by Laura Hayden
“Someone walked in?”
“Yes.”
“Got it. See you tonight.”
That evening, Kate knew the minute that Nick walked into the room simply by the look on Emily’s face. Others might not have recognized the very brief flash of irritation across her face, but Kate knew it all too well.
The commander in chief was not happy, and she wasted no time in complaining to Kate.
“What’s he doing here?” she said in a terse whisper.
Kate lied. “I don’t know. But I’ll get rid of him.”
“You do that,” Emily said while nodding and greeting the people in the reception line. “I’ve already given him as much slack as I can stomach.”
Kate caught Nick’s eye and gestured toward the door where he’d just entered. She followed him as he wheeled about and stepped into the hallway.
He crooked a smile only after he was out of Emily’s view. “Her Majesty is not pleased.”
“Of course not. Her Majesty will never be pleased. You know that.”
To her surprise, Nick chided her. “Hey, give her a break. She went to a funeral today for a very close friend. She’s allowed to be in a bad mood.”
Kate hated to admit that not only was he right, but he was being much more solicitous than she was at the moment. “Point taken.” She looked around to make sure no one could overhear them. “By the way, I’m out here reading you the riot act for showing up.”
He looked confused. “But you invited me.”
“I did. But Emily doesn’t know that and never needs to know that.”
“Why?”
She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him, forcing him to follow her. “Because I have a very big problem, and you’re the only person I can trust.”
“Me? Wow. I mean, don’t you have all sorts of people who are supposed to do what you say? The FBI, CIA, NSA?”
“Not this time.” She continued walking. “Just look irritated as we talk so anyone passing us thinks I’m getting you out of Emily’s eyesight and giving you what for.”
He stumbled along with her, keeping up the act. “So, I guess this means I have no chance of getting a little face time with the ambassador tonight?”
She offered a plastic smile and nod of greeting to a couple coming their direction. After they passed, she whispered, “No, but I promise I’ll make it up to you another time.”
As they continued along the hallway, they passed by several more guests and a couple of aides. Kate knew the aides would be instrumental in providing the rumor mill with this particular bit of gristle—the chief of staff intercepting the president’s ex-husband and hustling him out of the White House. The gossipmongers and pundits would delight in the news.
Time to add a bit to the drama. “I don’t care how you got on the invitation list,” she said a bit louder than she normally would. “We both know this isn’t a good idea.”
Nick gave her a questioning look but played along nonetheless. “Don’t blame me. I got the invitation, I responded, and I came. How was I to know Emily knew nothing about it?”
She led him past the Map Room and had the key to the medical clinic already in her hand, so it took only a moment to unlock the door and guide him in.
“I’m not sick,” he joked once they were safely inside, the door locked behind them and the lights switched on.
She released the breath she’d been holding. “I am. Sick with worry.” At his reaction to the room, she shook her head. “It’s okay. No one will interrupt us here. I made sure of it.”
Kate had planned carefully, trying to find a location that was both close to the reception and would offer them complete privacy. Being the White House chief of staff meant she could get the keys to specific offices without too many questions, and the White House physician’s on-site clinic filled the bill nicely.
She’d arranged for the entire on call medical staff to be treated to a movie premiere in the White House theater as a personal thank-you for their speedy reaction to Dozier’s collapse. They’d still be only steps away from the president should any medical emergencies arise.
Nick settled himself on the couch. “Okay, Kate. Why all the skulduggery?”
Kate contemplated sitting on the arm of the couch but knew she wouldn’t be able to sit still. So instead, she began to pace the small office, spilling her guts and telling him everything that had transpired—Dozier’s deathbed confession, Jack Marsh’s involvement, and Emily’s plans.
As she explained, Nick’s posture shifted from a carefree “Tell me a story” pose until, as she finished, he was perched on the edge of the couch, elbows planted on his knees and his head cradled in his palms as if the details were making his head ache.
After she finished her recitation, he sighed noisily into his hands, then looked up at her. “You honestly think Dozier had something to do with the crash?”
Now that her nervous energy had been given an outlet and she’d been able to actually voice the story, fatigue set in, and she dropped somewhat ungracefully to the couch and sat next to him. “I’m not sure,” she said, stifling a sudden yawn. “All he said was that it was his fault and that he didn’t mean for her to die. But he was pretty straightforward about the blackmail part.”
“Oh, man . . .” He shook his head, then spoke again, his voice low. “So what can I do to help?”
An unexpected sense of relief coursed through her. She hadn’t been sure whether his sympathy for her plight might be overwhelmed by his glee in Emily’s predicament. “Emily has asked Jack to do the ‘dirty work’ so no one can say that the White House had a hand in it. All I want you to do is get to the files before he does.”
He glanced up again, this time shock etched in his features. “You mean you want me to steal them?”
Her stomach clinched at the thought. “Absolutely not! I don’t want you to do anything but get a copy of them before any changes are made.”
