Flee The Darkness

by Grant R. Jeffrey

  She gestured for Daniel to take a seat on a stool at the kitchen bar, then opened a cupboard and rummaged for a vase.

  “I thought you’d prefer them this way,” he said. “You seem to have a gift for arranging things.”

  Lauren laughed in appreciation of his wit. “In my job, you have to.” Giving up on the vase, she pulled the empty spaghetti sauce jar from the trash and rinsed it under the sink.

  “I’ll find a vase later.” She looked away, hoping to hide the flush that burned her cheeks. “This may not be very elegant, but it’ll keep the flowers from dying of thirst.”

  “Very creative.”

  Daniel grinned as she haphazardly arranged the flowers in the jar. “I must say, Miss Mitchell, your invitation really caught me by surprise. I had planned to spend the night working and sampling the wonders of room service, but since you asked—well, a home-cooked meal beats hotel food any day.”

  She shrugged and thrust another long-stemmed rose into the arrangement. “I hope you don’t mind plain old spaghetti. It’s not very fancy, but I’ve made a salad and used my mom’s recipe for salad dressing. It’s a lot better than anything I’ve ever bought in a jar.”

  “I’m sure it will be delicious. By the way, how’d you do at the dog show?”

  “We did great.” Lauren put the last of the flowers into the jar, then flashed him a triumphant smile. “Tasha took best of breed, and reserve in the best of show. She’s beautiful. I finished her before she was a year old, and next year I’m hoping to breed her.”

  “If she’s finished,” confusion filled Daniel’s dark eyes, “then why are you still showing her?”

  “Finished means that she’s already earned her championship,” Lauren said, moving toward the stove. “But she can still compete. I’m thinking about taking her to Westminster next February, and all the dogs entered there are champions. But I also want to breed her, and that means I have to find the right male dog—”

  “Um,” Daniel interrupted, a rich blush staining his throat as he looked around, “where is the little whippersnapper? I’d love to meet her.”

  Lauren choked back a laugh. She’d forgotten that not everyone found the breeding and training of dogs as fascinating as she did. “Tasha’s at the trainer’s house,” she explained, pulling two potholders from a drawer near the stove. “I keep such crazy hours, it’s not fair for me to keep her crated in the house while I’m at work. So she spends the week with the girl who helps me train her. I get her every weekend, though, and we spend every moment together.”

  “So—she’s used to being away from you? And if you had to, say, take an extended trip, you’d have someone to take care of the dog?”

  His lids came swiftly down over his eyes, and Lauren hesitated at the stove, a little perturbed by the personal question and the sudden change in his manner. Moving slowly, she dumped the pasta into a colander in the sink, then set the empty pot back on the stove.

  Crossing her arms, she leaned against the counter and fixed him in an unrelenting stare. “What’s up, Daniel?”

  His brown eyes lifted. “What? Who said anything was up?”

  “Part of my job is reading people, and I’m pretty good at it. You’re hiding something, so you may as well get it out now. Because if you’ve some kind of bombshell to explode for me, I’d rather you didn’t drop it in the middle of dinner.”

  He gave her a bright-eyed glance, filled with shrewdness. “You are good. Does Stedman pay you enough? Maybe you’d like to come to work for Prentice Technologies.”

  “I work for love, not money. And don’t try to change the subject. I really hate that.”

  “Okay.” He sighed in pretended exasperation, then looked up and met her gaze. “How attached are you to the Stedmans?”

  “Very, but why do you ask?”

  “Because I think you’re going to be, um, transferred for a couple of months. You’d still be working for the president, but you’d be working in Europe as my advisor and the president’s unofficial ambassador to the European Union for the duration of this trip.”

  Totally baffled, Lauren stared at him. Since when did Daniel Prentice tell her what her job would be? What kind of authority did he think he had, and who had given him the idea that he had any control over her life or job?

  Her lower lip trembled as she returned his stare. “What are you talking about?”

