The Candidate (Romantic Suspense) (The Candidate Series)

by Josie Brown

  He typed in one last backspace, then nodded toward the computer’s screen. “There, your site is secure again. I’ll have your network’s server cleared up within the hour. Fred says that the Talbot campaign is claiming that they’ve been hacked too, but I agree with him: that’s just some CYA bullshit. They just want to throw some stank on the Dems. But here’s the beauty part: as payback, I created a file they won't be able to resist. It's labeled ‘VIP Donors’, but it's really a Trojan dropper.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “A super-virus that corrupts the hacker’s system. It will also search their server for any Ghost Squad activity. Whatever it finds will be forwarded to one of Fred's email accounts, and archived in a secure cloud that only he and I can access. ”

  Ben shook his head in awe. “Jesus...So, how did Fred find you?”

  “He didn’t. I found him.” The kid looked up again. “When I hacked into my father’s file, it included a report from Fred. He’d been observing my dad’s key interrogator, some sadist named Smith. Something my dad said made Fred realize that Pop wasn’t the attempted assassin. He tried hard to override Smith, to get my father released. Unfortunately the asshole who was running the agency denied the request. Not that it mattered. By the time it made it to his desk, Smith had killed my father. They claimed it was a suicide.”

  “What did your father do in civilian life?”

  “He was a CFO for Dia Petróleo, the Venezuelan subsidiary of Sundial Oil.” Digits shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt a flea, but knew where the bodies were buried. And the money, too.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Eleven years ago. Padilla had only been dictator for a year.”

  Eleven years ago. At that point in time, Ben realized, Clemson Talbot was CIA director.

  It was too much of a coincidence.

  Chapter 20

  “He’s got them on the run, and everyone knows it!” In her excitement Abby clenched Ben’s hand so hard that her wedding ring struck a nerve in his palm.

  He winced but didn’t let go. Heck, why would he? Every time she touched him, he imagined it was Maddy.

  It was late March. They were standing in the back of the Air Force One Pavilion at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, watching as Andy, Clemson Talbot, and the only other Republican in the race—the evangelicals’ candidate of choice, Congressman Clyde Dooley—debated each other in the first of a series of multi-candidate appearances sponsored by the Republican National Committee. Political pundits had already pronounced it Talbot’s to lose, whereas Andy only had to reiterate the key points of his platform to come out the victor.

  He was doing that with his usual charismatic ease. “Vice President Talbot wants to placate America with half-truths and fear. Why not just the facts, Mr. Vice President?”

  He played to the camera, which zoomed in on his handsome, square-jawed face. “Here’s one very important fact: Our government now wastes 35 billion dollars on subsidies to the oil industry—an industry in which one company alone, Exxon Mobil Corporation, earned 9.92 billion dollars in profits, in over just three months. Here’s another fact, Mr. Vice President: That amount would cover all Social Security benefit payments for a full ninety days. Fact Three: It would also pay for Ivy League educations for some 60,000 students.” His hand swept toward the audience. “I’m sure the Morrisons—that nice couple from Milwaukee, sitting there in the front row—would appreciate seeing the tuition covered for their seventeen-year-old son, Jeff—”

  Ben was just as excited as Abby, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease her just a little about her adoration for her husband. “That’s why they say love is blind, Abby. Though, I’ll admit, it does seem he’s won this thing hands down. Talbot looks green around the gills.”

  Abby’s laugh was deep and sweet. Surprised at being so unguarded, she finally let go of his hand in order to cover her face in mock shame.

  Damn, if only I’d kept my mouth shut, he thought. He rubbed his thumb over the spot on his palm indented by her ring, not because it hurt but because it proved how far they’d come together in such a few short months. Since the day she took him into her confidence about the infertility drugs, both had come to understand and appreciate their respective roles in Andy’s life.

