The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  Peter’s friend knew he bristled at the homeland use of special ops. But it was a good reminder of where he needed to draw his own lines.

  “Pretty easy to get carried away. I don’t know how you’ve managed all these years as it is.” Acer turned serious again.

  “I was only in for six years.”

  “We were all only in six years. But what memorable years they were,” Acer said. They exchanged knowing smiles. Peter snorted derisively.

  “I’ve had no problem going back to average Joe citizen—as long as I keep away from Maine, I’m okay,” Peter said. He was half serious. He had avoided the team somewhat purposefully. It was an unspoken agreement that they would let him go and pursue his political career, knowing he would need some distance. They had all retired to the traditional “consulting” careers, based out of Maine where they had a lot of company with retired special ops and spooks.

  Acer laughed in his usual unrestrained way. “You were never—and I mean from the time you were popped out of the womb and possibly before that—never an average Joe.” Acer shook his head and continued chuckling at the notion. Peter frowned at his friend. He bristled at being crowned heir apparent to the kingdom of everything by everyone who knew him. If Mad could hear this shit she might understand. He pulled himself up short at that thought. After all, he reminded himself, she did understand—completely. Because she had experienced the same exact thing all her life.

  But then he reminded himself what his mother always told him, God bless her: “There are a lot of people out there whose friends and family think they are special.”

  “Then it’s decided. You’ll let me know what you can—but nothing too tricky.”

  “Gotcha, Rock Man.” Acer saluted and turned, but before he took three steps, he turned back. “Why did we ever quit, anyway? Remind me.” A wide grin split his face and he moved on. Peter shook his head. He had some pretty special friends himself.

  He remembered full well why they had all left after six years. It was the point of no return. They were in the dangerous end of the business—not that that was a particular deterrent. They left because of him, because they crowned him king. They knew he had to pursue his career, and staying in military special ops was not the way to do it. And they knew he’d need them at some point. None of them considered for a second staying in to do anything else but the dangerous side. If they were going to sit at a desk somewhere, it would be for a hell of a lot more money than they were getting in the service. Besides, the bureaucracy and the boredom was more of a killer than any bullet in the field.

  Dragging his mind out of the past, Peter turned away from Acer’s retreating form. He found himself rooted to the spot. He looked at his chauffeur’s car. How the hell was he going to protect Madeline from all this shit? Especially if the new guy in town, Dennis McBain, was in any way involved in putting out this rumor about him. The lines would be drawn then, and he’d have to cross over Rick’s dead body to protect her.

  Chapter 11

  The room was noisy. There were a lot of people strewn about among the construction debris. Madeline was impressed, since it was barely 7:00 a.m. and early in the campaign too. The scents of coffee and plaster dust combined to tease her nose, and she sneezed. Jonathan looked up from where he had been bent over a pile of press clippings as she approached him, stepping through the campaign office as if it were a minefield. Someone she didn’t know stood next to him. One of the new staffers, she figured. The new people moved into this new office, recently converted from a coffee shop. Madeline surveyed the wreckage. Obviously the conversion was not quite complete.

  “Now you know why we got such a good deal on the rent. Couldn’t turn down the location, though—right in the middle of Government Center,” Jon shouted to her with his understated smile. On top of the phones, keyboards and people yelling to be heard over the drills, there was hammering too. She didn’t bother trying to do more than nod her head and smile back. He motioned for her to follow him into what she hoped was his soundproof office. They walked through the open door of the glass-walled cube, and she saw in a prominent place alone on the one large wall, the scoreboard—an exact duplicate of the one at her hotel office suite. Dennis insisted she keep the one at the hotel after he had gone to so much trouble bribing the hotel staff to let him put it in. So they had two.

  Madeline smiled and winked at Jon, then blinked as the plaster dust that had gathered on her lashes and sprinkled her cheeks.

  Valerie walked into the office and shut the door behind them. Silence immediately followed her. Madeline sighed and wiped her cheeks with a tissue grabbed from the desk. Jonathan twirled the rods on all the blinds and completed their entombing. Valerie perched on the desk. Jon went around to reach in his drawer and pull out a bag of chocolate, sweeping it in front of Madeline’s nose to tease her. She laughed as she hugged him and stole a couple of the treasured truffle balls.

