State Secrets

by Linda Lael Miller

  She didn’t quite dare to go outside, but if she didn’t work off some of her anger, and soon, she knew she was going to be tearing her hair. Staunchly, Holly went upstairs and exchanged her jeans and sweater for her workout clothes. She pinned up her hair, drew a deep breath and made her way to the family room just off the kitchen, where the mini-trampoline was kept.

  Rolling it out of a closet, she set it on its sturdy legs. She switched on the TV to a cable channel devoted exclusively to old movies and bounced furiously on the trampoline while watching Claudette Colbert win Fred MacMurray’s heart.

  Holly ran, she did jumping jacks and then she just bounced again. Up and down, higher and higher she went, but she couldn’t escape the fact that she loved David Goddard, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.

  The housekeeper, like Elaine, seemed kindly disposed toward David. Or, at least, she let him into the house when he knocked tentatively at the kitchen door.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  The woman went back to the table, where she had been eating lunch and following the details of Craig Llewellyn’s arrest on the screen of a TV roughly the size of a postcard. “In there,” she gestured toward the inner doorway, “trying to bounce herself through the family room ceiling.”

  David frowned and wedged his hands nervously into his pockets before going to the doorway to investigate. Holly’s soft blond hair was pinned up haphazardly, her breathing audible even over the television set she was watching.

  Her back was turned to David and she didn’t hear his approach, for she kept right on bouncing. Bouncing. A shimmering film of perspiration shone from beneath the loose tendrils of honey-colored hair at the nape of her neck. “Don’t you trust him, Claudette,” she sputtered out. “All men are rat finks.”

  David felt a lot of things at that moment: sympathy, regret and, most of all, a desire to wrench Holly Llewellyn off that damned jogger-thing and make love to her on the family room floor.

  He rounded Holly and stood before her, inwardly bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

  Her beautiful aquamarine eyes, somewhat swollen and red, widened at the sight of him. He felt like Benedict Arnold crashing a party at George and Martha’s place. At least she’d stopped that damned bouncing.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” she hissed, her perfect cheekbones flaring to the color of her pink pants, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere until you get down off that thing and talk to me.”

  “I’ll call the police!”

  “I don’t think so. Besides, I probably have more sway with them than you do.” He turned, admired Claudette Colbert’s unique face for one steadying moment and then switched off the TV. “Get down, Holly,” he ordered, facing her again.

  She bit her lower lip, flashed him a look of beleaguered hatred and began to bounce again. Slowly. Defiantly.

  It was giving David motion sickness. With a muttered curse, he grasped her and wrenched her down. She stumbled and fell against him—every day had its high point, he thought wryly—and then she righted herself, bunching up her fists and using them to thrust away from his chest.

  “I was telling the truth when I said I loved you, Holly,” he said, allowing her to keep the small distance she apparently needed, “so stop flaring your nostrils and clenching your fists and listen to me.”

  “You go straight to hell, Mr. Goddard!” she gasped out. “Or is it ‘God’ for short?”

  David’s jawline tightened painfully. “Dammit, Holly,” he bit out, “can’t you see that I was caught in this trap as much as you were? I came here to find out if you were helping Craig in any way and—”

  “You mean you were spying on me, too? That you weren’t just waiting for my brother to stumble into your net?” Right then he wanted to turn her over his knee and blister her delightful rear end. That was unthinkable, of course, but he did take some comfort in the fantasy.

  “The president-elect was afraid you might be helping Craig sell secrets, Holly,” he said evenly.

  “Howard thought I was some kind of female James Bond?” She was seething now, showing her teeth. God, even though she was mad as hell and sweating, she was magnificent. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe it,” David said.

  “You lied to me the whole time!”

  “Not the whole time. I meant it when I said I love you.”

  “Get out of my house!”

  David stood stock-still. “Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen to Craig now that he’s been taken into custody?”

  That stopped her. She stood stiffly, attentively, her eyes searching his face. “Yes,” she said in a whisper. “David, will they hurt him?”

  “You’ve been watching too many espionage movies. They’ll debrief him—” He paused, holding up both hands to stay the frantic questions he saw brewing in her green-blue eyes. “That only means that they’ll find out what he knows and what he’s told al-Qaeda, among other people he might have been dealing with. And then, because of the cocaine problem, they’ll hospitalize him for a while. Whether or not he actually goes to prison will depend on a lot of factors that can’t be determined right now.”

  “He was so afraid of being caught!”

  David ached for Holly, wished that he dared take her into his arms and hold her. “Holly, being stopped was the best thing that could have happened to Craig. The cocaine alone would have killed him. And what was the situation doing to you? To Toby?”

  She was gnawing at her lip again, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m glad that Craig won’t have to run anymore. I—I didn’t realize how sick he was until he told me about the drug.”

  “I know,” David said softly.

  Holly stiffened, and her eyes flashed again. “I was going to turn him in myself, you know. I didn’t need you to come here and pretend you loved me. I could have handled the situation.”

  “Could you, Holly? Do you have any idea how insidious cocaine addiction can be, what it can make a person do?”