  Abby was keenly aware of Ben’s contribution to the campaign. He had an innate genius for correctly guessing Talbot’s next moves, and he zealously safeguarded the senator’s All-American persona to the media. But it was his tireless enthusiasm in front of the campaign’s staff that inspired her to cast off her shyness, to make herself readily available for any event they deemed necessary for her to attend.

  And realizing that she might otherwise have used that precious time to address her infertility problem, Ben’s appreciation for her increased tenfold, too—although it was plain to anyone near them how much she and Andy enjoyed the time they spent together on the road. On the campaign’s plane, they snuggled and held hands.

  It helped, too, that Abby never played the diva. Nor did she complain about some unimportant slight, or offer an opinion—that is, unless she was asked for one.

  Over the next four months, Ben found himself asking her quite often. In fact it surprised him how completely he came to trust her innate instincts about Andy’s constituents; and more importantly, about Andy’s mood.

  Without doubt, Abigail Vandergalen Mansfield was proving to be a seasoned road warrior and a team player.

  Ben wished that Maddy was also there at his side, instead of thousands of miles away, doing who knows what. Maybe with the Invisible Man...He tried not to think about that.

  And yet, standing so close to Abby, Ben couldn’t help but compare her to Maddy. One was gracious and accommodating, while the other was a tempestuous wild child. Not just physically, but emotionally too, they were different as night and day…

  “—coming around. Don’t you agree?”

  Abby’s worried tone pierced his guilty fantasy like a bubble. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. What were you asking?”

  “I was commenting on some of the GOP’s deep pockets. Like Rosalyn and Collin Davenport. They’re old friends of the family…well, my family. Do you recall a contribution from them as of yet?”

  Ben shook his head. “No. But you know Andy. He can be both stubborn and cocky, particularly when he has a chance to tweak the noses of the old boys’ club. Of course we knew we’d make some enemies along the way, but I’d still like to keep a few of the party’s bigger donors as our friends. We’re coming up to another fundraising deadline, and things are tight.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” she murmured.

  Within a week’s time, Andy’s off-the-cuff comments were less caustic regarding his own party, and Abby was hosting some private teas at their Georgetown townhouse with some very influential wives, including Rosalyn Davenport.

  Before the end of the month, the Davenports sent in two checks for $250,000 each.

  Chapter 21

  The paid agitators sent to the Tampa “Andrew Mansfield for President” rally by Talbot’s handlers were kids in their twenties: actors, really, not the fresh-faced college kids they were pretending to be. They carried placards with anti-war slogans, and their chants—hollered at the top of their lungs—accused Mansfield of being a warmonger. The worst kind at that—one who’d bombed innocent civilians from the safety of his fighter jet.

  Instead of having his security detail throw them out before some of the hotheaded vets in the audience could beat them bloody for disrespecting country and flag, Mansfield invited them onto the stage with him.

  Scripted chants were one thing; improv against one of the Senate’s best extemporaneous orators was another. The faux protesters knew they were out of their element. Thrown into the spotlight with Mansfield, they listened, slack-jawed, as he described the depth of his loss after the untimely death of his parents; the fellowship and sense of purpose he found in the Marine Corps; and yes the horrors of war, even as seen fr
om the cockpit of an F-4S. “Great nations, those with the will and the might, must use it sparingly. Only when attacked. And never to claim the natural resources of another country.”

  It was the perfect segue into Mansfield’s speech on 100 percent energy independence. His eyes never once wavered from the protesters as he talked.

  Afterward, when buttonholed by an NBC reporter, one of the agitators proclaimed he was voting for Mansfield. Another said he was joining the Marines.

  Talbot fired his Missouri state campaign manager that night.

  Chapter 22

  By June Maddy no longer left before dawn, but lingered in Ben’s bed with him.

  On the few Sundays he found himself in town, she allowed him to make her breakfast in bed. Then they’d share the Washington Post while lounging out on his postage stamp-sized deck for an hour or two, before she disappeared again—for a night, or a day, or a week.

