Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  When he catches sight of me standing there, he stops and opens his arm to me, silently kissing the top of my head as he folds me close and continues his conversation.

  I don’t know who it is, but from Kev’s noncommittal tones as he listens to the caller, it would seem they’re giving him a rundown of information.

  After five minutes or so, he lets out a sigh. “Thank you very much, Director Rinaldi. I’ll pass all that along to President Samuels when she wakes up… Yes, thank you, sir. Goodbye.”

  This has to be about Charles and Tory.

  “Back to the bedroom, sweetie. Leo’s already downstairs with Lauren. I need a shower. It’s almost noon. We should go downstairs for a while.”

  He leads me back to the bedroom and locks us in again, then he heads to the bathroom and starts stripping.

  I join him.

  Once we’re both under the spray, he pulls me into his arms and relates what Rinaldi told him.

  Still working on identifying the paint. There’s a possibility it might be spray paint from a can. If so, that will complicate matters even further and take them longer to identify it and track it, as well as make it exponentially more difficult to locate the vehicle.

  The autopsy was completed overnight. While toxicology reports will take a while, there’s no reason to suspect either of them were drunk. People at the party reported it looked like they both stuck to iced tea and water, and neither was a heavy drinker. Initial blood alcohol results support that.

  Charles was driving. Both of them were wearing their seat belts. The airbags deployed, and while both sustained serious injuries in the accident, both were alive when the car landed upside down in the water, because both of them drowned. There were injuries on Tory’s hands that indicated she might have tried to free herself, but none on Charles’, so he might have been unconscious.

  And Tory was eight weeks pregnant.

  I cry as he softly tells me all of this. It’s not fair. They’d mentioned over Christmas they were going to let nature take its course about having another baby, because Charles was forty-two and Tory was thirty-six. They were hoping to have at least one more. The girls, twins Ivy and Myla, are seven, and were conceived without assistance. Twins run in Tory’s mother’s family. Hudson just turned five in October.

  There weren’t any active traffic cameras in the area where the accident happened, and investigators haven’t been able to identify any vehicles from the security camera footage that might have been involved in the accident, or possibly provide witness info.

  I help Kev shave before we finish our shower and step out. I opt for jeans and a long-sleeved button-up chambray Oxford shirt, which has the presidential seal embroidered on it, and wear it unbuttoned over a black tank top. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows. Comfy sneakers on my feet.

  No makeup. Not today. I pull my hair back into a messy bun, because I can’t be bothered to style it.

  Kev dresses in a suit, and I take the tie and knot it for him.

  He watches me with those sweet blue eyes of his. Chris is absolutely right that the contacts he used to wear at the network’s insistence, and which made his eyes look nearly turquoise, were horrible. He normally wears glasses now, even though he does have regular contacts he’ll sometimes wear.

  I prefer the glasses, as does Chris.

  Once we’re dressed, he gathers my hands, kisses them, and presses them to his chest. “No one expects you to be in kick-ass mode today, sweetie. This is my chief mode engaged for you. I need you to be human and real, subdued, but not completely broken. Remember, it’s not only the public here watching coverage—it’s worldwide. Asshole dictators and terrorist leaders deciding if now’s a good time to take advantage of your personal distraction. I need business-Shae still in the house.”

  He’s good at this, his years as a journalist able to help him compartmentalize on the fly in a crisis. His guidance is always unerring.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He pulls me in for a long, strong hug. “We’ll work in the West Wing until five, then we’ll come upstairs and eat dinner and work up here. I’ll ask Pete to come by and give you a personal briefing in the residence, and we’ll get the official photog to take a couple of candid shots. Something moody, maybe with you staring out the window in the Oval Office with a mug of tea in your hands or something.”

  “Chris is okay. I’ve already told him that, if he needs us, to admit it and let us come to him. I talked to him a little bit ago. He told me to let you sleep.”

  “How long do you think he’ll stay there?”

  “At least another day or two. I’ve already asked Secret Service to give me a couple of options for us going over there. There’s a big field just a quarter of a mile down the road from the house. We might be able to send a contingent ahead and chopper in. No motorcade traffic, less of a logistics nightmare. They’re contacting the property’s owner to see if they’ll allow it. And Elliot and his team are safely on the ground in Seattle. Lauren had an idea, if you feel up to it, of recording a short message they can air before he goes on.”

  “As long as they don’t mind me looking like this,” I snark. “I’m not putting on makeup today.”

  “That’s okay, sweetie.” He cups my face in his hands again and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Just keep leaning on me. This is what I’m here for.”

  “What’s the rest of the world doing while we’re handling this?” I ask, unable to help myself. “It hasn’t blown up, has it?” I shudder to think what could happen right now and hope I don’t have to deal with something literally explosive.

  “Nothing that you need to worry yourself about beyond the PDB this morning. Today, we’re going to review the dossiers for your candidates to fill Housing and Labor.” He wraps his arms around me again and holds me.

