by Stephen Frey
“You’re right,” Roth broke in. “It is good for her to get off the island every once in a while.”
Harrison nodded up the hallway, in the direction of the backpack, thankful that Roth hadn’t gone ballistic. He seemed like the type that might. “Should we go back downstairs?” Roth seemed relieved at the suggestion.
“Yeah.”
When they reached the first floor again, Harrison followed Roth into the kitchen.
“I need to check on something,” Roth said, heading toward a door to the outside. “I’ll be back in a minute. Do me a favor, stay in here, will you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Through a window over the sink, Harrison watched Roth head across the small yard toward a shed. When he’d disappeared inside, Harrison’s eyes flickered to a counter beneath an overhanging cupboard. To a small photograph inside a plain wooden frame sitting on the counter he’d noticed when they first entered the kitchen. He stared at the photograph, thinking about how this day was turning into a complete waste of time, how he should have spent it working on another story he was on a deadline for.
Harrison’s eyes focused on the photo and suddenly it occurred to him that there hadn’t been any other photographs in the house—not of people, anyway. He moved slowly across the kitchen floor, his eyes zeroing in on the figures inside the frame, noticing how they were standing beside one another but didn’t look natural. As if the photo had been touched up to make the people look like they’d been standing together when the picture was taken, but they really hadn’t been.
“Jesus,” he whispered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up as he leaned down, his face just inches from the print. A chill coursed through his body as he studied the tiny faces, then suddenly he heard the door to the outside opening and he whipped around, putting his hands behind him and gripping the counter, trying to look relaxed, as though he’d been standing like that for a while.
“What’s wrong?” Roth asked as he came back inside, stamping his boots on a mat. It had rained last night and his soles were muddy. “You okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look sick.”
Harrison shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. What about the lighthouse?” he asked quickly.
Roth stopped stamping his boots. “What about it?”
“I want to see it.”
“No you don’t.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no need to see it—there’s nothing there. It’s a long walk and, besides, I’ve got stuff to do.”
Harrison thought about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, okay.”
Roth stared at him hard for a few moments. “I gotta take a leak. When I get back, I’ll walk you down to the dock, okay?”
Harrison nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He watched Roth go. It was the second time Roth had left him alone in the kitchen. Then it hit him.
IT WAS LATE and Jesse and Stephanie were alone in the office—Osgood had gone home an hour ago. They were reviewing a speech Jesse was going to be making in Houston the day after tomorrow.
“You’ve done a great job on this,” Jesse said, wondering how in the world he could ever fire Stephanie—or Osgood. At times he truly hated Elijah Forte. More often lately. “Really great.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
They were sitting close and Jesse could smell her perfume. He smiled at her. The scent was vaguely familiar. “I like your perfume.” He knew it was a risky thing to say, but he couldn’t help himself. He liked making people feel good about themselves, a natural trait that had served him well over the years.
She reached over and touched his arm. “It’s the one you bought me in Vermont that week, when you won that tournament. I don’t wear it very often because I don’t want to run out of it. You can’t get it now. They don’t make it anymore.”
Jesse closed his eyes. Such a wonderful memory, that weekend in Vermont. His last win, her next to him at night. He felt her hand drop from his arm to his leg, and he caught it halfway up his thigh. He couldn’t do this. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Thank God he had some semblance of self-control. “Steph, I—”
“What’s wrong?” she snapped, standing up. “Aren’t I pretty enough anymore?”
“You’re very pretty, but I’m…” His voice faded as he watched her stalk from the room. For the first time since he’d known her, he’d seen hatred in her eyes.
16
AS CHRISTIAN made his way through the crowded bar, he caught sight of Faith standing in a far corner, ringed by a crew of beefy security guards wearing dark blue jackets. She was signing autographs, and she looked beautiful in a lacy white top and a short jeans skirt. Blond and petite with captivating green eyes that were shining like two Manhattan spotlights on opening night. He hated to dim those lights, but what had to be said had to be said. As he neared her he saw her tap one of the security guards on the shoulder. The guy glanced at Christian and nodded.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she murmured over the noise as he moved inside the ring, her lips pressed to his ear. She handed the paper napkin she’d signed back to a young man in a suit, then slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I missed you.”
“Me too.”
She let go instantly. “What’s wrong?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I can always tell when something’s wrong. What is it?”
He was beginning to think too many people knew him too well. Or maybe he was just becoming too predictable. “Nothing, it’s just that—”
“Just what?”
Christian saw it coming. Faith could turn from a kitten to Tasmanian devil in a heartbeat these days. It hadn’t been like that when they’d first met, when she was just bursting onto the music scene. She’d been carefree and hard to rile back then. Maybe getting touchy came with the turf, with so many people demanding her time now. He understood that.
“I know we were supposed to have dinner tonight, but—”
“Are you standing me up?” she demanded, pulling back.
Her anger was ratcheting up fast, like the sound of a TV with someone’s thumb on the volume button. “I’m sorry, but something came up.”
