In Plain Sight

by Fern Michaels

  Emily was aware of all the gossip, the insider backbiting, and the downright nastiness that went on within these hallowed walls. There were those who said Gabe couldn’t tie his shoes unless Lincoln showed him how to do it. It wasn’t true, but still they said it. In many ways, it was Gabe’s fault that he allowed Lincoln to overpower and overshadow him. Then there were the whispers about Moss’s little black book, the book everyone feared, even Gabe, if the whispers were true. Personally, she believed it and wouldn’t put it past Lincoln Moss to blackmail anyone who crossed his path. She’d learned the hard way not to interfere in any way in the relationship between her husband and Lincoln Moss. Every night, she prayed for insight and the hope that someday she would come to understand that particular friendship.

  Emily looked down at her watch, a small gold face on a gold-plated expansion band. It had been her parents’ gift to her when she graduated from high school. She treasured it like no other piece of jewelry in her velvet-lined jewel case. To this day, it still worked, and she was never without it. Oh, she had fancy watches, one from Tiffany’s and a gold Rolex, but they were too ostentatious for her. You could take the girl out of Kansas, but you couldn’t take Kansas out of the girl. She was who she was, it was that simple.

  Gabe was now ninety minutes late. She had a meeting at 3:15 with the caterers, one that she absolutely had to attend. She wondered what would happen if she didn’t attend, then decided she really didn’t care one way or the other. Right now, her husband needed to talk to her, and that was all that was important.

  She didn’t hear him until he was right behind her. She loved it when he nuzzled her neck like he was doing right now. “Sorry, Em. I tried to be on time, but one thing led to another.” She nodded in understanding. “What’s for lunch?”

  “What you asked for, sloppy joes with sour-cream cucumbers. We have to eat fast, I have a meeting at 3:15.”

  “Well, it’s just going to have to wait, just like my 3:15 is going to have to wait. We are having lunch. Together. And we are not going to eat fast, either. And then we are going to have dessert. I’m up for a glass of wine. How about you?”

  Emily nodded. Whatever this little luncheon was about, it must be serious. Gabe never drank wine at lunch; nor did she. Well, there was a first time for everything.

  Husband and wife sat down at the kitchen table that Gabe insisted they use when they were in their private residence. They waited while the steward served them, then quietly withdrew.

  “We could probably push this along if you’d get right to the point, Gabe. I know you love my company, but I sense that something is troubling you. Let’s hear it,” Emily said as she bit into her sloppy sandwich. Why Gabe loved these messy sandwiches was beyond her.

  “Now this is what I call a good sandwich,” the President said, wolfing down the oozing sandwich. “C’mon, Em, admit you like them, too.”

  Soft brown eyes stared across the table at her husband. Sometimes it was hard to remember Gabe was the President of the United States. Like right now, he was just the guy she was lucky enough to marry. “They are tasty. I admit it. Now, are you happy?”

  “As a pig in a mudslide. So, Em, here is my problem. I need to know what the gossip is. You’re the only one I can ask. I know your staff hears it all and tells you because that’s what women do. Now, mind you, I’m not judging,” Gabe said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Are you asking for a certain type of gossip about a certain individual or just gossip in general?”

  Gabe reached for a second sandwich as he rolled his eyes. “You and I agreed never to play games with each other, Em. What have you heard?”

  The First Lady got a little testy at that moment. “Sometimes, I don’t understand you, Gabriel. One minute, Lincoln Moss’s name is never to pass my lips, and you tell me not to listen to gossip. And then you turn around and ask me what the gossip is. I think you need to tell me what is going on. And before you can ask, yes, he did buy a whole table for ten for the gala Saturday night. However, he did not return his personal RSVP.”

  Emily had called him Gabriel. When his wife addressed him by his given name, the President knew he was in some serious hot water. He plucked at a crisp chunk of cucumber and popped it into his mouth. He waited to see if she would elaborate. When she simply looked at him and did what he did, popped a wedge of cucumber into her mouth, he knew he had both feet in the hot water.

