The Candidate (Romantic Suspense) (The Candidate Series)

by Josie Brown

  The vision seemed real enough, caught there in the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window. The sight of her took his breath away. Not because she was naked, but because she was so beautiful, even more than he remembered.

  Only when she grazed his lips with hers did he truly believe she was there with him.

  “How did you get in?” He should have been cross. Certainly not aroused and aching.

  She laughed that husky, honeyed chuckle that made his groin ache in anticipation every time he heard it. “Silly Ben! Everyone leaves a key under the mat. Or, like you, above the door sill.” She dangled his key playfully then tossed it to him before sliding under the sheet next to him, cuddling up to his chest.

  Angrily, he sat up. With all he wanted to say to her, all he could manage to stammer out was: “So…you’re her twin? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  That had her laughing. “I was wondering when you’d find out.” The sheet drifted off her breast as she propped herself up on one elbow. “I guess because it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Just what do you mean by that? For Christ sakes, you’re Andy’s sister-in-law, and I’m running his campaign! Look, Maddy, if I had known—”

  “What? What would you have done? Would you have quit fucking me, Ben?”

  My candidate’s sister-in-law? Yeah, I would have quit—

  Hell no. Who am I kidding?

  Not Maddy. The look on her face told him so. God, he wanted her even now.

  As if reading his mind she reached down and put her hand on his crotch.

  He almost exploded.

  She smiled triumphantly.

  As badly as he wanted to take her right then and there, he grabbed her wrist and yanked it away. “What, are you crazy? Let’s not forget that I can lose my job over this little incident of mistaken identity! What if Preston, or Paul—or God forbid, your sister—had seen us making out in the lobby—“

  “What if they had seen you, practically raping me in the elevator?” She pressed a long tapered finger to her lips in mock shock. “Frankly, I think they would have been jealous.”

  “This is no laughing matter, Maddy.” He closed his eyes to clear his mind of the image that had popped into it: his hand, tearing at the seam of Maddy’s red velvet gown as it made its way to the warm thigh beneath it. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that—well, this isn’t going to work out.” And no one is sadder about that than me.

  “You’re wrong. It works perfectly, because neither of us wants this relationship to go public. And it shouldn’t. Ben, seriously, it has nothing to do with anyone but us. That is, if we want to stay fuck buddies.”

  Fuck buddies. Ben couldn’t believe his ears. Keeping it on the lowdown, with no obligations, no drama? Tantalizing...

  “Interesting proposition. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but do you mind me telling why you don’t want anyone to know about us?”

  “Because it’s no one else’s business. Ben, you have no idea what it’s like to be a Vandergalen. The one thing I want more than anything—anonymity—I can’t have, because of my name. Frankly, that’s why you and I are perfect for each other. And not just in the obvious way.” She cast her eyes lovingly at his cock. “Besides, Andy needs you on his team. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I want that for him—and for Abby? If he wins, we all do. So let’s just keep things spontaneous. You know, friends with benefits. It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

  “But don’t you think it’ll be somewhat awkward when we run into each other at his political events? I know it will be for me.”

  “You know better than anyone what Andy’s schedule will be like, from now until the end of primaries. Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I just won’t go to any.” Her face hardened. “Abby won’t expect me there, anyway. We aren’t that close. We lead very different lives.”

  The pictures in Kenny’s file were proof of that.

  Ben sighed. Seriously, if they both kept their mouths shut, what was the downside? In hindsight, it was flattering to think that she was the one trying to keep their relationship under wraps so that his job wouldn’t be jeopardized—

  But he knew better than that. Whatever her reasons were, he couldn’t fathom them now, not with her hands roaming between his thighs, cupping his balls...

  By the time she knelt down and took him in her mouth, he could care less about her reason for secrecy. He had already forgiven her.

  Chapter 11

  “I just looooove that man,” cooed the legs-up-to-there single-mommy Bally’s showgirl to her much shorter gal pal, the croupier from the MGM Grand. “Deep down in my heart, I truly believe that we’ll finally get universal healthcare if he’s elected.”