  A faint line appeared between his brows as he felt his way through the conversation. “As you probably know, I’ve been asked to go to Europe for a few weeks; they want me to introduce the Millennium Project to the European Union. I was honored by the invitation, of course, but the thought of two months in Europe with only a team of security guys for company is not my idea of fun. And you’ve seen my presentations— I’m not exactly the most diplomatic person in the world. I need help.” His brown eyes softened, as did his voice. “I said I’d go, but only if you could go with me.”

  Lauren snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his bluntness. He wanted her with him? As what?

  A surge of white-hot anger caught her by surprise. She felt half-choked with it but clamped it down, steeling herself to maintain her dignity and her composure. “I don’t know what you think I am, Mr. Prentice,” she said, her words as cool and clear as ice water, “but I am not at your command. If you think the White House will send me to Europe with you like some kind of glorified escort, you’re more misinformed than I would have believed possible.”

  Daniel lifted his hands. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Isn’t it?” She pulled herself off the kitchen counter and swallowed a hysterical surge of angry laughter. “Good grief! Just when I thought America was finally beginning to recognize the achievements of women! I meet you, I like you, and I think you appreciate and respect me. Then you come up with this idiotic plan! No, Daniel Prentice, I will not go to Europe as your bimbo!”

  “Lauren.” He leaned over the bar and reached for her hand, which she angrily snatched away.

  “Don’t you dare touch me!”

  “Have I ever?”

  Her heart was hammering, her breathing came in ragged gasps, but something in his words stemmed the anger and alarm rippling along her spine.

  “Lauren, listen to me. I want you to go to Europe with me because I do respect you. You’ve seen me—sometimes I come across like a cocky smart aleck, and I need someone with political experience and enough charm to keep the critics at bay. I’ve spoken to Brad Hunter, who thinks this is a great opportunity for you to act as a representative for the president and first lady. The media knows about your close relationship with the Stedmans— why not take advantage of it? You can accept some of those European invitations the first lady hasn’t the time to accept. You can play Lady Bountiful, cut ribbons, collect bouquets, and visit hospitals, all in the name of Victoria Stedman. The American Heart Association is one of her pet projects, isn’t it?”

  Lauren ran her hand through her hair in frustration, amazed that she was still listening to the man. “Yes.”

  “Then take advantage of the opportunity. Contact similar organizations in Europe and arrange to speak to them on the first lady’s behalf. Brad Hunter and General Archer are going to present this idea to the president and first lady tomorrow, and we think they’ll approve. But I wanted to talk to you first—” he sent her an irresistibly devastating grin—“to prevent this little scene from happening in public.”

  Lauren moved away and leaned against the far end of the counter, purposely lowering her eyes. He was right about the opportunity. Mrs. Stedman received close to two hundred invitations a month from around the world; she simply couldn’t accept all of them. And cardiac research was particularly important to her. If there were any cardiac hospitals in Europe that might benefit by her endorsement,Victoria would see this as a heavensent opportunity.

  “Where are you going in Europe?”

  “Brussels.”

  Lauren bit her lip and crossed her arms. She should have known. Brusse
ls was considered the capital of the European Union, and any speech she gave there on behalf of the first lady would reach millions of people. And though she hated to admit it, the thought of leaving her tiny office was appealing.

  She looked up and met Daniel’s eyes. “Excuse me for asking,” she kept her voice dry, “but are we agreed that this trip is completely platonic? We will travel as two professionals, sleep in separate hotel rooms, and maintain two separate itineraries?”

  Daniel held up his hands again. “Except for the occasions when I’ll need you to charm some of those feisty council ministers, you’ll be completely on your own. You arrange your trip, I’ll arrange mine—or I expect someone at the White House or State Department will arrange it for me.” His tight expression relaxed into a smile. “Though I hope you won’t object to having dinner with me at least once or twice.”

  Lauren tilted her head and considered him in the light of this new information. A woman could do much worse than traveling to Europe with Daniel Prentice, handsome genius millionaire.

