reno and peered over his shoulder at the printouts. “Do we know where the stillborn was buried?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Same cemetery in Wichita, Kansas, where the parents were interred.”
“But…we don’t know there’s an actual body,” Chase said.
“What do you mean?” Cassady asked.
Monty looked at Chase. “An exhumation.”
“You think it’s empty?” Cassady asked. “That the child n
ever died?”
“Everything is possible.” Monty smiled, happy to have anything at all to go on.
“Like I said, no one is a ghost.” Chase started her restless pacing again. “I bet my PEZ collection that grave is empty.”
“Why would the parents fake the death?” Cassady asked.
“Illegitimate child, couldn’t afford a child, too soon for a child.” Chase stopped and looked pointedly at Monty. “Or simply an inconvenient child. Pick one.”
Cassady turned to glare at him as well. “Yeah, Monty. Pick one.”
Monty wished both women would stop staring at him. Cassady was aware of who Jaclyn was to him, but did Chase know as well? And if so, did both of them think of him as despicably as he did of himself? As much as he had wanted to tell his daughter the truth, he’d never had a reason. He’d kept assuring himself all those years that Jaclyn was with him and that was all that mattered. But he’d never considered what mattered for Jaclyn. “There are reasons to give away or not want to acknowledge a child.”
“If you say so.” Cassady turned to Chase. “Which means the evil sister is alive and thriving.”
“If TQ was given to another family, it was an off-the-record transaction,” Chase said, “which would explain why we can’t come up with anything, not even a social security number, under the Imperi name.”
“How are we going to find out who took the child?” Cassady asked.
“We don’t have the time to jump to conclusions, so first things first,” Monty replied. He turned to Reno. “See if you can cross-reference—”
“I’m on it.” Reno scooped up his printouts and headed back to his office.
“Skip the paperwork,” Chase said. “Have someone in the area check it out now.”
Monty reached for the phone and called Joanna. “Who do we have near Kansas?”
*
The White House
Two a.m.
Ryden was dreaming, deep in slumber, when the phone rang, but because she wasn’t used to calls at this hour, the jangling startled her into heart-pounding full awareness in an instant.
She hadn’t been able to sleep when she’d finally turned in close to midnight. Thoughts of Kennedy and everything she had told her kept replaying in her head. She wasn’t certain that Kennedy realized the severity of the situation both of them were in. Though she was confident she wouldn’t deliberately do anything to harm her, Ryden worried she might do something irrational to protect her and uncover whatever she thought was going on.
When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Kennedy. Her expressive blue eyes, determined chin, enticing mouth. That soft whisper of Kennedy’s lips on her wrist; how could anything feel that soft? And how could a simple smile be so sexy? How had she never noticed women before, and especially women like Kennedy? Maybe because woman like this EOO guard usually didn’t enter her world unless they were lost or looking for directions.
She glanced at the clock as she snatched up the phone before it could ring a second time. Two a.m. She’d slept less than an hour. “Yes?”
“It’s time. I’ll be at your door in ten minutes,” Ratman said, and hung up.
Her heart boomed double time in her panic as she fumbled for the bedside lamp. When it blinked on, she let her eyes adjust and looked around the room, taking deep breaths. It was time to go home, wherever that might be. And it was time to start a new life—one that didn’t include Kennedy.
Almost as if in a dream, she went to the closet to begin the departure procedure they had drilled her on. She grabbed the jeans, long-sleeve T-shirt, hoodie, and sneakers they had supplied her with—items that had nothing to do with the president’s wardrobe—and quickly changed into them. She had nothing else to prepare or take; what she now wore was all she owned.
“I don’t get to say good-bye,” she mumbled, as she zipped up the hoodie. She walked over to the adjoining door and placed her hand on it. “Good-bye, Harper,” she said, using Kennedy’s first name for the first time.
The knock she had been waiting for since she entered the White House came promptly. She unlocked the door and Ratman walked in, while Jason, her backup Secret Service agent, waited just outside.
“I’m ready,” she said immediately, wanting to avoid a private encounter with Ratman.
“Why so glum?” He smiled.
“Can we just…go?”
“Of course. Your father is in critical condition, after all.” Ratman turned to Jason. “Get Kennedy and join us downstairs.”
She could scarcely conceal her shock. “Are they both coming with us?”
“Of course,” Ratman replied. “They’re your guards, after all.”
“But they—”
Ratman pulled her out into the hall and shut the door. “We have to move. The cleaners have an hour to remove all traces of you.”
She walked behind him on unsteady legs. Kennedy’s going to be there. Escorting me. The knowledge of what would happen next made her sick to her stomach.
