by Kim Baldwin
She’d never felt at ease when anyone invaded her personal space, but being close to Kennedy was unbearable for reasons she couldn’t understand. Her touch was firm but gentle, her scent intoxicating, and her shoulders slender yet strong. Kennedy moved with the smooth grace of a feline predator, something Ryden had never witnessed before. In complete contrast to the men she had gotten close to, who were rough, hurried, and anxious to grab her ass and make her feel disturbingly like an object, Kennedy made her feel uncomfortably like the woman she always dreamed she could be.
“Very well.” Kennedy pressed the Start button and came to stand before her. She put one arm around Ryden’s waist and held the other up, waiting for Ryden to place hers. “Madam President?”
Ryden tentatively placed her hands.
“Do you remember the moves?” Kennedy’s eyes searched hers.
“I…think so.”
“Follow me and you’ll do fine,” Kennedy said, and moved into her.
They danced for ten minutes with Ryden counting steps to herself. She avoided eye contact because the few times she had dared a glance at Kennedy’s profile, she lost her footing.
“You’re doing great,” Kennedy said when Ryden followed her spin. She hadn’t realized when she’d stopped counting and simply allowed Kennedy to lead her smoothly across the floor.
Ryden smiled. “This isn’t so bad.” She felt weightless.
“I’m glad you think so.” Despite her encouragement, Kennedy remained serious and distant.
“You protect me, teach me about wine and, now, how to waltz. I’m a genuine handful.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Not exactly. I’m sure your responsibilities don’t include making up for my ineptness.”
“I do what’s necessary.”
“I wonder what’s next, then.” The words spilled out of her before Ryden realized what she was saying.
“That would depend on you, Madam President.” Kennedy gazed so intently at her Ryden had to look away.
“The girls in Tuscany must be all over you.”
“I guess.”
“Yet you say you don’t have anyone special.”
“I used to.”
“What happened?”
“A woman named Carmen. I stopped dating after her.”
“You loved her a lot.”
“Let’s just say she spoiled me for any other.”
“I see,” Ryden said curtly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why?”
“You’re successful, intelligent, and…attractive.”
Kennedy arched one eyebrow and swirled her before she replied. “I’m also not interested.”
“Something is holding you back.”
Kennedy abruptly slowed them, almost to a halt. “That something is a dislike for settling.”
“You’re not ready to settle down?” Ryden asked.
“I’m not prepared to settle for an imitation of what I want,” Kennedy replied, and picked up the pace again.
“What do you want?”
“Someone who doesn’t bore me with petty issues, melodramas, and inane exchanges…and someone who doesn’t need me for what I can buy them.”
Ryden realized for the first time how lucrative Kennedy’s business must be and that plenty of women would want to take advantage of that. Though she’d noticed that Kennedy was always meticulously well groomed, only now did she note the smooth, expensive fabric beneath the hand that rested on Kennedy’s shoulder. The navy suit had been tailor-made to fit her. The white shirt beneath was no ordinary off-the-rack, either, but made of quality materials and required cufflinks. Kennedy’s were gold, square-shaped, and with some kind of design carved in them that Ryden couldn’t discern from the glimpses she got as they danced. Kennedy was understatedly elegant, not enough to draw any attention to herself, though clearly the woman didn’t need this job.
But they did have something in common. Kennedy, too, didn’t like pointless conversations and small talk. Did she think their conversation tedious? Was that why she was being so quiet and distant? Ryden, disappointed by the prospect, began counting her steps again, turning her head away to concentrate on the wall behind Kennedy.
She jumped when she felt Kennedy’s breath close to her ear.
“What do you want?” Kennedy asked.
Ryden turned her head slightly, to find Kennedy’s face very close to hers. She was wearing a V-necked blouse, and Kennedy was staring at her exposed neck.
“I mean,” Kennedy murmured in a low voice, “aside from stopping the illegal-arms trade, more jobs, equal job rights for both sexes, and world peace?”
“I…I, uh…” Ryden couldn’t stop staring at Kennedy’s mouth. “Don’t know.”
Kennedy’s soulful blue eyes sought hers, and Ryden lost herself in them; she let herself be swept across the floor in widening patterns while they remained looking at each other. Ryden didn’t know if her feet were touching the ground or how much time was passing. She didn’t care if the world fell apart, because she felt like a princess in the arms of her knight.
Ryden also didn’t know when or how, but they had closed the distance between them until she could feel Kennedy’s hips and breasts against her own. They moved as one.
“Who are you?” Kennedy suddenly asked.
It took a few seconds for the question to register. “You know who I am.” Ryden’s voice sounded breathless, even to her own ears.
“I mean, aside from the obvious.”
Was this a serious question or a trick one? Kennedy knew very well who Ryden was.
“Who is the woman behind the façade and what does she want?” Kennedy asked.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Would it clear it up if I said, what we did yesterday, what we’re doing now, is highly unprofessional on my behalf and vastly unconventional on yours.”
“I know.”
“What’s going on, Elizabeth?”
“I…” Ryden stopped dancing and let go. She walked to the CD player and turned it off. “I don’t know, but…”
“But?”