  “Now where’s Dennis?” Madeline wondered, looking back at the door.

  “He was right behind us,” Valerie said. “Where’s Sarah?” She looked at Jon and admonished, “You’ll be on her bad list when she finds out you bought chocolates for the boss.”

  “Why is that?” Jon asked.

  Madeline answered, “Because Sarah wants to be the one to supply me—like a drug dealer feeding a bad habit. As if I couldn’t go to the store and buy my own. And if Sarah ever found out that the Lindt factory in Stratham, New Hampshire, sent me a crateful after they read the story about me eating their candy at the convention, she would be really deflated.”

  “How come she doesn’t know?” Jon asked.

  “The stash is at my townhouse in Marblehead,” Mad said as Dennis walked in with no knock at the door and a mock FBI look.

  “Stash? What are we talking? Illegal drugs?” He swiveled his head, sunglasses still on. “I feel like I’m at the precinct office of a TV cop show. Nice digs, Jon.” He looked around until his eyes settled on the scoreboard.

  Dennis reached out and shook Jon’s hand.

  “Not bad on a shoestring budget,” Dennis said.

  “You’re behind closed doors now. It’s safe to take off the sunglasses.” Madeline looked around the office piled with papers, boxes, three TVs—and no chairs. “I guess we’ll stand.”

  Dennis turned on all the TVs and picked up the remote control for the scoreboard. “Let’s update this baby.” They all watched the numbers flash and clapped when Madeline’s score went up and PJD’s went down.

  “Clever Dennis! To what do we owe this recent jump?” Madeline asked.

  “Nothing I did. I cannot tell a lie—not even to take credit. It’s a late-breaking campaign finance-slash-military connection issue for good old boy PJD. Likely a controversy drummed up by the other party. And having absolutely nothing to do with you, Mad.” He grinned at her with pure glee.

  “Great! That’s almost as good as my news. I’m in the debate. Sarah got me in—I have three days to prepare for a televised debate with all the major candidates.”

  “Shit,” Clever said.

  “Wow,” Valerie said.

  “Oh my,” Jon said.

  “Exactly.” Madeline loved this crew.

  “Time for a metaphor.” Dennis put his hand to his chin. “This is like Cinderella getting invited to the ball—before the fairy godmother stopped by.”

  “Hey, that’s my metaphor.” Valerie pouted.

  “Then you do me.”

  “Okay. It’s like David challenging Goliath—before he had his slingshot.” Valerie folded her arms. Madeline and the others clapped.

  “Then you must have seen this morning’s Globe.” Dennis whipped the folded copy from under his arm and opened it up to display a cartoon. “I was all over twitter so I picked this up on the way over.” He nodded toward mute television number two tuned to NECN, the all-news network for New England. Madeline was trying to read the cartoon and spun to the TV at the same time Clever Dennis turned on the sound. They listened to the commen
tary.

  “This morning’s Globe ran a scintillating cartoon and editorial column on the Massachusetts gubernatorial election.” They flashed the cartoon on the TV screen, and Madeline turned back to the paper Dennis still held up. Madeline felt herself turn pink.

  Valerie shuddered.

  “Oh my God,” Jon said.

  “Fuck.” Dennis said.

  The NECN anchorman continued. “In this cartoon cross of Cupid-meets-David-and-Goliath we have David recast as a sexpot version of Madeline Grace slinging Cupid’s arrows instead of stones to win over the heart of the hulking Peter ‘the Rock’ Goliath in one of the most sadly telling political cartoons in recent history. According to columnist Bertrand St. Cyr, it illustrates perfectly the lamentable soap opera state of this election campaign, which has degenerated into a sexually charged mating game.” The newscaster smiled as he spoke.

  Madeline kept the groan to herself by popping the chocolate ball in her mouth. She looked at Dennis.

  “Any clever ideas?”

  “Aside from icing good old Bert? You were right about him.”

