Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "What is this, a convention?" she cried when she saw the two of them. Sandra and Wyatt filed into the room.

  "You'll excuse us, Senator," she said, as she pulled Sandra into the bedroom and closed the door.

  "Why are you here, again?" she asked. Annie pulled the wig and headdress off in one movement. She sat them on the dresser with all the care of broken glass.

  "Annie, I need your help."

  She opened a jar of cold cream and slammed the top on the dresser. "You know." She wagged her finger in front of Sandra's face. "I am not the Salvation Army. Why do you keep coming here? What do you want from me?"

  Something had happened and happened recently. Sandra wondered what. Annie was angry with her. She wasn't just taking her anger out on her. She'd shown up at the wrong moment, and whatever set Annie off had a direct connection.

  Annie soaped her face with the cream. She was using way too much but Sandra didn't think this was the time to tell her.

  "Annie, sit down," she said, as gently as she could.

  Annie glared at her. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Finally, she sat on the makeup bench. Sandra pulled a tissue from the box and began removing the white makeup from her sister's face. She didn't talk to her, didn't ask what was wrong. She knew her sister wouldn't tell her even if she wanted to. But at this moment Annie needed someone. All her life she'd tried to prove how much she didn't need anyone, but Sandra knew better. She found out when she met Wyatt how much people needed each other.

  Sandra wondered where Jordon was. He was in love with her sister. Could he be the problem? Was Annie fighting the fact that she was in love with him, that he was the one man she really needed and wanted, but had she sworn she would never allow any weakness—including love—make her subser­vient? Didn't she know that in love there was no subservience? That in love there was a combined strength that made each partner stronger for having the support and trust of the other. Could Annie trust Jordon?

  Sandra got most of the makeup off Suzanne's face. She went into the bathroom for a wet cloth. As she cleaned the cream from her face and hair and applied a light moisturizer she asked, "Where's Jordon?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did you have a late shoot?"

  Annie nodded and closed her eyes. Sandra hadn't done her sister’s makeup for years. She didn't want to destroy the mo­ment of sisterhood that existed, but she knew it wouldn't last.

  "Are the tears for him?"

  Annie abruptly turned away. "I wasn't crying, and if I were I wouldn't do it over a man." She rubbed the cream into her skin a little harder than necessary.

  "He might be worth it, Annie. I think he's in love with you."

  "What would you know about it?"

  "Not a lot, I admit. But I have eyes and I can see the way he looks at you. If you can't see it, you must be blind."

  Annie didn't answer. She went on with her face. Holding a brown eyebrow pencil she enhanced eyebrows that were al­ready perfect.

  "Are you blocking his advances, Annie?"

  She threw the pencil down and turned to her sister. Sandra took an involuntary step back. "What business is it of yours?"

  "None," she said. "You've always told me how you didn't need anyone. How you'd never be like me, never be dependent on anyone. But love isn't like that, Annie. Love can provide mutual strength rather than a giving up of control."

  "Is that what you came here to tell me?"

  "No."

  "Then stay out of my personal life. It's none of your busi­ness. I don't need or want your help or advice."

  Sandra knew the subject was closed. She turned around and crossed the room, giving Annie space and herself a moment to let her heart rebound from the sting of her sister's words.

  "Annie, you might not need my help, but I need yours."

  She grunted more than laughed as she used the foam ap­plicator to apply a gold tone to her eyelids. Staring at her through the mirror, she asked, "What makes you think I'll help you . . . again."

  Sandra met her gaze in the mirror. "I can't possibly explain the importance of what is going on, but believe me, what we're dealing with has life and death hanging in the balance."

  Annie stopped and stared directly at her. Then she rolled her eyes. "Sandra, you're being melodramatic."

  "I'm not prone to melodrama or exaggeration and you know it I promise you this is the truth."

  "All right," she agreed. "You don't know how to lie, either, so there must be at least an element of truth in the statement. "If I do what you want, will you get out of here and never come back?"