  Her friend shushed her loudly. But Ben, who was standing just behind the women, gave a silent prayer of thanks. And they weren’t the only ones enthralled with what they were hearing from Senator Andrew Jackson Mansfield at the candidate’s town hall meeting there in the Clark County Library’s large theater. Ben flipped through the 399 reservation profile cards so that he could match names and occupations to those who sat in the seat numbers around the two women. The faces that went with the cards he chose—five self-employeds, three housewives, and a long distance trucker—were also nodding involuntarily as they leaned forward to catch each inspiring word.

  Because Andy Mansfield was on fire.

  Like a Baptist preacher at a revival meeting, Andy’s voice, nuanced with compassion, filled the auditorium with the strength of his conviction. “In recent years, my friends, we have witnessed drastic changes—affecting our jobs, our environment, and our personal lives.”

  Without missing a beat, he took the cordless microphone with him as he strolled off the stage in order to pace up and down the broad aisle that divided the auditorium. “But while the world changes around us, our leaders have stood still. Answer this: Which leaders inspire our nation and lead us to the good deeds that need to be done? We have seen Washington grow small-minded and mean-spirited as our politics have devolved and our goals have dissolved. But of course it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  He then paused in front of a young couple. Taking their hands in his own, he nudged them to rise so that they stood with him. “But real change comes from people. Citizens like you, and like me, who demand more of government, and who recognize that educating our children and securing the benefits of modern healthcare for rich and poor alike are of greater importance than the politics of greed and personal gain.”

  Victoriously, he raised their hands high. “With me as your president, you’ll have the government you deserve.” The whole room rose, clapping and hooting, and Ben along with it. The crowd’s adoration was contagious.

  Listen to them, Ben thought. If the primaries were held today, he’d win. No contest.

  “You’re some lucky dog, ain’t you now? Your man there is pure gold.” The good ol’ boy growling into Ben’s earpiece was Eddie Klein, the renowned ad man. The very first person recruited by Ben for Team Mansfield, Ed had come with a couple of cameramen to tape some man-of-the-people crowd shots. From them he would mold the senator’s vision into simple market-specific soundbites, and see that the public was hit over the head with it every time they turned on their TV or logged onto their computers.

  Ben looked up to the control booth above and behind the audience, and gave Eddie a thumbs-up. Hell yeah, Andy was golden. A god among men.

  And he’d soon be the next President of the United States.

  In a whirlwind six days—just in time for Ben and Andy’s first eleven-city road trip together—Ben had hobbled together a fairly decent staff that included twenty-five paid professionals, plus another ten volunteers. Besides Eddie for advertising and Kenny for background and due diligence, there was Jilly O’Connor, a seasoned press secretary whose blunt honesty kept her on the good side of reporters and pundits.

  And there was Spike Levine, the pollster who had revolutionized the industry when he took reg
istration-based sampling one step further by marrying it to a software program that searched voters’ credit card charges for items reflecting hot button issues such as healthcare, education, gun control, gasoline, and philanthropies, giving his polls an accuracy level of plus-or-minus one percent.

  Ben had also wrangled retired Air Force Major General Carver Elson, and former Secretary of State John Parks, as Andy’s foreign-policy advisers. Elson would rally other high profile experts into a fluid advisory team that would always be at the senator’s fingertips. Parks joined Mansfield’s road show. An A-Team of economic advisors was also set up, including economists, former CEOs of various financial institutions, even a former Secretary of the Treasury. They all had one thing in common: they abhorred Talbot’s neocon-driven agenda. “His BS is dividing the party, and putting our soldiers in harm’s way unnecessarily,” growled Elson.

  Of course Paul Twist was the campaign’s finance chair. And he had already hired Terry Loehman to spearhead the big-ticket fundraisers in key markets. Terry was to be aided by his longtime partner Pat, a professional event planner. Both had Ben’s admiration.

