Exclusive

by Sandra Brown

  “Try and get some sleep.”

  He got up and turned off the lamp, then returned to the window and peeked through the blinds. For five minutes he watched the parking lot for any suspicious cars or movement.

  Satisfied that they had eluded the surveillance, he glanced at the bed and was disconcerted to find Barrie watching him. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

  Again, she was lying on her side, but now her hands were stacked palm to palm beneath her cheek. “Who are you, Gray Bondurant?”

  “Me? I’m nobody.”

  “Not true,” she said sleepily. “You’re somebody.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “You need rest too. The bed is wide enough for both of us.”

  No way in hell could he crawl in with her and not partake of that skin, that voice. “I’m going to sit up for a while.”

  “What for?”

  “So I can think.”

  “About what?”

  “Go to sleep, Barrie.”

  “One more question?”

  “Okay,” he sighed.

  “That morning at your house, that was no-strings-attached sex, right?”

  “Right.”

  She lowered her eyes for several seconds, then looked up at him again. “Pretty terrific sex, though.”

  He smiled in the darkness. “Pretty terrific.”

  “But you didn’t kiss me. Not on the lips. What have you got against mouth-to-mouth kissing?”

  “That’s two questions. Good night.”

  * * *

  “George?”

  His wife’s voice seemed to come to him from a distant shore across an ocean of scotch. Dr. Allan raised his head and saw Amanda silhouetted in the open doorway of his home office. She looked lovely, desirable, and strong. He couldn’t stand the sight of her. Her strength accentuated his weakness.

  She came into the room. When she reached the desk, she picked up the liquor bottle and checked the amount remaining in the bottom of it. Even in his inebriated state, the silent rebuke didn’t escape him.

  Querulously he said, “What is it, Amanda?”

  “So you do remember me. I’m glad to know that. Do you by any chance recall that you also have two sons?”

  “Is this a riddle?”

  “Your older son is withdrawing a little deeper into himself each day. I’ve begged him to tell me what’s troubling him, but he becomes sullen and silent. His teachers at school have had similar experiences lately. He bottles up his problems inside himself, and no one can pry them out. He’s so like you, it frightens me.

  “I’ve just come from your younger son’s bedside, where I listened to his prayers. He asked God to help Daddy, then he started crying, and I had to hold him until he fell asleep.”

  George rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes. “I’ll go in and kiss them good night later.”

  “You’re missing the point. I don’t want you to kiss them good night. Not in your present condition. They’re not stupid, you know. They know that something is terribly wrong with you, and it goes beyond the drinking.”

  “ ‘The Drinking’? Like it’s a proper noun?”

  “It’s become one. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh really? Would you call the last forty-eight hours typical? You came home yesterday morning looking like something out of a fright film. God knows how long it had been since you slept. You didn’t offer me a single word of explanation for your lengthy absence or how you looked. You didn’t ask after my well-being or the children’s. You came straight up to this room and sequestered yourself and haven’t come out since.”

  For emphasis, she slammed the bottle back onto the desk. “You’re stinking drunk, and I’ve heard you crying. The first makes me angry, and the second breaks my heart. George,” she said imploringly, “how can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Dammit, George, when did your definition of marriage change?”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “If you won’t confide in me, then we don’t have a marriage, not the kind we pledged to each other. But on paper at least I’m still you’re wife, and I demand to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Christ, are you deaf?” he shouted. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  She didn’t back away from his mounting anger. Coldly, she said, “Don’t lie to me. You’re coming apart before my eyes.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said, giving her smooth bob a hard shake. “You’re my husband. I love you. I’ll defend you with my dying breath. But first I have to know what has turned you from a fine physician, husband, and father, into a blubbering drunk.”

  He glared at her, but she didn’t back down. Amanda had a merciless stubborn streak. “Your problem has something to do with David, doesn’t it? Don’t bother to lie. I know he’s at the root of your personal crisis. What brought it about?”

  “Drop it, Amanda.”

  “What did he ask you to do?”

  “I said to drop it.”

  “What kind of control does he have over you?”

  “He doesn’t!”

  “He does!” she shouted right back. “And if you don’t break that control, he’s going to destroy you.”

  He lunged to his feet, banging the desktop with his fists. “The woman died, okay?”

  “What?”

  “There, I’ve said it. I’ve confided my problem to you. Are you happy now? Satisfied?”

  “You’re talking about the nurse.”

  “Yeah, the nurse. The one who died in our lake house three days ago. Sudden cardiac death.” He bowed his head and clasped it between his hands. “I tried to get her back, but I failed. I failed and she died.” His shoulders heaved on a sob.

  “Were you drunk?”

  “I’d taken one Valium, that’s all.”

  “Did you do everything you could?”

  He nodded. “I tried for half an hour to resuscitate her. Finally the Secret Service agents pulled me off her and said it was no use, that I was wasting my time.”

  Amanda drew a staggering little breath and laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, George,” she said gently.