  He soon learned not to count the many days they were apart, but to appreciate the precious hours they spent together.

  Then in July, something changed. She showed up at his place with a sack of groceries and proceeded to make him the most delicious overcooked spaghetti he’d ever eaten. He was well aware that they had finally turned a corner.

  In August, when she wrote down her cell phone number for him and stuck it on his fridge under a Mansfield for President magnet, he realized they were finally a real couple.

  That’s when he suggested she join Abby, the senator and him on one of their many out-of-town campaign trips.

  Because it was Maddy he was asking, he knew he was going out on a limb to even suggest it. Still, he wasn’t prepared for her reaction. The way she laughed at him—raucously, incredulously—rubbed against the rawest spot on his ego.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know. I just assumed there were enough campaign groupies out there already.” She busied herself with the Post’s crossword puzzle. “I’d hate to cramp anyone’s style.”

  “Yeah, sure, I turn a head or two, but you know I’m a true blue guy.” It was the truth. If he were a horn dog, if he weren’t so head over heels in love with her, there were plenty of opportunities for one-night stands. “And you’re no groupie, you’re my girlfriend. Only you won’t let anyone know that.”

  “You’re wrong, Ben. I’m not your girlfriend. You’re my lover. And no one else knows that because that’s the way we both want it.” She busied herself with the puzzle’s 42 Down. “What brought this on, all of a sudden?”

  “Just something Andy said. I guess that...Well, sometimes I wouldn’t mind having what Andy and Abby have.”

  Her sly smile hardened into a grimace. “Oh yeah? And what is that, pray tell?”

  He swallowed hard. Obviously he’d hit a nerve. “They’re—or at least they seem to be soul mates.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “It’s not just how they look, or act, together. It’s the way he talks about her.”

  Nonchalantly she wrote in 14 Across. “Oh yeah? What exactly does he say?”

  Fuck it. In for a dime, in for a dollar. “That she keeps him on the straight and narrow. That he’s running because of her. That she’s his angel.”

  “His angel, eh? How very sweet.”

  There was edge to her voice, but he didn’t care. In fact, it egged him on, to make his case. “It’s not just that. Look at all she’s going through for him—”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “All the infertility shots! You know...” But it was obvious by the look on her face that she didn’t. “Shit! I just assumed that she and you—well, never mind. Damn. She certainly knows how to keep a secret.”

  “I’m glad one of you does.” The topic must have been boring her, because she went back to her puzzle. “I wonder what Andy thinks of all that.”

  “He doesn’t know. She hasn’t told him.” Ben wanted to add, Those are the kind of sacrifices you make when you’re in love. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. “But if he found out, I imagine he’d be ecstatic.”

  Personally, and politically. A pregnancy would be another plus for the campaign. Besides making for great press, it would reaffirm the senator’s youthfulness, as opposed to Talbot’s. Hey, it worked for John and Jackie, right?

  She shrugged. “Well Ben, I won’t tell him, if you don’t. Out of respect for my sister. But as to whether or not I’ll be your Abby, forget about it. I’m no angel. And whatever you presume they have isn’t what I want to have with you. I like things just the way they are.” She turned back to her puzzle. “But I’ll tell you what: I’ll give serious consideration about taking our relationship public.”

  “Sounds good to me. But why the change of heart?”

  “I guess I’m tired of the way things are. It’s time to shake things up.”

  I hear you.

  Chapter 23

  A week later Maddy showed up at a Mansfield campaign rally, in Annapolis. “To support Abby” is how she put it, but in fact, Abby had been detained at a radio interview in Baltimore. That was okay. Mansfield was on fire, the crowd was stoked, and both Maddy and Ben were high on the vibe. So high that when Mansfield finished his speech and the crowd gave him a standing ovation, Ben absently kissed Maddy—

  And she didn’t pull away.

  Until they both realized that Abby was staring at them.

  Slowly she started toward them. But then something, or someone, caught her attention. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost standing behind them.

