Meg had yet to say anything more controversial than “Hello,” but Ginette already seemed to be quite testy with her, which—with luck—was not a reflection of Preston’s mood today.
“Um, how was your flight?” Meg asked.
“Fine,” Ginette said, in a noticeably clipped voice.
How nifty. “I’m sorry you all had to come up here,” Meg said. “I told my parents that it really wasn’t—”
Ginette glared at her. “I don’t think there’s any question but that it was very necessary.”
Well, for Susan’s sake, maybe, but it wasn’t as though she’d demanded that they show up. For that matter, Susan hadn’t, either.
“The first thing we heard when we got here was that you’d taken off willy-nilly to meet with that shark Hannah Goldman,” Ginette said, sounding very angry.
Okay, now the other shoe had landed neatly. Meg shrugged. “She’s very nice. For a shark.”
Ginette ignored that. “We were also told that you refused to seek the medical attention you obviously need, despite being strongly urged to do so.”
Now, it was Meg’s turn to scowl. “I’m never not in pain, Ginette. This actually isn’t all that much worse than usual. And was I really supposed to take off to the hospital last night, when my good friend was reeling, because her best friend’s murder was suddenly being thrown in her face, on camera, just because she has the bad luck to know me?”
Ginette looked guilty. “No. I guess not.” She glanced over. “I guess I also didn’t realize that you two had become friends.”
Christ, she had just used the phrase “good friend” without thinking. “Well, we’re not anymore,” Meg said. “But, up until last night, we were headed in that direction.” Maybe.
Her knee was throbbing crazily, and she paused to rest, and try to breathe the intensity of the pain down, so that when they finally got to the dorm, her eyes wouldn’t be full of tears.
Ginette waited next to her, looking as though she was tempted to ask her agents to carry her the rest of the way to the dorm.
“I’m fine,” Meg said. “I just have to pace myself.”
Ginette nodded too hard, and too many times.
She wasn’t ready to start walking again—but she did, anyway, since it was preferable to watching a press aide try not to fall to pieces.
“Preston wants me to escort Susan around, and be available for—well, as long as necessary,” Ginette said. “I hope I’ll be able to be of some assistance.”
Meg just nodded, conserving her energy.
As they approached the entrance, Andy came out on his way to class—and then stopped. Judging from his expression, he was about as fond of her right now as Juliana was.
Another burgeoning friendship, dead in the water.
He was the first one to break the silence. “Did you really not know?”
Christ, did they all think she was an unrepentant liar, on top of everything else? “Of course I didn’t,” Meg said. “Come on.”
He looked at her as though he was trying to decide whether to believe her, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll spread the word. Because—people are pissed.”
Yeah. She’d noticed.
When they went inside, Kyle was still at the front desk.
“Hi,” Meg said. “Is he here, or—?”
Kyle pointed upstairs. “Follow the sound of female voices.”
Ah, as usual, within moments, the typical fan club had formed around him. Sometimes she wondered whether Preston knew about the profound power he possessed—and milked it, or whether he was oblivious to its true dimensions.
When they got off the elevator, Preston was lounging in the chair by the upstairs security desk, surrounded by what appeared to be half of the girls who lived in the dorm, all of whom were laughing and nodding at whatever he had just said. Even Nellie, who must have come on duty to relieve Martin, had a fairly rapt, foolish smile on her face.
Preston saw her, and stood up with an easy motion. Hell, it was feline-esque. Even though he was, disappointingly, wearing a conservative grey suit, a plain white shirt, and a dark red tie.
“Ladies,” he said formally, “it has, indeed, been a pleasure.” Then he gave Meg a nod, and motioned towards her room with one jerk of his head.
No actual hello? Very bad sign.
It was crowded, but people were starting to drift away, now that the focus of their attention was no longer in view.
“He is so sexy,” someone was saying, as she went down the stairs, and there seemed to be general agreement with that sentiment.
Susan was nowhere in sight, and Juliana had quickly ducked into her room, but Meg nodded at Tammy, who was lingering in the hall, seemingly hoping for one more glimpse of the First Gentleman’s Chief of Staff.
“Hi,” Meg said.
Tammy mouthed “he’s really cute” at her, and Meg nodded, since—what the hell—he was, and went into her room to find him leaning against her desk. He indicated the door, and she closed it, then went over to her bed. Taking her weight off her knee was such a relief that it was a struggle not to burst into tears. But instead, she just closed her eyes for a second and then reached for a pillow to prop her leg up, while Preston watched her silently.
The man could communicate more without uttering a single syllable than anyone she had ever known.
“Start shooting the bastards?” he said finally.
The remark he had tactfully avoided mentioning during their phone conversations the night before. Meg sighed. “I lost my temper.”
“Really,” he said. “Gee whiz, I didn’t pick up on that at all, Meg. You disguised it beautifully.”
Christ, was she supposed to be perfect? It wasn’t like she did any of this for a damn living. She was in college, for God’s sakes.