  He longed to accept her sympathy. He knew her arms would welcome him in spite of the angry words they’d exchanged. Her breasts would be soft, her voice soothing, her embrace a haven he could crawl into and perhaps hide from his demons for a while.

  But he didn’t deserve her consolation or her forgiveness. His rank unworthiness caused him to resent her for extending such unconditional love. So he rebuffed it and shrugged off her hand. “What could you have done?” he asked belligerently. “What miracle would you have worked to make the problem disappear?”

  He turned his back on her and lurched to the liquor cabinet. Opening another bottle of scotch seemed to require more dexterity than his fingers were capable of, but he managed to get it open and pour himself another drink.

  “Oh, no, wait,” he said, turning back to Amanda. “You can solve any problem, right? You can do everything you set out to do. Achievement is your middle name. No, make that Excel. Excel is your middle name.”

  He knew that the scathing words hurt her deeply, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying them. He wanted somebody to feel as rotten as he did, and Amanda was the only one around. But she refused to be provoked. She maintained her composure.

  “I couldn’t have solved your problem, George, but I could have sympathized.”

  “Lot of good that would have done.”

  “You’ve lost patients before. Because you’re a healer, you naturally take it hard when nothing you do can save a patient. But you’ve never been this disconsolate.”

  Tilting her head, she peered into his eyes. He was drunk, but not so far gone that he didn’t fear she would read more in them than he wanted her to know. He looked away. Not soon enough.

  “I’m getting the expurgated version of
this story, aren’t I?” she said. “What else happened at the lake house?”

  “Who says something else happened?”

  She gave him a retiring look. “I know you, George. You’re omitting some crucial element of the story.”

  “The nurse bought it. That’s it.”

  “It concerns Vanessa, doesn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Then what made this woman’s death—”

  “What do you want from me?” he bellowed. “You asked what was bothering me, and I told you. Now get the fuck out of here and leave me the fuck alone!”

  He’d never used that kind of vituperative language with her. He couldn’t believe he had now, although the words seemed to reverberate off the paneled walls, echoing their vulgarity. Had he stooped so low as to verbally abuse his wife? The thought was like an anchor that dragged him deeper into an abyss of depression and self-disgust. He downed his drink quickly.

  Amanda, her own disgust apparent, walked away from him. At the door, she turned around. “Yell and curse at me, George, if it makes you feel any better. I’m tough. I can take it.”

  She raised her left fist so he’d be certain to see her wedding ring. “David Merritt took an oath of office, but so did I, at the altar on our wedding day. I pledged that nothing short of death would part us, and I meant it. You’re my husband, and I love you. I’m not going to surrender you without a fight. I’ll do everything within my power to prevent this man from destroying you, even if he happens to be the President of the United States.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Not that again,” Daily groused.

  Barrie had tuned his television to VH-1 and set the volume at a deafening level. “Gray thinks your house is under surveillance.”

  “Bugged, too?”

  “They don’t need to bug it to eavesdrop,” Gray told him. “The equipment is so sophisticated, they can listen to conversations from blocks away.”

  “ ‘They’?”

  “Spence’s men.”

  “Bastards,” Daily muttered. Then he nodded toward Gray and said to Barrie, “I thought he split.”

  “So did I. He, uh, surprised me last night.”

  “I got home from the Bardot film festival late,” he said. “You weren’t here. I worried all night.”

  Meekly, she said, “I forgot to call.”

  Daily indicated that they should take their usual seats on the sofa. “Am I to assume that the story’s not over yet? You still think the baby’s death was no accident?”

  “I think that’s a given,” Gray replied. “This whole thing started with that, and now it’s escalated into something even bigger. David’s trying to keep a cap on it, but he’s having a hard time of it. Spence failed to take me out. Things at George Allan’s lake house went awry when the nurse died.

  “Her death left Dr. Allan exposed at a time when neither he nor David wanted exposure,” he conjectured. “It brought a halt to whatever witch-doctoring he was practicing on Vanessa.”

  Barrie picked it up from there. “Because the nurse’s death would eventually come to light and focus attention on Vanessa’s health, he had to… revive her, for lack of a better word, and hustle her back to Washington.”

  “On the morning of the press conference they made her visible to the whole world,” Gray said. “To anyone who doesn’t know her well, she appeared normal. I think she’s still in danger.”

  “What makes you think so?” Daily asked. “It all seemed very pat to me. Neely read the First Lady’s eulogy to the nurse. The Merritts’ thoughts and prayers are with her family. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Vanessa was sending a distress signal,” Gray said. “She wasn’t wearing her mother’s wedding ring,” he explained. “It’s been on the ring finger of her right hand since Clete placed it there the day her mother died. That morning, it was notably absent. She kept bringing her hand into view, especially when she knew the cameras were on her. I think she wanted someone to notice that she wasn’t wearing it.”

  Daily said, “You really think she was signaling for help?”

  “Yes.”

  “The ring could have been misplaced,” Barrie argued. “Maybe it wouldn’t stay on because of all the weight she lost. Or she might simply have grown tired of it. It could have been at the jeweler’s being resized or cleaned. There are dozens of plausible reasons for her not wearing it.”