  The President polished off the wine in his glass and poured another. He looked over at his wife, who shook her head. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Listen to me, Gabe. No matter what I say, you are going to take it personal. As in there is no love lost between Lincoln and me. I don’t like the man, I never did. Actually, Gabriel, I detest him. Just so you know, there were many times when I almost gave you an ultimatum, him or me. The reason I didn’t was because, in my heart of hearts, I believed you would have chosen Lincoln. There, I finally said it out loud. Who would you have chosen if that came to pass, Gabriel?”

  Gabe brought the wineglass to his lips as he tried to imagine his life with either Emily or Lincoln missing. His hesitation did not go unnoticed by his wife. “I would have chosen you, Emily.” He wondered if his response was really true, and he could see that his wife was wondering the very same thing. His stomach churned, and now he wished he’d passed on the second sloppy joe sandwich.

  Emily just stared sadly at her husband. “Since we’re being honest with each other, I think it’s easy for you to say that now. Back then, had I given you the ultimatum, I think we both know you would have anguished over your decision. That’s water under the bridge now, as they say, Gabriel. You need to cut Lincoln Moss loose before it’s too late. By too late, I mean that your top people are going to resign. It would seem, if the gossip is true, that little black book everyone whispers about actually exists. That’s the gossip you want to hear. Am I right?”

  Gabe swallowed hard. “When you say my top people, who are you referring to exactly, and why hasn’t anyone said anything to me?”

  “Because . . . Gabriel, you refuse to listen to anyone except Lincoln. It’s your own fault. But to answer your question, your chief of staff, your National Security Advisor, and the Director of Homeland Security. The latest rumor seems to be that the Director of the CIA is so fed up with Moss, she’s one hair away from stepping down. The only one who has been silent is the Director of the FBI, Jack Sparrow.”

  Gabriel Knight chewed on his bottom lip. He felt lower than a snake’s belly. “I haven’t heard from Lincoln in two days.”

  “And this surprises you . . . why?” Emily snorted.

  Gabe winced at his wife’s sarcasm. “It was my turn to call him. I didn’t. Mainly because my chief of staff, Geoff, made a few stinging comments, and I took them to heart. The truth is, I called him out on it, and he let loose. I really thought about firing him on the spot, but I didn’t. He’s a good man, and he is loyal to me.”

  “You always said you couldn’t trust anyone but Lincoln. Are you saying now that all of that trust is changing? Why? What is going on, Gabe?”

  “Morale, for want of a better word. Everyone is surly, no one wants to take responsibility for making decisions only to be countermanded by Lincoln. And, yes, I let that happen. I also rescinded his pass. Now he has to do what everyone else does, make an appointment or stay away. While I did not call him, he has not called me, either.”

  “Oh, Gabe, don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s showing you he’s in control, and you will call him when you need him. He’s not going to blink if that’s what you’re thinking. He never did belong at your early-morning briefings. That’s what started all the resentment toward him. You must know that,” Emily said.

  What he knew was that his wife was now calling him Gabe and not Gabriel. If nothing else, he was grateful for that. He nodded. “Okay, what’s the rest of it?”

  “It’s just gossip, Gabe. Hurtful gossip. I even hate repeating it. But part of me believes it because it makes sense, at leas
t to me. All gossip has a seed of truth to it, we both know that.”

  “Just tell me, Em. Let’s get it all out right now.”

  “Well, the secretive looks and whispers started when that picture of Lincoln’s wife appeared in the tabloid. Some of the secretaries actually had the paper. I hate to admit this, but after they left, I took it out of the trash and read it. Things like that always grow legs, and the story can become so outlandish it’s like it came from another planet.

