Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

"The least we can do is let you look at what's on the disk," Earl offered. He stood as if ready to lead them to an office.

  Closing the chest, they stood and followed him. He turned on the machinery and left them in private.

  "What’s on it?" Marjorie asked the moment they returned to the room.

  "It's encrypted," Sandra told her, glad she could speak the truth. "All we could see were hearts, flowers, and other ASCII symbols filling the screen."

  "I know a person who might be able to break an encryption code." Earl reached for his wife. "Brooke Richards works for the university. She's phenomenal with those kinds of things, but she, too, is away on maternity leave."

  ***

  Lance slammed the door. He'd taken his date home and left her there alone, much to her surprise. His, too. Everett had ruined his evening with news that he had been in direct con­tact with Randolph and Rutledge's daughter. This was clearly his, not Horton's, investigation and he did not take kindly to anyone interfering, and that included the President of the United States.

  Pulling at the tie of his immaculate suit, he took the stairs two at a time. He went into his bedroom. He would find the stones. He and not Everett Horton. Horton was a poor Presi­dent, despite the popularity of the polls. What did polls know? They were as fickle as the wind. One day they were for you and the next they'd crucify you.

  Well, they would crucify Horton. Casey, too. He was sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. Horton had lost it. The battle lines had been drawn and fought and there was no way he could win. Even if he managed to keep it quiet, keep the news out of the papers, there were too many people who knew about it. Too many people who'd been involved in the theft, the cover-up, and the search. Senator Randolph and Senator Rutledge's daughter couldn't have played better roles if they'd had a script.

  Lance put his tie on the rack in the closet and proceeded to undress. He stripped to his shorts and walked to the ad­joining room which he'd converted to a gym.

  Standing in the middle of the mirrored hall, he surveyed the iron-and-steel equipment. Taking a deep breath, he began his routine of stretching before picking one of the many ma­chines to work his biceps into hard-as-steel muscles.

  Twenty minutes later, he felt better, in fact, he felt great If Everett continued on his present course, Lance would get his office years before he planned.

  ***

  Wyatt woke to the wind. He was still alive. The smell of coffee wafted through the air; flavored coffee, Irish cream, he guessed. He'd slept badly. Despite Sandra next to him and the comfortable guest bed that Marjorie insisted they use, thoughts of what to do now that they actually had possession of the stones commanded his conscious attention.

  He'd heard Earl leave about seven-thirty. The house had been quiet since then, but now Marjorie was moving around downstairs. He could hear her muted sounds as she went about her morning routine. He leaned over, looking at Sandra sleep­ing.

  His breath caught at how beautiful she was in the morning sunlight. He smoothed back her hair and studied her features. Her dark-brown skin contrasted with the bedding. The sun streaming through the windows highlighted her rich brandy skin. Her hair, loose from the clamp, was thick and lustrous. He threaded his fingers through it.

  Wyatt continued playing in her hair as he glanced through the window. The bare branches of trees waved in the morning wind. It was strong, bantering against the windows and trying helplessly to get inside. Sandra was warm under the blankets.

  He hated to wake her, but it was time for them to go. He knew how she felt about the stones. He agreed with her for the most part Chip should never have developed such a dangerous system, but the fact remained it existed. And since it existed and was in more hands than a few, he had to decide what to tell the President and what to do with the actual stones.

  He picked up the chest and opened the box. The computer disk sat securely in place. He stared at it, willing it to give up its encrypted secret. White diamonds, he thought, fingering the stones. They were beautiful. He could see them set into a necklace gracing Sandra's beautiful neck. Too bad they weren't what they appeared to be.

  What would he do if he were in Everett Horton’s shoes? The entire country looked to him for direction. The world regarded him as a wise leader. Project Eagle represented power, true and absolute. According to his high school history teachers, absolute power had destroyed many lives and many leaders. Eventually the masses would rise up and overthrow the dictator making their lives miserable.

