by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees
Diana commented lightly to her sister, “As you can see, I’m just fine. You can report back to the clan that I’m alive and well.”
“Thank God,” Josie replied fervently. “What a mess. Did you see it on TV? What do you think happened?”
Diana bit her lip and said nothing. Hopefully, Sis would interpret her noncommittal shrug as ignorance.
Josie barged into the living room, shedding her coat as she went. “We need to talk.”
Oh, Lord. Not now. The Secret Service guy would be here any second. Diana said with thin patience, “Look, Sis. I’m expecting someone in just a few minutes. Can’t this wait?”
Josie plunked down on the sofa and crossed her elegant legs. “You can’t keep running away from Mom forever. You’re going to have to talk to her sometime.”
“I have talked to her. We’re fine. She’s better and I’m glad.”
Josie rolled her eyes.
Damn. She never was any good at BSing her older sister. Josie had always been smarter, wiser, more in control in family situations.
“Diana, when are you going to stop running away from everything that’s the slightest bit difficult in your life? You’ve got to grow up and be responsible sometime.”
Right. As if she wasn’t being responsible by busting her butt and putting her neck on the line to save the next President’s life. That’s why she’d been chosen for Oracle and was one of the leading conspiracy theorists in the country. Because she was so freaking irresponsible. Thing was, it was all so secret she couldn’t tell anyone, not even her well-meaning family, about it.
“When are you going to get off my back and let me be my own person?” Diana sighed.
Josie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “I’m not on your back and you know it. And when haven’t you been your own person? You’ve always done exactly what you wanted to.”
How wrong Josie was. Most of her adolescence had been shaped by doing the exact opposite of her older sister. It had never been about rebellion. It had always been about struggling to come out from behind her sister’s giant shadow. The true rebellion came later. When the strictures of an Army career started to grate on her.
“Tell me something, Jo. Do you ever get tired of the Air Force? Tired of all the rules and regulations and people telling you what to do all the time?”
Her sister frowned. “No, not particularly. Why do you ask?”
Diana remembered that flashback of her life on the Mall, the shocking realization that she rebelled within the Army because she was still angry over what the Establishment had cost her—the love of a mother, a unified family living under one roof, a normal childhood.
Diana answered belatedly, “I was thinking about everything that’s happened to the two of us, and I wondered why you came out of it so calm about what happened to Mom while I…well…while I didn’t.”
“What ever gave you the idea I was calm about Mom’s problems?” Josie exclaimed.
Diana stared. “You mean you weren’t okay with it all?”
Josie snorted. “I was terrified. And furious, and frustrated and a hundred other things. But I couldn’t change it and neither could Mom. So I accepted it.”
And maybe that’s where the two of them were so different. Josie could accept the inevitable, while she’d fight against it until she bloodied herself trying to change it. Which category did Gabe fall into? He had Josie’s refinement, her controlled elegance, her ability to fit in and play by the rules. But he was also a politician. The mother of all politicians, in fact, to have run for his country’s highest office. Surely somewhere beneath that polished exterior, he secretly wanted to change the world or else he wouldn’t have chosen to pursue that particular job.
“What’s going on with you, Die Hard?” Josie asked.
Diana smiled at the old nickname from their Athena Academy days. She used to hate the name. But this past year had seen a lot of healing between the sisters. Now she used it proudly as a computer handle. She opened her mouth to reply when a knock at the front door saved her from having to skirt the truth. Which was just as well. Josie was so sharp, she’d know for certain something big was going down.
Diana stood up to answer the door. Over her shoulder she said, “That’s the guy I was expecting.”
“Great!” Josie said brightly. “I can’t wait to meet your latest—uh…”
It was a long-standing source of friction between her and her family that Diana managed to dredge up the scum of the earth on a routine basis, and then proceeded to date it. She grinned to herself. This should be fun. Wait till Josie got a load of a Secret Service agent. Please let this guy be built like a linebacker and have one of those severe crew cuts so many of them seemed to favor.
He was and he did. Grinning to herself, Diana opened the front door wider so her sister could get a good look at him.
“There you are! Come on in,” Diana said to the agent warmly, as if she’d known this guy a long time. “I’ve just got to go grab my coat. I’ll be back in a second. This is my sister, Josie. Don’t let her interrogate you.”
The agent threw her a surprised look, but nodded stolidly.
Diana broke into a wide grin as she stepped around the corner and heard her sister’s startled voice murmuring a polite greeting. Served Josie right for meddling in her private life. Of course, if Josie found out she had a crush on the soon-to-be President of the United States, her sister would have a stroke. It would almost be worth spilling the beans to good ole Jo just to see it.
Diana grabbed a cream-colored cashmere dress coat from the back of her closet. It had been an extravagant gift from her mother last Christmas, but she hadn’t worn it yet. When Josie had pressed her on why she never wore the gorgeous designer piece, she’d claimed it didn’t fit her fashion style. But, as Diana tore off the tags and slipped her arms into its sleeves for the first time, she admitted it had probably been more about avoiding what the coat represented—a peace offering from her mother. Today she was just thankful she had something this nice to wear for Gabe.
