James shook his head. There was nothing he could do to convince her, but at least now she knew and she would not be blindsided. He at least owed her the courtesy. He wished he had known before the wiretapping story blew up.
There wasn’t anything left to say. “Take care of yourself, Megan.”
Chapter Eight
Five days in rehab had been excruciating. Guantanamo Bay should consider replacing water boarding with daily group therapy sessions. Who wants to talk about their feelings for five hours a day? Who has enough feeling to fill five hours a day? The only good part was the free time she had in the afternoon. Ostensibly she should have spent her afternoons journalling, again about her feelings—honestly, who felt that much?— but she used the time to work on her next trial. Her plan was to go back to work and pretend none of it had happened. She was good at forgetting painful things. Oddly enough her therapist at New Hope did not think it was funny when she listed “repressing memories with the aid of chocolate” as the talent she was the most proud of. Clearly the woman had not been trained in the Hershey method.
Megan put her bags down on her bed. She would unpack them later, or maybe ask Louise to do it. Bless Louise, she had been the only person other than Ben and James to visit her in treatment. Megan could have cried when she saw her. Louise was as pious as they came: never missed church, tithed her ten percent, she didn’t do anything remotely fun like cigarettes or alcohol. And she certainly did not approve of hiring prostitutes. Megan thought Louise would quit for sure, but she surprised her by showing up at New Hope and wrapping her arms around Megan in the most loving embrace she had ever experienced. If Megan was a better person, she would have cried or told Louise she loved her, but she didn’t because she couldn’t.
Megan stopped before she went into Ben’s room. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Shit, that was a lie. She had made sure she was released when she knew he would be busy. She just wasn’t sure what she would do with the information once she knew.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she went into the master bathroom. She took a deep breath before she opened the medicine cabinet. She closed her eyes when she saw it, trying to pretend for another brief moment that it wasn’t there. But it was. On the top shelf behind a can of shaving cream was a small orange opaque prescription bottle.
Her hands shook as she reached for the medication. She read the label just to be sure, but there was no need. She knew what the prescription was for. Six months ago Ben had surgery for a torn ACL and his doctor had prescribed Oxycontin for pain management. Ben had not taken any because he was scared about getting addicted so he had taken over-the-counter painkillers. Megan read the label again. The prescription was for twenty tablets.
She pressed down on the lid to unscrew it and then carefully poured the contents onto the marble counter. One by one she counted the pills as she returned them to the bottle. Her heart stopped when she reached the last one. There were only fourteen tablets, six were missing.
Megan collapsed onto the toilet. “Shit, Ben! Shit! Shit! Shit!” She squeezed the bottle until the colour drained from her hands.
She needed a plan. Jesus, her job was upholding the law, not shattering it into tiny pieces, or bending it to her will. She fought the urge to flush the remaining medication down the toilet. Shit, she wasn’t thinking straight. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. The prescription was on his medical records. Any lawyer worth their salt would get a subpoena for those. She put the medication back on the top shelf, remembering to hide it behind the shaving cream.
Think! Her mind ran in several directions at once, her thoughts chasing each other in a frantic fugue, going nowhere. She forced herself to slow down, take things one at a time. She needed to think like a prosecutor. First she needed to find out if the journalist’s death was on law enforcement’s radar. That should be easy enough to do without raising suspicion. Even if there was suspected foul play, which she doubted, there was no cause to think anyone would connect Ben with it. Shit! In her mind she was connecting Ben to the death. There was only circumstantial evidence and the word of a journalist; she did not rate either of those highly.
Ben was innocent.
She had known him for fourteen years, he hadn’t killed anyone. He couldn’t, it just wasn’t him. He would happily fuckhis way through DC without any consideration of the consequences, but he wouldn’t kill anyone.
She needed to throw James off the track, or convince him not to run the story. There was no story beyond the fact that Ben had sex with men. She wished she had leverage on James, anything. There was nothing, any dirt on him would have come out during the Senate hearings.
She stretched out on the bed. She stared at the tiny crack in the crown moulding. This couldn’t be happening. They were so close. Ben was so close. Not now, this couldn’t happen. She had to stop it. She had to figure out a plan.
For the best part of an hour she lay, mentally tracing the pattern of the jagged fracture in the ceiling. Her eyes concentrated on the small flaw while her mind searched for an answer. There was one, it came to her quickly, but she rejected it as suddenly as it appeared. She couldn’t do it. Even the thought of it made her feel dirty and exposed. She pushed herself to find another solution, any solution, but her mind kept circling back, like a vulture to a rotting carcass.
She covered her face with her hands. There was only one answer, she didn’t have any choices. But she didn’t know if she could go through with it, even for Ben.
Suddenly she realised that she had not considered speaking to Ben. He wasn’t involved, he couldn’t be.
But if he was…she didn’t want to know.