  Sandra's head snapped up and she stared at her sister. "An­nie, you can't mean that; never come back? You're not just talking about here." She pointed to the room. "You mean wherever you are?"

  "I don't want to see you again." She spoke distinctly as if she were speaking to a child.

  Tears clouded Sandra's eyes and she turned away. In the few years since she and Annie had been estranged she always thought they would get over their problem. They would need each other, remember they were family and want to spend time together. She'd never known how deep Annie's hate for her was.

  Brushing the tears away with the back of her hand, she turned back to face her sister and nodded. If Annie hated her the much, Sandra wouldn't impose on her. Annie’s words had cut deep, but she'd survive them. She wanted a relationship with her sister. She wanted a solution to the problem Annie had, but it seemed now that she'd lose her sister forever.

  "All right, what do you want me to do?"

  "I need you to use your knowledge of banking to find out if any of these people have money problems or if they have huge bank accounts." Sandra opened her purse and handed her the list she'd written. "Anything you can find out about them will be helpful."

  Annie's eyes widened in surprise. She looked up at Sandra. "You have lost your mind. Do you know what I'm going to have to do to get information on these people?"

  Sandra hadn't a clue. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, but she also knew her sister was one of the few people who could get the data and get it fast.

  Annie sighed. "When do you need it?"

  "As fast as possible. Tomorrow, if we can have it."

  Annie gave her a long and thorough going-over. Sandra felt as if she'd been put under a microscope.

  She dropped the list on the dresser next to her case of mahogany powder and went back to making up her face.

  Sandra wondered if she'd been dismissed. She felt as if she had. Turning around, she went to the door and took one last look at her sister. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back.

  "Annie." She waited for her sister to look at her. "Since you don't want to see me again, would you tell me what it was I did that made you hate me so?"

  Annie stood up. Wearing the kimono and her own makeup, she looked ridiculously out of place. "Ask your father," she replied.

  ***

  Wyatt read the invitation to an embassy party from the Im­perial Republic of Japan that lay open on the table next to the sofa where he sat. The moment Sandra came through the bedroom door he could see she was shaken. He'd determined the two sisters weren't the best of friends when he was here before, but this time Sandra looked pale, as if she'd just re­ceived the news someone had died.

  He got up and went to her. She stared blankly in front of her, but lifted her head to his face as he approached. He took her shoulders and pulled her close. A moment later, he raised her chin to look into her eyes.

  "Oh, Wyatt!" she wailed as she burst into tears.

  Wyatt gathered her close and held her. Her arms climbed around his neck and she squeezed as tight as she could. Tears racked her body with a thundering intensity.

  Anger walled up inside him like a raging bull. He didn’t want her to cry. What had her sister said?

  "Sandra, honey. It's all right. If she won't help us, we'll find someone who will. Stop crying."

  She hiccupped trying to get control, but fresh tears replaced the ones he
tried to wipe away.

  "Sandra, what did she say to make you cry like this?"

  When she didn't answer, Wyatt pushed her aside and started for the bedroom door. He'd tear her sister limb from limb for making Sandra cry. She'd only asked a simple question. She could have said she wouldn't do it and let it be. But she'd done more. Sandra wouldn't cry like this if she hadn't. “No!" Sandra held on to his jacket as he tried to move. "Let’s get out of here."

  Only the pleading in her eyes made him forget her sister and take her around the waist and steer her out the door. By the time they'd reached the car in the garage the last remnants of tears tracked down her face like rutted tires.

  Wyatt opened the door and helped her inside. He went around the hood and opened the driver’ door. The interior light came on and went off as he got inside.

  "What happened in there?"

  She told him Annie's harsh words; her condition for helping them. Sandra sniffed, fighting a new batch of tears.

  "What happened to make her dislike you?"