  Those two Cabinet secretaries have already signaled that they wish to end their terms at the end of my current term so they can focus on their own projects and families. We’ll need to have replacements ready who can sail through a very friendly bipartisan Senate confirmation procedure, and would prefer to do that before their summer break. That way, their current counterparts can help them settle into their posts.

  While we hope Democrats and the moderate Independents and Republicans I’ve been working well with will hold on to the Senate, we can’t guarantee that. If I don’t get re-elected, no harm, no foul. If I do, having those two cabinet positions pre-approved and already in place is a time-saver. Doubly so if November shifts the Senate’s profile into one less than congenial to my agenda.

  It’s times like this I wish Momma were still alive to talk to. Even if she didn’t have advice for me, just to talk to her.

  One of Chris’ projects is fundraising and awareness for Alzheimer’s, because of Momma.

  I wish she could’ve met him, and Kevin. I’m pretty sure she would’ve liked both of them.

  Hell, maybe she would’ve been okay with me being with both of them. I know damn well she had gay friends. She was always a supporter of equality, no matter what.

  I was helpless to do anything to help her.

  I feel helpless now.

  There is an irony that I’m in control of arguably the most powerful arsenal in the world, and some driver in a vehicle has shattered the safe comfort of my existence.

  They’ve devastated my husband, my family.

  We’re not invincible despite all the Secret Service agents dedicated to protecting us. Life can still happen.

  Shit can still happen.

  Bad things can happen.

  Promises can happen.

  I hold Kev a little tighter. Sometimes, this is the little bit of sanity that I need in a crazy day to help me make it through.

  “Can we come up here at four?” I ask.

  He nuzzles the top of my head. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chris’ staff takes point on helping him with funeral arrangements and on preparing the residence for the ne
west full-time residents.

  In the past, when we’ve had the kids here for holidays, they’ve had their favorite bedrooms they always stay in, which we allowed them to pick their very first overnight. It’s these bedrooms we prepare for them now, the White House Chief Usher supervising clearing them of furniture so we can move the kids’ rooms over in a matter of hours once the word is given by Chris. It’ll probably happen before the funeral, so they can be brought back here after it and have time to grieve in private.

  We also need to hire a nanny ASAP. There are times Chris and I will both be out of town and can’t take the children with us, because of their schedules or ours, and we want them to have a continuous, steady presence in their lives in addition to their grandparents, but also someone with the energy to literally chase after them. Their salary will be paid by us, out of our pockets, not the White House budget.

  Kevin, Lauren, and Leo take over that process for us, using their contacts to help us quickly find candidates. Within twenty-four hours, I’m sitting down in the residence to talk with Yasmine Alvarado. She’s thirty, single, has a Masters in child development, likes to rock climb and ride horses, and is the daughter of a Republican US Senator and a Democratic attorney. She’s also been cleared by Secret Service.

  In other words, she ticks all the boxes, plus I like her. She won’t be living at the White House, and she will have days off, but she’ll be traveling with us when the children do, so her schedule needs to be flexible. Fortunately, she lives in a townhouse in DC owned by her parents.

  Kevin arranges for Secret Service to transport her to Pennsylvania to meet Chris, the children, and Hudson and Shawna Harris for their final approval. Once they sign off on her later that day, we start a thirty-day trial period I hope becomes permanent.

  She was a teacher at a private school here in DC, and helps Chris with the process of getting the kids transferred and enrolled there. They won’t start attending it until after the funeral.

  One of the very first things I had to do when I took office was begin the process of planning my own funeral, in case something happened to me. That wasn’t…fun.

  This process is far less enjoyable. I hate that we have to plan everything around security concerns, and that Chris, the children, and the Harrises can’t privately grieve.

  I also hate that I can see the strain in Kev as he wants to be there with Chris and knows he can’t.

  I haven’t gone to visit yet because Secret Service still isn’t sure they have the area secure enough for me. I could force the issue, sure, but that would cause more commotion and stress to an already less than ideal situation. So I talk to Chris and the kids via video chat several times a day, and the Harrises.

  By the fourth day, Secret Service clears me to take Marine One so I can go visit. They’ve cleared the area of bystanders, closed the road to everyone except law enforcement and residents, and Kev, Leo, and I fly in.

  They even brought The Beast over, even though it’s such a short ride. They’re taking no chances with me. Chris opens the front door when we arrive, and I practically run up the walk to hug him. His green eyes are red and bloodshot, his nose puffy. My strong, stoic special agent isn’t doing nearly as well as he tried to let me think he was, and I kick myself in the ass for not coming sooner, or at least sending Kevin.

  Kevin and Leo ease us inside and close the door, shutting out the world and the press and giving us all a moment together. When I finally get go of Chris, Kevin lets him pull him in for a long hug and whispered words I can’t hear.

  The kids are in the living room with their grandparents and Yasmine and working on schoolwork. Hudson’s only five, and the girls are seven, so it’s not like they’re doing physics or something, but it’s more to keep them busy and some semblance of a routine.

  “Aunt Shae!” The kids jump up to come hug me, and I squat so I can give them eye-level hugs and tell them I love them. Then they swarm Kev, and Leo. The kids have loved the guys, fortunately, and I know our extended family will help these kids through this time.