  “The gossip was that Lincoln batted Amalie around. One of the girls said a friend of hers was in the restroom at some political function when Amalie was there. It was some affair at the Ritz-Carlton. She saw Amalie lift up her top to look at a huge black-and-blue bruise on her rib cage. She said she put a cold compress on it. She explained to this person that she had fallen off a horse. Then someone else said they used to watch how gingerly she walked, like she’d been hurt. My press secretary looked me right in the eye, Gabe, and told me Lincoln was, and these are her exact words, ‘beating the hell out of his wife’ in places where it didn’t show.

  “No one knows why. But all the ladies think Amalie left Lincoln. Think about it, Gabe, because I sure have. None of us have seen Amalie in over five years. Where is she?”

  “When I ask, he says she’s in France, that she doesn’t like it here,” Gabe said as he continued to chew his lip. “Why would he beat that beautiful creature? She’s gentle, she’s kind, she’s sweet, and a wonderful person. He also told me more than once that his private life was none of my business. And he’s right, it is not my business.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that question, Gabe. I always liked Amalie. She was so shy, and I thought the two of them were in love. I should have known better. Lincoln Moss only loves himself.”

  Gabe tried to make sense out of what his wife was saying. “Why? I never had an inkling of any kind that he could or would do something like that.”

  “You don’t live with him, Gabe. Amalie did. Nothing is as it seems, you know that. Lincoln is a control freak. I think Amalie was afraid of him. I’m thinking, and this is just my opinion, that she got fed up and just up and left. No one has seen her in over five years. At least no one who will admit to it.

  “Five years is a long time, Gabe. Lincoln always has an answer as to where she is. Saturday night will tell the tale.”

  “Why do you say that?” Gabe asked, still trying to digest the fact that his best friend in the whole world was a possible wife batterer.

  “Because there is a rumor going around that Amalie is going to attend the gala on Saturday night. Sans Lincoln. Just this morning, my personal secretary told me that Amalie Laurent will be the guest of the Director of the FBI. And that they will both be sitting at a table bought by the Countess de Silva? What do you think of that, Gabriel?”

  They were back to Gabriel, with both feet in hot water. “Is that definite or a rumor?”

  “The RSVP came back from Director Sparrow with his name and his guest’s name. It said Amalie Laurent, not Amalie Moss. Now, does Lincoln know that? I have no clue. If there’s nothing else, I need to go to my meeting. I’m already a half hour late.”

  “Tell anyone who wants to know why you’re late that I was chewing off your clothes and making wild passionate love to you. They’ll cut you some slack then.”

  Emily laughed out loud. “Okay.” She kissed him on the cheek before she left the kitchen.

  Gabe missed his wife the moment the door closed behind her. He knew he was late for his next appointment, but he didn’t care. He got up and cleared the table and washed the dishes. He knew how to do laundry, cook, and clean because his mother taught him how to take care of himself. He was even a fair-to-middling plumber. He wished right now he could go outside and mow the lawn. He loved the smell of new-cut grass. He looked around the kitchen to make sure it was clean and tidy. What the hell, why not? He started stripping off his clothes as he headed for the master bedroom, where he pulled on a pair of threadbare gray sweatpants and a muscle shirt. He tied up the laces of his Nikes, fished around in the closet until he found his Atlanta Braves baseball cap, and squashed it onto his head.

  Outside in the corridor, the President’s Secret Service men looked at him, their eyes popping. “Where to, sir?”

  “The work shed. I’m going to mow the lawn.”

  “But sir . . .” Protests followed the President’s long-legged stride all the way to the secluded work shed.

  “No buts, gentlemen, I’m climbing up on that John Deere, and I am cutting the lawn. You can ride alongside or trot or watch me, your call.”

  And that’s exactly what President Gabriel Knight did that sunny afternoon in July. Not only did he cut the lawn, but he sang, off-key, at the top of his lungs, as he tooled along at three miles an hour. Every news channel carried the event on the evening news. The commentators started off their hourly news by saying, “Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see is something never before shown on TV.” The picture that popped up on the screen was the President waving to one and all as he buzzed around the White House lawn, a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon on his face. It was clear to one and all that he was having the time of his life. And as the news commentators said, why shouldn’t the President have the time of his life. He was, after all, the leader of the free world.