  “That’s right, there are,” Gray said. “If I were back in Wyoming watching her on TV and saw that she wasn’t wearing it, I might be mildly curious, but not necessarily alarmed.

  “However,” he continued, coming to his feet, “since Spence was sent to ice me, since I witnessed your house being vaporized, and since I know that surveillance teams are following you, I’m inclined to be more than mildly curious.”

  “And I think you’re right,” Barrie admitted grudgingly. “That press conference was Vanessa’s only public appearance since her ‘seclusion.’ If she’s as healthy as the White House claims, she would have launched back into her schedule, right?” On impulse, she picked up Daily’s phone and dialed a number she had committed to memory.

  “Who’re you calling?” Gray asked.

  “Vanessa’s office.”

  “Remember, everything you say is probably being monitored.”

  “They’ll just assume I’m up to my old tricks. Turn down the TV.”

  The sudden silence was as jarring as the racket had been. “Good morning,” Barrie said pleasantly when her call was answered. “My name is Sally May Henderson. I represent the Daughters of the American Revolution. We would very much like to present the First Lady with one of our distinguished service awards in recognition of her ongoing campaign to feed and shelter the homeless.”

  She emphasized that the organization wished to present the award in person. “The publicity would bring to the nation’s attention the continued need for the shelters and soup kitchens the First Lady has been so instrumental in organizing.” Politely, but firmly, she was told that a meeting wasn’t possible in the near future. The First Lady was still recovering from her recent indisposition.

  “I see. Well, please extend to her our warmest regards. We’ll be in touch again.” She hung up and turned to Daily and Gray. “Her staff has been instructed not to schedule any appointments for her until they get the go-ahead from Dr. Allan.”

  Gray turned up the volume on the TV again, then said, “David is going for broke.”

  “It seems so.”

  Daily was rubbing his jaw, looking worried. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  Bondurant said, “Vanessa has become less of an asset and more of a liability. David eliminates liabilities.”

  “You’re guessing,” Daily stressed.

  “Uh-uh. I know.” Gray returned to the sofa and sat down. For a moment no one said anything.

  Finally, Barrie spoke up. “My career has been a joke. I’ve screwed up more often than not. God knows, my gut instinct is anything but reliable. But this time I know I’m right. Our president is a criminal.” She looked up at Gray. “I may distrust my instincts, but I trust yours.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced at Daily, then back at her. “Look, you two should take an extended vacation, somewhere out of the country. If David is convinced that you’ve given up, that you’re no longer a threat, he’ll relax his vigilance. I’ll take it from here, and hopefully save Vanessa before David can implement plan B.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Barrie said heatedly. “We’re talking about the attempted murder of the First Lady. As a citizen, I can’t turn my back on that. Not only that, but I was the first one Vanessa approached for help. If I hadn’t misread the signs, she might be safely with her father now. Because I dropped the ball, she’s still under her husband’s tyranny.

  “And it’s because of his treachery that I’ve lost everything that was important to me. Cronkite, my home, my job. I’ve got a vendetta against that son of a bitch in the Oval Office. And God help him. Because
I’m the worst kind of enemy to have. One who has nothing left to lose.”

  “Except your hide,” Daily said, wheezing.

  “No,” she said softly, “except you, Daily.”

  “Don’t turn those teary eyes on me, missy. You’ve got shit for brains. Both of you,” he said, cutting his eyes between her and Gray.

  “How can we not expose Merritt for what he is?” she asked gently.

  “You’re talking crazy. Have you two listened to yourselves? He’s the freaking President of the United States. The highest office in the land and the most powerful individual in the world. You fuck with him, you’ll wind up dead.”

  Barrie looked at Gray and saw in his eyes a commitment that matched her own. Ironically, the very thing that had kept them apart now bound them together.

  Turning back to Daily, she said, “If Merritt plans to have me killed, I at least want to put up a fight. But I refuse to place you in danger. Take the long vacation.”

  “You should leave this afternoon, as soon as arrangements can be made,” Gray urged.

  “Where would you like to go, Daily? Mexico?”

  “And get the trots? Hell no.”

  “The Bahamas?”

  “There’s a hurricane in the Caribbean. Don’t you watch the news?”

  “Australia?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Why would I leave and let you two have all the fun?”

  “It’s not going to be fun, Daily,” Gray said with the manner of an undertaker. “You can’t fuck around with these guys. When it comes to carrying out an assignment, they mean business. So we must mean business too. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, this could easily become a life-or-death situation.”

  “I’m already in a life-or-death situation,” Daily retorted. He spread his arms to encompass the shabby room. “I’ve got less to lose than Barrie. I have an incurable disease. I’ve got no wife, no kids, nothing. The way I figure it, if I can help you, I won’t die forgotten.”

  Barrie crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed the top of his head. “You’re decrepit and ugly, but I love you dearly.”

  “Cut that out. I hate that mushy shit.” He waved her off. “Okay, Bondurant, what do we do first?”