by Kim Baldwin
“Never. All I know is I was born and adopted in Melbourne, Australia.”
The president raised an eyebrow. “An Aussie?”
“In blood, yes, but an Italian at heart.”
“How was it growing up in an organization?”
“It’s funny how that varies from kid to kid. Some love it, make friends and enjoy the constant playing and schooling and find it a home, and others…don’t.”
“And how about you?”
“I was one of those who didn’t. I’ve never liked noise, and boy, there was a lot of that.”
“Yes.” Thomas sounded wistful. “I mean, kids seem to love screaming. My sister’s kids do, anyway.”
“Not me, and I was never very social. Spent a lot time on my own and out of other people’s way. Kids welcomed me when I sought them out, but they never went out of their way to track me down. I think they found me a bit odd. Most adopted kids crave acceptance. I just looked forward to getting out and on with my life. I wanted to find my place in the world, not a family.”
“Did you?”
“I did,” Shield replied. “When I found Italy.”
Thomas sighed. “It must be wonderful to know where you belong.”
“You sound like you don’t, when you appear to have everything.”
“Appear being the key word.”
“It’s definitely not easy being you.”
Thomas shook her head almost imperceptibly and let out a small laugh devoid of humor. “You have no idea.”
“I don’t even want to imagine having to live your life.”
“This life, the one before. Trust me, you don’t want to imagine either.”
Rich political families could definitely come with drawbacks. Cold, ambitious parents more interested in grooming successors than in loving their child. But no one could have forced Thomas to become president. You needed to want and fight for that position wholeheartedly in order to obtain it, especially if you were the first female to hold the highest office in the world. But she couldn’t argue that it came with a lot of sacrifices and potential dirty work. “I guess no one is ever really prepared for what’s expected in your position, no matter how much they groom you for it.”
The president looked away. “You can say that again. Sometimes I wish I had made different choices, but…” Thomas massaged her temples. “Well, what choice did I really have?”
“What is it you want?” Shield asked.
“I should say I want my life back, but I don’t. I…I just want to live. For once, I want to be free of everything, including myself…who I was before all this.”
Shield didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. If she hated anything, it was superficial sentiments and conventional comfort speeches. She wasn’t about to tell Thomas her life wasn’t so bad, because it clearly was, and who was Shield to tell her otherwise? She also wasn’t about to tell Thomas things could get better because Shield couldn’t know that, either. If she was right and the president had gotten to the point of having to fake an attack and get five people killed in the process, chances were things could only get a lot worse.
Judging from her panic attacks and almost tangible fear, Thomas had clearly been persuaded to do something she didn’t want. Her statements tonight seemed to confirm that supposition. Shield was almost positive the president had to be convinced to go along with whatever was happening, because one sentiment was missing from her demeanor: guilt. But who could have so much power over the president of the United States?
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Shield picked up the bottle of Il Grigio Angelo. “Would you do me the honor of trying my wine?” she asked Thomas. “Since I’m sure you’re an excellent critic, your opinion is important to me.”
“I don’t know that I’m an expert and by no means a connoisseur.”
Shield found it hard to believe that the president hadn’t had her share of good wine, coming from a prominent family and considering all the formal dinners she’d no doubt attended as a senator. She was probably just downplaying her privileged background and being careful not to give the impression of a chief executive who enjoyed alcohol. “But you enjoy a glass now and then?”
“Very much.”
“Will you try some?”
“I’d love to.”
Shield uncorked the bottle and poured for the president.
“How about you?” Thomas asked.
“I’m on duty.”
“I won’t tell, and I’m sure just one won’t compromise your ability to protect me.”
Shield smiled. “It won’t. But aside from that, we only have one wineglass and I’d rather not ask for another. It would draw attention, and I don’t want that.”
“Very well.” Thomas lifted the goblet. “Cheers, then.” She took a sip.
Odd, Shield thought. The president, because of her position, had to have been trained in the basics of wine. Yet Thomas had skipped swirling, sniffing, and allowing the burgundy liquid to permeate her palate before she swallowed. Maybe wine wasn’t her thing, after all. Shield was disappointed. She didn’t know why, but she wanted Thomas to like it. “What do you think?”
“It’s heavenly.” Thomas leaned back in the armchair with the goblet. “Truly delicious.”
“Do you generally enjoy wine?”
“I know this will sound very wrong, but I really don’t know much about it.”
Shield laughed. “I can tell.”
Thomas looked chagrined. “Uh-oh. That bad, huh?”
“May I?” Shield looked at the glass.
Thomas handed it over and Shield held it up to the setting sun. “This is a merlot.”
“Okay.”
“Can you describe the color?”
“Red.”
“Red wine is produced from grapes that are not only red, but purple and blue as well. The many different varietals of red wine give it names like dark red, light red, almost black, maroon, deep violet, and burgundy. If you look at it again, how would you describe it?”
Thomas looked from her to the wine. She stared at it for a while and pursed her lips. “Maroon, almost black.”
