by Debra Webb
He assisted her from the car and then carried the briefcase for her as they ascended the stairs to their room. She hoped tonight would be a repeat of last night. Her skin tingled at the possibility. Even the idea sent ripples of longing through her. It was true that she’d desired him all those years ago when they’d dated. She had begged him to love her this way when they were first married. But none of that compared to what she felt now.
The need—the urge—to be with him was an ache in her soul…a desperate longing.
She would never survive losing him again. That was a certainty. Now she understood why her mother still clung to her father’s memory even after more than ten years. When a woman loved a man that much, it transcended death.
When they reached the presidential bedroom, Justin opened the door and waited for her to enter before him. He tossed the briefcase into a chair and shrugged out of his jacket.
“I was thinking,” he said, his voice low, soft and incredibly sexy. “We could have some wine and then…”
The way he allowed the words to trail off made her entire body spasm with longing. She backed toward the en suite bath. “I think I’ll shower.”
He licked his lips, those piercing eyes devouring her. “I’ll get the wine and then I’ll dry your back.”
She nodded, her throat closed with want.
Caroline stripped her clothes off, her fingers fumbling in their haste. Slacks, blouse, shoes, trouser socks, it all landed in a heap on the bathroom floor. She kicked the pile aside and turned on the shower to give the water time to warm. As she gathered towels she remembered the sexy pink gown she’d bought years ago and never worn. She quickly retrieved it from her bureau drawer and rushed back into the bathroom. She pressed the filmy fabric to her face and inhaled deeply. The scent of roses made her grateful that she’d kept the fragrant petals stashed in her special-occasion lingerie drawer.
She slipped beneath the warm spray of water and allowed the liquid heat to relax and soothe her muscles. As she shampooed her hair she thought of the way Justin had made love to her.
She hurried through the cleansing ritual and quickly towel-dried her hair rather than using the blow-dryer. She just couldn’t wait to be with him. A swift swab of her skin with the towel and she slipped into the slinky gown. Narrow spaghetti straps held the silky fabric up. Its hem scarcely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She shivered as she tugged on matching lacy panties.
On second thought she snagged the dryer and removed most of the moisture from her hair. It was a little too drippy for the look she had in mind.
A little lipgloss and she was ready to spend a night of bliss in her husband’s arms. Her mouth already watering for the taste of his, she slipped into the bedroom to join him.
She drew up short as her brain identified what she saw. He had the file and the report from the briefcase spread across the writing desk. With a glass of wine in one hand, he turned page after page, scanning each like a speed-reader. No, not a speed-reader—like a laser scanner. No one could read that fast.
“What’re you doing?”
He looked up at her, his expression showing no sign of surprise or guilt. “Trying to figure out what you found so fascinating about this stuff.” He flipped over another page and then stepped away from the desk as if he’d suddenly lost interest.
“Those documents are classified.” Well, at least Winslow’s report was. Her father’s files were no longer sensitive. At least not to her knowledge.
He shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. You didn’t have them locked up or anything.”
He was right about that. She’d left the material in plain sight. A frown worked its way across her brow. Why was she making such a big deal out of it? This was Justin. She trusted him.
In all the years they had been together she had never known him to invade her privacy in any way. He was an intensely private man. A breach of professional trust would have been unthinkable…but then he wasn’t that Justin anymore. The accident had changed him.
Maybe he’d simply been bored.
She was blowing this out of proportion.
Seemingly oblivious to her inner struggle, he poured her a glass of wine and brought it to her. His gaze swept down her body and then back up, making her quiver.
“You look beautiful.”
Caroline cleared her mind of all else. This was her husband. She would not let a foolish moment of curiosity ruin what they were building. With all that she had on her plate right now, worrying about the threats on her life and dealing with those taunting phone calls, she didn’t need to borrow any more trouble.
She sipped her wine. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Winters.” She cocked her head and surveyed him as he had done her. “Maybe a little overdressed.”
He smiled, and all other thought flew out of her mind. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”
That night when they slept he held her so tightly she could hardly breathe until they had both drifted off to sleep. Caroline didn’t understand what had happened.
She would never know how making love to her had broken down the barriers he’d built…the severe control he’d kept all those years. Or how he had just learned that though intelligence and strength could be genetically engineered, emotions would not be conquered by mere cell manipulation.
Some things were simply intrinsic to humans and he was, after all, human.
Chapter Twelve
White House
Final Countdown
Day 3
Intelligence Analyst Dupree along with a technician from Lab Three were on their way to D.C. to pick up the page Cain had taken from Caroline’s father’s file early that morning. They would analyze the page and determine if it was authentic to the time frame it supposedly represented.
Cain had quoted the contents of Winslow’s report and the Mattson file verbatim to O’Riley. The reception on the other end of the line was not good. The director didn’t have to spell it out. The evidence was damning. If Caroline went along with Winslow’s proposal she would, in effect, be turning over the operation of Center to the enemy.