  With a weapon like Project Eagle, would there be a method of overthrowing the user? How much secrecy would surround such a device? How long would it be before world leaders fought each other for possession of the device? It was too dangerous.

  Wyatt picked up one of the stones and held it up to the light. It was brilliant, near perfect to the naked eye. He searched it, trying to find a compromise to the two arguments that would change the course of world power. Wasn't that what the President did? He represented the interest of all the people, not just one group. Where was the compromise here? Who stood to gain and who stood to lose?

  Wyatt never had a problem so urgent and so necessary than the one he studied embedded inside a white diamond.

  The President had said they needed to activate the system in order to find out where the other one had been assembled. If they didn't actively find it, whoever had stolen it would have all the time in the world to develop the one final piece. With the number of computer hackers, experts, and advance­ments in technology out there, a working system could prob­ably be operational before the end of the year. The danger with that option was that the owners of the new system would be some other government. Whatever that agenda might be, it would certainly be intensified with a weapon as powerful as Project Eagle.

  He dropped the stone into the chest and closed it. Letting his head roll back, he stared at the sky. The sunlight warmed his face and felt good on his skin. Activating the system was just as dangerous. It was natural to test it, make sure it would do what it had been designed to do. Once that was seen and used, the probability of it being moth-balled was about as remote as bottling sunshine.

  There had to be another solution. Maybe when they got the disk read, something would come to him. It had to. He was a novice congressman, not the President or some elder states­man with years of experience. He wasn't Thomas Jefferson who could visualize the future and know what needed to be done. Chip had handed him an awesome legacy. He'd put the world's most basic right in his hands: the right to free speech. It was up to him to protect that right and make sure it endured today and into the future. Could he do it?

  ***

  Sandra had been staring at Wyatt for some time. She could tell he was grappling with a problem. She knew what it was and knew its gravity. It had disturbed her sleep since Sam Parker had explained Project Eagle's capabilities.

  When he'd first come to her, his body torn, his face bruised, she'd been afraid that she'd do something to make his injuries worse. Now, without the discoloring bruises and with barely a noticeable twinge in his side, she trembled for another rea­son. Just looking at him made her weak. Her thoughts turned to John. They were alike and different. They were both leaders, decisive and caring about the needs of other people. They were both strong men, but where John had an openly com­passionate face, Wyatt often hid his behind a facade. Only when he'd made love to her did she feel he was completely open; everything he thought and felt was clearly revealed in his face and body then.

  She reached over and rubbed her fingers against his beard-roughened skin.

  "Did I wake you?" he asked, taking her hand.

  "No," she said, finding her voice husky and thick. She pulled herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. Her hair fell like ragged pencil points. Wyatt stared at her. His eyes moved all over her face, then his fingers threaded through her hair and he pulled her to him. Their mouths touched, tasted, molded. She ran her hand along his chest. Pearly but­tons trapped her seeking finger
s and she released them one by one. Her hands went inside the fabric to find hot skin waiting. He was smooth. Her fingers roved unhampered until she came to the definable muscles of his chest. Her thumb padded over his flat nipple and she could feel the tremor run through him like liquid lightning. Its speed caught her, too, as her blood began a song as old as time. His mouth took hers deeply, his tongue inside tasting, draining her of its sweet nectar. She freely gave and took what he offered.

  Her heartbeat accelerated as the lightning erupted around her. Wyatt levered himself up and pushed her back onto the mattress. His hands moved over her, finding and bringing to life every erotic spot on her body. She moaned her pleasures at each new point of contact. He pushed the short but voluminous nightgown Marjorie had provided over her head and exposed her maple-warm sweetness to the morning light and his desirous eyes. He drank her in before his head bent and took one hardened chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth.