  Slowly uncrossing her arms, she nodded. “I’ll consider it.” She turned to lift the colander out of the sink. “But only if the president approves and my schedule allows.”

  She had the feeling he would respond with some wry—and truthful— comment about her schedule being completely subject to the president’s whim, but he only smiled and slipped off his stool. “What can I do to help you?” he asked, moving to the sink. “Can I chop lettuce, butter bread, or set the table? My mother trained me well, you know.”

  “You can stir the sauce.” She poured the steaming spaghetti noodles into a large ceramic bowl, then handed him a wooden spoon and pointed toward the saucepan on the stove. “And try to be careful. I hate a spattered stovetop.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Humming contentedly, he lifted the lid and began to stir. Lauren watched him, mystified, then slid a plate over the hot noodles to keep them warm while she finished the salad.

  She wasn’t certain what Daniel Prentice wanted of her, but he had given her no reason to suspect any ulterior motives . . . yet.

  Daniel sank into the overstuffed sofa by the fireplace and watched as fire shadows danced around the walls of the comfortable room. Lauren had lingered in the kitchen to put away leftovers and stack dishes in the dishwasher. Daniel had offered to help, but she’d chased him away, saying he would only disrupt her system if he interfered.

  Had he disrupted her life? She had certainly blown a fuse when he mentioned the European trip. Given the fact that this administration worked overtime to avoid even a hint of sexual impropriety, he could understand why she reacted as she did, but he hadn’t intended to imply they would be anything more than business associates. He didn’t need to enlist a woman just to have an attractive companion on his arm as he strolled the streets of Brussels—money attracted beautiful women by the dozens. But hard experience had taught Daniel that beautiful, brainless women were like sugar— sweet when a man was hungry, sickening when he’d had enough.

  Lauren, however, was certainly not brainless. Nor was she as hardened as the female cabinet members who’d spent hours grilling Daniel on everything from the political to the psychological ramifications of the Millennium Project. Lauren seemed genuinely compassionate when she talked to people in her office and on the phone—and he’d overheard her talking to heads of state as well as welfare widows.

  The soft sound of her slippers on the carpet made him look up as she joined him on the sofa and carefully pressed a mug of hot chocolate against his palm. “I took a chance,” she said, clasping her own mug with both hands. “My mother used to say there’s nothing better than hot chocolate on a cold night.”

  Daniel took a sip of the cocoa and resisted the sudden urge to slip his arm around her shoulders. In light of their earlier conversation, touching her might not be a good idea.

  He sighed in appreciation of the sweet cocoa, then gave her a smile. “It’s delicious.” He studied her face. “Does your mother live nearby?”

  Dewy moisture filled her expressive blue eyes. “No. She used to live in Raleigh, but she died just before I began working for Sam Stedman. Heart attack.”

  “Your father?”

  Her lips parted in an expression that was not a smile. “Who knows? He left us when I was nine, and I’ve never once heard from him. We went from middle class to welfare, from a nice house in the suburbs to a housing project. But I don’t regret it, not really. I learned how to be tough, how to survive. And when I tell people that I know how frustrated they are with governmental red tape, they believe me.”

  Caught up in a wave of sympathy, Daniel looked toward the fire. She wouldn’t want his pity any more than he wanted hers. But it was comforting to know they had something besides politics in common.

  “I lost my dad, too.” His voice sounded flat to his own ears. “In Vietnam. He was a navy pilot. He died because some pompous general wanted to impress a visiting congressman.”

  When he looked over at her, surprise had siphoned the blood from her face. “I would think that you would hate the military.”

  He grunted in response. “Part of me does.”

  “So why are you here . . . helping the government?”

  Her gaze was as soft as a caress, and Daniel steeled himself against her irresistible aura of femininity. Thinking of the impending trip, he figured he had better retreat than make an ill-advised advance. “I’m here,” he said, “because you invited me for a spaghetti dinner. And unless you have another round of pasta waiting in the kitchen,” his eyes wandered to her lips, then darted away, “I think I’d better go.”