  The moment Lincoln Moss saw the picture flash on the screen, he went from placid to nuclear, knowing that a picture was worth a thousand words and that Gabriel Knight just jumped up twenty points in his approval rating. He smashed up his state-of-the-art kitchen, where he was eating his solitary dinner at the kitchen counter.

  “Son of a bitch!” he cursed.

  Chapter 17

  The boys sat around Myra’s kitchen table, drinking coffee. “I don’t get it, why are we even here? What’s going on? I feel like I should move my stuff here and take up residency,” Dennis grumbled.

  “Sometimes, it’s good to be on the down low, kid,” Ted said as he poured fresh coffee into everyone’s cup. They were on their third pot since their arrival a little after sunup.

  Harry, the only one not drinking coffee, looked at the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup as though the answer to all life’s problems could be found there. He mumbled something that sounded like, “We’re just the second string.”

  “How’d you guys like those pictures of the prez on the news last night?” Jack asked, grinning. “I actually did a double take. Good for him.”

  Ted joined in the laughter. “Those pictures made it around the world in like sixty seconds. Feedback was positive the world over. That’s what’s been lacking in the guy’s presidency, the human side of him. Not the side that Lincoln Moss wanted presented to the world. I gotta say, though, he can’t sing worth a damn.” Another round of laughter rang through the kitchen.

  “Men perceived him like just a guy you could belly up to the bar for a beer with. Nikki said women would view it as if he was doing his honey to-do list. Just another guy mowing the lawn. Personally, I thought it was great even though I didn’t vote for him, either time. I would vote for him if he were able to run again, though, ” Jack said. “You know what else, it wasn’t a photo op. It wasn’t staged. I think the guy just got a burr in his jockeys and decided to do what he wanted to do at that moment in time. That’s what made it so great,” Jack said.

  “Moving right along here, what’s going on in the war room that we can’t be there?” Abner asked.

  “They’re plotting and scheming and strategizing, that’s what they’re doing,” Ted said.

  “Where are the two ladies?” Dennis asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

  “Upstairs. I heard Myra tell them to stay up there till they got back,” Espinosa mumbled as he fiddled with his camera. Anyone know what’s in all those FedEx boxes piled up in the foyer?”

  “I do believe but am not certain that those boxes contain the women’s outfits for Saturday night. I looked at the return label, and even I k
now the names of Donna Karan and Vera Wang. I think Annie is friends with or knows them. Something like that,” Ted said.

  “What about us? Are we chopped liver?” Jack grumbled.

  “I think the boxes labeled Hugo Boss are our designer duds. Something about Fergus knowing someone at that fashion house. Don’t you guys know anything? It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, especially in the fashion business,” Espinosa said.

  “And you know all this . . . how?” Jack snorted.

  “I know it because Alexis told me. Everyone knows Alexis has fashion sense and can create something out of nothing. I’m not being a wiseass either, Jack. What I said is true,” Espinosa said, pointing his camera and snapping a picture of Jack with his mouth hanging open.

  The talk turned to the new pool Nikki and Jack were putting in on the property they were in the process of buying from Nellie.

  “I never realized how much earthmoving equipment was needed to dig a hole for a pool. We have mountains of earth piled everywhere. Now it’s mud, with all the rain we had. Things are at a complete standstill. We’ll be lucky if it’s finished by Labor Day, then it will be too cool to swim. But Nikki wanted a pool, so we’re getting a pool.”

  “Does that mean you and Nikki are selling your house to Jack Sparrow?” Harry asked.

  “Last week, Sparrow wanted to buy it. Then he changed his mind the other day, then he changed it back to wanting to buy it. He can’t make up his mind if he wants to be a homeowner or not. The deal’s on if he wants it,” Jack said.

  “Since we’re obviously not needed here, why don’t we head back to town and see if Sparrow can join us for lunch. I think we need to powwow with him in regard to Saturday night,” Ted said.