  He saw her tremble and knew she was bracing herself against him, against all he represented. In that instant, he accepted the fact that he’d lost her.

  “Get out,” she said. “And don’t come back, David. Don’t call and don’t come to my classes.”

  “Your classes? Surely you’re not going to teach this week—the press will be lying in wait for you, Holly. They’ll eat you alive!”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said. And then she turned away and David didn’t have the heart to turn her around to him again.

  “I love you,” he said gruffly. Then he drew a deep breath, struggled to control the burning in his eyes and left her. She switched the TV back on and climbed back onto the trampoline, bouncing with a vengeance.

  As David passed through the kitchen, the housekeeper gave him a sympathetic look. He shrugged and without speaking opened Holly’s back door to step out into a world that was never going to be quite the same again.

  The moment David was gone, Holly sank to her knees on the trampoline, covered her face with both hands and let the sobs that had been scalding her throat have free reign. Claudette Colbert laughed merrily on the television screen, and Madge spoke softly from the doorway.

  “Go after him, Holly. If you love that man, don’t you let him get away. You’ll be sorry all your life if you do.”

  Holly stopped crying and drew a deep breath. She would be sorry all her life that she’d met David Goddard, maybe, but she would never be sorry for sending him away. Damn his sneaky hide anyway. Let him go and use some other unsuspecting woman.

  “I will not have that traitor mentioned under this roof again, Madge,” she said, rising to her feet and dashing away her tears with the cuff of her jogging jacket. “If he calls or comes to the door, he is to be turned away. Do I make myself clear?”

  There was a brief, tense silence. “Yes,” Madge said finally, with resignation. “Clear enough.” />
  Sorry that she’d had to speak so harshly to Madge, who had always been as good a friend as she was a housekeeper, Holly nevertheless left the room without apologizing. She went upstairs, stripped and showered.

  At seven o’clock, she got into her car and drove downtown to teach her fruitcake class. The reporters were there, just as David had warned they would be, but so were the students. By sheer force of will, Holly taught the class as usual, the only deviation being that she didn’t stay to gather up and clean the baking pans and mixing bowls.

  Later, at home, Holly steeled herself and played back the messages her machine had been recording all day. With one startling exception, the calls were from news reporters. As if in a daze, Holly sat down to listen to the surprisingly ordinary voice of the next president of the United States.

  “Hello, Holly. This is Howard. I’m sorry about Craig and all the fuss the press is probably stirring up. Maggie and I just wanted you to know that we hope you’ll come to Washington for the shindig next month.” Having said his piece, Howard hung up without another word and there were no more messages after that.

  This is Howard…sorry about Craig…hope you’ll come to Washington… The phrases echoed in Holly’s overwrought mind and her broken heart. Maybe, just maybe, she would go to Washington. Maybe she would attend the balls and the parties and the swearing-in. Maybe she would tell Howard to his open and trustworthy face that she was just as loyal an American as the next person. “Do you solemnly swear,” she imagined the Speaker of the House asking dear Howard, “that you will monitor the activities of your third cousin, the cookbook author, lest she undermine the security of this great country of ours?”

  Howard, of course, would so swear.

  Just then, Elaine arrived with Toby and, to Holly, she looked just a bit sheepish. Toby was carrying a dime-store fishbowl as though it were gold, frankincense or myrrh, and two goldfish hovered inside, staring stupidly.

  “David gave me these,” the little boy spouted before Holly could make any kind of comment at all. “He said I could take care of them for him, but I’m not s’posed to worry if they buy the farm ’cause they only cost seventy-nine cents a piece and they’re spendable.”

  Expendable. Of course. The way Holly was expendable. The way Toby, though he hadn’t made that painful discovery yet, was expendable. “Take the fish to your room, Toby,” she said evenly.

  When Toby was gone, she attacked an uncomfortable Elaine with, “You let David see Toby, didn’t you? Why did you do that, Elaine, when you knew—”

  “He only wanted to say goodbye!” Elaine broke in defensively. She looked pale and tired and a little harried, and Holly realized belatedly how hard this day had been for her friend.

  “I’m sorry, Elaine. I shouldn’t have jumped all over you that way.”

  Elaine managed a shaky smile. “We’re all on edge, I suppose. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to putting on my old chenille bathrobe and curling up with Roy and a good book!”

  Holly felt a touch of envy, somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart. Was she ever going to have anybody she could wear a chenille bathrobe in front of and “curl up” with?

  It didn’t seem very likely because she knew that she was never going to love a man the way she’d loved David Goddard. Never ever again.

  “You can take the rest of the week off if you’d like,” Holly offered in an unsteady voice.

  “Not me,” Elaine said, squaring her shoulders and trying to look intrepid. “I’m made of better stuff than that and so are you.”

  Holly smiled, even though tears were dangerously near the surface. “So you are. Thank you, Elaine, for everything.”

  Elaine hugged Holly briefly and patted her shoulder. “Anything for the boss,” she said, and then she was leaving again, on her way home to Roy and the chenille bathrobe and a good book.

  If Holly hadn’t liked her friend so much, she would have hated her for being so lucky.

