Capitol Danger

by J. D. Tyler

  He grinned. “You know I’m here for you darling,” he said.

  “Not gonna happen,” the paramedic said, without even taking the stethoscope earpieces out of his ear. “You’re both spending the night in the hospital. Separate rooms, separate beds. We’re headed to Sibley.”

  Retta looked mutinous, but Edward just nodded. “Good, my doctor has privileges there.”

  “Which one?”

  “Dr. Danjeel”

  The paramedic looked up at that. “Head of surgery? That Danjeel?”

  Edward couldn’t help but laugh, which hurt and made him cough, which hurt even more.

  “Seriously?” he wheezed. “There’s more than one doctor named Danjeel?”

  “Her husband,” the paramedic said, looking sheepish. “But he’s pediatrics. Sorry.”

  He and Retta were separated briefly as she was ushered to an ER room to have glass taken out of her leg. She’d never even noticed it was there.

  He had two cracked ribs, one broken one, and predictably, as he’d feared, had the bruised kidneys to go with the damaged ribs. Like Retta, he had injuries he hadn’t felt or realized thanks to the adrenaline-fueled events of the evening. Cuts, bruises, a bullet graze along his calf. Of course, that hurt less than his broken ankle.

  They’d already been told that Burke had been taken to Washington Adventist rather than Sibley. They’d be debriefed sometime in the morning. That, of course, wasn’t far off now.

  The situation at the hotel was still unresolved, so they sat in a private room watching the news.

  “Did O’Keefe find his date?” Edward asked.

  Retta looked at him from the adjoining bed. The two narrow hospital beds were pushed close enough together for them to hold hands. Not comfortably, but still.

  “I don’t know. They took him to another room,” she said. “No one’s allowed to leave until we’ve been debriefed.” She smiled. “Well, no one who isn’t a known agent or that kind of thing. If you hadn’t busted up your ankle, we could probably have left, too, given all you did. And who you are.”

  “You, too,” he said, squeezing her hand. He levered himself closer to the edge so he could bring their joined hands to his lips. “You were my warrior queen, Retta. You were amazing,” he said.

  God, she was glorious. She’d managed to wash her face, and now, bare faced, and in a simple hospital gown, she was as beautiful to him as ever. Only her eyes were different. Her eyes were haunted.

  “Me? What about you?” she said, shifting their hands to her side, kissing his hand in turn. Thankfully, he too, had been able to have a thorough wash-down. He still felt the all-too-familiar feeling of being covered in other people’s blood.

  He thought he’d left that behind.

  Evidently not.

  Her next words soothed him. “I know how hard all this was, Edward,” she said, her face earnest, her words ringing true. “I know.”

  He nodded, feeling emotion choke him.

  “But you did it. You stood up for all of those people. Every one of them.”

  “I didn’t save--” he started, but she shushed him fiercely.

  “I don’t want to hear that crap,” she said. “You did the absolute best you could with what you had. More people will live than die because of you. You want to blame someone for those people dying? Put the blame where it belongs,” she hissed, in full fury now. “Right on those fucking Red Mantle assholes. They are the killers.”

  “I know.”

  “You did all you could.” She was sitting on the side of her bed now, her dainty feet dangling over the side. There were white bandages dotting her legs, including a big fat one on the back of her calf.

  “Retta,” he said.

  “Shh,” she said, echoing his earlier comfort. “I’m going to come over there,” she said, carefully shifting down the rail so she could get down, then climb into bed with him.

  Thankfully she hadn’t yet made it, because the door swung open after the briefest of knocks.

  “Oh, sweet heaven!” his mother near-shrieked as she swept in on a wave of Chanel and clicking heels. “Retta, you poor child. Edward, oh my God, darling!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “Are you all right?” She pressed her be-ringed hands to his cheeks, stared into his eyes, scanned his face. With one hand, she stroked back his hair, just as she’d done since he was a little boy. “What a terrible thing!”

  It surprised him that even with everything between them, good and bad, he felt tears prick his eyes for her concern.

