by Rachel Grant
Could she do that?
It was either expose the artifacts or live life fearing the day when Jake would decide to stop toying with her and move in for the kill.
She had to meet the senator. Then she could decide what to do.
But timing was critical. Lee had just left the office to meet JT and the senator for lunch. She intended to wait twenty minutes, then join them. The minutes inched by as she rehearsed what she would say, praying they would accept her reason for crashing their lunch.
She was about to leave when Janice entered the room. “How are you feeling, Erica?”
She was so nervous it took her a moment to comprehend her boss’s question. Janice had been gone all morning, and she hadn’t seen her since Monday. Oh, yeah. The near-death thing.
“I feel fine.”
“I’ve been so worried. I talked with Sam Riversong. He feels just awful about what happened, and the plumbers have been fired. I can’t believe anyone would be so stupid as to set up a generator with the exhaust aimed at an open window.”
So the accident story had taken root. She didn’t find that comforting. Her throat felt dry. She forced a response. “The doctor told me it happens with alarming frequency.”
Janice pulled out a deck of cards, decorated on the back with an historic tablet of Arabic writing. “I have something cool to show you.” She laid the cards faceup in different patterns on the lab table.
“A card trick?”
“No. A deck of playing cards that was made for the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan by the Department of Defense’s Heritage Resource Preservation program.”
“Like the deck they gave soldiers to identify the Most Wanted people in Iraq?”
“Yes. These cards show some of Iraq’s and Afghanistan’s most precious archaeological sites. They were made to educate the troops about protecting sites and artifacts.” She held up the seven of clubs. “This one’s my favorite.”
The card had a picture of the ruins of an ancient arched building with the caption: This site has survived for seventeen centuries. Will it and others survive you?
“It’s brilliant,” Erica said, touching the cards. “I’m glad the DoD is taking cultural history in the Middle East seriously.” She picked up the queen of clubs, which had a picture of an artifact with the caption: Remember! The buying and selling of antiquities is illegal and punishable under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
She stopped when she came to the nine of diamonds, which depicted a mask that had been looted from the Iraq Museum, and thought of the artifacts Jake had acquired by trading the Aztec pieces. “How did you get the deck?”
“A friend in the heritage program.”
She’d had a year to wonder how Sam Riversong—if it was indeed Sam—had gotten the Iraqi artifacts he traded with Jake. The logical conclusion was he’d somehow gotten them through Talon & Drake. She’d worked that angle as much as she could, but security being what it was, she’d gotten nowhere.
Janice finished laying out the cards, and Erica saw that when arranged properly, the background of each card created a bigger picture, one puzzle for each suit. Clubs was a famous monument, diamonds a gold artifact.
“These are amazing,” she said, wondering if she should skip the FBI and go straight to the Department of Defense with her photos of the Aztec artifacts. The DoD was dealing with the looting problem and had a vested interest in correcting the situation. But her proof was Aztec, not Iraqi. She doubted she’d be able to connect Jake to the Iraq artifacts. Her biggest fear, though, was that she would end up being prosecuted with Jake and the crew.
Janice set down the cards. “Have you put together a budget for the navy proposal?”
Her belly twisted. Janice had asked her to do that on Monday, before she delivered the Thermo-Con EA. “I haven’t had a moment to look at it. I really think it’s a bad idea, Janice. Jake Novak strikes me as unethical.”
“My hands are tied. Ed wants to bid, and he wants to team with Jake.” She glanced at her watch. “Do you have time? I want to talk about how to organize the project.”
The knot in her stomach tightened as they discussed a project she would never work on, fully aware her chance to catch the senator was slipping away.
Finally, Janice left, and Erica slid the Thermo-Con file into her bag and headed to the Metro station, hoping and praying she wasn’t too late.
JOE WAS ALREADY SEATED in a booth when Lee arrived at the restaurant. He greeted his former stepfather with a firm handshake and a politically expedient man hug, well aware that these days Joe was under constant media surveillance. Lee had always lived on the edge of Joe’s inner circle. As an adult, he appreciated the anonymity of life at the fringe, but as a kid, he’d resented the hell out of it.
He slid into the seat across from Joe. No matter where he was positioned in Joe’s public life, privately, they were close. Lee would always be grateful for the many times—even long after the divorce—Joe stepped in and was a father to him when both of Lee’s biological parents failed miserably. He respected the man’s integrity, knew he’d make a spectacular president, and would do anything to help him get elected. Hell, he’d proved that when he took on the intern role.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” Joe’s eyes held a subtle reprimand.
“I’ve been busy with a client.” That was true enough.
“Not so busy you won’t be there when I make my announcement, I hope.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” Joe paused. “Did JT mention why I wanted to talk to you?” The man was never one to waste time.
“You want me to run the Bethesda office.”
Joe’s grim smile reminded Lee of the time he’d switched his high school’s computer-synchronized clocks to run on metric time, and Joe’s intervention saved Lee from expulsion.
