The Gemini Deception

by Kim Baldwin

  “She’s even better in person.”

  “Is she any fun?”

  “She can be when she’s not nervous or irritated with me,” Shield replied.

  “Why you?”

  “It’s complicated.” She thought back to the night she almost kissed Thomas.

  “What did you do?”

  “My job.”

  “I guess she doesn’t like being babysat.”

  “Frankly I don’t know what she likes,” she said distractedly. “She’s…not what I expected.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’s very sensitive and almost innocent, in a way a woman her age shouldn’t be. Like she doesn’t fit the role.”

  “She sounds too good to be a president.”

  Shield sighed. “She is. She’s unpretentiously charming, almost disarming.”

  “We are talking about the U.S. president, right?”

  “Hey, I’ll catch you later.”

  “Shield?”

  “Yeah?” She was still scanning the streets for the silver sedan.

  “Are you all right?”

  “You mean conspiracy and Jeffrey Thomas’s assassin getting killed in front of me, aside?”

  “That, too, but are you all right with Thomas?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sounds to me like you like her. A lot.”

  “Later, Reno. Text me the ticket info.” Shield hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The White House

  Ryden had managed to get through her closed-door session with the Argentine president, and several important meetings that followed, to Ratman’s satisfaction. But she still had three more to go before she was done for the day, and she wondered how she’d manage. She felt pushed to the very limit of her patience. After running a brush through her hair, she glanced at her schedule and wearily pushed herself up from the vanity. The next item on her agenda, a briefing from Homeland Security in the Roosevelt Room, would likely involve an elaborate multimedia presentation of some sort.

  She found the backup Secret Service agent outside her door in the same position she’d left him, like he hadn’t dared to move. “When is Kennedy expected to return, Jason?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. “She didn’t say, Madam President.”

  “Of course not. I mean, why bother? It’s not like she has a job to do.”

  “I…I’m…I don’t…”

  “Tell Kennedy I want to see her.”

  “Of course, Madam President.”

  She was wired so tight, her responses had become abrupt even to Ratman, but at this point, his menacing stare didn’t affect her. Every time she’d exited one meeting to go to another today, she’d expected to find Kennedy waiting for her outside the door. Instead, she would find her backup agent, who’d jump to attention at the sight of her. His expression was usually a mixture of frustration and fear she might ask him about Kennedy.

  The twenty minutes alone in her room, her first real break, had done little to soothe her frayed nerves. Ratman had been at her side the entire endless day, beginning with her meeting with Juan Carlos and continuing through appointments with the joint chiefs of staff and several cabinet members. He had made sure she followed her script and gave them all the correct answers, and in between each appointment, he’d grill her to make sure she’d done her homework about whatever was coming next.

  Around nine p.m., after her last meeting, she announced to that miserable excuse of a human that she was retiring for the night.

  “I’ll walk you to your room.” Ratman’s tone was smooth, almost flirtatious, as he followed just behind her toward the stairway to the second floor.

  “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

  “I know,” he replied with a smile.

  “Whatever,” she said under her breath as she headed up the steps. She couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. She was too tired and too irritated for a confrontation. “I need to be alone. It’s been a long, draining day, and frankly, I’m in no mood for threats or advances or whatever else you have in mind.”

  His smile instantly disappeared, and he grabbed her arm as they reached the upper corridor. To all appearances, it was a benign gesture for her to slow down, but his pointy little fingers dug hard and deep into her flesh. “Don’t push it,” he whispered. “Just because they can hear and see us doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that, florist.”

  Ryden stopped and smiled. Her bodyguard was a good distance out of earshot. “You know, you used to scare me, but…” She shrugged. “I got over it.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “The way I see it, you need me. And will need me until I get the job done. So get your ratty little fingers off me and leave me the hell alone until it’s absolutely necessary to burden me with your foul existence.”

  “Ah, she has a backbone.” He released her and clapped three times but remained serious. “One I can snap in two.”

  “You could, but you won’t, because you need me.”

  He leaned in. “What happens when I don’t?”

  “Is that a threat?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because, according to our agreement, you can’t touch me once I’m done with this charade.”

  “You’re right,” he replied. “I can’t.”

  “Good. Now act your role and fuck off, because the president told you to.”

  Ratman turned on his heel and walked down the stairs.

  Ryden went to her bedroom and locked the door, then leaned her back against it and released a long breath. She didn’t know where or how she’d bought the balls to talk to that despicable man the way she did, but right now and all day, for that matter, she’d felt too irritated to care about what anyone thought. She was annoyed, and tired, and…where the hell was Kennedy?

  She practically ripped her clothes off with disgust. She didn’t want any part of her present life permeating her skin, reminding her how weak she was for letting herself get involved and manipulated into playing the role of a strong, powerful, elegant woman. A woman who had nothing in common with the type of woman she was.