She couldn’t possibly understand the ramifications. All presidents depended upon others to advise them on such matters. The steps she had taken thus far were no different than anyone else’s. But her innocence of wrongdoing would not protect her any more than it had protected those before her who had been eliminated. Man had always cut out from among his midst any that went against his beliefs. It was the way of the warrior. Survival of the fittest.
It would always be that way.
If Caroline gave Winslow the go-ahead, she would be eliminated.
Cain had been given the order to proceed immediately upon her authorization of support.
He would not survive the operation and the assassination would be chalked up to the plane crash. An undiagnosed brain tumor would be blamed for his unexpected psychotic break.
He stood in the middle of the office he used to monitor Caroline’s activities unable to move or speak. A dozen scenarios reeled through his mind. Possible ways that he could somehow right this wrong. But there was no way. Everything depended upon Caroline. Telling her would not work since she would think he had lost his mind and would certainly summon security.
There was nothing he could do but wait.
He stared at the monitor that displayed her every move, her smile. Her mother would be devastated by the loss. The country would grieve as well. Others would carry on, ensuring that their needs were met by eliminating any and all obstacles from their path.
Cain threw the cellular phone in his hand across the room, shattering it against the far wall. Rage coursed through his veins. Not right. The two words echoed over and over again in his brain. Not right. Not right.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
Cain’s gaze slid to the partially open door and the Secret Service agent who’d poked his head into the office.
“Go away,” he growled, the ferocity of his words send
ing a lethal warning.
The agent nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
Already it had begun. When the killing was done the agent would remember the shattered phone on the floor and the deranged expression he’d seen on Justin Winters’ face. He would repeat the two simple words that had been uttered with animalian ferocity. And he would shake his head and wonder why he hadn’t realized that something was very wrong.
Justin Winters hadn’t been right since surviving the crash and subsequent coma. Somebody should have noticed. Someone should have stopped him.
But that was impossible.
His mission was ordained by the Collective.
Nothing could stop it from being carried out.
If he failed for some reason or refused to finish the job, they would only send someone else or perhaps simply allow the threat already looming over her to find fruition. Either way Cain would die as well.
The thought of dying evoked no reaction in him. But the mere idea of Caroline being hurt pierced him like a sword. Cut off his ability to breathe. Anguish curled and knotted inside him until he had to resist the urge to double over with the pain of it.
He searched for that neutral place he’d once possessed. That place of nothingness where he performed without regret or consideration of consequence. It was gone now. Banished by the woman who had reached deep inside him and touched his heart, bringing it to life in a way that he had not known existed.
On the monitor Caroline’s secretary entered her office. Cain eased closer, listening carefully to the audio, which had failed him yesterday during Winslow’s visit. He knew for certain now that the cagey bastard had used a jamming device. Probably one designed by Center like that Cain himself carried.
“File these documents as appropriate,” Caroline instructed, “and call Congressman Winslow for me and let him know I’d like to meet with him to discuss moving forward on his proposal.”
The secretary took the documents and left the office assuring the president that she would take care of it right away.
Cain’s fingers clenched as the cold hard reality stabbed deep into his chest.
He had his orders.
There was nothing else he could do.
CAROLINE LOOKED UP as her husband entered her office. She couldn’t help smiling. She did so love to watch him move. A blush heated her skin as she thought of all the ways they had made love the past few nights. She hadn’t thought it possible to reach that level of blissful exhaustion.
“Are you planning to join us for lunch?” She glanced at her schedule. “I know how much you love those fine gentlemen from the oil industry.”
Two representatives of the American Oil Association had finagled a luncheon with the president in hopes of garnering support for their cause. Caroline had her own ideas about a few things the oil producers needed to do, but everyone knew that the black roots of oil ran deep in the White House soil. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could ignore them. Whatever decisions she made, she would give them an audience just as she did others on many, many matters that affected this great nation.
She frowned. “Are you all right, Justin?”
He moved silently toward her, his expression tight with what looked like pain.
She met him halfway, taking his hands in hers and surveying him for visible signs of whatever was causing him such obvious discomfort.
“Please,” she urged when he remained silent. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He pulled free of her hands and lifted his to cup her face. The muscles of his throat worked as he fought to swallow or speak. Dear God, she didn’t want to think what had happened to put him in this sort of agony.
His eyes never leaving hers, he slowly lowered his mouth until it closed firmly over hers. In that final second before her eyes closed she was certain she saw tears in his.
He kissed her, tenderly at first, then harder. His fingers slid down to curl around her throat. He drew her nearer, his fingers tightening to an almost painful grip. But she wasn’t afraid. Not in the least.
“I love you,” she murmured between kisses.