  “Sometimes I hate it when I’m right.”

  “It’s not all bad,” Valerie piped up. They all looked at her. “It makes PJD look more like a fool than you.”

  “It’s his reaction I’m worried about. He’s not going to take this lying down,” Dennis said. He looked at Madeline. “I suspect this could be the signal that it’s time to take the gloves off.”

  “Yeah, we need some serious spin to get this back on track. Neither of you will get elected with the race between you and Rock turned into a soap opera and a cartoon,” Valerie mused.

  “Now you tell me,” Mad deadpanned. “I’ll give you serious. I’ll make a very serious impression at the debate.”

  “Okay, Ms. Grace. But I think you’re going to have to practice a bit more self-censorship than you’re used to,” Dennis said, and they all agreed.

  Maybe. Maybe not, she thought.

  “Then what would distinguish me?” she asked.

  “Your legs, for one thing,” Dennis said without hesitation. Instead of giving him the withering look he expected, she gave him a light-bulb look.

  Morty walked in with his glasses pushed up on his forehead and Dunkin Donuts coffee in hand.

  “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

  “We’re watching soap operas,” Val said. Puzzlement appeared on Morty’s face and Mad shook her head. The next instant she found herself pacing.

  “Look, I know how to express new ideas without sounding crazy, how to tell difficult or unpleasant truths without alienating people. It’s what I’ve been doing all along,” she assured them—and herself.

  “Yes, but mostly on paper. You need practice in front of the camera.” Valerie was blunt and Madeline accepted that. The Tonight Show had been tough.

  “Let’s do it.” Madeline paced right out the door. The group followed. As they headed back through the construction site that she hoped they were paying very cheap rent for, they passed Sarah coming in.

  “I missed the entire meeting?” She turned and joined the rear. “This place is horrible. I hope we’re getting a big break on the rent.” Sarah frowned. Madeline stopped at the street door. They all stopped. Morty spoke up.

  “Yeah, but however much we’re saving on the space, I’m afraid we’ll end up paying most of it in communications costs.” He shrugged. To Madeline’s ears the ringing phones sounded like a discordant symphony with everyone setting their wireless ringers on a different tune.

  “We couldn’t get the place wired for all the phone lines we needed, so everyone is using wireless.” Morty added the explanation, no doubt to appease the blank stares.

  “Don’t worry, Morty. It makes them all more efficient since they can work while they’re on the move without missing a beat. Speaking of which, are we all ready?” Madeline felt her energy rise.

  “For what?” Sarah was still frowning.

  “For mission impossible,” Clever Dennis said. “To turn Mad Madeline into a serious candidate in time for the debate.”

  Chapter 12

  “The debate,” Val said.

  “You mean the three-ring circus.”

  “You’re mistaken, Dennis. There will be at least five rings in this circus. They just added another candidate.” Sarah clicked her wireless shut. Madeline admired her friend’s inscrutable pursed lips. It was a toss as to whether Sarah was annoyed or pleased.

  “That gives each candidate six minutes of speaking time once you subtract time for questions.” Jon clicked his stopwatch.

  Madeline took a breath. It was time to put an end to this session, at—she looked at her watch—only 1:00 a.m. “Time to sleep.”

  “Who are you kidding? You’ll stay up and write all night if no one’s watching.” Val clucked. “I’ll stay and tuck you in.”

  “Hey, that’s my line.” Dennis looked at Mad and wiggled his brows. She figured he was testing. She was definitely not up to this now and didn’t bother to stifle her long-suffering sigh. With a wave of her hand she turned and went into her room, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.

  “That wasn’t cool,” Val said, but she didn’t need to tell him. They were all looking at him with disapproval on their faces. Hell, he disapproved of himself right now.

  “Not too clever, Dennis.” Jon smirked. At least he understood, Dennis thought. Sarah stood with her arms folded. Before she could speak, and because he could already feel a headache coming on, he preempted her.

  “I’m out of here. Anyone want a drink?” He looked at Jon who nodded back, bless his heart.