She froze as she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror. She hardly recognized herself! She looked…grown up. Fully as sophisticated and elegant as Josie. The kind of woman a President might want to meet. What was she doing? She wasn’t about to change for any man, not even Gabe Monihan. She started to turn around, to head for her closet and her black leather duster. Hesitated. If she chose to look this way of her own volition, wasn’t that okay?
Screw it. For once, she was going to put her best foot forward. No more hiding her beauty and trying to look like something her sister wasn’t. Today she wanted to be pretty. And if that happened to be because she was hoping to see a guy she had the hots for, so be it. She turned and headed for her living room. Besides, this look would shock Josie even worse than the clean-cut Secret Service agent waiting for her. And shocking her big sister was still one of the most gratifying things Diana did in life.
Sure enough, Josie stared in outright disbelief as she rounded the corner into the room. Even the Secret Service agent did a double take. Well, sheesh. It wasn’t as though she looked that bad the rest of the time! The Secret Service agent collected himself and headed for the front door. Still staring, Josie picked up her coat and accompanied them outside.
As she slid into the front seat of the agent’s car, Diana waved cheerily at Josie. She called out, “Say hi to Mom and Dad for me. Lock up when you leave.”
The agent pulled away from the curb, and Diana grinned. She hadn’t seen Josie that off balance since Diego proposed to her on New Year’s Eve in front of the whole family.
She turned to the agent beside her. “So. Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead he said, “May I see some picture identification that proves you’re Diana Lockworth?”
She dug in her purse and pulled out her military ID and driver’s license. The agent glanced at them while he drove and then passed them back to her. She replied, “I do
n’t mean to be rude, but could I see some ID, as well? I’ve already been kidnapped once today by someone who wasn’t who he claimed to be.”
The agent’s head whipped her way. Fortunately, they were stopped at a red light and he didn’t drive off the road. He passed her his Secret Service ID card in turn. His name was Trent Tilman. She returned his ID card without comment.
He asked briskly, “Am I correct that you have a Top Secret security clearance with a Special Background Investigation?”
She did, and that SBI clearance had been a bear to get, given her family’s checkered past. Aloud, she answered, “That’s correct.”
“You’re going to have to sign several security documents when we get where we’re going regarding not revealing where I take you.”
“Fair enough.”
The conversation lapsed, and the agent drove in silence. He wound his way through a good chunk of Washington, D.C., and surprised her by turning into an alley that ran between a couple of vacant warehouses. She was even more surprised when he reached up to his sun visor, activated what looked like a garage door opener and proceeded to drive inside one of the big buildings. Was this guy on the up-and-up, or had she done it again and gotten into a car with someone out to kidnap her or worse? The muscles across her shoulders tightened abruptly.
She looked out the windows at the dim, cavernous space. Only a few narrow cement columns broke up the expanse, and steel girders disappeared into the gloom high overhead. Not good. She had zero options to make a break from this guy and get under cover. He’d shoot her down like a fish in a barrel with that weapon bulging under his coat in his right armpit. At least there was just the one guy in this empty shell of a building.
A sudden flurry of movement made her jump. A half-dozen men jumped out of the shadows, pointing guns at their car. Crud.
Agent Tilman turned off the ignition and sat still with his hands on top of the steering wheel. He murmured over at her, “Put your hands on the dashboard.”
“What’s going on here? Are we being robbed, or are you just kidnapping me?”
Tilman grinned. “Neither. It’s standard procedure in a high-threat situation for the Secret Service to treat everyone who approaches as a hostile until positive ID is made.”
“So you recognize these jokers?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. If they weren’t in the Service, I’d be shooting as we speak and ramming through the door with my car.”
She replied dryly, “Duly noted.”
She stared out at the grim-faced men advancing on their car like a SWAT team. Some welcoming committee. But then, she couldn’t blame these guys for being tense after the last couple hours. Someone had just tried to assassinate their man.
An agent opened her door and ordered her to get out of the car. Slowly. She complied, handing over her identification very carefully. This time, the agent carted off her various IDs and disappeared. These guys weren’t any more talkative than Agent Tilman, and she stood stock-still by the side of the car for several interminable minutes. She certainly didn’t want to give any of these guys a reason to pull the trigger. Finally, the guy with her papers returned and nodded to the others. The guns went down, and all the tense shoulders in the area—including hers—relaxed noticeably.
Agent Tilman strolled up to her. “You passed muster. If you’ll come with me, Agent Haas is anxious to speak with you right away.”
He led her over to a door and opened it to reveal a long staircase. He descended it quickly and she followed close on his heels. But when he stopped at the matching door at the bottom without opening it, she nearly bumped into him.
He turned around to face her. “You’ll need to put this on.” He held out a black cloth eye mask like a traveler might use to help them sleep.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, ma’am. You’ll have to be blindfolded for the next part of this.”
His tone of voice was implacable. She sighed and took the mask. She slipped it on, and started as hands touched her face, checking the security of the stupid thing. The hands withdrew, but then one of them took her firmly by the elbow. “This way.”