  Our kids.

  Because I’m a mom now. The one thing I never wanted to be, the thing I took great pains not to become.

  While I’ve never openly discussed why I don’t have kids, and I’ve never openly said I had my tubes tied, we long ago smacked down discussions of my motherhood status as wildly inappropriate, invasive, and cruel.

  Yes, indicating I’m not childless by design, but it shut people up.

  Another of those political gold kinds of nuggets that I will exploit as needed.

  These are our kids now, though. I’ve always loved spending time with them, and like hell will we turn our backs on them. I’ll have to figure out how to be a mom, I suppose. Just like I’ve done everything else, I’ll put my shoulder to it, dig in, and start shoving my way through it.

  I won’t let these kids down. I won’t let Chris down.

  We stay for two hours. I’ve also brought Chris extra clothes, and a suit for the funeral. We’re not yet sure when it will be, we’re still in the process of arranging that, but it should be within the next week.

  Chris leads me and Kev to the master bedroom, where he’s been sleeping, and behind a closed door pulls both of us in for a hug.

  “Thank you, both of you,” he hoarsely tells us. Then he kisses Kevin, a long, sweet kiss I know they both need right now and I don’t begrudge in the slightest. Just like Kevin fulfills needs in me that the sadist cannot, he also fulfills needs in Chris that I can’t. There is a deeper connection between them in some ways that both men flourish because of, and when they can’t nourish it, they both suffer.

  “Yaz is great, by the way,” Chris says when he ends their kiss. “Thank you guys so much for hiring her. The kids love her, and Tory’s parents love her, too. She’s perfect.”

  “Thank Lauren,” Kev says. “She’s the daughter of a friend of a friend. And Lauren says hi, by the way.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t stay longer,” he says to me. “I don’t want the kids inundated by agents and security right now any more than necessary.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe I should leave Kev and send him back tonight by car?”

  But Chris shakes his head and addresses his comment to Kev. “You stay at the White House with Shae,” he tells him. “Your job is there, and that’s what I need from you right now. Come to the funeral, but you and I will have some time alone at the residence after the funeral.” He reaches up and cups Kev’s cheek. “Be my good boy and take care of my girl for me, okay?”

  Kev covers Chris’ hand with his. “I will, Sir. I promise.”

  Chris leans in for another kiss. “That’s my good boy. You’re doing an amazing job.”

  I know what Chris is doing, though. Kev thrives on praise from him, and he’s trying to help Kev not get bogged down by the same kind of guilt trying to pull me under.

  Only I’m better at navigating that emotional swamp than Kev is. I’ve been doing it alone for so long and had far better footing to start out on than he did.

  Chris pulls us in for another long hug. “I love you both so much.”

  “Guess I won’t be spending overnights as often,” Kev says.

  “Why not?” Chris and I ask in unison.

  He stares at us. “Uh, because of the kids?”

  “You’ve stayed over before when they were there,” I say.

  “Yeah, for holidays.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Chris says. “Nothing about that changes, except we need to remember to lock the bedroom and living room doors. If anything, it makes more sense to have you stay over. The kids see you as family.”

  Kev, however, doesn’t look convinced. I don’t need to be a mind-reader to know Prophet is thinking of the optics. “We can discuss it later.”

  “No discussion,” Chris says. “This is an order, boy.”

  Kev and I both suck in sharp breaths of nearly identical need as the sadist sticks his head out and says howdy for a precious moment.

&nb
sp; “Yes, Sir,” we both say in unison, prompting an exhausted smile from Chris. He kisses Kev again, then me. “That’s my good boy and good girl,” he whispers.

  Later, as we fly back on the chopper, I lay my head over on Kevin’s shoulder as we hold hands. There’s no press with us today, just me, Kev, Leo, Secret Service, and the flight crew. I wanted as few people as possible.

  That means we don’t need to worry about who sees him drape his arm around my shoulders and nuzzle his face against the top of my head as I break down crying.

  Chapter Twelve

  One of the things I truly hate about my position is it leaves little room for personal grieving, or for incorporating anyone you wish into how you grieve.

  The funeral is held eight days after their deaths. The children were moved yesterday, while we were all attending a memorial service at the college where Tory worked as a researcher. Last night they spent their first night as the newest White House residents.

  Kev stayed over, presumably in his bedroom, but once the children were asleep he joined us in ours, where he and I held Chris between us as he finally was able to let go and cry in heartbreaking sobs while we comforted him.

  Today, as we sit at the graveside with Chris, I’m painfully aware of every telephoto lens, every camera, every cell phone pointed at us. Capturing the grief of three precious children, their grandparents, and us.

  Chris holds Hudson in his lap, while I sit on his left, and Ivy and Myla sit on his right, with Shawna and Hudson Harris on the other side of them. Kev sits on my left, and I have to keep reminding myself not to reach over for his hand. Lauren sits on his left, and I could kiss that woman for being here today and supporting us. I don’t have to feel as guilty for leaving Kev out of public displays of affection. Leo sits directly behind me, next to Elliot.