  Sandra arched toward him as rapture streaked inside her. Her body turned to syrup and melted under Wyatt's exquisite torture. She knew then, knew as his hands massaged her flesh and brought every inch of her to life, that she hadn't been alive before she'd met him. The moment he'd opened his eyes and she looked into their depths, she'd known they would end here, locked together in each other's arms, showing each other what life meant, the reason man and woman walked the earth. "Wyatt!" she cried his name as his wet tongue licked her stomach and fire burned her. He was undoing her, taking her apart piece by piece, and she was helpless to stop him. She didn't want to stop him. She wanted everything he was doing to her. She gasped for breath as he kissed her thighs and the apex of her legs. Her heart beat wildly at the spot where he pressed his mouth. Sandra knew he could feel it. She could hear the rush of blood singing through her system.

  Reaching for him, Wyatt took her hands and worked his way back in an arousingly slow journey that ended at her mouth. His hands still touched her everywhere. He drew small circles over her belly. They widened into ripples until they reached the point of her body that throbbed for him. His fin­gers entered her. She gasped at the pleasure his touch gave her. The pad of his thumb sought and found the spot on her the drove her insane. She cried his name over and over as he moved with a designed rhythm that took her to the brink of madness.

  Only then did he remove his hand and enter her. With pa­tience and superhuman control, he walked his way into her, creeping along inch by glorious inch. Her mouth opened and a low moan escaped. An ecstasy that she'd never known racked her body, shredding her control into ribbons of pleasure.

  Her legs wrapped around him. Wyatt groaned. She was go-big to kill him, he thought. His arms went around her. Telling himself to take his time, he savored every hot inch of her. Finally, cupping her cheeks in his hands, he ground her hips into his. Her fingernails jabbed into his flesh as her tight body caught and held him. The slight pain pushed him forward as the rhythm of centuries joined them. Her hands roamed over his back in a frenzy that drove him deeper and deeper into her. He couldn't stop now if he wanted to. He wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman. He wanted to make her his so completely that she'd remember their lovemaking for the rest of her life. He wanted her to know this was more than sex; he wanted her to know he was committed to her and only her.

  His heart pounded, threatened to burst in his chest. He filled her over and over again. Each time he knew would be his last. He was going to the inside her. Her body spoke to him,

  telling him of a need he'd never known was there. Deep and wanting. She could fulfill it Only she had the secret formula the could make him whole, give him life. He had to have it. He was weak and powerful at the same time, driving himself at her demand. And she demanded!

  "Wyatt, she cried. "Wyatt." Her head beat the pillow as it flopped from side to side. Wyatt's control snapped with her words. His body took hers, hard and fast. She took every powerful thrust, returning each one with a power greater than the sum or her parts.

  Suddenly, he was no longer part of the room. They'd trans­formed into light and energy. He and Sandra had found that place all lovers sought. That place where souls burned to­gether. Like two planets, cracked away from the sun and flung into space, they whirled fiery and spinning. Coming together, combining, burning, the heat of their pulsating bodies inten­sifying, they incinerated, transformed into pure energy.

  He felt the grip that told him he was nearing the point where the madness would take over, where life began, where the most deliriously rapturous sensation man could know would occur. It was harder, tighter, more intense than he could ever remember. Wyatt expected to explode, waited for it, wel­comed the release, anticipated the wonderful sensations Sandra would make him feel. Yet, he didn't burst. Together they seemed to implode, pulling everything with them. There was a calmness, quiet, as if time and sensation had stopped for a space of a millisecond. Then it came. The big bang. Like creation, the world, his world, he and Sandra were part of the nuclear blast that came together in the void and forged a shin­ing new world.

  Chapter 17

  Sandra drove the Porsche fast. Porsches were designed for speed and today she felt like giving the small automobile its full head. She sped up and down the rolling Maryland hillside en route to Grant and Brooke Richards' house. Wyatt said nothing. He didn't ask her to slow down or point out that they could ill afford to be stopped by a local policeman trying to make quota for the month.