*
Shield opened her door and found Jason standing outside. She’d thrown a White House robe over her navy pajamas.
“I was about to knock,” he said.
“What’s going on?” She pretended she hadn’t heard the conversation from the other room. Moore had come to get Thomas; something apparently was wrong with her father.
“Beacon’s father had a stroke and is en route to Suburban Hospital in Bethesda,” he replied. “She’s being taken out via the tunnels to keep things quiet. We have to move.”
“Who’s we?”
“You and I and Advisor Moore.”
“I have to notify the Secret Service to get a detail and vehicles dispatched to whatever exit we’re using. Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“Moore called me. Don’t know why.” Jason rocked up on his heels impatiently. “Look, she has to move ASAP. Why don’t you get ready while I arrange that?”
“Where’s Beacon?” she asked.
“On her way to the tunnels. They’re waiting for us.”
“Call SS. Tell them to haul ass.” She left the door open to ensure he made the proper arrangements as she dressed—casually, in jeans, button-down shirt, and jacket, so she wouldn’t draw attention in the hospital. Poor Elizabeth, she thought. The last disaster she needed on top of everything else was a sick or dead father. First a murdered husband, and now this. The woman couldn’t catch a break.
Shield could hear Jason out in the hall, informing the Secret Service about Beacon and making arrangements for three decoy cars to follow the presidential vehicle.
“Covered,” he yelled when he hung up.
“Good. Let’s go.” Shield placed her Glock in its holster at her belt.
They were soon in the underbelly of the White House, heading down a long hallway. The president and Moore, engrossed in a whispered conversation, waited at the tunnel door at the end. Thomas was casually dressed for a change. She’d probably grabbed a comfortable outfit in case she needed to stay in the hospital with her father.
Suddenly, as they neared, Thomas rubbed her face and then kicked the wall. Shield had never seen her this upset. “We’re good to go, Madam President,” she said when she reached them. “We’ll get you to the hospital as fast as possible.”
Thomas nodded once and looked away. Moore put his arm around her shoulders. “He’ll pull through. I know he will,” he said comfortingly.
Shield unlocked the door to the tunnel. “Security is waiting at the exit.”
“Good,” Moore replied. “Let me know his condition,” he told Thomas as he released her, “and if there’s anything I can do for your family.”
So Moore wasn’t joining them for a change. She couldn’t be happier that it was strictly family; Thomas could do with some time away from the idiot. Shield entered the tunnel first, with Thomas right behind her. Jason covered them from the back.
The concrete-and-steel tunnel was well lit, but tomb quiet and barren except for a trio of golf carts parke
d off to one side. Massive steel doors, all closed, lined both sides for the first few hundred feet. From her briefing and tour when she’d become primary, Shield knew this section of tunnel under the East Wing was the rarely used side—full of storage rooms and bunkers, primarily—all survival-scenario stuff. The stretch under the West Wing was busy virtually twenty-four hours a day now as they worked to finish the adjacent new Deep Underground Command Center.
Shield headed toward one of the golf carts and got behind the wheel. Jason sat beside the president in the rear seat, and they sped toward the exit. Shield remembered from her briefing that this tunnel came out in a wooded field five miles northwest of the capital.
“Few more minutes and you’ll be on your way,” Shield said over her shoulder when the exit door came into view a short time later.
“I guess.”
What a strange answer. Shield parked the cart some yards from the exit and they got out. She led the way, with Thomas behind her and Jason covering the rear. “I’ll be with you for the duration of your stay at the hospital.”
“I…I figured,” Thomas replied shakily. “You don’t have to, though. I’m sure Jason is enough for now. Why don’t you go back to bed and join me in the morning? I’m sure I’ll be staying there way into tomorrow.”
Another strange thing to say. What was going on? Thomas knew she couldn’t go back, even if she wanted to. She was the primary.
“Looks like we’ll have to skip our planned tennis match for tomorrow,” the president said.
Shield stopped cold. No game was scheduled for tomorrow. She pulled her Glock and pivoted to face Thomas. They were two feet from the exit. “Jason, we’re turning around.”
Jason, still behind the president, yanked out his Sauer P229 pistol as he smoothly pulled Thomas into a headlock. He kept his face low, shielded by the president’s. “One move and she’s dead.” He pointed the gun under Thomas’s chin. “Now!” he yelled.
“What the—”
Before she could finish, the exit opened from the other side and three men in black ski masks rushed in, all with guns aimed at her and Thomas.
“Put your weapon down,” one of them said, and pressed the end of his automatic against Shield’s temple.