“It has to stop.”
Kennedy stared down at her feet. “I know.” She looked disappointed, or maybe embarrassed. Ryden couldn’t tell which, but maybe, like her, Kennedy felt both.
Exasperated, she ran her hand through her hair. “You can’t even begin to imagine what…what…”
“Of course I can,” Kennedy replied quietly. “And I would never say anything.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“Come in,” Ryden said.
The aide who’d left them the CD player entered and stopped just inside the door. “Madam President, Advisor Moore asked me to remind you of your appointment with him in thirty minutes.”
“Tell him I’m aware,” Ryden lied, and headed toward him. In reality she’d forgotten about it completely. She was happy she could remember her name at this point.
“Of course,” the aide replied, and moved to the side as Ryden passed him by.
Kennedy followed her to her bedroom and Ryden stopped outside the door. Unable to face Kennedy, she remained with her back turned. “I was going to say, you can’t even begin to imagine what you’re doing to me,” she said before she disappeared into her room.
Chapter Seventeen
Denver, Colorado
Jack had been warned about TQ and the influence she had on higher-ups, but it boggled her mind that the bitch had been able to find out about Cassady—certainly no easy feat. Too afraid to call Cass, the only other option that crossed her mind was Montgomery Pierce. She hated to admit it, but the EOO probably had the kind of power needed to deal with someone like the Broker. Jack reached for her phone a few times during her drive to Denver but couldn’t make herself contact him.
It wasn’t so much pride that stopped her, but fear. She had no control over what Pierce and the rest would do, and she refused to take any chances with the woman she loved. Cass had alre
ady been through too much, and Jack was damned if she would let that bitch hurt her.
No, this was Jack’s war. Pierce had warned her that the Broker wouldn’t forget, and from the short discussion with TQ, Jack knew she wasn’t the type of woman to forgive, either. She had fueled this war by killing Dario, and she was going to make sure no one else paid the price.
Jack parked her black 1967 Mustang in front of the warehouse. That way, it was exposed and clear for anyone to see; now was not the time for heroics or taking stupid risks. She knew TQ meant it when she said she’d terminate Cass if she tried anything or wasn’t on time, because it was exactly what Jack would do. She grabbed her Glock from the passenger seat and got out.
The place was massive and long abandoned. The warehouses on either side were, too. TQ had done her homework. There was no point in looking for another entrance. The bitch would have enough eyes and capable manpower to sure as hell have this place completely secured. They could likely take her out at any moment.
The sun was about to set when Jack knocked twice on the metal door, then went inside, Glock exposed to show she meant business but not concealed so as to get herself killed. They’d expect her to be carrying, so there was no point in denying or hiding it.
Jack cautiously entered the dim warehouse. She detected no sound from within or sign of movement, and she couldn’t see clearly where she was going, but she was sure she’d find out soon enough where the bitch wanted her.
She took a few more steps through the dark entryway and reached an open door. The fading daylight through the filthy windows inside allowed her to make out one chair in the center of the otherwise empty room, a pair of handcuffs resting on the seat.
Jack looked around before she picked up the cuffs and sat. She didn’t expect TQ to show up in person. As far as anyone knew, the woman was a ghost. No one in law enforcement and no one Jack knew in the underworld had ever met or seen her, and who knew if that was even her fucking name.
Jack was curious where TQ’s men would take her. She didn’t know what the woman had planned for her, but immediate death clearly wasn’t it. She had mentioned working for her. Jack figured if she got close enough to the Broker to discuss a deal, she’d find a way to either kill or bargain herself out of it. She just hoped the miserable bitch would keep her word and leave Cass alone.
She placed the Glock gingerly on the ground in front of her, kicked it a few feet away, and handcuffed herself to the chair like they expected her to. “Let’s get on with the show.”
Moments later, a small man or woman—Jack couldn’t tell which in the fading light because he / she was wearing black clothes and a black plastic mask—approached from the front. Without saying a word, the stranger stopped before her and lifted one gloved hand to expose a syringe.
“I guess it’s good night, motherfucker,” Jack said.
*
The White House
Next evening, March 3
Ryden stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, unable to believe it was really her staring back in bewilderment. Never had she been this beautiful—the stunning dress and hair, the jewelry, the shoes. She looked like a princess. What would Kennedy think of her tonight, especially in light of her not-so-spontaneous admission?
Ryden knew she would regret saying what she had, but at that moment, the closeness, the feel of Kennedy had overpowered her, and she was helpless to deny or dismiss the attraction. Yes, Kennedy was a woman, but Ryden hadn’t cared and still didn’t.
If Kennedy wanted to, she could get her in serious trouble, but Ryden somehow knew she wouldn’t. For some inexplicable reason, she trusted Kennedy. Or at least she wanted to, just as much as she wanted to kiss her.
She touched her lips; it had been years since she’d used them for that purpose. “What if I forgot how to kiss?” she said to her image. “What if I never knew how?” She shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s not like it’s ever going to happen.”
The knock at the door meant it was time to exit her dream world and enter the nightmare with Ratman at its center. It was time for their meeting.