  Was that disappointment in her eyes? Whatever the emotion, it faded as she looked away and reached out to place her mug on the coffee table. “Of course. You probably have work to do tonight.”

  “Sure.” He didn’t really, but he’d think of something to do. Maybe he’d jog up and down New York Avenue. The way his pulse was pounding, he could certainly take any mugger foolish enough to accost him.

  She stood and held out her hand. “Let me take your mug. Do you remember where we left your coat?”

  He handed her the mug and stood as she walked quickly to the kitchen. His coat was on the hall tree in the foyer, and he went to get it, regretting this clumsy departure. The good thing about mindless beauties was that they didn’t care if you made a less-than-graceful exit from their lives. But this woman, Daniel suspected, cared very much.

  He was shrugging his way into his coat when she met him in the foyer. “Thank you very much for dinner,” he said stiffly, feeling like a sixteen-year-old on his first date. “It was delicious.”

  “It was nothing.”

  She lowered her head, and Daniel reached out to catch her chin with his fingertips. Cupping her chin, he searched her upturned face. “It was wonderful, and I thank you. I’d kiss you on the cheek, but I would hate to do anything to jeopardize your coming to Europe with me.” She smiled, and he took that as a good sign. “And I do want you to come, Lauren. I think it would be good for both of us . . . and who knows? It might be fun.”

  “Fun?” Feather-like laugh lines crinkled around her eyes. “Heavens, we can’t have that. What would the taxpayers think?”

  “I don’t care.” He tapped the side of her cheek, then released her. “I told you, I’m not into politics.” He turned and opened the door, then paused on the threshold when he heard her response.

  “All right.”

  “What?” Amazed, he turned to face her. “You’ll go?”

  “Yes.” She crossed her arms and gave him a jaunty smile. “It’ll be good for the Stedmans. And I’ve actually never been out of the country.”

  Daniel felt his smile broaden in approval. “All right, then.” He moved across the porch, then turned again on the steps. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?”

  “No.” She leaned against the doorframe, her blonde hair glinting in the porch light. “Now good-night, Daniel. I’ve got work
of my own to do.”

  Smiling, Daniel turned and walked to his rented car. The holidays in New York wouldn’t seem so lonely if he was busy thinking about Europe and the work ahead . . . and Lauren. Of course, he’d have to get through Brad’s wedding, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve without her.

  He unlocked the car and slipped inside, then sat in the driver’s seat, paralyzed by a sudden thought—he was behaving as if he had fallen in love with the woman. But it had been so long since he’d had a serious relationship that he wasn’t certain if this slightly queasy feeling was infatuation or the aftereffects of an amateur’s home-cooked meal.

  “Get a grip, Prentice,” he murmured, turning the key. “You’re just in unfamiliar water, that’s all.”

  The car roared to life, and Daniel backed out of the parking space and thundered away into the night.

  FOURTEEN

  1:05 P.M., Wednesday, November 18, 1998

  ENERGIZED BY A NEW SENSE OF PURPOSE, DANIEL HAD SCRIBBLED NOTES throughout the short jaunt from Washington to New York, then drove directly to his office. Now that the First Manhattan project was practically a done deal, three new challenges faced his company: producing and mass-marketing the Millennium Code so that all mainframes would be year-2000-compliant within thirteen months; designing computer codes for human personal identification devices and a corresponding array of PID scanners; and overseeing the physical production of the Millennium Chips and scanners. Ordinarily he’d have to worry about marketing any new devices, but if Congress passed legislation requiring PIDs by January 1, 2000, marketing was a moot point. Scanners would fly off the shelves as businesses, hospitals, law enforcement agencies, and transportation centers rushed to meet the government’s regulations.

  Daniel knew his people would rise to the occasion; they had never let him down. But before he called in the other executives, he wanted a few moments with his most trusted associates. He asked Roberta to call his administrative assistant and the professor, then pressed his thumb to his computer keypad and listened to the whir of the hard drive.