  "I don't know. Whatever it was, it happened just before I got married." She staved off an emotional outburst and con­tinued. "We grew up together, were the best of friends until I married John. I can't remember precisely when it started, but I know it was about that time. I couldn't figure out what I'd done, but suddenly Annie and I were arguing all the time. She was arguing with everyone, except Mother. For a while I thought it was John. That somehow Annie had a thing for him, that she was jealous, but that wasn't it. Then I thought she was upset that we would no longer have the relationship we'd had in the past, but when I tried to talk to her she shut me out."

  "What happened then," Wyatt asked.

  "Annie took off for New York and later Europe. She didn't come to the wedding, and since then has refused to see any of us. She doesn't attend any family functions and she hates us."

  Her tears started anew and Wyatt pulled her to him and held her. It was all he had the strength to do. He wanted to comfort her, but she'd kicked him in the stomach. He took deep breaths trying to control the shudders that ran through him as Sandra's shoulders rose and fell with her tears.

  She's married. She has a husband. The words rang in his head like the sound of a tinny piano in a lonely wooden-floored bar. Why hadn't she told him? He'd fallen in love with a married woman. Where was her husband? Why was there no mention of him?

  "Sandra." Her name came out a strangled whisper, passing over the lump that clogged his throat. "You never mentioned you were married."

  Chapter 19

  Sandra explained everything to Wyatt during the drive to meet Sam Parker. She told him how she'd met John in college and dated him. After graduation, John had taken a job in Europe and stayed there for years. When he returned, they met again at a Christmas party given by a mutual friend. They fell in love and married. She told him about their attempts to have children, John's leukemia, and his subsequent death.

  Wyatt drove without speaking. He listened to Sandra. She spoke nervously, but continued in detail. She felt as if she had to explain. He'd made her feel like that. He shouldn't have, but he didn't stop her. He wanted to know about her life. He wanted to know everything from the moment she took her first breath to the next one she was about to take.

  They'd been constantly together, but in that time they'd been trying to save each other's lives. Little things like family and husbands didn't seem to come up in the discussion.

  "I've never been married," Wyatt said when she lapsed into silence. "I have been in love. Her name was April. We met during a lawyers' conference in Dallas. She was a lot like you, intelligent and beautiful."

  He stole a glance at her hoping for a smile. Her face re­mained interested but aloof.

  "Our courtship was fast and volatile. In less than six weeks I knew I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life. I asked her to marry me."

  Wyatt swallowed, remembering the hurt as if it had hap­pened to another person. He'd thought he was going to feel the until he died, but it was gone.

  "What happened?" Sandra prompted.

  "She was already married."

  He heard the small intake of breath that came from her. For a moment he thought it was happening to him all over again. He didn't know if he could survive if Sandra wasn't his. He wanted her more than he ever wanted April.

  "I'm sorry, Wyatt."

  Irrationally, Sandra hated the woman who had hurt Wyatt. She knew there was nothing she could do about it. If he hadn't left her, he might not be with her today, and despite their difficulties, she wouldn't give up even one day with him.

  When they reached the place where they'd agreed to meet Sam, Wyatt got out of the car and came around to her side. Helping her out, he took her in his arms and kissed her. San­dra wrapped her arms around him. The kiss was so tender and sweet, it nearly brought more tears to her eyes. Wyatt’ tenderness made her melt in his arms as his kiss deepened. She clung to him, returning the passion he produced in her kind for kind.

  She never wanted to let him go, never wanted him to hurt or feel that there was anything the two of them couldn't work out. She was free. He was free. And she was in love with him. She told him so with her mouth, her body, her hands. She branded his mouth with her love, with a promise that was as binding as it was blinding. When they pulled apart, she slumped against him, wondering how she'd managed to live before she met him.

  Her love for John was safe and warm and in a special com­partment of her heart. She wouldn't forget their time together or wish it had never happened. Wyatt wouldn't want her to. She discovered she had a heart large enough for both John and Wyatt.