“Very good.” Shield lifted the wineglass and swirled it. “Aerating the wine like this introduces more air molecules into it, which can capture the aroma molecules and carry them up to the nose. More dominant aromatics that arise after swirling can overwhelm some subtle ones, so most professional tasters will sniff the wine briefly first before swirling. The closer the nose is to the wine, even right inside the glass, the greater the chances of capturing aromatics. A series of short, quick sniffs versus one long inhale will also maximize the likelihood of detecting aromatics. The human nose starts to fatigue after around six seconds, and so a pause may be necessary between sniffs.” She stopped swirling and placed the goblet under Thomas’s nose.
The president took successive brief sniffs.
Fast learner, Shield thought. “What do you smell?”
“Fruit, but not sweet. Earth, and…smoke?”
“Excellent. Inferior merlots can smell like vinegar.”
“This definitely doesn’t smell like vinegar.”
“I know.” Shield didn’t want to sound arrogant, but she prided herself on the quality of her wine.
“How would you describe it?” Thomas asked.
“A full-bodied and complex ruby, with a soft sweetness and velvety aftertaste. Hints of wild cherry and blackberry, finessed with a slight cocoa tone and undercurrents reminiscent of the rich, smoky soil of Tuscany.”
Thomas sighed. “That’s beautiful. So…romantic.”
“And now, finally, is the time to taste.”
Thomas lifted the glass to her mouth, never taking her eyes off Shield’s, as if waiting for her permission.
“Before you…” Shield stopped.
“Yes?”
They were staring at each other and Shield couldn’t look away. The president looked more relaxed at that moment than Shield had ever seen her—softer, s
omehow, and more…real, not the figurehead politician, but a warm and inviting woman. Again, Shield was struck by how beautiful Thomas was when she was stripped of her perfect media-friendly hairdo and flawless makeup. She’d evidently showered after her workday before changing into the comfortable-looking long-sleeved blue T-shirt and designer sweatpants she now wore; her fresh-scrubbed face and slightly flyaway, short brown hair gave her an enticing approachability. But the vulnerability in Elizabeth Thomas’s dark eyes really drew her in and made her forget momentarily what she’d been about to say.
Shield also couldn’t remember when she’d decided it was proper to stare at Thomas’s kissable mouth. What was she doing? This woman was the American president and was also apparently involved in some scheme.
“May I…” Thomas’s hoarse voice brought her back.
“Yes…if you know how.”
Thomas paused a long moment before replying in a soft voice, “Teach me.”
Shield shivered involuntarily at the words. Damn it, this was insane. Was she actually flirting with Thomas? And more insanely, was the president actually flirting back? “Take a small sip and keep it on your tongue. Give it a chance to mix with your saliva. It decreases the acidity and enhances the flavor.”
“How long?”
“You’ll know.”
Thomas slowly brought the glass to her lips and, her eyes still fixed on Shield’s, took a small sip. The setting sun had created a green hue in the president’s deep-brown eyes, and her lips shone from the maroon liquid. Thomas closed her eyes to swallow and let out a small groan.
Shield’s whole body reacted to the sound, every muscle tensing involuntarily, and she had to stop herself from moaning as well.
“Your wine is…delicious.” Thomas’s voice was barely audible.
Unable to trust her own voice, Shield smiled and looked out the open doors to the balcony.
The situation was becoming more unprofessional by the second. Flirting on the job, and never mind with Thomas, was against her every taught and self-imposed code of ethics. Shield cleared her voice before she spoke.
“I…” they said simultaneously.
Shield gestured for Thomas to go first.
“I was going to say, I think it’s time I turned in,” the president said.
Shield immediately stood. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Indeed. What were you about to say?”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“Oh?”
“Do you really not remember me?” Shield asked. “Or is there a reason you won’t acknowledge having met me?”
“Remember you from…?”
“Greece. The summit. I know you saw me, because you looked right at me and nodded.”
“The global-warming summit? I…I don’t, I’m sorry.”
Shield felt oddly disappointed she’d not made more of an impression. “It’s okay. I was just curious.”
The president got up and faced her. They were less than a foot apart. “Thank you for the wine and the lesson.”
Shield took a step back and looked away. “It was my pleasure, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Thomas headed out and Shield followed silently a pace behind. She opened the door for the president and Thomas stepped into the foyer.
As she opened the door to her bedroom, with her back turned, the president said, “Good night, Kennedy.”
“Sleep well, Elizabeth.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ryden dropped on her back on the bed and covered her face with a pillow. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What just happened? What did I just do?” She had little to no experience with flirting, but even she knew what had just taken place, and for the first time in her life, she had flirted back.
Not that guys had ever swamped her with flowers, romantic dinners, and heated insinuations, but her limited practice had been one-sided and uninteresting. In her forty years she’d had three relationships, although that term was overrated when trying to characterize what they’d really been. Not one had lasted longer than a few months, and all had involved infrequent, uneventful, physical obligations. The men were nice enough but had done nothing for her libido. Hell, the only reason she knew about the existence of the G-spot was because she’d accidentally read about it when she clicked on an evidently dubious website called Fun With Candles.