  “I’m okay, Mom. And grateful for it,” he managed.

  She nodded once, sharply, decisively. “That’s my boy.”

  With that, she pivoted to Retta. “And you, Retta,” she said, throwing her arms around his girlfriend. “Are you all right? Not hurt?”

  “Not much,” Retta said, but her eyes welled with tears, now that another woman was with her. “I...”

  Charlotte Tappen Millner might be many things he didn’t like, but one thing she was, was perceptive. “Oh, darling,” she said. “Come here,” she said, wrapping Retta up in a motherly embrace. There, finally, his beautiful, tightly wrapped woman let it out. In a quiet hospital room, with him looking helplessly on, Retta let the dam break.

  Charlotte sat on the other bed, still cradling Retta as she sobbed. Over Retta’s head, his mother smiled. “She’s a keeper, son,” she said to him.

  “I know.”

  “I’m...” gulp of air “I’m...” deeper gulp. “Sorry,” Retta gasped.

  “Nonsense,” Charlotte said with just a bit of a snap. “Everyone needs a good cry. It lets out all the tensions. Almost as good as a screaming orgasm for that.”

  Shocked that his mother would go there, Edward gaped. So did Retta.

  “What? You thought I didn’t know about those?” His mother smiled. “Silly children,” she scolded.

  Taking a decorative tissue holder out of her elegant evening bag, she handed tissues around. “Now, you two need some sleep. Separately,” she said, giving them both a mock-severe look. “I managed to keep your father from storming the gates,” she said, and laughed when Edward heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Janice and Paul, too. They were actually part and parcel of how this was all discovered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, they pulled up out front of the hotel, to stop in, just like they promised,” Charlotte said, settling in for the moment to tell a good story. Edward smiled. Few people told a good gossipy story like his mother.

  “You know that Paul’s been in cahoots with the Washington Suburban Sanitary Commission, right? So he’s got the whole Washington Gas group on their toes too, with that deal their discussing. So when he and Janice pulled up and were told there was a gas leak, and the hotel had been evacuated, he called the CEO of Washington Gas on his cell.”

  “Of course he did,” Edward murmured, smiling. His brother was a chip of their father’s block of entitlement. A little less belligerent, but it was early days yet.

  His mother had heard him, but just smiled and moved on. “Anyway, they’d pulled away from the curb to go to the event at the Museum of Women in the Arts, you know, the National Committee event? So he tried you, and Janice tried you, dear,” Charlotte patted Retta’s hand, “to see where you’d headed to after this alleged gas leak. When he got no answer he went on the warpath with Don Paars from Washington Gas.

  “When they both realized there shouldn’t be a crew there, they called in the troops!” she finished with a flourish. Then grinned.

  “Most of the troops had already been alerted. Turns out there was a lot going on at that event tonight,” she leaned in conspiratorially, and Edward had a flash of a long-ago night, when his mother had told him a bed time story, complete with dragons, witches with squeaky voices, and dramatic gestures.

  “They hinted to your brother that there was an op of some kind going on,” she said gleefully. “Well, that got shot to hell,” she concluded, then sobered abruptly. “Alo
ng with a lot of good people.”

  “Have you heard how Sylvia is?” Edward said into the stilted silence.

  “She’s resting,” Charlotte said. “The doctors used that horrible phrase we’ll see in that sickly tone of voice. You know,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Well, dears, I’m going to let you get some sleep,” she said finally when the silence started to shift to discomfort. “I’m going to go tell your father, brother and sister that you’re all right.”

  She turned to Retta, laying a gentle hand on her arm. “I know you’re not close to your parents, Retta, but is there anyone I should call, anyone who’d be scared to death to hear about this and need to know that you were okay?”

  Retta looked stricken, but recovered. “That’s so kind of you. My agent, Denise Towers. Oh, and my best friend from the Potomac Gallery.” An anxious look crossed her face. “I was supposed to call Jenna this morning, tell her about the showing.”