“Ed has become a liability,” Joe said. “He’s getting older and slipping, but he owns a third of Talon & Drake, so it’s going to be tricky. But Ed’s eager to work for the campaign, and I can placate him by giving him an important-sounding job until the transition is done. Then I’ll have to let him go.” He studied Lee. “But this is a sensitive situation. We can’t have just anyone in charge at the second largest office of T&D while I’m running for president. We’re going to have to maneuver around some very complex issues, not the least of which is adhering to the Senate Ethics Manual. We need someone we can trust completely. I need you, son.”
Lee had waited a lifetime to hear those words from Joe, and if what he suspected about Ed Drake was true, then it was vital they remove him from the company.
But he didn’t want the job.
The waiter arrived. He ordered the special, too preoccupied to give the food any consideration. How would Erica react? When she realized the extent of his lies, she’d hate him.
And when he became her boss?
If he couldn’t explain the lies, she’d never forgive him.
But he could get rid of Novak. He could protect her.
“What’s her name?”
Lee startled. “What?”
“You’ve got the same look in your eye you used to get when you were sixteen and full of hormones.”
He laughed and considered his answer. The truth? “Her name is Erica.”
“Is it serious?”
“I don’t know.” He paused. “But I hope so.” The words slipped out, an uncontrollable urge to be honest. With Joe, with himself.
“Promise me she isn’t another reporter hoping to capitalize on your connection to me.”
Damn, he’d thought Joe had let that go. “She’s an archaeologist. Actually, she works for Talon & Drake—Bethesda.” Crap, he’ll want to know how we met. “JT introduced us.” Sweat formed on his brow. JT never socialized with employees. And Joe knew it.
“You’ll be her boss. Is that a problem?”
“She’ll freak. And not in a good way.” That was an understatement.
“Work it out. I need
you to start on Monday.”
Typical Joe. He’d embraced the idea and moved on it with hurricane force, not even waiting for Lee to agree. The man was short on patience and had absolute confidence in his abilities. This attitude sometimes led to spectacular failures, but Joe didn’t shirk from his mistakes any more than he’d deny his successes. Lee had learned much from him over the years, and owning faults was paramount.
“I’ll do it,” Lee said. “But when the campaign ends, I’m gone.”
Joe grinned and relaxed back in the booth seat. “Deal.”
Christ, what had he just agreed to? Now it would be his employees who were stealing from Iraq. Firing those involved would be easy enough, but finding replacements to finish the contract while making Joe look good to the voting public would be a nightmare.
By taking this job, he ensured he’d be as thoroughly scrutinized as JT by the press. Everything he did would reflect on Joe and could become a campaign issue. And even if he could persuade Erica to forgive him, her murky past would be a liability.
Not that it mattered. Odds were they wouldn’t be on speaking terms come Monday.
Their meal was winding down when the woman who dominated his fantasies entered the restaurant and walked with purpose toward him. He sprang from the booth seat. What the hell is she doing here?
Erica reached his side. “Lee, I’m sorry to barge in like this—”
He cut off her words with a fierce kiss. When he pulled back, her eyes held confusion and a smoky passion. He felt a jolt of male satisfaction followed by a stab of guilt. The kiss was the only way to silence her before she said something he didn’t want Joe to hear.
Her gaze cleared, and her face slowly turned red.
He was a dead man.
Joe slid out of the booth, and gave Erica a warm, expectant, even indulgent smile.
Lee draped an arm around her shoulders. “Joe, meet my girlfriend, Erica Kesling.”
If he could get through the next minutes without her calling him on this lie and mentioning he was her intern, or Joe revealing Lee had been his stepson, it would be a miracle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MORTIFICATION, ANGER, LUST, and confusion all jockeyed for position in Erica’s racing mind. Lee’s kiss had been intense, hard, arousing, and so very public. And why the hell had he called her his girlfriend? Worse, why did she get a little giddy thrill from the title? Get a grip, girl. There are so many more important things going on.
He smiled in a way that begged her to play along and kissed her temple. Hell. She didn’t have a choice. She’d come here to meet Joseph Talon and wasn’t going to blow her chance by pointing out the man who made the meeting possible was a skilled liar.
She felt the senator’s assessing gaze as he invited her to sit. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I was hoping to catch JT.” She glanced around the room, wondering where the senator’s son was.
“JT is on his way back to New York,” Senator Talon said.
She hesitated. JT wasn’t here? Damn. She’d planned to ask JT for a DNA sample. She smiled tentatively at the senator. Without JT, the senator was her only hope.
Lee nudged her toward the bench, and she slid into the seat. He sat next to her and again draped his arm around her. “Why are you looking for JT?”
His ardent gaze caused her belly to flip. If she didn’t know better, she could believe she was the center of his universe. The idea filled her with longing, which she ruthlessly brushed aside. She was weak and a fool.
She sucked in a shallow breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment to get her bearings and remember her objective. She’d wanted to meet Joseph Talon to decide if she should tell him about the stolen Aztec artifacts, but first she needed to justify her intrusion. She reached into her bag and pulled out the kit she’d picked up from a pharmacy yesterday. “I need to ask JT if he’ll give me a DNA sample for comparison to the bones from the Thermo-Con basement. Today is my last day to get a sample. I’d hoped to catch him before he left for New York.”
