Pandora's Box

by K. C. Blake

  “You aren’t on duty tonight. Try to enjoy the evening.”

  “I could carry the gun in my purse, but…”

  “You hate carrying purses,” he finished the sentence for her. A huge smile stretched his lips thin. “I remember. They make you feel too girly and too encumbered. Nice to see some things don’t change.”

  “I could strap the gun to my thigh, but I’ll have to walk through the metal detector with the rest of the guests. It’s possible they could make me remove it at the door.”

  “Leave it here.” DeMarco’s hands went to her shoulders and held her still, capturing her complete attention. “You can always borrow mine if you need it. I saw the guest list. I don’t think the Washington’s conservatives will get too rowdy tonight.” His fingers gave her a gentle squeeze. “I can’t get over how beautiful you look. I always loved your hair down. You’re going to have every man at the ball falling at your feet.”

  Now he was starting to freak her out.

  “Why are you here, Marc?” She grabbed her black wrap.

  “I thought I’d give you a lift to the party and fill you in on what’s been going on here during the last three months.”

  DeMarco took the wrap from her fingers. He waited patiently for her to turn around and then slid the silky black material over her bare arms. His hands lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, sending an unwanted shiver up Madison’s spine. Did he want to rekindle the past?

  Or was he after something else?

  With a last disgusted look at the doll, she left DeMarco to lock the door behind them.

  He caught up with her halfway down the hall and walked her to the car, hand on the small of her back. Playing the part of the gentleman, he opened the car door for her. The little gestures began to add up to big trouble for Madison. He was definitely up to something.

  His plan to kill the president was running a smooth path. Soon the betrayer would be dead—as well as a few other pawns in his little chess game. Collateral damage. Nobody important.

  He sat at his desk, hands clasped beneath his chin, and he waited for the news to hit the airwaves. It didn’t matter what channel he watched. The assassination attempt of a president would cause every network to break into regularly scheduled programming with special reports. And of course someone would be lying dead when the smoke cleared.

  Although, probably not the president.

  Not tonight. First, he wanted Malcom Law to suffer. He wanted to see fear brewing in that deceitful man’s eyes. Most of all he wanted Malcom Law to know he was behind everything, the puppeteer pulling the strings on a whole orchestra of people. Some willing players, while others did his bidding unwittingly.

  He could practically taste victory already.

  The phone rang and he grabbed it.

  “Is everything in place for tonight?”

  The Blond Assassin breathed, “Everything. Just as you requested.”

  “Don’t call again until you’ve completed your next assignment. It’s too risky.”

  “But what about the charity ball?” she asked. “Don’t you want to know if it worked?”

  He reminded her, “I’ll hear about it from the television. I repeat, do not call again.”

  He severed the connection and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment. The end of his mouth threatened to curve upward slightly. Yes, everything was going exactly as he’d foreseen it. And no one was going to get in his way.

  No one.

  ******

  It took twenty minutes to reach the party and during that time they talked about work non-stop. Madison told DeMarco everything about the last three months, every minute detail until she realized it sounded too much like babbling. She no longer felt at ease with DeMarco. Funny how a few comments could turn everything upside-down.

  They finally reached their destination, and Madison realized she’d practically been holding her breath.

  DeMarco left the engine running, got out, and handed the keys to a valet. He hurried to her side of the car, opened the door, and held his hand out to her. She stood tall, head held high, careful to walk slowly in the three-inch heels. Camera bulbs flashed as the media took pictures, mistaking them for VIPs.

  Madison forced a smile and prayed it looked natural.

  When they entered the ballroom, Madison’s breath caught in her throat. Eight crystal chandeliers hung from the sky-high ceiling. Formally dressed waiters walked across the shiny marble with silver trays of various treats. Some of them carried tall flutes overflowing with golden champagne. A live orchestra played in the background, the classical music just loud enough for the throngs of people to chat amicably.

  Madison’s fingers tightened on DeMarco’s arm.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She loosened her grip, embarrassed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  “Why don’t I get you a drink?”

  “I’d rather not. I think I should keep a clear head tonight.”

  “Dance, then?” He nodded at several couples moving in rhythm near the band. “I promise to only hold you as close as you want to be held. Just two old friends taking a spin on the dance floor. No strings.”

  She smiled, tugging him in the direction of the dancers. Her stomach muscles uncramped a bit, and she allowed herself to relax. Stepping into the circle of his arms felt good. No longer uncomfortable, she settled against him, resting her head against his shoulder. They began to move.

  “I’ve missed this,” she admitted and realized it was true. She placed her lips on his cool cheek, a quick kiss. She missed being close to someone.

  A brief flash of surprise in his eyes was trailed by appreciation. “Come on. We can do better than that.”

  His hand pressed against the small of her back and he leaned forward, kissing her full on the lips. Madison, caught off guard, tried to push him away for a moment. His lips were warm and comforting and oh-so-familiar.

  She forgot where they were.

  She kissed him back.

  A voice brought her crashing to reality.