  The biggest recruiting coup was convincing the renowned Mallory sisters, Bess and Tess, to run Mansfield’s ground war: that is, organize and rally the senator’s national volunteer corps by precincts, districts and states. But Ben could take no credit for that win. Democratic stalwarts through and through, initially they had declined his invitation to hop the fence. What it took was a one-on-one meeting with Andy. After hearing his heartfelt no-holds-barred pitch, they readily jumped onboard.

  “Dreamy,” was what Tess called him. Or was it Bess? Ben could never tell the roly-poly gray-haired sisters apart.

  Like now, as one of them corralled some eager audience members for the Q&A lineup. Which twin was holding the mike? Not that it mattered. At that very moment, all that counted was the adoration for Andy in the participants’ eyes.

  The first one up, a bookstore employee named Cindy, was so awed and nervous that Ben winced as she wrangled with the squirming baby in her arms. “I work a full-time job, my husband works two. Still we can’t make ends meet! And none of our jobs offer healthcare for ‘part-time’ employees. Not to mention that the cost of food and gas just keeps going up! When do we become the priority of our government?”

  A chorus of “Ahhhh” echoed through the theater as Andy took the child from its mother and rocked it on his shoulder. “Even in Kitty Hawk, the small town where I grew up, we knew our neighbors, and as a community we recognized that we were only as strong as those who were most in need. Of course back then we had a middle class. Today we have the haves and the have-nots. And yet, we can’t afford to ignore the needs of the many for the financial gains of the few. Cindy, that’s not my North Carolina. And that’s not my America. Nor is it yours.”

  Still cradling her child, Andy put an arm around Cindy. Through his earpiece, Ben heard Eddie shout “Fucking A! That’s the money shot...” In his mind’s eye, Ben could see the TV ad already. Andy’s closing comments made it all that much better:

  “Together we can change that, and restore the American dream—where every hardworking individual has the opportunity to achieve, to see their children’s dreams succeed. So the short answer to your question as to when you become your government’s priority: It’s my first day in the Oval Office.”

  As one, the crowd jumped to its feet, but this time it stayed there, stomping and chanting “An-dy! An-dy! An-dy...”

  Ben, too, chanted along with the crowd. Andy didn’t just woo potential voters. He inspired them. And he never sidestepped a hot issue with a pat answer. Instead he gave them the unvarnished truth, backed up by statistics that flowed easily off the tip of his tongue.

  Best yet, he did it standing side-by-side with them, looking them in the eye, letting them know that he was accessible. That he was one of them.

  For the first time in over a decade, Ben actually liked one of his candidates.

  Chapter 12

  The feeling was mutual. Ben found that out when they landed back in Washington and Andy asked if he’d join him for a late night drink at his favorite dive bar, a pool hall called Bedrock Billiards, to meet the men he called “my brothers, the only guys I can trust.”

  The group was small but choice. Besides Paul Twist, who had already shed his very expensive Savile Row suit jacket and loosened his Armani tie, its only other member was a man Andy introduced as Fred Hanover.

  “Fred and I served together in the Marine Corps,” Andy explained. “We met during a six-month deployment to Iwakuni. I was his section leader. Now Fred is at Langley.”

  Bulky and slack-jawed, Fred could easily have passed as one of the dozen or so old school frat boys slouched over the pool hall’s vintage bright cherry leather barstools, watching the Capitols getting out-skated by the Hurricanes. Except for one thing: his eyes scanned the pool hall constantly, roaming over faces, taking in every random move. No doubt he had watched Ben as he got his bearings in the crowded, darkly lit room and maneuvered over to them.

  Ben immediately recognized Fred from the Washingtonian article on the Mansfields’ wedding: he was the redheaded groomsman who had stood beside Maddy.

  So now he’s CIA, thought Ben.

  After crunching Ben’s hand in his massive fist, Fred busied himself with racking balls for a game of Eight-Ball. In the meantime Paul signaled the waitress for a round of beers.

  She was adorable, a Kewpie doll with strawberry curls and a chest that filled out her tight black tee-shirt to the stretching point. By the way she batted her thick lashes at Andy, it was obvious that she recognized him. But other than a formal nod when she placed a Flying Dog on his coaster, he didn’t give her a second glance.