She’d intended to ask JT yesterday, but he hadn’t returned to the Watergate last night until after she was asleep. Then this morning, they watched the news, and she decided to use this as her excuse to crash their lunch with the senator so she could meet the man. But JT wasn’t here.
Joseph Talon straightened in his seat across from her. “Thermo-Con? Wait a minute. You’re the woman Sam told me about who was trapped in the basement a few days ago.”
She nodded.
“I can’t begin to say how sorry I am about what happened. You’re feeling fine now?”
“Yes.” She glanced at the man by her side. “Lee saved me.”
The senator looked at Lee curiously. “I didn’t know you were there.”
Lee shrugged, then picked up the DNA collection kit. “You could give Erica a sample.”
She wanted to kiss him for making the suggestion. She looked eagerly at the senator, but he was studying Lee. “I’m not sure if I should.”
Lee signaled to the waiter. The man hurried to the table and asked for her lunch order, but she declined. She wanted the freedom to bolt if the conversation didn’t go well.
She studied Joseph Talon and wondered what to do. He was handsome, possibly even more so than JT, who bore a strong resemblance to his father. His dusky complexion showed minimal lines to give away his sixty-plus years of age. He had a full head of dark hair with only a smattering of gray at the temples, which lent him the perfect weight of authority. His hair and facial features weren’t so much definable as Indian as they could be described as “ethnic.” If he were an actor, he would be offered roles to play the Indian, the Latino, or even the East Indian.
She wanted to know what made this man tick. How would he react if she told him the truth? Sam Riversong was his friend.
She decided to let the DNA test drop for now and gathered her courage to steer the conversation toward the real reason she’d wanted to meet the senator. “According to the news, you’ll be making your announcement at the casino.”
“Yes. I will.”
Lee’s hand dropped to her knee. The senator couldn’t see his warm touch, but she was aware of him as if each individual nerve ending were sending a separate message to her brain.
“You aren’t concerned the casino backdrop will hinder your campaign?” she asked.
“Every major news organization will be there. I can’t pass up the opportunity for free publicity for the casino.”
“But won’t the fact that you’re in a casino turn off some voters?”
“I owe the tribe everything I have, everything I am. I’m not going to shy away from what my people need for fear of losing a few votes.”
She’d always admired him for his forthrightness. He exhibited an integrity that was hard to find in politicians, and she wondered if he was genuine. “What if it’s more than a few?”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. When I was thirteen, my boarding school burned down, and I ran away from the social worker who was determined to place all the kids who’d been dumped in that school in juvenile hall, as if we were criminals just because we were Indian. I showed up in the town outside what was then Fort Belmont—the only place where a few dozen Menanichoch tribal members still lived. There I met and was taken in by Sam Riversong.”
Erica had seen photos of him, taken right after the fire. He’d been so young, so sweet-looking, and his eyes had been filled with sadness and loss. She knew something about isolation and loss at the age of thirteen but still couldn’t begin to imagine Joseph Talon’s journey.
“I lived with Sam for five years, worked at the local diner, and went to school,” he continued. “I learned about my heritage as Menanichoch—something that had been forbidden at the boarding school. The tribe claimed me. When I was accepted at the university, the community pooled their money and paid my tuition.” His expressive face conveyed his every emotion, as though he were reliving his transformation as he told the story. Sitting across from him
in a crowded DC restaurant, she realized that, if anything, televised news clips didn’t convey half of this man’s true charisma.
“I look at my accomplishments and see my tribe holding me up, giving me the support that made me who I am. In return, I do everything I can for them. I worked my ass off for federal recognition. After we got that, I worked to have the Fort Belmont land returned to the tribe and then raised money to build the casino. Now I do what I can to promote it. My candidacy may flounder, I may be out of the race in a month’s time, but by making my announcement at the casino, the tribe will benefit from my run for office.”
She made her decision. She would tell him and hope he would believe her and help her use the artifacts to convict Jake. She took a deep breath. “You can’t make your announcement in the Aztec room. If you do, your backdrop will be priceless stolen artifacts.”
As she said the words, a man in the booth on the other side of the wooden partition stood and made a show of trying to get the waiter’s attention. Strategically placed plants had obscured him, but now she saw the soulless brown eyes which had filled her nightmares for the last year, and cold, metallic fear spread through her body.
Marco Garcia had followed her to the restaurant.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
LEE’S GRIP ON ERICA’S KNEE tightened as shock and disbelief spread through him. She had just revealed her secret. Chief among his emotions was overwhelming relief. Erica wasn’t the crook he was looking for.
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
She shrank into her seat and transformed in a heartbeat. Her eyes filled with the fear that always lurked beneath her surface. Joe’s tone had been sharp, but her reaction was extreme.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I misspoke—or, overstated, really. I meant to say cultural art is a source of communal pride, and permanent exhibition in a foreign country can feel like theft of culture. Some people believe any artifact removed from its country of origin is stolen—even if the artifacts were legally acquired. Aztec art comes from Mexico. Wouldn’t it be wiser to make your announcement in the Pueblo or Cherokee room?”