His gaze narrowed. “How is an archive copy going to help?”
“I’m not sure, but if any of this is made public and people learn that changes were made, then without a basis of comparison, they can make it out for much worse than it actually was.”
“So if anyone catches wind of this and starts to scream scandal, you can pull out a copy of the original and show that the changes weren’t as invasive as they could have been.”
“Exactly. And a copy dated . . . let’s say, tomorrow, would show that any changes were done posthumously, helping to substantiate that we didn’t know anything about it until after Dozier’s death.”
Nick remained quiet for almost a minute, and Kate wasn’t sure whether his silence meant he wasn’t going to help after all.
A split second before she reached her breaking point, he looked up. “Are you sure Emily didn’t know anything about this beforehand?”
“About Dozier’s finances?”
He nodded. “It sounds like something she would have cooked up with him on the sly. I was never privy to all of their secrets.”
She thought back to Emily’s genuine expression of shock. After the last year of the campaign, Kate had decided she’d become an expert at reading the truth—no matter how bitter or poignant—in Emily’s face.
“No,” she said, hoping she sounded as resolute as she felt. “The news took both of us by complete and total surprise.”
He wore his doubt as plainly as his displeasure. “I know it surprised you, but can you really be so sure about Emily? Neither you nor I had any inkling about the toll road debacle. She hid that from everyone with a straight face.”
Kate searched her memory and her heart for the answer. After two hard years working on the campaign, she felt as if her sense of naiveté had been chipped away to the point that she couldn’t help but view almost everything—Emily included—with a jaded eye. But this time, she knew the answer wasn’t built on her hope or faith in her friend, but in raw facts and experience.
“I’d stake my life on it.”
She watch
ed his expression go from doubtful to resolute.
“Good enough for me. That settles it, then. I’m in.” Nick stood. “But one more question. Why me?”
Why him indeed? Kate had already asked herself that, and the answer was twofold. “Because I trusted you before with sensitive information about Emily, and you didn’t abuse that trust. Plus, you’re the last person Emily expects to get involved in this. She’s counting on me to follow my usual operating procedure. As far as that goes, she knows exactly which investigators I always trust when I’m facing covert issues. So I know she’s keeping an eye on them.”
Confusion filled his face. “I thought you said Emily thinks you’re completely on board with her plans.”
“She’s 98 percent sure I’m in agreement with her, but the 2 percent of doubt will make her wary. She’ll watch me and the people I trust like a hawk.”
He gave her a critical once-over that made her feel as if he could see right through her protective shell and view all of her discomfort, her fears, her worries, and her sense of guilt for essentially working against her president. “You’ve changed. You’re more . . . skeptical, less trusting than you used to be.”
“Once burned . . .” She shrugged. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ve been a bit too trusting when it comes to Emily. She’s no less susceptible to temptation than anyone else.”
“Maybe more so. You know what they say about what absolute power brings.”
“Yeah. And all I want to do is make sure she’s not erasing something that doesn’t need to be erased.” Kate stood, reached into her evening bag, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper on which she’d scribbled a grocery list. Embedded in the list were the names of the three holding companies that she’d spent most of the late afternoon and early evening tracking down.
She handed him the paper. “Here’s where to start.”
He examined the list, raising an eyebrow over her unusual precaution, then slipped the paper into his inner jacket pocket.
“I’m afraid time may be of the essence. I just hope we’re not too late.”
“I’ll do my best.” He paused and took her hands in his. “You know I’m not doing this for Emily.” He waited a moment; then his face grew a little red as he quirked a brief smile. “Okay, so part of it’s for Emily. I consider this part of the reparation that I need to make to her for the years I spent more time in the bottle than I did with her. But I’m also doing this because I consider you a good friend.”
When he made eye contact with her, his momentary flush faded, and she found herself caught up in the seriousness and sincerity of his expression.
Kate wasn’t sure why she reacted like she did. She wasn’t an impetuous woman, but she did understand the value of taking proper advantage of a situation. Maybe that’s why she stood on her toes, reached up, and kissed him.
THE KISS WAS SHORT, furtive, and the instant she pulled away, a thousand accusations flooded her mind, making her feel as confident as some idiot schoolgirl acting on her first crush.
“I’m sorry,” she said, secretly thrilled she hadn’t stuttered through her schoolgirl’s apology.
In a perfect world, he would have said, “You have nothing to apologize for,” and then planted a kiss worthy of the movies on her. But this was the real White House, not an episode of The West Wing.
Nick looked thoroughly uncomfortable.
Rather than repeat her apology, she scanned the clinic’s reception area, spotted a shelf of everyday first aid supplies, and grabbed an adhesive bandage.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Put this on and it’ll explain why we were in here.”
Nick opened the package, pulled out the bandage, then hesitated. He held it out to her. “You do it.” He pointed to his head, then bent at the knees so she could better reach his forehead.
After the fact, Kate realized that sometimes the unsuspecting actors in an unscripted drama do hit their cues right.