  Ben turned around to see Andy glad-handing his way through the dense mob that enveloped him. The senator hadn’t seen them yet. Abby must’ve realized that too. Stiffly she nodded, but turned and threaded her way through the crowd until she was at her husband’s side, nudging him, oh so subtly, in the opposite direction.

  Ben looked at Maddy. “What the hell just happened?”

  Maddy didn’t seem at all shocked by Abby’s reaction. “Poor Ben! I guess our little family reunion didn’t go exactly the way you pictured it...Hey, don’t be so sad! Wow, I do believe you’ll truly miss me.”

  Abby’s summons came the next day: a handwritten invitation for brunch the following Sunday.

  Quite pointedly, she requested that he come alone.

  He would not have shown it to Maddy, but she’d arrived at his apartment before him. Having scooped up the mail that had fallen through the front door slot, of course she recognized her sister’s handwriting.

  But unlike Ben, she was not convinced that Abby’s anger would blow over.

  That didn’t faze him. “Even if it doesn’t, what does it matter? She doesn’t have a say as to whom I see. Or whom you see, either, for that matter.”

  “You’ve said it yourself: He listens to her. So, if you don’t drop me, you’ll be out of a job.” Maddy shrugged. “Ben, every family has its black sheep. In ours, I’m it. Believe me, I knew this day would come for us. Let’s just take our lumps and move on.”

  “Andy needs me just as much as I need him. And we respect each other. Andy will be happy for us. And he’ll help Abby put it into perspective. You’ll see.”

  She didn’t say another word. Not that she had to. Her love play, fierce and tender both, said it all.

  Afterward he didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them again the room was filled with sunlight, his cell phone was buzzing, and Maddy, his sweet Maddy, was nowhere to be found.

  He did find her note, however, which she’d left on her pillow:

  Goodbye, Lancelot. —Maddy

  What?...That’s it? Hell no. No way...

  The cell’s buzz brought him to life. Was it Maddy? He grabbed it.

  “Hi, Mr. Brinker, this is Tasha Sullivan with the Washington Post. Can you give me a quote on a story I’m doing about Senator Mansfield—”

  “What?—No! I’m...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. He snapped the phone shut.

  Blinded with anger, he hurled it at the wall.

 
Fuck Maddy. And fuck Abby, for ruining what I shared, finally, with Maddy.

  When he calmed down enough to pick it up and open it, he was surprised to hear the reporter still on the other end. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked hesitantly.

  He sighed. “Nah. Couldn’t be more perfect. So, what’s up?”

  Chapter 24

  “Ah, Ben! Welcome!” Abigail Mansfield’s false cheeriness barely hid the slight quiver in her voice.

  She had rushed to answer the door as opposed to letting Andy get it. It was her one rule with Andy that, whenever he was not on the road, Sunday was to be their one day off. No one was in the house, not even the maid.

  Andy’s usual Sunday routine was to jog after church. That would have given her all the time she needed to read Ben the riot act and allow him to collect himself before Andy came home. But as it turned out, Andy had been on the phone with Sukie since the moment they returned from early morning services. She’d apologized for interrupting their Sunday, but had something urgent to tell him about some senate bill he was sponsoring. His being there when Ben showed up wasn’t the ideal scenario, but Abby would have to make do.

  No matter. Ben would see it her way, or else.

  Civility dictated that Ben be smiling, that he should say something pleasant back to her, shake her extended hand warmly and sincerely. She was, after all, the wife of his employer. And besides, they’d become friends, too. At least, she’d thought so. Two road warriors fighting the same cause, protecting the same precious cargo:

  The reputation of the future president of the United States.

  But no. Ben’s posture was stiff, his nod curt. He stared back at her with cold, cruel eyes. He didn’t smile as much as bare his teeth, as if to dare her to try her best to change his mind.

  About Maddy.

  Abby was the enemy now. That much she knew.

  All because of Maddy.