  ***

  Lance studied the report on his desk. So they had been to Mrs. Richards'. She'd decoded the information on the stones. He didn't have to take three guesses to figure out what they'd found. They probably knew about the configuration, found the symbols, but they couldn't know about the last one. Even if they did, what could they do with it? Nothing. They were amateurs playing with professionals. The net was closing and soon they'd be caught like fish.

  Sandra should have taken his offer when he gave it. She could have walked away scot-free, but she chose to band to­gether with Wyatt Randolph. He might be a Boy Scout, but that didn't mean he could get away with what he'd done and been accused of doing. Lance would make sure of that. It was Lance's turn to pitch, and everything that could be thrown at Wyatt Randolph would be.

  If Lance had learned nothing else since coming to Wash­ington, he'd learned how to play the game. He was a master at it and he could see his reward just ahead. He was close to it, so close it was almost in his hand. Senator Randolph. He smiled. Senator Randolph would be the person who handed him the brass ring.

  Lance closed the report and locked it in his safe. It was time to go get the distinguished senator from the state of Penn­sylvania.

  ***

  Colonel Sam Parker's hideout would rival any of America's castles. Set in the sprawling countryside of Reston, Virginia, it was a twenty-thousand-square-foot country home. From the look of it, someone had disassembled an English manor house and rebuilt it on a thousand-acre tract in the shadow of the nation's capital. Entrance to the estate was through a wrought-iron gate mounted with closed-circuit cameras. A three-mile leisurely drive on a narrow paved road led to the door of the gray stone house. He should feel secure here, but he didn't.

  His access was legitimate and above board. The house was owned by Wagner Van Zee. Wag owned an electronics com­pany that had been in on the ground level when personal com­puters were first being born. His parts supply company had grown to be a major contributor to the industry. Sam could shoot himself every time he thought of Wag's efforts to get him to join in his budding company. Sam had opted for the service and it had led him here, AWOL and hiding from the very people he'd worked with.

  "Wow!" Wyatt whistled, getting out of the car. Sam ran down the front steps and shook hands with him. He nodded at Sandra Rutledge.

  "We sho
uld all go into hiding in a place like this." Wyatt looked around the house and grounds.

  "It belongs to a buddy of mine," Sam explained. "We went to school together."

  Inside, Sandra found the furnishings elegant enough to grace any museum.

  "He's away in Europe and 'loaned' me the use of this," Sam scanned the huge room, "whenever I needed it."

  He watched Sandra as she looked around nervously. "Sam, places like this have their own security staff. This house alone would take a staff of fifty to maintain it."

  "Fifty-three, actually," he said. "Since it's winter and un­occupied, it gets by with a skeleton crew of seven. They're loyal and completely trustworthy." Before Wag left, he'd told them Sam was an eccentric writer working on a book and needed peace and quiet. They were to disturb him as little as possible and to do anything he asked. So far he'd had no problems.

  "Where are they now?" Wyatt asked.

  "I gave them the day off. They won't be back before night-fell."

  "That's good," Sandra muttered. He knew he wasn't sup­posed to hear her, but his sense of hearing had always been keen. She didn't trust him. He couldn't blame her, but he wanted her to know he was doing nothing to hurt her or Wyatt. His own life was in danger, he'd thrown away his career, and there was nothing left for him but to work with Wyatt and Sandra and hope against hope the somehow there was a so­lution to this crisis. He hadn't known how much he believed in the Constitution until its basic rights and freedoms came into jeopardy. Now he was willing to do anything to help restore it to the place it had been intended. Wyatt and Sandra wanted the same thing. They only had each other.

  Sam gave them a tour of the house on the way to the office. Wyatt was clearly impressed when they entered Wagner Van Zee’s home office. The place could be the corporate head­quarters of a major industrial company. The room was huge. A conference table sat in front of a large window. Fresh flow­ers graced a crystal bowl in the center of it. The desk took up so much room he'd wondered on first seeing it if it had been built inside the room. Computers, telephones, even a small television were built into the work-center.