  As she walked off, Fred elbowed Paul, who sighed, pulled out his wallet and handed over a dollar bill.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

  Fred chuckled. “No big deal. Just a little bet we have going. Andy attracts girls like a flower attracts bees. But I’ve yet to see him even look twice at another woman. Years ago Paul here was stupid enough to call my bluff. I’d say that, by the end of this election, I’ll have enough money to retire from my day job.”

  Andy pretended to concentrate on his shot, but he smiled just the same. When the cue ball smacked into two striped balls, they hurdled off into separate corner pockets.

  That a boy. Keep your eyes on the prize.

  Ben knew too many politicians whose tastes for bedfellows were both strange and insatiable. What was Abby’s hold over her husband, her bankability or her bedside manner?

  For whatever reason, she hadn’t been able to make the Las Vegas trip with them, so he hadn’t had an opportunity to observe her himself, let alone thank her for suggesting him for the job.

  Feeling Ben’s eyes on him, Andy laughed. “You seem positively relieved, Brinker. Hey, I don’t blame you, after what you’ve been through.” He tossed Ben the cue stick. “What can I say? Abby is one in a million. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her. I mean, look at all she’s doing so that I get elected. With all I know about this rotten world, I guess I’m a fool to run.” He looked Ben straight in the eye. “But Abby believes—and I do, too—that we can save this planet before we push it to the point of no return. It’s why we have to win.”

  Ben shrugged. “Global warming, the environment—they’re all great campaign issues—”

  “No. You don’t get it. This is more than that...” He stopped, at a loss for words. “Look, Ben, do you fly?”

  Ben laughed. “Sure, back in tourist. It’s the quickest way to get from point A to point B.”

  “Agreed. I guess that’s the goal in everything we do in life, right?” Andy stared out into the pool hall, his eyes sweeping over the crowd that was cheering a last minute save by the Capitols’ goalie. “As for me—well, I fly because I love it. In the cockpit, surrounded by a sound set of wings, a competent pilot is truly in command of his own destiny. Any journ
ey is what you make of it. And, if you follow the waypoints, you’ll never lose your way.”

  “Waypoints? What are those?”

  “Landmarks you’ve identified beforehand, that will guide you to your destination. As long as you keep them in your sights, you’ll stay on the right path.” He paused. “All the paths we aim for in life have very clear markers. But sometimes, when we think we know it all, we ignore them. We look for shortcuts. That’s when we run off-course. And into trouble. If it weren’t for Abby, I’d be so far off track! She keeps me on the straight and narrow. She is my angel.”

  Andy’s angel.

  Long ago Ben had noted that a politician’s wife fell into one of two categories: either she had an opinion on everything and made a nuisance of herself, or you had to drag her along for the ride, kicking and screaming.

  Abby’s innate shyness put her in the latter category.

  Rarely did a politician’s wife realize that the best place for her in the vast scheme of things was at her husband’s side, smiling demurely—but only for the photo op. Afterward, between elections, she was free to slip offstage, where she could enjoy her reward for playing the game so well—the perks that came with his power.

  Whether she used the perks for her own personal pleasure or for some worthy cause was between her and her conscience—that is, as long as any press she garnered was good for her husband.

  Better yet, she should avoid the press altogether. Except during election season, obviously.

  Thank God the campaign was just now gearing up. But the way Andy was already breathing down Talbot’s neck, Abby’s absence from the campaign trail would become an issue sooner than later.

  Ben couldn’t help but think about Maddy. Was she truly a part of his future, perhaps his angel?

  I guess it’s too early to tell.

  “Seems that we’re already rattling a few important cages. We just got a big donation from Tully Broadbent, the high-tech entrepreneur. He’s never veered from the party favorite. That’s causing the old boys a shit fit.” Paul’s breaking shot slammed the balls into every corner of the pool table. The nine ball fell into a pocket, as did the thirteen. He pumped his fist then took a swig of his Guinness.