Chapter Nine
Megan sipped her iced tea and waited for James. She had picked a park bench near the Washington Monument for their meeting. A public place seemed the only appropriate venue. If she went for lunch with James, a paparazzo would undoubtedly take their picture and speculate on the nature of their relationship. The last thing she needed was another story about her. Every morning she scrutinised the papers. In actuality, there was no need. If the story about Ben went public, reporters would find her.
Megan looked up when she sensed James approaching. She wondered for the nth time if James would have pieced it together if she had not slept with him, but she quickly dismissed the thought. She didn’t have the mental energy to deal in hypotheticals. What was done was done. She and Ben had both messed up, but only she had the power to fix it. She just needed the strength to go through with it.
James smiled as he sat down but she could not force herself to return the pleasantry. His dark hair was shorter now, cut close to his head. She preferred it longer but he was still impossibly handsome. He could lose all of his hair and she would still entertain fantasies about him. Some men had an appeal that went further than their looks, something visceral that appealed on a level the conscious mind could not process. Lucky for James, he had both looks and that unknown quality.
“You look well,” James began when she did not say anything.
She looked like hell and she knew it. She had not been able to sleep since she left rehab. At least in the centre she could pretend the outside world had stopped. Mercifully, New Hope had a policy of total media blackout. Their walls acted as an insulating cocoon, keeping the realities of the world out so their patients could focus on recovery. Now that she was home she no longer had that luxury. She had to deal with reporters phoning her and pitching up outside her office. At least they had stopped camping on her lawn. There was no worse way to start the day than with a lens trained on your every move.
The journalists had stopped coming to her house after Ben had gone on the Ainslie Anderson show. Ben had poured his heart out, his imaginary heart, from an alternate universe where he had one. Things weren’t yet back to normal with them, but she was hopeful that the last remnants of her anger would fade and she would have her best friend back again. He was the only family she had.
Ben had taken the calculated step of
blaming himself for Megan’s alleged indiscretions. He explained to the captivated nation and he had neglected his wife in her time of need. Megan would give him his due, his performance was brilliant. He managed to create a story where they both came off as sympathetic. He was an overworked public servant and she was a woman struggling with infertility. In Ben’s narrative Megan had just been told she would never conceive and she had gone into a tailspin which ended with her in the arms of another man. Ben looked directly into the camera as he told the world that he was thankful for the transgression because it reminded him what was important in life: God, country, and family. He had neglected his family but the Lord had reminded him about the precious gift of marriage. From that point forward he would make sure Megan never had to seek comfort in the arms of another man. The interview had also put to rest any pressure on them to start a family. He had certainly covered all his bases.
The country ate it up like fried twinkies at a state fair. Amazingly his approval rating had gone up. Megan did not know how he managed it. She still shook her head when she thought about the insanity of the situation. Only Ben could use an unmitigated PR disaster for his benefit. He was truly a gifted politician. The man was meant for the White House.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Megan remembered her manners and offered him her hand to shake. His hand caressed hers in a brief embrace. The sensation was oddly intimate considering he had been in her body, but that was different; they were strangers then, he didn’t know her. Now she felt exposed. He knew too much already and she was gearing up to tell him more.
“I’m still surprised you phoned.”
So was she but she wasn’t going to admit it. She needed to appear in control. “I have an offer which I think will benefit us both.” She reached into her briefcase and produced the contract she had prepared.
James’ brows lifted in question.
“You suspect certain things about my husband, things that you can’t possibly verify, but could be detrimental to his career nonetheless.”
James nodded. He examined the contract.
After several minutes he spoke. “This is very vague. What exactly are you agreeing to?”
Megan had been intentionally cautious in her wording. The last thing she wanted was to create a physical document that could be used against her, should James decide not to make a deal with her.
“You suspect things. I know things. I will give you an exclusive interview, verifying everything after the election.”
James peered at her, his gaze scrutinising her. The sensation of his stare was palpable, like she could feel him ripping her armour from her. “Why should I wait? I will be able to verify everything independently.”
Megan shifted in her seat. She had anticipated this question. James was a businessman. The only thing that mattered was the bottom line. “If you sit on the story I will give you the exclusive of your career. If you print it now the story will be a flash in the pan. The story will be forgotten about as soon as you have written it. But if you wait until after the election, you will be running a story on a sitting Vice President.” She struggled to get the words out. The idea of willingly giving the press a story left her feeling physically sick.
Ben would see this as the ultimate betrayal, but she was doing it for him, to save his career and quite possibly his freedom. Ben would be devastated. No one knew he was gay other than Megan, Booker Colley, and of course the men he had slept with. Megan wasn’t even sure they knew for certain. For all purposes, Ben was a straight man who had sex with other men. He had never used the words gay or homosexual. Ben’s own parents had no idea. Until last week, they were still patiently waiting for grandchildren that would never come. What was left of her heart ached for them, and for Ben.
She had to admit that his career would most likely be over. His world was crumbling around him anyway. Megan could only hope that this Hail Mary attempt would at least get him into the White House before his ambitions were annihilated. Ben might never forgive her, but she couldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t at least give him a chance.