“I liked the ‘carnage’ remark, too,” he said, his gaze so intense that she was pretty sure he could see right through her to the wall. “Kudos, for the grace under pressure.”
In all of these years, had Preston even given her anything more than a mild admonition, or a raised eyebrow? And he’d picked today to start being mean? Jesus, maybe there really wasn’t anyone in her life who she could trust.
“And, if I may ask,” he said, “have you been off favoring our friend Ms. Goldman with similarly irresistible sound bites?”
Meg didn’t feel like answering him, so she just shrugged.
“Well.” He straightened the crease in his pants, then brushed at what seemed to be a nonexistent piece of lint.
“God-damn peacock,” Meg said stiffly.
He narrowed his eyes at her. In fact, they were actual slits. “Let’s not push each other today, okay, Meg?”
“Right,” Meg said. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d started pushing her around, first. “It’s funny. Here I am—on a bed—by myself in a small room, with an angry guy giving me abuse and trying to upset me.” She frowned. “Hmmm. Why does this feel so familiar?”
Preston looked at her, then abruptly got up and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Okay, she’d gone too far. About a thousand miles too far. In fact—
There was a knock on the door.
She swallowed, afraid to get up, but then there was another knock and she hesitantly limped over and opened it.
“Hi, Meg,” Preston said, and gave her a quick hug. “God, it’s good to see you. I heard you’re having a tough time right now—anything I can do to help?”
She smiled, although—much as she would have preferred not to have this thought—the kidnapper had had a similar sense of humor.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
That was one phrase which had never come out of the kidnapper’s mouth. She nodded. “Me, too. I can be pretty rotten, when I want to be.”
“Well—you have your moments,” he said. “But then, I’m capable of being a complete prick, so there you go.”
She was going to disagree, but right now, she was having no trouble imagining that whatsoever.
Oh, for God’s sakes. “Don’t be an idiot, Preston,” she said. “You know damn well I adore you. Just sit down.”
He nodded, and took a seat.
The room was very quiet, but it was more of a tired silence, than an angry one.
“It’s a poor excuse,” he said, “but the only sleep I’ve gotten was for about an hour on the plane, and I guess I’ve also been building up a head of steam ever since your mother landed on me last night.”
Which had, quite possibly, been a first for him. Much like the little scene they had just gone through themselves. Meg frowned. “The President lost her temper, too?”
“The President was on the warpath,” he said. “I hadn’t seen her like that—for a long time.”
Since she was kidnapped, presumably. Meg still didn’t know very many details, and possibly never would, about what it had really been like around the White House during those thirteen days—but it couldn’t have been pretty.
He shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I actually thought she was going to throw something at me.”
“She probably would have,” Meg said, “if she had a better arm.”
Preston grinned. “Well, you might be right about that.”
One of the most closely-guarded secrets in the Administration was the degree to which the President dreaded April, and Opening Day for the major league baseball season, because she was required—often, at more than one stadium—to throw out the first ball, and was afraid of making a fool of herself. She and Steven would have several practice sessions during the month before, usually up at Camp David, where they would be mostly unobserved, but no matter how many times she was given advice and tips and even hands-on demonstrations, she still—well—threw like a girl.
Since Meg, personally, did not throw like a girl, she had always gotten a pretty big yuck out of the situation.
But even if her mother had a Hall of Fame pitching arm, Meg still couldn’t picture her ever throwing something in anger. Considering her generally preternatural composure, even throwing a fit seemed like a stretch. “I don’t get why she was mad at you. This wasn’t your fault.”
“The President feels that you and Susan, and by extension, your families, were very poorly served in this situation—by me, in particular,” Preston said, with a rigid expression. “And, as it happens, I agree with her, so I offered my resignation.”
Meg stared at him.
“Obviously, since I’m here right now, she didn’t accept it,” he said.
Even so. Jesus, he had had a bad night. And if her mother had allowed him to quit, she might well have never spoken to her again for the rest of their lives. “Do you even know Susan at all?” she asked. “I mean, other than meeting her when you guys dropped me off here.”
He shook his head. “No, but I was certainly involved with coordinating the paperwork, and—I should have paid more attention to the possible ramifications of her personal history.”
No question, but there was still something that wasn’t quite tracking here. And while he might avoid giving her direct answers sometimes, she was almost sure that he would never outright lie to her. “So, you made the final call, entirely on your own,” Meg said.
He hesitated.
Thereby upholding her suspicions. “At first, my mother couldn’t even place the name ‘Susan,’” Meg said. “Dowd or McAllister.”
Which officially eliminated one of the two prime suspects.
“The Secret Service was raving about her,” Preston said. “She passed all of the security checks with flying colors.”
No, he couldn’t fool her with a tangential issue. This whole thing had her father’s well-meaning fingerprints all over it. “What in the hell was he thinking?” she asked.
Preston sighed. “He wasn’t thinking, Meg. I don’t think he can think clearly anymore, insofar as your welfare is concerned.”
A loving, sweet—and selfish—instinct, on his part, then. And because of the first two reasons, she probably wouldn’t take him to task for it. Not today, anyway.