She opened the door for him and then immediately went and sat at her vanity table.
“Are you adequately prepared for this evening?” Ratman asked as he entered. He stopped in the middle of the room.
Ryden picked up the guest list and scanned it for the hundredth time. Anything to look busy and get him away from her as quickly as possible. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She’d created her own memory game for matching faces with names and titles.
“Most of these people are new to you, so you need to be absolutely clear on who’s who.”
“Unless someone has recently had a major face job, I can handle it.” Now get your ugly self out of my room.
“Kennedy tells me your dance lesson went very well.”
“Did she?” Ryden asked, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.
“Yes. She said you were ready to teach Carlos a thing or two.”
Ryden’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know about that, but I’m glad she thinks I did well.” She smiled.
“You seem to enjoy her company.”
“I guess.”
“Strange,” Ratman said. “Not too long ago you described her as a boring mute.”
“I never said I didn’t like her. Maybe I prefer boring mutes.”
“Did you know she’s a dyke?”
“It came up,” Ryden said nonchalantly. “How is that relevant?”
“We don’t want people thinking your new best bud is queer.”
“I’m a Democrat and supportive of same-sex marriage, remember?”
“You, Madam President…” his tone oozed sarcasm as he took a few steps closer, “are whatever I say you are.” She looked up at him in the mirror and he smiled, exposing his little rat teeth.
“How much does she know?”
“Kennedy?”
Ryden nodded.
“Has she said anything to you?” Suddenly his smirk was gone and his tone worried.
“Why are you so concerned about what Kennedy has to say?”
“Because she suspects inside help and involvement concerning the attack.”
“You mean…” So Kennedy had no idea. Ryden didn’t know if she should be happy or upset. Of course she was thrilled to learn that Kennedy wasn’t Moore’s lackey and in on the conspiracy. But if Kennedy had known she was a fake, at least her attraction to Ryden would have been sincere—directed at the blackmailed frumpy florist. But this…this meant the bodyguard was attracted to Elizabeth Thomas, the Harvard-educated, eloquent president of the United States. Everything she was not. “You mean she doesn’t know?”
“And for you and your buddy’s sake,” he warned, “it had better stay that way.”
Ryden nodded but her mind was a million galaxies away.
“So, you’re all ready for tonight?” Ratman asked cheerily.
“Everything is under control.”
“I must admit, I never expected you to be this competent. Your learning and memorizing abilities would put many a scholar to shame.”
“A matter of life or death can do that to you,” she replied dryly.
He laughed. “Then again, she wouldn’t have settled for anything or anyone less than ideal.”
Ratman was talking about the woman behind this whole orchestration, the one responsible for ruining her life. Ryden had never met her in person but had had the displeasure of listening to that cold, menacing voice on the speaker during her training, when she would call for updates or, more often than not, with threats to her life if she failed. What she wouldn’t give for a baseball bat and a few undisturbed minutes with that arctic bitch.
“She’s a regular talent spotter,” Ryden said. “She should consider American Idol.”
He walked to her side and lifted her face to him by her chin. “Watch how you speak of her.”
Ryden nodded and he let go.
She wasn’t going to give him
the pleasure this time of seeing how much he unnerved her, so she turned to the vanity table for something to busy her hands with before they started to shake. She picked up the hairbrush and busily pulled the loose hair from it.
“You’ve become a remarkably beautiful woman.” He stood behind her and started to massage her shoulders.
Ryden tried to get up, but he held her down firmly. Then when he was sure she wouldn’t move, he slid his hands downward to the front of her décolleté, stopping just above her breasts. She suppressed the urge to bolt. She really wanted to get up and stab him in the eye with the brush handle, but instead she sat very still as she watched his moist hands through the mirror reach even lower. It was like she was having an out-of-body experience; she refused to believe this beast was touching her.
“Maybe, we can…” Ratman sounded hoarse. “We can work out an arrangement for the duration of your stay.” He bent over and licked her neck. “What do you say, Madam President?”
“Please.” Ryden looked at him in the mirror. “Please, stop before I lose control.”
“Oh? And do what, beautiful?” He kissed her shoulder.
Ryden started taking shallow breaths as her insides churned. Her stomach couldn’t take any more of this—the disgusting saliva and breath on her neck and his hands on her. Her eyes started to tear up from the sudden need to empty her stomach. “I’m…I’m going to be sick,” she managed to say.
Ratman must have seen it in her face because he pulled back immediately, allowing her to run to the bathroom.
“Disgusting,” Ryden heard him say before she shut the door. “Get yourself cleaned up and ready,” he called out. “The guests arrive in an hour.”
*
Southwestern Colorado
Montgomery Pierce frowned down at the tuna salad and fruit plate Joanne Grant had just delivered for his dinner. He would kill for a cheeseburger and fries—it had been months since he’d had them—but she’d insisted on overseeing his meals until his blood pressure returned to normal limits. Sighing, he picked at the salad. Small price to pay, he told himself, to finally have love in his life and someone to come home to. In recent months, he’d toyed with proposing marriage, though they’d have to keep it secret or the whole no-fraternization rule among ops would have to go.