  “I assume you aren’t on duty tonight.” Tyler Law spoke over DeMarco’s shoulder, gruff. “I mean, it’s sort of hard to protect the president with your tongue in another agent’s mouth.”

  DeMarco stiffened.

  Her face burned. Absurdly enough, she felt like she’d been caught cheating. Forcing her expression to go neutral, she held her hand out to him. “We weren’t formally introduced. I’m Madison Grey. Pleased to meet you.”

  Tyler took her hand and mechanically told her his name as if it wasn’t already engraved on her brain. His large hand nearly swallowed hers. Unwanted warmth spread through her entire body like wildfire.

  “Why don’t you take a hike, pal?” DeMarco’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “We aren’t on duty tonight. What we do with our free time is our business.”

  Tyler and DeMarco stood toe to toe, neither one prepared to back down. Madison couldn’t stand the thought of them fighting. She didn’t want to see either of them get hurt. Not to mention, it would be an embarrassing situation for everyone.

  “Marc, could you leave us for a moment?” she asked. “There’s something I need to say to the first son, and I don’t want any witnesses.”

  DeMarco reluctantly walked away, glancing over his shoulder at them just once before he vanished into the crowd.

  “You need to back off,” she said. “Your father asked me to be here as a guest. I suppose he wants to thank me for saving his son’s life.”

  “Saving my life?” Tyler gaped at her. “You did not save my life, sweetheart. You almost got me killed. Remember? You drove us into the ocean? Does that strike a chord?”

  “There was a woman with a bomb and it could have blown you away. I saved your life. Twice. I had to untangle you before you drowned.”

  His eyelids dropped, but she saw the flash of guilt before they could hide his eyes. Her quick mind instantly connected her to th
e truth.

  “Wait a minute!” She stepped forward, crowding him. “You’re a Navy SEAL used to working underwater in the worst conditions. You didn’t get tangled up. It was a trick.”

  He shook his head. “It was a test. I needed to know if I could trust you.”

  Trust her? He had a lot of nerve. She’d almost drowned trying to save his miserable life, and he hadn’t even been in danger.

  He smirked. “I didn’t know you and DeMarco were dating.”

  “We aren’t.”

  “Then he won’t mind if I dance with you.”

  Before Madison could protest, Tyler’s arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. His movements were smooth, graceful with a whiff of formal training. Being held by him ripped her confidence away. She was on the high wire without a net. If she was smart, she’d walk away from him.

  Instead, she snuggled closer.

  “Hail to the Chief” began to play, announcing the president’s arrival and demanding everyone’s attention. Tyler took a step away from her and the cool air took the place of his warm body. She shivered. Everyone began to clap around them.

  Madison drew her gaze away from Tyler and clapped her hands together.

  The double doors at the top of the grand staircase opened. The president and the first lady emerged, arm in arm. The crowd erupted in applause that shook the rafters. Madison forced a smile to her stiff face.

  The president and first lady waved to the guests and the applause reached a nearly deafening volume. Madison knew the drill by heart. The president would now take his place on the balcony behind the microphone so he could make a short speech. Then he would mingle with the peasants for a short time before heading home.

  The two impeccably dressed people headed for the podium. The first lady stumbled and stepped on the hem of her fancy purple ball gown. Several gasps and a few nasty muttered comments followed the mis-step. The first lady is drunk again. Tight-faced, her husband jerked on her arm. She righted herself and they continued on.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Madison caught sight of her father.

  “Dad!” she stage-whispered.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He kept moving, pushing his way through the finely dressed crowd. Madison walked away from Tyler without a glance or a word. She grabbed the back of her father’s jacket and tugged on it.

  “Dad, stop! What’s with all the messages? I’ve been trying to return your calls, but you haven’t been answering your cell.”

  He ignored every word as if he couldn’t hear her. When she stepped around him, saw his face, his features twisted in a horrific grimace. She’d never seen him look like that. He reached beneath his jacket. He pulled his gun free with a smooth, expertly devised motion.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. Pure shock washed the blood from her face. “Put that away!”

  He tried to pass her.

  She grabbed his wrist, but he halfway turned and hit her with the open palm of his free hand. She fell into the throng of people behind her. They tried to catch her, but she landed on the floor in the middle of them. Several hands grabbed at her, trying to help her stand. They just got in her way. She slapped their hands away and pushed at their legs. How was she supposed to stand up when they wouldn’t give her the room to move?

  The people hadn’t seen the gun in her father’s hand; they didn’t know they were interfering. She had to stop her father before he got hurt.

  Too late.

  The Secret Service spotted him and the gun.

  “Gun!” one of them yelled. “Everyone down!”

  A few of them knocked the president and first lady to the floor. Several agents pulled their guns. Madison couldn’t get her limbs to move. For the first time in her career, she froze.

  Tyler raced by her, intent on tackling her father. But Tyler didn’t make it. Several agents simultaneously pulled their triggers.

  A dozen screams drowned out the sound of falling instruments as the band dove for cover.

  Madison yelled, “Dad! No!”