“What?”
“A meeting.”
She rolled her eyes. “With who? As if I don’t know.”
Christian hesitated.
“It’s with Allison, isn’t it?” She’d barely given him a chance to answer. “You prick! I hate that bitch.”
“Faith, it’s just business. I’ve told you that so many times.”
“What’s so pressing that you have to meet with her tonight?”
A wave of guilt surged through him. He hadn’t said anything to Faith about Jesse Wood asking him to be vice president. He’d told Nigel, Quentin, Allison, even Samuel Hewitt, but he hadn’t said anything to Faith. That ought to tell him something about their relationship right there. He tried to take her hands, but she pulled away. “Allison’s going out of town tomorrow to work on a deal on the West Coast and we have to go over a couple of things before she leaves.”
“Why can’t you do it on the phone?”
Christian shook his head. “The phone doesn’t work.” He noticed that she was breathing fast, like she was scared or about to say something very important. “You know that.”
“That’s always your excuse.” She ran her hands through her hair, then brought them to her eyes. “Get out of here.”
“Faith, we’ll get together later.” Christian saw the security guards starting to give him hard looks, like they were ready to kick him out of the ring as soon as Faith gave them the high sign. “Come to my apartment around ten. I’ll be home by then.”
She stuck her chin out and pointed at the door. “I’m not kidding, I want you out of here right now.”
This was always her first instinct when she got angry. To lash out, to push him away, not to take a deep breath and talk about what was bothering her. It exhausted him. “If I lea
ve here now and we aren’t getting together later, don’t bother calling or e-mailing me again. I mean it. I’m sick of this.”
“Get out, just get the hell away from me.”
He stared into her eyes for a few moments, then turned and walked out. Something told him this was it. No going back.
ROTH MOVED carefully over fallen pine needles covering the faint path leading from the lodge to the lighthouse. It was almost dark on the forest floor, and he had to walk slowly to make certain he didn’t run into low-hanging branches. The sun wouldn’t set for another thirty minutes, but the trees were dense and they blocked out most of the fading light. He’d waited for several hours to make the trek out here, until he was certain Harrison was gone.
Using a pair of high-powered binoculars, he’d watched Harrison motor away from Champagne Island at the tip of an ever-expanding white wake until the little boat was just a dot on the horizon and the whine of the engine faded into the sounds of the wind and the surf. He shook his head as he moved along the path, pushing a branch out of the way with his forearm. Harrison had claimed that there was someone waiting for him in another boat out on the ocean, a not-so-subtle warning that he was nervous about being on the island alone. That if he didn’t come back by an agreed-upon time, someone would know.
Harrison was right to be nervous, Roth thought to himself as he reached the rocky slope leading up to the base of the lighthouse. But the warning about someone waiting out there on the ocean for him was almost certainly a bluff. The only friend Harrison had in Southport was George Bishop, and Bishop was probably dead by now. Hewitt hadn’t told him for sure, but it didn’t take much to connect the dots.
When Roth reached the base of the lighthouse, he hesitated for a moment and gazed out over the ocean, now covered with whitecaps. Even from the base of the structure he had an excellent view of the ocean in every direction because the lighthouse was built on a ridge. On the western horizon he could see dark clouds building, slashed every few seconds by lightning. The storms the weathermen had been predicting all day on the radio were finally moving in, but he still had an hour or so to get back to the lodge before the fireworks started in earnest.
Roth turned the key, pulled open the metal door, and reached inside, feeling along the rough cinder-block wall for the light switch, flipping it up when his fingers reached it. Instantly the room was bathed in light. The first step of the circular iron stairway leading to the top of the hundred-foot tower was against the far wall. To the right was a small desk where Roth kept maintenance records and to the left a closet where he usually stored cleaning supplies. But he’d moved the supplies over by the desk this morning.
He pulled out a second key, unlocked the closet door, and opened it slightly, peering inside before he pulled it open all the way. The pretty young woman was sitting on the cement floor in the same position he’d left her, wrists and ankles bound with white rope, a gag stuffed in her mouth. She was still dressed in the red tube top and khaki shorts Hewitt’s friends had dropped her off in. They were using her for something, to manipulate someone, and they were keeping her here until they needed her. They’d kept girls here before—without Patty’s knowledge. Roth hadn’t even bothered to ask her name this time. He didn’t want to know it.
She looked up at him fearfully and moaned as he knelt down and pulled the gag gently from her mouth. “I’m so thirsty,” she murmured, teeth starting to chatter. “Freezing, too.”
“Yeah, it still gets cold at night this time of year.” He untied the rope from around her ankles. He should have given her one of Patty’s sweaters but he’d been too focused on getting her out of the lodge before he had to go into town to get Harrison. “Here.” He pressed the mouth of a canteen to her lips, and she gulped the water down. When she was finished drinking, he helped her to her feet.
“Will you please untie my hands?” she begged.