  “I’ll stay and read for a while, catch up on the press clippings. Maybe I’ll stay and sleep here on the couch.” Sarah looked meaningfully at him. As if. He wasn’t that crazy.

  There was only one man brave enough to intrude after dark.

  “Good. You can stand guard in case PJD strikes again with a midnight visit.” Dennis turned then and Jon followed. They moved like they were in a hurry to catch a train, but it was more like they were running to avoid getting hit by one.

  Val’s soft chuckle was the only thing that caught them as they shut the door behind them.

  On the elevator. “So how worried are you?” Jon asked.

  “You like asking loaded ambiguous questions, don’t you?”

  “And you like to avoid answering them.”

  “I always did like you, Jon old boy. Under that well-mannered exterior lies a truly dark and warped nature. The noble dressing hides a perversion to uncover the monster under every rock. But for what purpose? Not so noble I think. Maybe you’re just a spoiler at heart?”

  “Can’t compete with you.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re trying.”

  “You ought to stop trying,” Jon said.

  “That’s your advice?” Now that was disappointing. The elevator doors opened and Dennis knew exactly where to head. His friendly neighborhood hotel bar was waiting with the smile of clinking glasses and brittle laughter.

  He nodded at the bartender, who put his drink in front of him at the same instant his butt hit the stool. The guy was good.

  “What are you having, Jon old boy? No, let me guess—brandy?”

  Jon smiled and turned to the bartender. “Chivas straight up. Thank you,” he said in his deep velvet voice.

  “I wonder why she’s not interested in you?” Dennis wondered out loud. That startled his companion. Then he reminded himself they were on the same team and he ought to stop trying to ruffle Jon’s feathers. The look he got was cold. Maybe Jon’s well-mannered sensibilities ran deeper than he figured.

  “Okay, okay. I apologize. I’m in a no-good mood, but I shouldn’t take it out on the one person who at least understands.”

  “She’s only interested in one man, you know,” Jon said the words with true kindness that made it sting all the worse. Dennis slapped back when he got stung, even when he knew he shouldn’t.

  �
��You looking for a fight?”

  “You putting up a fight? Because I didn’t peg you for the type to waste time on lost causes,” Jon said. There was a surprise.

  “I’m working on this campaign, aren’t I?” Take that, Mr. Smooth. Some pepper in the eyes from a low-down, dirty street fighter. This was a good time to down his Jack Daniels—before he looked back at Jon’s face.

  When he did, Jon shook his head, and all he saw was sympathy in the man’s eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot you were the one who understands.” Dennis didn’t bother to try to stop himself from sulking.

  “And I forgot you were Irish and inclined to take cheap shots when you’re backed into a corner.”

  “Another drink—and one for my man here—even if he is British.” That got a laugh from good old Jonathan Lake.

  “All right. I’ll stay. I can’t say when I’ve had a more charming invitation.” Jon nodded to the bartender to pour another.

  “I hope your last invitation was from someone better looking than me.”

  The bartender put the two gold-liquid-filled glasses in front of them and looked at his watch.

  “You two look like you may be here a while. Looks like I’ll be staying with you.”

  Dennis looked at Jon and the man looked back.

  “The Brit’s got my vote for drinking partner for the night.” Dennis made himself smile at Jon. It suddenly became important to have his approval.

  “Since when do you drink with company?” The surprised bartender gave Jon a squinty look. “This is one surly customer,” he said. Jon chuckled.

  “Then this should be a very interesting night.” Jon picked up his glass. Dennis raised his.

  “To the night of brotherhood and bonding with the glue of liquor and lost women,” Dennis said. He hoped those were the last words he would bother remembering for the rest of the night.

  “Whose idea was it to have this debate at the TV studio anyway?” someone said. It didn’t matter who said it. Madeline agreed with the sentiment. She wished there was a live audience so she could gauge reaction, but they told her they were keeping it as simple as possible at this stage. The debate was thrown together at the last minute to take advantage of the Cupid and Goliath media furor. The Mad woman and the Rock soap-opera melodrama was too much for the local TV stations not to cash in. This debate was for ratings, plain and simple.