  9

  Walt Zigman had seen that look before; it was a look that meant an agent had lost his spirit and maybe his grip. Damned shame it had to happen to a man like Goddard. He sat back in his desk chair and maneuvered his cigar stub from one side of his mouth to the other.

  Goddard sat in the chair Walt knew the agents called the “hot seat,” his long frame lank with an effort to hide tremendous pressure. “I told you she was clean,” he said after a long, uneasy silence.

  “Maybe you read palms or tea leaves, Goddard, but I don’t. We had to know.”

  Goddard darted Walt a look meant to slice deep, and to Walt’s surprise, it did. “Holly Llewellyn wasn’t guilty of any crime. As far as I’m concerned, she’s been harassed.”

  “Horsechips. She aided and abetted a suspected felon, Goddard. She’s lucky we didn’t bring her in, too.”

  Goddard was glaring now; his hands, gripping the arms of his chair, whitened at the knuckles. Though he hid the fact, Walt was pleased by the reaction; maybe this agent would be all right after all.

  “Here.” Goddard slapped a thin file folder down in the middle of a stack of memos and notes. Walt’s whole life was one big memo these days, what with the transition from one administration to another and the inaugural festivities coming up in January. Security problems were everywhere and Walt Zigman didn’t need another hassle.

  “What’s this?”

  Goddard averted his eyes and shifted in his chair, but then he met Walt’s gaze squarely. “My letter of resignation,” he answered.

  If there was regret in his voice, Walt didn’t catch it. He wanted to swear. “You sure about this, Goddard? You’re a good agent.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What the hell are you going to do with your time, for Christ’s sake? Walk dogs?”

  Goddard made a visible attempt to keep his temper. “I’m qualified to practice law, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “That little—that Llewellyn woman really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Walt paused, sighed, lit the cigar stub and puffed industriously for a few moments. “Dammit, Goddard, we’re swapping administrations here. We got an inaugural coming up in a little better than a month! I need every experienced agent I’ve got right now!”

  Goddard was waving away the cigar smoke with one hand and Walt ground the stub out in an ashtray. “For what? Standing around in Saks while the new first lady tries on six hundred pairs of shoes?”

  “You’ll be assigned to the president himself, Goddard.”

  Goddard pointed one index finger toward the ceiling and spun it round and round in a contemptuous circle.

  “Well, what the hell do you want?” Walt snapped, annoyed and a little insulted.

  “I want out of the Service,” David replied flatly. “I’ll stay until after inauguration week is over, but I want the presidential assignments—no walking dogs. No strolls in the Rose Garden. It’s strictly Oval Office and Air Force One, Walt, or I’m out of here.”

  “All right, all right, you’re on presidential detail.” Walt took up the folder Goddard had laid on his desk and extended it. “You keep this.”

  “You keep it,” Goddard argued, standing up. “I meant it when I said I wanted out.”

  “What the devil do you plan to do after January?”

  Goddard shrugged. “I told you, Walt. I intend to practice law.”

  Walt muttered a swearword and picked up the remains of his cigar again. “Take over for Erickson, then. He’s got a root canal scheduled for this morning.”

  Goddard winced sympathetically. “Where?”

  “In his mouth, dammit,” Walt grumbled, tossing the folder containing his best agent’s resignation letter into a deep drawer.

  “I was asking where to find the president, Walt,” came the strained and humorless response.

  Walt didn’t look up. “Oval Office,” he bit out.

  Holly was just getting through her days and nights, operating on automatic pilot, so to speak. She tried to see Craig, but h
e refused any contact with her or with her lawyer. Soon after that, he was transported to Washington, D.C., for the debriefing David had told her about.

  It hurt, having to hear that on the evening news along with the rest of the world.

  Christmas was fast approaching, though, and for Toby’s sake, Holly tried her best to get into the spirit of things. She shopped, she baked, she decorated the house and put a wreath on the front door. But every time she so much as looked at the Christmas tree, she was filled with memories that brought tears to her eyes and a painful catch to her throat. David was gone, really gone. She knew because she had looked up his address in Elaine’s records of the last cooking class and driven to his apartment.

  Two college girls were living there now, and they couldn’t tell Holly anything about David Goddard except that he must have had a dog because there were these “grungy” stains on the rug. Holly had turned away and gone blindly back to her car, sitting there in the parking lot for a full fifteen minutes with her forehead resting despondently against the steering wheel. She had already known that David had returned to his old life in Washington, D.C., so why was it such a crushing blow to find that strangers were living in his apartment? What would she have said to him if he had been there?

  Holly hadn’t known the answer to either question and now, kneeling on the floor of her own living room, struggling to wrap a last-minute gift for Toby, she still hadn’t worked it all out.

  The doorbell rang, and Holly sniffled and dashed a stray tear from her cheek. Who could that be? After all, it was Christmas Eve, and nearly eleven o’clock at that.

  She opened the door to find Skyler Hollis standing on the porch, looking uneasy and snow-dappled and rather earnest. For the space of a second, Holly had allowed herself the fantasy that David would be there in the glow of the porch light, and she hoped her disappointment didn’t show.

  “Sky,” she said. “Come in.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my coming by, Holly. I know it’s late—”