Her hand remained steady as she peeled off the backing from the small bandage and then placed it near his hairline, covering the scar he sported from the attack months ago.
She felt his breath on her face as she inspected her handiwork. Then she felt his lips touch hers.
Although her mind swirled with thoughts, they only served to provide a pastel backdrop to the emotions that created broad strokes of color in her mind. Reason and logic didn’t disappear completely, but the thrill of the moment certainly pushed them to the back of her thoughts.
After several seconds, he pulled away.
“Where did that come from?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.”
He leaned his head against hers. “I didn’t expect to feel anything. I even told myself I couldn’t feel anything. You’re Kate. You’re my ex-wife’s best friend.”
“I know what you mean. You’re my best friend’s ex-husband. It violates the BFF code.”
“BFF?”
“Best friends forever.”
He nodded, instantly understanding the implications. “Yeah, I can’t imagine that Emily would approve.”
The words came instantly and with a sense of candor that astonished Kate, even as she spoke. “I don’t need her permission or her approval.”
He kissed her again, this time longer and with an increased sense of urgency. When he pulled back, he drew in a long breath. “This is definitely not what I expected to happen tonight.”
“What did you expect?”
“Decent hors d’oeuvres, a glass of tonic water, schmoozing with as many people as I could, twenty seconds or so with the ambassador, and Emily glaring at me all evening long.” He cupped Kate’s face in his hand. “Instead, I get a James Bond assignment and a make-out session in a closet.”
She pretended to take offense at his assessment. “We did not make out. And this isn’t a closet.”
He gave the room a sweeping glance. “Okay, but it would have sounded much worse if I said we had a make-out session in a doctor’s office.”
“True.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Let me live my fantasy. You’ve given me my assignment. Let me go prove that I’m worthy of your trust.”
And love? She was glad she only thought the words rather than said them because it was far too early to even begin to think along those lines. It was just a simple kiss, she thought as he started toward the door.
Three kisses, she corrected herself.
When Kate returned to the Diplomatic Reception Room, Emily caught her attention immediately, those arching eyebrows communicating, Well? with little effort.
Kate negotiated the crowded room, sidestepping clusters of people deep in conversation. She plastered an artificial smile on her face, hoping it masked the real smile that still lingered.
“Well?”
“Our guest left without any problem. However, he had been officially invited.”
“By whom?”
Kate lifted her hands. “I assume by the same person who invited him to the inaugural ball.”
“Then you’d assume wrong. The ball, yes. This? No.”
Kate hadn’t come unprepared. She leaned closer and whispered, “I didn’t want to say anything, but I think Dozier might have engineered the invitation. And since I doubt it was for any altruistic reasons, he must have had something planned to embarrass Nick or something like that.”
The explanation seemed to satisfy Emily. “Yeah, or something like that.”
The rest of the reception went off as planned. Emily made her farewell at 9:00. At 9:01, White House aides began to circulate in the room and insert themselves politely in the various conversation clusters and congenially say, “The president thanks you for spending the evening with us. We hope you have a safe trip back home.” It was their gentle way of saying, “Now it’s time for you to leave. So leave, already.” It worked with most of the partygoers who were well aware that the White House had a schedule that only major disasters or declarations of war would interrupt.
Those attendees who didn’t get the initial message were reminded two minutes later by Secret Service agents who were no less polite, but whose presence was much harder to ignore.
By 9:05 the room had been cleared of all guests, food, and dirty dishes.
Kate went back to her office, gathered her things, and headed home, where she remained awake almost all night, fretting about the “mission” she’d sent Nick on. She kept reminding herself that her motives were pure—to protect Emily from herself. Kate had no intention of whipping out the copy of the original documents in order to point an accusing finger. But in case Emily’s carefully made plans exploded in her face—as Kate feared they might—she wanted to be able to clarify exactly what had been changed.
But despite reassuring herself, Kate’s heart and her conscience warred to see which one felt heavier. Every now and then, she whispered a quick prayer.
“Tell me I’m doing the right thing, Lord.”
When neither her heart nor her conscience felt the burden lift, she couldn’t help but worry that she’d chosen the wrong path for the right reasons.
Just as she had finally decided to rethink the situation in the morning and given herself permission to sleep, the phone rang.
Buster woke from his deep sleep with a confused howl. Kate automatically reached with one hand to pat him and reassure him that the mean old phone meant him no harm while using her other hand to find the mean old phone on her bed stand.
“Kate? It’s Nick Beaudry.”
She heard something in his voice she didn’t like. “What’s wrong?”
“I need a lawyer.”
Every muscle in her body tightened. What had she gotten him into?
“Why? Are you in trouble?”
“No.” He paused, then repeated, “No. Not trouble. But I have two agents here who want to ask me a lot of questions, and I’ve declined to answer them until I have my lawyer present. They seem insistent on asking them right now.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Interesting timing, don’t you think?”