  Charlotte nodded, patted her arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Their numbers--”

  “I think I can find them,” Charlotte said, and the wicked grin she shot Retta was full of mischief.

  His mother turned back to him. For a moment, he saw the raw, naked fear that shone in her eyes, but she blinked it away. Bending down, she hugged him carefully.

  “I love you, my boy. And I’ve never been more proud,” she whispered. “I’ve always been proud of you. But this?” Her arms tightened briefly, and he was surprised by her strength. “This was extraordinary. You’re the best of us all.”

  “I love you too, Mom,” he said, wrapping an arm around her as well. “Thank you.”

  “See that you keep this one,” she whispered her parting shot, as she let him go and stood.

  “I’ll do that,” he said, never breaking eye contact with his mother.

  She smiled and nodded. “Your grandmother’s gorgeous platinum, I think.”

  He nodded, and she turned to hug Retta again.

  “You two,” she said, pausing dramatically at the door. “Sleep!”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” they chorused. And the door swung shut behind her, leaving only the fading scent of her perfume and the memory of Charlotte’s laughter.

  “Oh, Edward,” Retta said, her voice catching again.

  “Come here,” he said, dropping the bar on his side, and opening his arms.

  She climbed into the bed and carefully snuggled into his side.

  They shed a few more tears together, but that faded as their lips met, clung. Parted.

  “Edward,” she breathed. “I almost...”

  “Shh,” he said, kissing her again. “We’ve got each other. We’re here.”

  “I know,” she said. “I love you, Edward.”

  His heart nearly burst out of his chest. Finally. Finally, she’d said it first.

  “Retta?” he said, every question in his voice.

  “Edward...”

  “No, don’t think, don’t doubt. Retta Geminous, will you marry me?”

  She drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a gust.

  “Yes.”

  Edward closed his eyes, and just held on. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know,” she whispered back, and the shadowy lighting in the room seemed to toss the words around. The I know somehow felt just as important as the “Yes” had been.

  He expected the doctor to come in and scold them, or a nurse to interrupt the moment with blood-pressure checks, but the beeps of the monitors were all that broke the silence.

  “I really love you, Edward George Millner the Third,” she said, her voice punctuated by yawns.

  He closed his eyes, savoring the words, tightening his arms around her. They had so much to say, so much to plan.

  He was about to say that when he recognized another, softer sound, and smiled. Retta had fallen deeply asleep in his arms.

  Another first.

  Shifting just a bit, he managed to get the blanket over them both. It hurt to do it, but no way was he giving up the moment.

  “I love you back, Retta Louise Geminous,” he whispered, and, closing his eyes, he too, slept.

  PART THREE

  DANGER'S EDGE

  By

  Nancy Northcott

  CHAPTER ONE

  Circulating through the Renaissance ballroom with a tray of champagne flutes, Kelsey Mitchell made herself keep smiling. She couldn’t let the weird vibe coming from some of her fellow servers distract her from maintaining her cover as Jane Wilson, waitress.

  But the tension around those people was troubling. They seemed off-stride. Tense. Almost jittery.

  Wilt, the middle-aged man refilling the buffet, was practically vibrating. As though he were tapping his foot behind the long, blue-draped table.

  The thirtyish ex-jock at the carvery station, a last-minute hire, actually was tapping his foot while he sliced roast beef for the guests. He loaded the plates efficiently but never made eye contact with anyone. Never smiled. A serious no-no for staff at a high-end boutique hotel like the Fierenze.

  At least the guests seemed to be enjoying the easy rock music piped in from the main ballroom. The decorations also added a festive note. Suspended from the ceiling, glass snowflakes glittered above the crowd, complementing the winter-white trees standing at intervals along the walls. From their branches hung glittery stars in red, white, or blue about the size of Kelsey’s hand. The patriotic trees, so appropriate for celebrating a presidential inauguration, stood out against the ballroom’s gold-on-royal-blue silk wallpaper.

  Turning to make another pass through the room, she swept her gaze over the crowd in search of her target, importer Dorton Keyes. Where…?

