He smiled as he slashed two lines on the pad to indicate the opening trapdoor of the gallows.
“I can't talk, dammit,” Alex said. “I feel like I've got a mouth full of cotton.”
“Sorry. Plastic bags are the best I can do right now.” Morgan quickly parted her hair in the middle and combed it straight. “I told Galen to have a kit waiting for us in a locker at the Greyhound bus station in Des Moines, but we don't want to attract attention while we're traveling.”
“And how are we traveling?”
“The old pickup truck in the barn to Des Moines and then a puddle jumper to Terre Haute. Do you have any foundation makeup?”
She shook her head. “I usually wear only lipstick and powder. The rest is too much trouble.”
He nodded. “With that skin you don't need it. But it's a little inconvenient at the moment.” He went outside for a minute and then came back in to the fireplace and got a handful of ashes before returning to her. “But this should make you sallow enough. . . .” He rubbed the ashes into her skin and wiped the excess off. Then he combed the ashes through her hair and reached into his pocket and gave her a small pebble. “Now, take off your left shoe and put this stone in it.”
“What?”
“Your walk is very distinctive. Very free and open. This will change your gait.”
She made a face. “You mean it will bug me and make me limp.”
“A little.” He stepped back and critically tilted his head. “You'll probably be okay. Winter coats are bulky, and that's a plus. We won't stop for anything but gas between here and Des Moines.”
She stood up and went to the mirror in the bathroom. Her face looked plump, colorless, and ten years older. The middle part and cheek pads had completely changed the contours of her face.
“Remember to keep the cheek pads even or you'll look deformed.” Morgan was standing beside her with a contact case in his hand. His skin had the same ashy, sallow cast as her own. “It will be easier once we get the kit. Those cheek pads are used with professional theatricals and are much more comfortable.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said dryly. “What other little accessories do you have in store for me?”
“Nostril inserts to widen your nose. Tanning solution. A wig with a different hair color and style.” He was inserting the brown contact in his left eye. “It's not smart to get too complicated. If you're too uncomfortable you look uncomfortable, and that attracts attention. Or sometimes you forget to put something on and that can be fatal.”
“You know a lot about disguises.”
“It can help on occasion.”
“Where did you get the contacts?”
“I usually carry them with me. They're small and no trouble. These blue eyes are damn noticeable. They've gotten me into trouble more than once, and there's no telling when I might need a little camouflage.”
“Not in your business.”
He turned to look at her. “Right, not in my business.” He stuffed the case in his pocket. “Let's hit the road.”
The White House
Andreas was grandstanding as usual, Betworth thought with contempt as he watched the President and his beautiful First Lady move down the line of guests. His charm was at full wattage, and every man in the room would vaguely remember him as being as protective as their father, as companionable as their brother. Mix in a strong dash of sex appeal for the ladies and he was almost unbeatable.
But Betworth could have beaten him. He knew how to finesse and charm as well as Andreas. It was only that invisible aura of power that surrounded any president that made Andreas seem like Superman to the people around him.
However, Betworth had never been able to insinuate himself into the tight-knit group that surrounded Andreas. The bastard had always kept him at a distance, and it had become obvious to the power brokers on the Washington scene. Oh, well, he'd jumped over that hurdle.
“He's one gutsy guy, isn't he?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Hank Ellswyth, the Senate Majority Leader, staring admiringly at Andreas.
“You'd think with all the threats swirling around him that he'd cancel this kind of soiree.” Ellswyth lifted his cocktail in a half salute. “Better him than me.”
“Not much danger here in the White House with all this security.” Betworth smiled. “But maybe you're right. Discretion is the better part of valor.”
“I didn't say he was making a mistake,” Ellswyth said quickly. “We can't let those terrorists scare us.”
“You'd never do that,” Betworth said. “Everyone knows what you stand for, Hank. We all rely on you. Andreas most of all.”
Andreas was pausing beside a distinguished older man with a mane of white hair and aristocratic features. A moment later the two strolled out onto the terrace.
“I wonder what he's up to with Shepard,” Ellswyth murmured. “They usually don't have much to say to each other.”
“No telling.” Betworth shrugged. “Maybe he's trying to show everybody he and the Vice President are a united front.”
“Well, Shepard's been right in the forefront lately. That speech at Arapahoe Junction was awesome. I didn't know he had it in him. His approval rating shot sky-high.”
“Well, we all have to answer the call in days like these.”
“I'm wondering what call the President is asking him to answer now,” Ellswyth murmured.
“Who knows? He can be a bit secretive. Not like you, Hank. We all appreciate your openness.”
Ellswyth smiled. “I'm just a simple guy from Missouri trying to do my job.”
Bullshit. There was nothing simple about Ellswyth. He was scheming and tap-dancing his heart out trying to position himself for the next presidential nomination. Betworth had no quarrel with that. Ambitious men were easier to manipulate than idealists. You promised them the world and they'd follow you anywhere.
“I think I'll go and pay my respects to the First Lady,” Ellswyth said as he put his drink on the tray of a passing waiter. “I haven't had a chance to talk to her this evening.”