His fingers abruptly relaxed and he pulled away from her. Startled she peered up into his eyes to find them wide with uncertainty…something along those lines.
“I have to go.”
“Justin!” she called after him, but he didn’t look back, just kept walking until he was out of her office. She moved to the door and watched him disappear down the corridor. Her fingers went to her throat where her skin still burned from his punishing grip.
Whatever had happened to upset him like this had to be connected to the accident. Somehow she had to convince him to have that follow-up physical. There could be underlying trouble that had gone undiagnosed.
Her telephone rang and she moved back to her desk. Putting the worrisome thoughts aside, she pressed the intercom button.
“Madam President, a Special Agent Marvin Shaw is on line one for you. He represents Quantico’s forensics department.”
Agent Copeland’s friend. “Thank you, Barbara.”
Caroline quickly picked up the receiver and pressed the button for line one. “Hello, Agent Shaw.”
“Good afternoon, Madam President. I have the results of your voice analysis.”
“Thank you, Agent Shaw. I really appreciate your taking the time to do this.” Now she would know if the voice that kept taunting her was really Justin’s and maybe some insight as to how someone had devised the calls, since her husband certainly hadn’t made them.
“Let me say it’s a pleasure to be of service to you, ma’am. Please feel free to call upon me anytime.”
Caroline struggled to put the disturbing incident with Justin aside and settled into her chair. “I’ll remember that, Agent Shaw. What were your conclusions regarding the recording?”
“Well, ma’am, I don’t know how this came about. But the voice on the recording is definitely a match to the samples you provided of your husband’s voice.”
Shock radiated through Caroline. Agent Copeland had provided a couple of recordings of Justin’s interviews before the crash.
“You’re sure about that?” She hadn’t really expected that analysis. She’d expected to learn it was a fake in either content or development.
“Yes, Madam President, I’m positive.”
“Then someone doctored it. Created the recording from bits and pieces retrieved from recordings of his voice.” Justin had been recorded in various settings. In interviews as the spouse of a presidential candidate and then as the First Husband. He’d played that one to the hilt. That didn’t even include his work. He was always traveling around doing speeches in one capacity or another.
“President Winters, I’m afraid this is no doctored recording. This is the real McCoy. Mr. Winters’ voice sounds a bit slurred at times. The slur pattern is consistent with intoxication or medicated levels where speech is impaired. But there is no question as to whose voice is on the recording. Every marker is a match. Every last one.”
“Thank you, Agent Shaw. I appreciate your help.”
Caroline didn’t actually remember ending the call. But the receiver made its way back to the cradle so she must have. She stood there for a long time unable to form a coherent thought.
Why would Justin make those recordings and have someone play them to taunt her? It didn’t make sense. What did he hope to accomplish? And what about the agent’s words about the slur pattern of the voice indicating intoxication or perhaps a certain level of medication?
The hospital. He’d made those calls from the hospital. She was sure of it. Maybe not of his own free will. Obviously whoever else was involved still intended to go through with whatever crazy scheme he’d originally concocted.
Caroline buzzed her secretary. “Get me the administrator of that hospital where Mr. Winters was discovered. I need to speak with him immediately.”
“Right away, President Winters.”
Two minutes later her phone buzzed. “The hospita
l administrator is standing by,” Barbara announced.
Caroline quickly snatched up the phone. “Mr. Ramirez,” she said breathlessly, “I apologize for having to bother you but—”
“Madam President, this is Senor Garcia. I am the acting administrator.”
Worry furrowed across her forehead. “I need to speak with Mr. Ramirez,” she urged. “It’s urgent.”
“I’m afraid that is most impossible, madam. Mr. Ramirez is dead.”
Shock reverberated through her. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She moistened her lips. She had to speak to someone who had taken care of her husband. “Perhaps I could speak with Dr. Hernandez. He was in charge of my husband’s care—”
“Dr. Hernandez is dead as well.”
Ice slid through Caroline’s veins. Desperation surged. “There…there was a nurse. I can’t remember her name but she—”
“Madam, there is no one to talk to regarding your husband’s stay here.” He fell silent a moment. During that infinitesimal space in time Caroline’s knees went weak beneath her and she had to sit.
“They are all dead, Madam President,” Mr. Garcia went on solemnly. “Murdered. The police are still investigating the matter. Your husband’s medical file was taken. An investigator from your country came, but he did not share his conclusions.”
An investigator? “Do you remember the investigator’s name?” Her heart stumbled with anticipation…or maybe fear.
“I am sorry, madam, I do not recall.”
Caroline ended the call, then dropped the phone back into place. She struggled to draw in air.
They were all dead.
The voice in the recording was Justin.
Someone from the U.S. had gone down and looked into the murders. But who? Why had no one told her what happened?
She clasped her icy fingers together and tried to think of what to do.