  Several shots rang out. Duncan Grey took a few wild steps, arms swinging in circles, hips and upper torso banging around to an unbalanced rhythm as the bullets hit him. The gun fell from his limp fingers. He stumbled three more steps, lips dripping blood, and then he joined his gun on the cold marble floor.

  Still screaming, Madison crawled across the floor to him. She shoved the grasping hands away. “Don’t you touch him! Don’t you dare touch him!”

  She rolled him over, cradled her father’s head on her lap, amazed to find him alive. His mouth opened and closed a few times. A slurred word came out, but she couldn’t grasp it. She bent her head close to him.

  “What is it, Daddy? What do you want to say?”

  His harsh breath hit the side of her face, feeling cold.

  He whispered, “Pandora’s Box.”

  And died.

  Chapter Three

  “What did your father say to you before he died?”

  Madison glanced around the table at the grim faces. The director of the CIA, a top FBI agent, three Secret Service men including DeMarco, the Secretary of Defense and Vice President Mercer surrounded the conference table, all of them standing even though she had been told to sit. They were hoping to intimidate her.

  They didn’t know her very well if they thought that kind of tactic would work on her.

  Mercer glared at her from across the table. Immediately following her father’s death, before she’d had time to fully process what had happened, they’d pulled her into a conference room, demanding answers she didn’t have.

  As for her father’s dying words, they were all she had left of him. She wouldn’t give them up without a fight, especially not to a pack of wolves with their own agenda.

  “He told me he loved me,” she said. The lie easily slipped off her tongue. She stared them down, unblinking.

  Vice President Mercer abruptly stood. Although he was a lawyer like many other politicians, but he’d also been an underwear model. It helped pay his way through school He placed his fists on the conference table and leaned across it, trying to intimidate her with his stony glare, but it was hard for her to take him seriously. Every time he tried to throw his weight around, she pictured that last ad of a thirty-something year old man prancing around in tiny blue briefs.

  He said, “Do you expect us to believe those were his last words after trying to assassinate the President of the United States?”

  “Don’t browbeat my people,” DeMarco said, the only one to jump to her defense. “If Madison says her father told her he loved her, then that’s what happened. I’ve known her for years. She’s an exceptional agent.”

  “This is a very sensitive matter,” the vice president said. “Her father, a highly trusted CIA agent, tried to kill the president tonight. He’s a traitor. Maybe she is too.”

  “She’s not!” DeMarco’s voice went up a notch.

  “Would you bet your life on it?”

  “Yes, I would,” DeMarco said, boldly circling the table to stand beside her.

  With a smug smirk like a gambler laying down the winning hand, Mercer said, “What about the president’s life?”

  He walked away from the table without another word and a huge round of shouting began. Everyone had something to say, mostly negative stuff about her father. Instead of defending the man she’d known her whole life, she sat stiff as a board, silent. Her tongue felt like lead in her dry mouth.

  Madison glanced down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Dried blood stained the back of one and filled the spaces beneath her fingernails. Her father’s blood. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. She closed her eyes and replayed the tragic event in her head.

  In her mind she saw her father pass by without a glance in her direction. His features had been fixed straight ahead. Then he’d pulled the gun. She remembered trying to stop him. For the first time in her life, he’d hit her. Well, he’d shoved her. There hadn’t been an ounce of concern o
r warmth in his eyes. almost like he hadn’t recognized her.

  She didn’t get it.

  Her father was not a killer—or a traitor.

  A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She clenched her hands into tight fists and sat up straighter, steeling herself against the attack she was sure would come. Madison silently recited lessons learned from her years with the CIA and the two years she’d spent with the Secret Service. She was determined not to fall apart in front of these people.

  DeMarco yelled over the others. “You can’t hold her father’s sins against her!”

  The room quieted to a dull murmur.

  “Perhaps not.” The secretary of defense spoke up. “But you’ll have to relieve her of her duties until she’s cleared of any connection to what happened tonight. We can’t have a possible traitor working so closely with the president.”

  “Are you kidding me?” DeMarco’s face reddened. “She’s put herself in harm’s way at least a dozen times to save the president. That should count for something.”

  Mentally exhausted, Madison slowly rose to her feet. Every eye turned in her direction and the two primary fighting men ceased their argument as they both waited for her next action. She shook her head slowly at DeMarco.

  “Forget it,” she said. “I need time off anyway. In case you gentlemen failed to notice, my father died tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, Maddie.” DeMarco headed back in her direction, pity alight in his eyes, and she knew he was going to embrace her.

  She took a step backwards and held up both hands to stop him. “I’m okay. I’m going home—”

  “No, you’re not,” the vice president interrupted her. “We haven’t finished questioning you yet.”

  DeMarco opened his mouth to defend her again, but Madison had had enough. Anger surged through her. It warmed her to the depths of her soul. She wasn’t going to let the bastards treat her like a criminal. DeMarco didn’t need to worry about that.

  “Unless you are going to arrest me for being related to Duncan Grey, I am going home.” She stood tall, chin high, and stared holes through them. “Later on when you realize the foolish mistake you’ve just made and you try to get me to come back to the service, I’ll let you know if I feel like it then.” She grabbed her wrap. “Don’t hold your breath.”