And Chelsea Andreas was standing near the French doors through which Andreas and Shepard had vanished, Betworth thought with amusement. Ellswyth was practically salivating to know what was going on between them.
So was Betworth. But he'd never make the mistake of calling attention to that curiosity. He'd find out eventually. Patience. In all things, patience.
“I have a favor to ask, Shepard.” Andreas gazed out over the garden. “One that means a lot to me.”
“You know that I'll do whatever I can, Mr. President.” Carl Shepard smiled. “I'm honored. It's the first time in all these years you've personally asked anything of me. I was beginning to think you regretted choosing me as your running mate.”
He hadn't chosen him, Andreas thought ruefully. The party had given him a choice of two candidates who could carry California, and he was the less objectionable. Shepard was too much the elder statesman for his taste. The country was in a climate of change, and its leaders had to be ready to change with it. Yet he might have been too hard on the man. Shepard had been doing everything he could to meet the challenge—traveling, making speeches, visiting the bereaved families of those diplomats killed at the embassies. “We haven't been together in the White House for more than a few days every month. We've been forced to go our separate ways.”
Shepard chuckled. “Some of the reporters who cover the White House have started to call me the mystery man.” His smile faded. “I don't mind. If it helps the country to have me away from Washington, that's where I need to be. I realize politics or your personal preferences don't enter into it.”
“No, they don't.” He turned to face Shepard. “But it's a personal favor I'm asking you. I want you to help get my wife away from the White House.”
Shepard's gaze flew to Chelsea, who was chatting with Ellswyth inside. “That's not going to be easy. We hardly know each other.”
“Your wife is chairperson of the National
Foundation for Abused Children. It's one of Chelsea's passions. She's been associated with the organization for years. Ask her to speak at a conference or visit the facilities around the country. I don't care what you do.” His voice roughened with suppressed violence. “Just get her away from me.”
Shepard was silent a moment. “It's the threats from the terrorists who are responsible for the embassy bombings?”
“What do you think? Three embassies gone and they haven't been able to find more than a few leads. It's not like the usual hits. They're smart and they must have a hell of a lot of money and contacts. I can't be sure they're not moving closer.”
“Keller's been doing a great job keeping you safe.”
“Yes, but a dose of cyanide still managed to get as far as my kitchen, and before that an explosive device was discovered on the grounds outside my quarters.”
“Discovered is the key word. And that was some time ago. I'm sure Keller's plugged every hole.”
“So am I. I didn't bring you out here to ask for reassurance.” His lips tightened. “It's okay that every threat is directed at me. I never expected anything else. It's in the job description. It's not okay that Chelsea may be targeted because she's standing beside me.” He paused, his gaze on Chelsea as he added softly, “And she's always beside me. In every way.”
“I'll do my best. I'll talk to Nancy tonight. How soon?”
“Yesterday. Today. As quick as you can. I've sent the children away to their stepsister in San Diego. It's only Chelsea who won't leave me.” He clapped Shepard on the shoulder. “I appreciate this. I owe you.”
“It's my honor, Mr. President. We all have to pull together in times like this.”
Yes, they did, Andreas thought wearily as he opened the French doors. United we stand. But Chelsea mustn't stand united with him now.
He paused in the doorway and glanced around the room. There was no way of slipping in or out of any function, but everyone seemed to be pretending they hadn't noticed he'd been gone.
Except Betworth. He smiled and bowed slightly before going back to his conversation with the Secretary of Labor. Bold as brass and full of personal magnetism.
Andreas coolly nodded his head in acknowledgment at him as he slipped his arm around Chelsea's waist and brushed a kiss on her temple. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” She smiled brightly at Ellswyth. “The Senator was telling me about St. Louis. But I'm sure he's much more interested in what you and Vice President Shepard were discussing.” She sipped her orange juice. “Aren't you, Senator?”
Ellswyth blinked. “Not at all. I had no—”
“No? Then I must have been mistaken.” She slipped her arm through Andreas's. “I think it's time to circulate and then say our good night to the Prime Minister. You've got that visit to the school for the handicapped early tomorrow morning.” She gave Ellswyth a smile that made him forget his momentary embarrassment. “You'll excuse us?” She didn't wait for an answer as she gently nudged Andreas forward. “What the hell are you up to?” she murmured. “You have everyone in the room wondering what you said to Shepard.”
“Then they can keep on wondering.”
“Not me. I'm on the home team.”
“Maybe it's top secret.”
She searched his expression and then shook her head. “I don't think so.”
He should have expected both the curiosity and the perceptiveness. They knew each other so well. They had been friends and partners as well as lovers for many years. “No,” he said softly. “Drop it, Chelsea.”
She studied him and then shrugged. “I'll find out.” She turned her brilliant smile on the Prime Minister. “So good of you to honor us with your presence tonight. . . .”
9
Terre Haute
Morgan and Alex checked into a Motel 6 shortly before seven in the evening. They stopped at the convenience store on the corner for take-out sandwiches and toiletries before they went to their rooms.
“The rooms are adjoining,” Morgan said as he handed her the key. “Lock your front door and put a chair in front of it. We'll enter and exit through my room. I have to make a phone call. Take your shower and then come in and have something to eat.”
