And once again, events swept out of Anne’s control.
The UNESCO World Heritage Ambassador to the UN assembly turned back to her work. Detra gathered her up in the East Wing hall and handed over her parka. In moments she was down through the tunnel underneath East Executive Avenue and into the garage beneath the Treasury Building. The black SUV slid out into DC traffic and a thick snowfall.
“Where are we going?” Anne gathered some thread of common sense as they passed the Jefferson Memorial and turned east. “Isn’t the Vice President’s house that way?”
Detra nodded affably. “It is. Nothing wrong your sense of direction.”
“But—”
“Andrews Field is this way. Air Force Two is just warming up on the tarmac. The Vice President is running behind.”
“But—” Anne tried again.
“One of the Navy stewards packed your clothes and other belongings. They’re right behind you.”
Anne twisted around to see her knapsack and the clothes bag with her two dresses. Not a single piece of it was appropriate for where she was going; Italian women always dressed well and she’d come to DC with little more than jeans and turtlenecks. Of course, there was nowhere to buy fashionable clothes quite like Italy.
The last “but” she could think of, which was also the first, had been answered by Genny Matthews, the woman who loved the President.
Was Anne herself in love? Genny had pointed it out at that first dinner as if it had been a neon sign blazing on Anne’s forehead. Cornelia Day seemed to think so as well. It was getting hard to deny, so she supposed she was. That sounded like a lame revelation.
“In love” was supposed to have lightning bolts, choirs of angels, and hard-bodied men. Okay, perhaps it did have the first and last of those, but where was the heavenly choir? It was the right season after all. She’d never imagined that love would arrive like a favorite pair of slippers, but it did fit ever so fine.
So, no longer a question, she was in love. In love with Zachary Thomas. She tested it as they zipped onto the field. The thought had a warm, cozy, fireside feel to it and was as natural as their lovemaking.
The next question: what was she going to do about it? Not thinking had gotten her this far and she considered sticking with that plan of action.
No.
It was time to stop drifting, she checked her mental calendar. The Thanksgiving banquet had been twenty days ago. She’d been living at One Observation Circle for the last eleven; living with someone—which should not be a first at her age, but it was.
Definitely time to take some control of…
The SUV slid to a halt. Detra jumped out and opened Anne’s door before she could. Seeing what was outside waiting for her, they might need the jaws of life to extract her from the vehicle. Splashed like a poster across the windshield, a Boeing 757—looking terribly long and sleek and painted in the blue-and-white livery of the United States of America executive aircraft—dominated her view.
But worse yet, the press corps was ranged behind a rope line and a phalanx of Secret Service agents, awaiting the Vice President’s arrival and departure.
Except he wasn’t here yet and every single one of those cameras were pointing at her vehicle.
Definitely time to return to not thinking about what was happening.
Then she heard a cry of police sirens and the cameras swung away…most of them.
# # #
Zack climbed out of the first SUV. The Secret Service had put him in the decoy vehicle and placed agents and the officer with the nuclear football in the limo behind. He never argued, Harvey said “go that way” and he went.
He headed for the rope line, Harvey had assured him that everyone there had been cleared and checked, so that he could approach without worry. That’s when he spotted the lone SUV parked off to the right, yet on this side of the rope line.
Agent Detra Willand stood by an open door, looking into the vehicle with a puzzled expression on her face. He didn’t know if he’d ever been happier to see a particular Secret Service agent in his six year association with them. If Detra was here, that meant—
Zack veered over to see what the problem was. As he peeked over Detra’s shoulder he spotted Anne, rooted to the seat.
“Any problem, Agent Willand?”
She started. The first time he’d managed to surprise an agent. “Hello, Mr. Vice President. Sorry, sir. We appear to have hit someone’s panic level.”
“Mind if I try?”
Detra stepped out of the way, shifting into the protective circle that included Harvey and several others. He leaned in.
“Hi, Anne. Comfy? My, doesn’t this feel familiar.”
“That’s a very big plane, Mr. Vice President,” she didn’t respond to his light tone. He was so happy to see her here that he’d dance if that’s what was needed and to hell with the press.
He gazed out the front windshield with her for a moment, “It is a big plane, isn’t it? I believe that the President’s is quite a bit bigger.” He pushed for the double-entendre, but apparently it didn’t catch.
“And that’s a terrible number of reporters and cameras, sir.”
“It is.”
She didn’t turn to him as she spoke, “I’m going home.”
“I have two pieces of comfort for you to convince you otherwise.”
“Which are?”
“Second, they’re here to talk to me, not to you.”
“What’s first then?”
“I won’t be the one flying that big beast. The largest fixed-wing plane I ever flew regularly is a glider, a sailplane. They’re quite wonderful, you know. No engine, just you and the sound of wind. Really amazing.”
She finally looked toward him, he could practically hear the snapping of the cords that had connected her to the aircraft and reporters. “You flew sailplanes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“For the Air Force?”