  She was alive and happy, and after making love with Wyatt this morning, she refused to let anything dim her view of the world. The drive from Marjorie’s took over an hour, but the sky was clear and the roads deserted. It was her kind of day. She could drive forever on a day like this one.

  She found the turnoff as Brooke had described it and turned onto a winding road For several miles it twisted and turned passing restored farmhouses and huge tracks of undeveloped land Behind walls of wrought-iron or stone Sandra continued until she reached the farthest point, where the road gave way to the natural beauty of the land. The house was situated at the end A modest country French farmhouse that had been restored.

  Sandra parked and got out. The wind was crisp and cold She held her hair to keep it from smacking her in the face. There was a natural barrier of evergreen trees along one side of the house. The other side was free to the wind and Sandra saw a landing strip in the flat plane below her.

  "Hi." Brooke Richards came out onto the porch, holding her engorged belly. The wind blew her hair in all directions. ""You'd better get out of this wind''

  Quickly, they raced across the yard and joined her. Inside, it was warm and cozy. She had cups of hot coffee waiting in the sunken living room which had hardwood floors that gleamed brightly in the sunlight streaming through the many windows. Area rugs cut the space into definable groupings and gave the expanse an ultimate atmosphere.

  "I was surprised you called, Sandra," she said. "From what Grant told me I was sure you'd have everything you needed."

  "I'm sorry we disturbed you." Sandra wondered if her hus­band had told her where he'd taken her. Did Brooke know that she and Wyatt had been guests of the President? That they had been whisked to Camp David and been treated as honored guests?

  "I'm glad for your company." She rubbed her belly. "I'm not used to being home all day. It's good to have visitors."

  "When is your baby due?"

  "Not for another couple of months." Her hands moved across her stomach again. Sandra had seen many pregnant women do that. Marjorie did it. She wondered what it felt like to be pregnant and why the women constantly touched themselves that way.

  "Is this your first," she heard Wyatt ask.

  "My second . . . and third" she said. "I'm having twins. I have a daughter, Kari. She’s in school now."

  For a moment Sandra envied her. She and John had tried to have children. That's when they discovered John had leu­kemia. She never thought she'd get over his death, but she'd met Wyatt and couldn't imagine life without him.

  "What
can I help you with?" Brooke asked bringing her attention back to the information they needed

  "We need a disk read." Sandra got straight to the point. "As I mentioned on the phone, it's encrypted."

  "That shouldn't be too hard," the long-haired woman told her. "Why don't we go into my office."

  She moved toward the back of the house. In a room with a window that looked out on the airstrip was a series of com­puters and shelves of books. Sandra looked at the titles. Everything from food preparation to quantum mechanics.

  "Do you teach?" Wyatt asked her as she turned on the equipment and waited for it to boot up.

  "No," she laughed. "I used to work for the FBI."

  Wyatt stiffened.

  "That was years ago. Then I started a chain of restaurants. My partner manages them now."

  Now Sandra understood the cooking books.

  "I'm a consultant at the university on certain government projects," she finished.

  Sandra realized she hadn't really said anything. She won­dered what Wyatt thought. Sandra trusted her. She'd trusted her in the limousine that night when she'd come to her rescue.

  "Let me have the disk."

  Wyatt had it. He slipped it from his pocket and handed it to her. Wyatt had been cautious this time. Sandra had the original in her backpack, along with the chest of diamonds. Wyatt had made a copy on Marjorie's computer before they thanked her and promised to return the borrowed clothes they now wore.

  "Where did you get this?" Brooke asked in a whisper. A frowned creased her brow.

  "A friend sent it to me," Sandra hedged.

  "This is good, very good." Pride at a fellow colleague's ability showed in her voice. "Whose work is this?"

  Wyatt looked at Sandra over Brooke's head. "Jeff Taylor," he answered.

  She swung around on the office chair. "I'm sorry," she said to them. "I heard about his death. I never met him. He'd left the government about the time I started consulting. People spoke of him with great pride."