She nodded wearily. “Don't hold your breath. I have to wash all this ash out of my hair.”
“Need help?”
“I can do it. It will just take a while. Who are you calling?”
“I had Galen set up an operative here in Terre Haute to watch the motel. I have to tell him we're here.”
“Why is he watching our motel?”
“Because I'm not leaving you alone here.”
“You're damn right you're not.” She didn't like the sound of what Morgan had said, but she couldn't deal with it right now. She went into her room, shut the door, and locked it. She didn't move for a minute. After that puddle jumper from Des Moines, she felt as drained and lackluster as her appearance.
Well, she'd feel better after a shower—though she'd probably risk drowning, moving in and out of the spray to keep this blasted bandage from getting wet. She was glad Morgan hadn't been insistent about helping her. She didn't need that tension along with the hassle of dealing with her bum shoulder.
It took over an hour for her to shower and wash her hair, and she was more exhausted than ever by the time she finished. She wrapped a towel around herself, sank down in the chair by the desk, and closed her eyes. She'd just take a little time to rest. Not long. Perhaps only—
“Are you all right?”
Her lids flew open and she saw Morgan standing in the doorway of the adjoining room. “I'm fine. A little tired.” She tightened the towel around her body. “I'll get dressed and be with you in a minute. Will you set up my laptop?”
“No.” He crossed the room, unzipped her duffel, and pulled out his gray T-shirt she'd taken to using as nightwear. “You'll eat. We'll talk a little, make plans, and then you'll go to bed. You can get up at the break of dawn and hit the computer. But you rest first or you'll be no use to yourself or me.” He pulled her to her feet, stripped the towel off her, jerked the T-shirt over her head, and stretched it until he could manipulate both arms into the sleeves. “Hair.” He took the towel and started to dry it.
She took the towel away from him. “I can handle it.”
“I'm sure you can.” He turned. “Call if you need me. I'll see you in ten minutes.”
God, he was bossy. She was tempted to tell him to go to hell and dig out the computer herself and—
But he had known exactly what he was doing by striking just the right note of annoyance to send a corresponding surge of adrenaline through her. How long the energy would last she had no idea, but she'd better use it while she had it.
She quickly towel-dried her hair and strode into his room. “Okay, what next, Nero?”
He flinched. “I don't mind being compared to an emperor but not one who was off his noggin.” He gestured to the table. “Sit down and have a sandwich. You haven't had anything to eat since that layover in St. Louis.”
“I'm not hungry.” She sat down and picked up the tuna sandwich. “Or maybe I am. It looks pretty good.” She bit into it. “So talk. What do we do about Powers?”
He sat down opposite her. “Nothing, until I do a little surveillance of the house and surroundings. I want to make sure I'm not walking into a trap.”
“You keep speaking in the singular. Stop it.”
“No, that's the way it's going to be.” His words were cool and precise. “You don't interfere with my business. You don't get in my way. I won't have you messing up my job.”
“Your job? Don't you think I'm affected just a little by—” She stopped. Stop this defensive bullshit. He was a professional and she wasn't. Too many times she'd seen well-meaning amateurs cause irreparable harm on disaster sites. And God knows this entire scenario was a disaster site. “How can I help?”
“Stay here and do that research.”
“Are you sure you didn't make that up
to keep me out of sight?”
“It occurred to me. But I think it's a job that needs doing. What do you think?”
Damn him, he'd turned the tables by throwing out that question. She made a face. “If I didn't think there was merit, I wouldn't have consented to do it. I hate research. But I have other talents. I'm a damn fine photographer, and I have a lens that's good a block away and can see the stripes on the back of a bee buzzing around a sunflower. You wouldn't have to get too near the house, and I can have the film developed within thirty minutes of getting back here.”
He was silent a moment. “A block can be pretty close.”
“But I make sense.” She stared him in the eye. “Don't I?”
“Yes, damn you.” He finished his sandwich. “Okay, but I do the preliminary surveillance myself to find you a place to do your shoot.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. But she had won too much to argue with him. “When?”
“Tonight.” He stood up. “As soon as I rummage through that kit Galen gave us and find a wig and a few accessories to disguise my unforgettable mug.”
He was joking, but his face was unforgettable. If she never saw him again she would always remember it. Christ, the thought had come out of nowhere and scared her to death. Ignore it, and for heaven's sake don't let him know. She leaned back in her chair. “What kind of wig?”
“We'll see.” He opened his duffel and pulled out a brownish-red wig with gray at the temples. “Not exactly fashionable, but it's nowhere close to my real hair. That's a plus.” He pulled out a denim jacket and tennis shoes. “You can't say Galen's choices aren't eclectic.” He threw the clothes on the bed. “I hope he does better by you.”
“I think my wig is red too. Curly as Orphan Annie's. Maybe we're supposed to be brother and sister.” She moistened her lips. “You do think this is a trap, don't you?”
He nodded. “They've got to know we'd access the credit card. It's only smart to follow up. It's what I'd do in the same circumstances.”
“Then you be careful.” She pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. “You'll knock on my door when you get back?”
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