Ryden might have carried on with the men for the sake of having someone in her life, but the prospect of having to endure the occasional sex was unbearable. They weren’t rough or indifferent to her needs; they would try everything short of performing circus acts to satisfy her but never could. And in the end, they’d all call her frigid and leave, blaming her for making them feel incompetent.
Seven years ago, she’d concluded that her loveless childhood had made her incapable of feeling what she was supposed to feel and had stopped dating altogether. She had no desire to put herself through that kind of disaster again.
But if she was indeed frigid, why was her body aching? How did Kennedy, a woman, make her feel more desire and desired than she had ever imagined possible? No man had ever looked at her the way Kennedy had, and no one had ever made her feel the need to scream I want you. There was no doubt Kennedy had flirted with her, was there?
“I’m going through a stress-induced mid-life crisis,” she muttered to herself. “Give me a break. That’s obscene. That’s impossible, not to mention crazy. What’s wrong with me?”
Maybe, she mused, the attraction came from the fact that Kennedy had been adopted, was an orphan like she was, a kindred spirit. But since when does empathy produce bodily fluids? Ryden looked in the direction of her crotch. “God. I’m a total mess.”
And Ratman would have a stroke if he found out. She’d almost laugh if she wasn’t scared shitless of him. “There’s the silver lining everyone talks about.”
She got up and paced the room. Could Kennedy be playing around just to have something extra to blackmail her with? “No, that can’t be.” Kennedy had seemed sincere and almost uncomfortable with herself during their flirtatious banter.
Although the evening was chilly, Ryden felt like she was on fire. She opened the window and hung her head out. “What’s happening to me?” she asked the stars. Once she’d cooled off a little, she shut the window and turned to stare at the door. It had never looked more appealing. “Who am I kidding? I don’t have the guts to run.”
The ringing phone interrupted her monologue.
“Yes?”
“You sound breathless.” Ratman.
“So?”
“Is something wrong?”
Not if you consider me wanting to run the hell away from this place normal. “No,” she replied instead.
“I was told you were in the Yellow Room with Kennedy.”
“That’s right.”
“What were you doing?” he asked.
Oh, you know me. I love to wine taste with attractive women and wish to hell they’d kiss me. “Nothing much. I had a glass of wine.”
“And Kennedy?”
“She doesn’t drink on duty.”
“I meant,” he snapped with irritation, “did she say anything?”
“Like what?” What was up with the interrogation? “Kennedy talked about wine.” And I hope to hell she doesn’t say otherwise. “Why are you asking about Kennedy?” Did the Rat hear something? Had Kennedy just spoken to him?
“Just want to make sure she’s taking good care of you.”
You have no idea how good. “She’s very professional. Doesn’t talk much and is quite boring.”
The answer apparently satisfied him because he changed topics. “Have you checked your schedule for this week?”
“I’m prepared for tomorrow. I’ll read the rest of this week’s schedule tonight.” Ryden glanced over at the folder, which she’d tossed on the bed earlier. She’d apparently lain on it when she came in and hadn’t even noticed; it was crumpled and folded at the edges.
“Go
od.”
The only thing good, creep, she thought, is that the phones are tapped, because it means you refrain from saying, “So far, so good. Keep it that way and you’ll live.”
“Well then, get some rest for tomorrow.”
Fat chance since my body feels more wired than a guitar. “I will.”
“Good night, Elizabeth.”
I hope you slip in the shower and break your neck. And FYI, Elizabeth only sounds good when Kennedy says it. “Good night,” she replied, and hung up.
Kennedy even makes Elizabeth sound sexy. “Yup, time for a shower,” Ryden told herself as she headed toward the bathroom, still tingling from the interaction with Kennedy. “A bucket of ice and tranquilizers wouldn’t hurt, either.”
*
Houston, Texas
TQ watched the maid pour her nightcap—bourbon, neat—and set it on her desk atop a coaster. She smiled. “The eye patch becomes you. You finally look interesting.”
The young woman bowed. “Thank you, madam.”
The phone rang and TQ sighed when she saw the number on caller ID. “Get out,” she told the maid before she answered the phone. “And?”
“She asks a lot of questions,” Yuri Dratshev replied.
“I’m sure.”
“My men say nothing.”
“Your family’s life depends on it, after all. Is that everything?”
“She is asking for a TV. She wants to hear the news.”
“Good. It’s time we gave her one.” She reached for her bourbon and took a sip. Disciplining the maid had ensured no further problems. The amount in the glass was precisely to her specifications, and the glass had been placed exactly where she wanted on her desk.
“But she will find out,” Dratshev said.
“Yes, Russian genius.”
“You want her to.”
“The president has to be prepared, for when the time comes.”
“When the time comes?”
“Were you listening at all while I outlined this operation? I honestly don’t know how someone who needs to be reminded to blink can be so successful.”