James rested his casted left arm in his lap. “I am not going to sit on evidence to a crime—”
Megan held up her hand to stop him. She was not going to discuss this issue with James in public. “No crime has been committed. I need to make that perfectly clear. Ben had no involvement in the death of Seth Blair. But even if he did, there is no statute of limitations on murder. Both of us know you are going to run the story. The choice is yours. Do you want to do the story on a senator or the Vice President?”
“That’s assuming Colley wins.”
“Of course he’s going to win. You know that, it’s a foregone conclusion. With Ben on his ticket, it’s a one-horse race.”
For a few painful moments James did not speak, he just stared through her. What was he thinking? This was her only chance. She detested the idea of helping the press out Ben. She could not ignore the clench of her stomach; her body was reeling against her, every molecule vibrated with disdain. She felt like a traitor. She reminded herself again that this was the only way to protect Ben. She was giving his career a bit more mileage.
“I don’t just want an exclusive. I want an on-camera exposé on The Hour.”
Megan’s heart leapt into her mouth. She had only just reconciled with the idea of giving James an interview. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. She couldn’t do an on-air interview. How could she possibly get through it? She could separate herself from written words, close the paper, turn off the computer. She had not considering the implication of a camera capturing their downfall for posterity. Her heart picked up speed. She pretended to cough so she could look away. How stupid could she be? Of course he would want it on film, so he could cut it into easy to digest pieces and drip feed it to the public.
She took a deep breath and answered before she could lose her nerve. “Fine. Hold the story, and I will go on camera.”
James looked momentarily surprised but he covered well. “Good. Let’s start now.” He took out a pen and signed the contract, his signature dark and bold against the white parchment, his handwriting appalling because he was using his right hand. She wondered what his penmanship was like when he wrote with his left hand. Probably large and masculine like him.
“Don’t you want your lawyer to look it over?” She took out her camera and snapped a picture of James signing the contract, in case anyone questioned the signature.
He shook his dark head. He held up the contract in his left hand and the pen in the right as he smiled and allowed her to take another photo. She liked that she did not have to explain her reasoning, he just followed her lead. James was a fellow suspicious mind.
“He can litigate it later if he disagrees. He has a new house in Boca to pay for, he needs the work. Besides, I trust you. You are incredibly honest in your dishonesty. Other than the first night, when you said Ben had a migraine, you have shown remarkable candour. You might prove me wrong, but I think I can trust you to honour your end of the bargain.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know? That I was lying about the migraine?”
The side of James’s mouth crept up in a half smile. When he smiled he was impossibly beautiful for such a masculine being. He was always handsome, but his smile, even the half-hearted ones, transformed his face. He went from attractive to irresistible with the simplest of movements. “You have a tell. You would be a shit poker player.”
She studied his face as she considered his words. She didn’t have a tell, certainly not one that Ben had noticed, and he knew her better than anyone else. Megan didn’t lie very often, but when she did, she did it well, at least in her own mind. “What’s my tell?”
James shook his head. “Nope, I’m not saying. If you knew, you would try to compensate for it and then I would be knackered. It’s quite useful that your face has a built in lie detector. It could come in handy in so many ways.” His tone was teasing, the implication clear.
She could not resist a
sking. “You would use it against me, ask me personal questions like…I don’t know, my sex life.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care about your sex life before me. Only insecure men care about who their woman has been with before they met. If a man is doing it right, she will forget everyone else.”
He was so confident, but she knew from experience he had reason to be. Even after the fallout, she had to admit he was a fabulous lover. “Like my mom always said, I may have lost my virginity, but I still have the box it came in.” She tried to joke and ignore the warm heat that spread over her. James had accidently called her his woman. He was speaking in general terms, but her body responded like he was sending a message just for her. She could easily imagine being his woman; not on a permanent basis—James was a good for now guy, the type who sleeps with you and leaves you so completely satisfied, you don’t even mind that he has moved on before he even had a chance to throw the condom in the trash. Even Megan who had no understanding of relationships could see he would be an unsuitable partner in every imaginable way, but for a few hours a day, she would gladly let him claim her. She gave her head a small shake to dislodge that particular horrible idea. The first night she was with him, she had convinced herself she wanted him because she had gone so long without sex; now she had to admit she was simply attracted to him. There was no point in denying it. Her body responded to his, a carnal reflex she could not control. But she could control how she acted on it. Well, in theory she could. Her track record with him didn’t exactly support the claim.
“She sounds like a bright woman. Must be where you got it from.”
The mention of her mother was enough to bring her thoughts crashing back to reality. Why had she mentioned her mother? Megan had not spoken about her mom in years. Ben knew not to ask. She sent her mom money every month; just enough to keep her out of her life, not enough for her to think Megan had serious money and come looking for more. Her mom was a user. If she knew what had become of her only daughter, Suzy Jackson would make a beeline for Washington DC. She and Ben were going to have to deal with her mother when the campaign got into full swing, but she would worry about her mom later. Megan could only handle one train wreck at a time.
Dirty Little Secrets Page 8