“I was damned good at it too. Still have my license. Want to go up in one?”
She eyed him cautiously, “With you as the pilot?”
“Only room for two. Is that a problem?”
“Maybe.”
Zack wondered what it would take to get Anne moving. He was sorely tempted to toss her over his shoulder and carry her to the plane. She awoke some primitive part of him that thought cavemen just might have had the right idea. He also thought that Anne would understand the joke…in the privacy of his own home. However, he’d been a politician long enough to know exactly how poorly that might be perceived by the press. He knew that while the Secret Service was circled close behind him, not far beyond them several dozen news service people would be assuming that he was busy necking with his girlfriend before he left on the flight.
He’d had worse ideas.
So he did.
After a muffled “mmfph” of protest, she gave as she always did: easily and completely. Anne Darlington played no games, held nothing in reserve. It was something that he both had no experience with and couldn’t get enough of.
Then something shifted. He was no longer merely kissing a beautiful and willing woman. He couldn’t identify the change, but was now kissing Melanie Anne Darlington. Whatever Alice had warned him of, Anne had made some decision and he was helpless before her.
Harvey cleared his throat behind him, once, then twice, then quite loudly.
Zack wanted to tell the man just how high a cliff he could go and jump off.
Someone bumped into him hard enough to jar apart his kiss with Anne.
Harvey mumbled a soft, “Sorry, Mr. Vice President.”
Zack shifted back a few inches still under Anne’s magic spell.
“You okay?” He whispered her.
“Not even a little,” but she took his hand when he offered it. “North Pole would be simpler.”
“But half the fun.”
At the Press line he did manage to keep the questions directed to him, partly because Anne refused to speak. But there was no question about the photos on tonight’s news, the Vice President holding hands with his girlfriend as they ascended the long steel stairway into Air Force Two.
# # #
When the big hatchway door closed behind them, Anne felt a surge of relief as visceral as diving into the swimming pond on hot day. In moments, she could hear the metal stairway rattling away and the engines began clawing to life.
“Oh my god. Please tell me that I never have to be doing that ever again in all my natural born days. Or any others.”
“Depends. Are you planning to keep hanging out with me?”
She looked up at him. Zack was looking down at her…affectionately. The best kiss that any woman ever gave a man, and he was…still a man. She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, but the two Secret Service agents who had been last aboard the plane might tackle her to the carpet if she tried.
“Well? Are you?” This time she noted that though his voice was a tease, the eyes still hid the little boy.
“Get over it, sailplane boy. You’re stuck with me. Even with that madness,” she hooked a thumb out toward the scattering Press pool. Then she looked about for a distraction. “Can I get a tour? Our family jet would fit into this plane’s overhead stowage bins.”
There were four sections. First class had been replaced by a state-of-the-art communication system that completely humbled the First Lady’s. You could run a war from here. Then she swallowed hard, that was exactly what you could do.
To the right, a narrow passageway slipped around the side of a blocked-off room. The door bore the Seal of the Vice President, the same as the President’s except for a black outer ring and a white background on the center making it starker than the President’s. That and the word “Vice,” which Anne tapped lightly with a fingertip.
“You are like a drug, Anne,” he understood her gesture. “A dangerous vice.”
Okay, perhaps he’d been as affected by their latest kiss as she had. Maybe he was simply better at hiding it.
Zack swung open the stateroom door, and tossed his bag on one of the seats. Anne shrugged her shoulder and her knapsack plopped into the other executive brown-leather chair. His thick garment bag and her painfully thin one had somehow made it to the tiny closet ahead of them. There was a small desk between the two chairs, a tiny lavatory, and a three-seat couch that was long enough it might convert to a bed.
“How do you feel about joining the mile-high club?”
She took one look at the thickness of the walls on the stateroom—not very. “Dream on, Mr. Vice President.”
He tried to pout, that was not going to work on her, before leading her out a second door and into the third section of the plane. Either side of the aisle had four business class seats facing small tables. Cornelia Day was already hard at work on whatever file came next. Other advisors and aides filled the additional seats.
Cornelia looked up at Anne and offered a genuine smile.
Anne returned it, “I don’t have an answer for you yet, but I am working on it.”
She acknowledged Anne’s report with a sympathetic nod and returned to the paperwork laid out before her.
They both ignored Zack’s puzzled, “What?”
The back of the plane had eight more rows of four seats each. A quick peek showed that most were filled with Secret Service agents. Detra and Harvey were in the front two seats. Beyond that, there was nothing more to see so they turned and headed back forward.
“What did you do to her?” Zack asked after they reentered his stateroom.
“To who?” Anne looked around and did her best to play stupid.
“Be glad I don’t carry around a lie detector. Cornelia, that’s who.”
“What about her?”
Zack rolled his eyes.