“The fact that she’s well on the way to getting a black belt didn’t hurt,” Preston said.
Yeah, if a band of armed terrorists—or possibly, suicide bombers—attacked her, Susan would immediately be pressed into service to karate chop them all and avert the crisis.
Preston sighed again. “Come on, Meg. I can’t always read your mind.”
That was probably for the best.
“He thought that she would have extra insight about me, because she’s had a tough time herself,” she said.
He nodded reluctantly.
“And even though it might end up screwing her up, it was a risk worth taking,” she said.
“A calculated risk,” he said.
Poorly calculated. But continuing to rake him over the coals wasn’t going to accomplish much, other than annoying both of them more than they already were. “I still don’t see how my mother can blame you,” she said. Although actually, she might have made the conscious, safe choice to take most of it out on Preston, instead of waiting until she went back to the Residence later.
Preston shrugged. “She trusted me to be objective, and give good advice, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t.”
She was glad he had trouble being objective about her—but, okay, it would be nice if he had been, on this one occasion.
“Gabler was telling me today that they were so hard on her during one of the last interviews that they all felt terrible, afterwards,” he said. “But she didn’t even flinch, and they really liked that. Liked her.”
That didn’t sound too good. “What do you mean, ‘hard on her’?” Meg asked.
Preston looked tired. “Meg, they can’t risk having anyone around you, especially in such close proximity, who they think, in any way, under any circumstances, could be bought.”
Could sell her out to the highest terrorist bidder, the way Dennis had.
“And while they liked Dirk, and some of the other JAs, too, with Susan they were lucky enough to find someone who had already been tested in a terrible situation, where she never lost her dignity, never spoke to the press, and never showed anything resembling a hint of emotional instability,” he said. “I mean, how could they resist? The problem is that everyone was so concerned about you, that no one really thought enough about how it might end up affecting her.”
Hmmm.
“So, we blew it,” he said.
They sure had.
25
A LUNCHTIME MEETING had been arranged at the college president’s house, which included deans, Secret Service agents, campus security people, the college press office, the local police chief, and a few other campus officials whose exact purpose for attending Meg couldn’t quite figure out. Naturally, Preston and Ginette were there, too, along with an uneasy Dirk, and a very quiet Susan.
Although Meg had been dreading the MRI and other medical exams which were likely to be in her immediate future, within about ten minutes, she decided that they would be preferable to sitting in this meeting. Everyone was being extremely nice to her—but, the MRI still seemed enticing, by comparison.
The upshot of the matter was that campus trespassing ordinances were going to be more stringently enforced, and that Susan was offered a choice between Meg’s being assigned to another dorm and definitely getting another female JA, or that Susan herself could relocate elsewhere on the campus, as soon as this very afternoon, if she so desired.
Susan smiled, and nodded—and declined to accept either suggestion.
“Any or all of the students in your entry will naturally be given the same opportunity, if they feel they’d be happier with other living arrangements,” one of the deans said.
“I’m not aware of there being any problems whatsoever, ma’am,” Susan said, Dirk nodding in agreement, “but we’ll certainly speak to each of them privately and make sure.”
The di
scussion with Juliana was likely to be contentious, if not blistering.
Meg was also presented with similar options, but she just said that she’d do whatever would make life easier for everyone else, up to and including, transferring altogether—which everyone in the room dismissed, none more swiftly than Susan.
It was a great relief when the meeting—or, at least, the part in which she and Susan and Dirk had been required to participate—broke up. Susan was gone with only the barest nod, Ginette trudging along behind her.
“Maybe not a match made in heaven,” Meg said to Preston, who grinned.
Before she could escape herself, Mr. Gabler came over to take her aside.
“Are you happy with everyone assigned to your current detail?” he asked. “Because if any of them are making you even the slightest bit uncomfortable, I’d like to replace them immediately.”
Dennis had always made her very nervous, for no reason she could quite pin down, at the time, except maybe that he watched her so closely—and she’d been too stupid to tell anyone other than Beth and Josh, both of whom she knew still felt guilty that they hadn’t told anyone else, either. Meg shook her head. “No, they’re all really nice.” Or, at least, the few with whom she’d had actual conversations seemed to be. Even short-fused Kyle. “But, if any of them don’t like being assigned to me, my feelings aren’t going to be hurt if you—”
“Not an issue,” Mr. Gabler said abruptly.
She had her doubts—but, okay. Every so often, agents were rotated to new assignments automatically, but any atypical reassignments probably didn’t look very good on their records. The theory was that if agents stayed with the same protectee for too long a period of time, non-professional attachments might form, which would hinder their ability to do their jobs effectively.
But, was she allowed to make a recommendation? At worst, Mr. Gabler would nod—and ignore her opinion. “When it’s time for them to be reassigned, though, I’d really like to see Martin moved onto my mother’s detail,” she said. “Or, failing that, my father’s. He always seems to be the one on duty when—well, lots of times lately, he’s had the toughest job of any of them, and he’s been great.”
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