She stumbled forward. A rush of air blew against her face as the door squeaked open. Sound echoed around her as she stepped into what must be a very large space. Underground? What was this place? But she had no more time to consider it as Agent Tilman tugged her forward. She stumbled again as he led her into some sort of enclosed space. And then he guided her down into what felt like a hard plastic chair. It lurched. A vehicle of some kind!
They rode smoothly forward for several minutes, swaying occasionally as the conveyance rounded corners. And then it hitched to a stop.
“Let’s go,” Tilman announced.
She stood up, disoriented in the dark until he took her by the elbow and led her forward. Out the door, and into another enclosed space this time. A door opened and they stepped through it, and then her ears popped as some sort of pressure seal closed behind her. Where in the world were they now? She walked down what felt like a short hallway, and into another room. And then, without warning, the blindfold was lifted away from her face. She blinked, squinting into the bright, artificial light.
And Gabe smiled down at her. “Welcome to the bunker, Diana.”
Her impulse was to step forward and fling her arms around Gabe’s neck, but she dared not. For one thing, his security detail would tackle her. Plus, he was nearly the President of the United States.
Instead, she merely sighed, “Thank God you’re safe.”
He murmured back, “Thank God you’re safe.”
How long they stood there, staring at each other, she had no idea. It was an eternity, but not nearly long enough. Finally, reluctantly, he looked away. “Owen needs to talk to you. I’ve still got to be inaugurated, and he needs to know everything you can tell him about any threats I might face when that happens.”
She nodded gamely. Gabe led her into a small adjoining lounge sporting a couple of sofas, a television and—hallelujah—a coffeepot. She helped herself to a mug of its contents and sipped at the industrial-strength brew, reveling in the caffeine jolt that flowed through her veins.
Agent Haas motioned her onto the far end of the leather couch he sat on. She perched on it gingerly while Gabe sat across from her on the arm of the matching sofa, his golden eyes burning with intense intelligence. Man, he was gorgeous. Not only was he a hunk, but he was a brilliant one. A killer combination. She dragged her mind back to business as Owen asked her to start at the beginning.
The Secret Service agent interrupted with occasional questions. At the end of it, Owen sat back and stared at her for several seconds. “And you tracked down all this information about the Q-group by yourself?”
She frowned. “Mostly. I had help from some computer hackers who’ve probably earned a clean-up of their police records.”
He leaned forward abruptly. “Good work. I’m going to go fax those pictures you sent me to the FBI and the police. We’ll get APBs out on these guys and have them in custody in no time.”
Gabe spoke up. “Maybe we should send those pictures to the media, too.”
Owen nodded. “The FBI can take care of that. They love a good, media-blitzing manhunt. If all goes well, we’ll have these jerks in custody before you have to leave for your inauguration.”
She looked up at Gabe in consternation. “You’re not showing yourself again in public, are you?”
He shrugged. “I have to go out sometime. I can’t serve my entire presidency here in this bunker. May as well start this job the way I plan to continue doing it. And I don’t plan to hide for the next four years.”
“Gabe. These guys tried to kill you today!”
“Yes, and you stopped them. You’ve already apprehended one of them. We’ll get the rest of them soon enough. And then I’ll be perfectly safe.”
She frowned. And looked over at Owen Haas. “There’s more.”
The agent’s brows slammed together. “Li
ke what?”
“My research indicates that the Q-group is being used as a front for someone else. Someone who’s pulling their strings. I’m not convinced that Gabe will be safe, even if you nail every Q-group guy my hacker buddies and I tracked down on the Internet this morning.”
If possible, Owen frowned even harder. He uttered a single, short word. “Who?”
If only she knew. But so much had happened to her so fast that she was having trouble processing it all. Her gut said there were connections she was missing. Hints and tidbits were right in front of her, and she wasn’t putting them together. She’d hoped Owen might see something she’d missed. But he looked as frustrated as she felt.
She sighed. “I don’t know who could be pulling their strings. Obviously, there’s a connection to Richard Dunst. A third party broke him out of jail. That says to me he’s working for the same person or persons who are controlling the Q-group. Dunst is a flunkie.”
Owen nodded his agreement at her analysis.
The three of them stared at each other in silence.
“Have either of you eaten since this morning?” Gabe asked suddenly.
Owen and Diana both blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “No,” Diana answered aloud while Haas shook his head in the negative.
Gabe stood up. “Let’s grab a bite to eat. I think better when my stomach’s not gnawing a hole in my gut. Besides, I’ve always wondered what nuclear bunker food would taste like. How about you?”
Diana grimaced. “Are you kidding? I’m in the Army. I know exactly what thirty-year-old C rations taste like. Not to mention what they do to your gut.”
Gabe laughed and held out his hand. “Come have lunch with me. I’ll bet one of the White House chefs is hiding down here, somewhere.”
She stood up, grinning. “I sincerely hope so.”
Lunch turned out to consist of poached salmon, tossed salad and fresh snap peas—just where a person got those at this time of year in a bunker far below Washington, D.C., she had no idea. It was a far cry from C rations, but then the company was a far cry from an infantry battalion, too.