“It’s a girl thing, Mr. Vice President. I could tell you—”
“But you’d have to neuter me first. I get it. Forget that I asked.”
“Anything you say, Mr. Vice President.”
“Anything?”
Anne should have seen it coming, but Zack had been sneaky. Whether it was the Air Force Captain or the politician who’d set the trap, she wasn’t sure. That didn’t make it any less effective. He had locked both fore and aft stateroom doors without her noticing. He sat on the divan and scooped her against him as the plane’s first motion unsettled her balance.
“You’d better take your time, Mr. Vice President, or we’ll never make it to a mile-high,” she whispered against his neck. “And if you aren’t very quiet, I will kill you, treason or not.”
Their clothes didn’t even make it to the end of the taxiway. By the time they were powering down the runway, the plane wasn’t the only one headed aloft.
# # #
Zack slipped from the bed so as not to wake Anne. Out the window fluffy clouds revealed a blue stretch of the Atlantic far below. They might have started while still on the ground, but making love to Anne Darlington had occupied him all the way to cruising altitude and then some.
As he was dressing, Zack watched her sleeping. Her hair spread over her face and down onto the blanket tucked up about her chin. He could see it many ways. Now blond, someday going to gray. Maybe one year short and the next longer again. He could imagine what he never had before, finding the same woman in his bed for all the days to come. To make love to a whole series of Anne Darlingtons separated from each other only by time.
Making love to Anne Darlington.
He’d had the thought before, but this day had been a repeated lesson in new perspectives. Anne had been defended by her sister-in-law Alice and had converted Cornelia to a staunch champion—something Zack knew was very difficult to achieve.
And then there’d been the President.
Zack had just been gathering up his papers when the President strode into his office and Zack knew that his chances of tracking down Anne before the flight had just dropped to zero. Peter Matthews hadn’t moved like that when they’d campaigned together. He’d always walked with confidence, but now he moved with an inner surety. He strode forward and Zack knew it was his wife’s doing. With a woman like Kim-Ly Geneviève Beauchamp Matthews behind him, a man couldn’t help but be incredible.
He looked again at Anne asleep on his couch and knew the feeling exactly as he recalled the conversation.
“Hey, Zack.”
“Mr. President.”
But Peter Matthews didn’t continue. He’d simply stood in Zack’s office doorway and looked at him.
“Mr. President?”
He rubbed at his chin before speaking, another old habit. He’d seen the man redraft whole sections of speeches on the fly while making that simple gesture.
Didn’t bode well.
“I’m not one to be telling you how to live your life, Zack…”
“But?” This could only be about one thing. “How does she gain such champions so easily?”
Peter smiled, “You’d have to ask my wife about that one. You’re running in two years?”
No question on that topic either. “Someone has to fill your shoes when you’re done with them, Mr. President.”
“Thought so. Genny has her own ideas about you and Ms. Darlington; must say I agree with them—you two seem to fit well. But you also need to look to the future. You’re never going to find a better woman to stand beside you.”
“Christ, Peter,” this conversation had just blown far past any honorifics. “We’ve been together less than two weeks. Give me a break.”
“Nope,” Peter just smiled at him. “Not when I’ve seen what I’ve seen. About time you began seeing it too. Safe trip, Zack. Bring us back a climate accord that has some real teeth in it and we’ll find a
way to get it passed.” Then the President shook his hand and was gone.
Zack brushed back Queen Anne’s long hair so that he could see her face as she slept on in Air Force Two’s stateroom. They hadn’t paused to convert Air Force Two’s stateroom couch into a bed, his need for her too great after a day of dreading that she wouldn’t travel with him at all and that she’d somehow slip away while he was in Italy.
He didn’t know what President Peter Matthews had seen, but he agreed with him on one point, he’d never find a better woman to stand beside him. Now he had a new task, convincing her that he was worth standing beside.
He slipped out and closed the door behind him. He sat down opposite Cornelia in the conference area. She had slowly annexed the entire table until the other three occupants had moved elsewhere seeking a work surface. The paperwork was organized by country, environmental zone—air, water, soil, substrata—and market sector.
It took a moment to find his enthusiasm for the task; his mind was still with the woman asleep in the stateroom.
“When are you going to tell her?” Cornelia whispered without looking up.
“Tell her what?” Cornelia never whispered when she had something to say, though with four cabinet assistant secretaries sitting across the aisle, he appreciated it. He wasn’t exactly comfortable discussing Anne Darlington even with those closest to him; he really didn’t want the opinions of the Departments of Energy, Transportation, Interior, and Commerce as well.
“That you love her, you dolt.”
Maybe he wasn’t comfortable at all discussing Anne with those close to him. Not once had Cornelia Day ever addressed him by less than his proper title; not even when it had been the decidedly awkward Mr. Vice President-elect.
“What is it with you women?”
She didn’t answer, but he could see her smile though she remained bent over her paperwork.
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