  Oh. Dancing with his wife, who topped him by a head. Kelsey drifted toward them and observed her coworkers.

  Tiny, red-haired Ellie, weaving her way among the high-top tables around the dance floor, looked as calm and collected as ever. So did Steffie, who was picking up dirty plates, her black hair in a French twist that was just as tidy as it’d been during setup, four hours ago.

  Was it just the guys who were acting weird?

  Stopping here and there to offer champagne, Kelsey worked her way closer to Keyes. She’d slipped a bug under his lapel earlier, so the recorder in her locker downstairs would catch everything he said. Unfortunately, it would also pick up music and ambient noise that could garble the words, so she needed to note which people talked with him and when.

  A balding, gray-haired businessman from Iowa built like a fireplug with a gut and a bad combover, he was so not the image of someone who would kidnap children and sell them as sex slaves.

  At least, not if you watched too many movies. But Kelsey’s employer, the secret, international intelligence agency known as Arachnid, had taught her better than to trust stereotypes. Dorton Keyes was importing—and exporting—more than knickknacks out of his sleek offices in Dubuque.

  Kidnapping him after the ball, questioning him to learn where his human pipelines ran, was a mission she could happily sink her teeth into. It was the payoff for the eight weeks she’d worked here undercover.

  His security guards, two brick-shaped goons, loitered by the doors. This was just a job to them. To her, though, taking out slime like Keyes was personal.

  A young, blonde woman in a stunning satin gown of flag blue with silver spangles beckoned to Kelsey. Smiling, Kelsey changed direction.

  Beside the blonde stood a tall, ruggedly handsome guy with brown hair that looked almost bronze and keen, hazel eyes. Kelsey sucked in a quick breath. The shoulders under his black tuxedo jacket were the width of the Rocky Mountains, and the trim torso encased in his crisp, white shirt implied the rest of him was in good shape, too.

  Her cheeks heated at the thought. The guy was with a date, for crying out loud. A date who had the porcelain-and-cream complexion Kelsey’s favorite aunt always touted. Not to mention makeup
so skillfully applied that it seemed not to be there.

  I can do makeup.

  Yeah, though she usually did it to not look like herself.

  At least this time, she’d been able to keep her own brown hair, now drawn back in a ponytail, and didn’t have to wear contact lenses to change the blue of her eyes.

  “Evening,” the man said in a baritone as smooth and rich as dark chocolate.

  “Good evening, sir, ma’am.” Hiding the shiver his voice sent through her, Kelsey presented the tray with a little flourish that looked good but wouldn’t unbalance the flutes.

  “Let me, Greg,” the woman said, reaching for a glass. She handed it to her companion.

  The tensing at the corners of his eyes might’ve started out as a wince, but he stifled it, accepting the drink. Maybe he didn’t like champagne and was just indulging his pretty date. The two of them looked a bit young for this middle-aged crowd, late twenties for her and early thirties for him. Maybe they were using a relative’s tickets.

  “Thanks, Fee,” he said in a dry tone. The two exchanged a wry look that apparently had some kind of meaning, and the woman shrugged.

  Fee took a glass for herself, blue eyes cheerful. “The place is busy tonight.”

  “Time passes faster that way,” Kelsey replied easily.

  “Then it must be passing fast all over the city, considering how many celebrations are going on.” Fee’s smile was contagious, and Kelsey grinned. Admitting Greg was a top-tier hottie didn’t mean she couldn’t like his date.

  “We shouldn’t keep you,” the hottie in question said. “You obviously have plenty to do.”

  His gaze met hers, and all the air seemed to rush out of the room. Her mouth went dry, her heart fluttery, and her breath nonexistent. Greg’s hazel eyes darkened. His chiseled lips parted slightly, as though in shock, sending a rush of pure feminine elation through her.

  He blinked. His throat moved in a hard swallow.

  Kelsey shot a reflexive look at his date.

  Fee grinned up at him and flashed Kelsey a friendly look. “I’m sure we’ll catch you later,” she offered.