“No,” he said brusquely. “Come on.” He guided her out of the closet toward the lighthouse door, relocked it when they were back outside, then took her by the arm and helped her down the slope.
“Am I going to be okay?” she asked when they reached the forest floor, tears rimming her lower lids.
He gazed at her for a few moments, then looked away, hoping she hadn’t seen the truth in his expression. “You’ll be fine.”
“BOY, you’re in a good mood tonight.” Allison smiled at Christian from the other side of the candlelit table.
He felt himself smiling back.
“It’s nice,” she said. “You seem so relaxed.”
They were sitting in a back booth of the restaurant. Allison was wearing a low-cut top, but most of the women in the place were wearing outfits that were even more revealing. She didn’t stand out, which made Christian happy. More and more he was noticing those lustful stares other men gave Allison, so anything that made her blend in was a good thing.
“Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?” he asked. He could see by the anticipation in her expression that she wanted him to say something like After all, I’m with you. Maybe later on, depending on how things went. “Aren’t I usually fun to be around?”
“Well, of course you are,” she agreed slowly, looking down. “What I meant to say was you aren’t as serious as you usually are. I’ve actually seen that beautiful smile of yours tonight.”
“I’m enjoying myself.”
“You haven’t been checking your e-mails every five minutes like you usually do, either.”
She was right: He’d let himself go, even turned off his cell phone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Maybe he was over the edge—at least a little. “I guess I’m really enjoying myself.”
And he was. All the same, he wasn’t going to jump into anything with her—he couldn’t. He was going to give it time, see what happened. Quentin had made a good point out in Chicago about dipping the pen in the company ink. Anything that happened between them had to happen carefully and with as little fanfare as possible. The Everest investors wouldn’t be happy if they opened up the Post one morning and read about their chairman and one of his managing partners having an affair. But, if he was going to be out of Everest and into the political world soon, maybe it was less of an issue.
Christian gazed at her in the soft light and allowed himself to actually consider the incredible possibilities that lay ahead of him—which he rarely did because he was so superstitious. If you assumed special things were going to happen to you, they usually didn’t. Like God was getting you back for having the audacity to think so much of yourself. But for a few moments he let himself believe that Jesse Wood and he were going to win in November and that eight years from now he’d be about to accept the party’s nomination for president. Allison Wallace would make an incredible first lady.
Christian put a hand to his mouth to hide a grin and looked down at his plate. Or maybe she wouldn’t, now that he thought about it. She probably wouldn’t settle for first lady. More likely, she’d be running against him.
“What are you grinning about?” she asked, sipping champagne.
“Nothing.”
“Will you please have just one glass?” she begged, holding up hers. “It’s delicious.”
“You know I won’t.”
She sighed, frustrated. “Well, I guess it’s good that you don’t drink. If you and Jesse Wood win the election, you won’t be able to for at least four years.”
“Why not?”
“I thought the president and the vice president weren’t supposed to drink. I thought you had to be sober all the time in case you had to set off the nukes and all that.”
Christian shrugged. “I don’t know. But like you said, it won’t matter for me.”
Allison glanced at her watch. “What time do you turn into a pumpkin?”
He chuckled. “Excuse me?”
“What time do you have to be home? What time will Faith come stomping in here and drag you out if you aren’t back at your apartment?”
“It’s
not like that anymore,” he answered quietly.
Her eyes raced to his.
He folded his napkin and placed it down on the table. “Faith and I broke up.”
Allison stared at him for a few more moments, then shook her head and smiled. “And the beat goes on.” She raised her glass. “Congratulations, it’s been a long time coming.” She paused. “Of course…” Her voice faded.
“Of course what?”
“I know what’s going to happen. You’ll show up at the office tomorrow morning with this sheepish look on your face, and I’ll find out that you two are back together.”
“Not this time,” Christian vowed.
“Why not? What’s different?”
“It doesn’t matter, it just is. Now,” he said loudly when he saw her about to speak up, “I want to know if you’re going to stay at Everest after we’re through with this fund, or if you’re going to run back to Chicago. You told me you’d give me an answer tonight as long as I had dinner with you. Well, here I am.”
“I guess you think the fact that you broke up with Faith is a big bonus.”
“I don’t think one thing has anything to do with the other. I just want your answer. You going to make up your own mind, or is Gordon Meade going to make it up for you?”
“Of course I’m staying here, you dope. You knew that this afternoon.” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him an exaggerated frown. “Now I want to know who’s going to be chairman of Everest when you leave.”
“You willing to sign a contract?”
“Maybe.”
“Nope. I want to know right now if you’d sign a multiyear contract to stay at Everest. With noncompete clauses, too.”
“Okay.”
He pursed his lips. He hadn’t been ready for that. “You know…”
“Know what?” she asked softly when his voice faded. “Don’t start something like that, then not finish. Not right now, anyway.”
He nodded. She was right—that wasn’t fair. “I hate snobs. My stepmother’s a snob, and I hate her for it. I hate her for being a snob even more than I hate her for what she did to me after my dad died.”