  Ryden took her time in the shower and, still refusing to wear anything that was Thomas’s, sat on the bed with nothing on beyond her underwear. Her conversation with Ratman had given her the strength, and enhanced her need, to be the woman she’d always wanted to run away from and change—a simple person who craved simple pleasures and didn’t have to answer to anyone. So what if Kennedy would never desire someone as plain as Ryden the florist? She was a good, decent, hardworking woman, and as long as she was proud of herself and the difficulties she’d overcome, then screw Kennedy and every other Kennedy for wishing her to be someone else. Someone refined, with immaculate table manners and knowledge of expensive wines, and… “I could use a glass of wine right about now.”

  She eyed the adjoining door to Kennedy’s room. “You think you can play with people. Does that make you feel special?” Ryden got up. “Special, my ass. You wouldn’t know a good, decent woman if she slapped you on the ass. How dare you try to kiss me and then…how dare you manipulate me, too?”

  Ryden got up and knocked on the door. She waited, biting her lip and prepared to give Kennedy a piece of her mind. But when no answer came, she did something completely out of character. She tried the door to see if it was unlocked.

  It was. Of course it was. Kennedy had to be able to reach her immediately at any hint of danger.

  Ryden knocked one more time, her hand on the knob, before she entered Kennedy’s room. It was too dark to see anything, so she made her way toward the light switch, hoping it was where her own was. “Crap it all to hell,” she shouted when she stubbed her toe on something. Limping, she found the switch.

  Except for a few items on the dresser, the room was seemingly devoid of anything personal except for the musky, alluring scent that was Kennedy. Ryden opened the closet and found three black suits and two blue ones, an array of shirts, three belts, and a few pairs of black shoes. Every it
em appeared well sewn and the fabrics and leather expensive. “Looks like the wine business is doing well.”

  Part of her wanted to feel guilty for what she was doing, but the other half couldn’t and didn’t want to resist. She didn’t know why she was in Kennedy’s room, and although she’d feel completely embarrassed if Kennedy walked in and found her there, practically naked, Ryden almost wished she would. I wonder what her pillow smells like. “Okay, now you’re just being scary.”

  And why the hell did it matter what it smelled like, anyway? Kennedy was just another manipulative idiot. Ryden spotted a bottle of wine on the bedside table and picked it up. “Il Grigio Angelo.” But not the one she’d tried that day with Kennedy. This one had a gold label that said SPECIAL COLLECTION. Kennedy must have gotten it from the White House’s wine cellar. “If it’s fit for a president, then it’s fit for a florist. Besides,” she said, raising the bottle toward Kennedy’s neat rack of suits, “you shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyway.”

  Ryden took the bottle back to her own room. “I deserve a night off.” She dialed Betty for a corkscrew.

  *

  By the time Shield returned to the White House, it was eleven o’clock. According to Jason, everything had gone smoothly except for Thomas’s foul mood at the fact that she’d taken the day off. “She said she wanted to see you when you got back.”

  “How long ago did she retire?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Shield decided to stop in her room to drop off her bag before she saw Thomas, but as soon as she flipped on the light, she realized someone had been in there. The closet door was half an inch ajar, and her private-collection wine was missing. She was about to run out of the room in search of answers when a knock from the adjoining door stopped her.

  “So you’re finally back,” the president said loudly through the door and then laughed. “Did you have a nice time with that someone you had to see?” Thomas sounded different, somehow.

  “Elizabeth, are you all right?”

  The knob turned, and a moment later, the president stood looking at her curiously from the other side, dressed only in a pale-blue nightgown that ended mid-thigh. It was made of silk, with spaghetti straps and a lace-trimmed bodice. She had Shield’s bottle of wine in one hand and a half-full goblet in the other. “Care for a glass?” Thomas asked.

  “What are you doing?” Shield asked quietly, trying to control her anger.

  “You’ve been holding out on the good stuff.”

  “All my wine is good, but that’s beside the point.”

  “Hmm.” Thomas lifted the bottle and eyed it. “This one here says Special Collection. You can’t tell me it’s not better.”

  “You were in my room.”

  “You’re sharp.”

  “You have no right.”

  “And you shouldn’t be drinking on the job,” the president said, and chuckled to herself.

  “I didn’t…don’t. It was a keepsake I like to have with me whenever possible.” Shield’s heart sank when she realized the bottle was more than half-empty. “It was a special bottle. The only one of its kind.”

  “Settle down.” Thomas waved the bottle in the air. “I’ll get you another one.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I’m the president. I can do anything.” Thomas laughed.

  “Why were you in my room?”

  “Like I said, I’m the president. I can do anything.”

  President or not, Shield was close to losing what little patience she had left. No one invaded her personal space or touched her things. The loss of her beloved bottle was particularly upsetting. “Look, Madam President,” Shield said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but you have no right to be in my room unless you need me because of an emergency.”

  “Maybe it was an emergency,” Thomas replied, “but then again, you wouldn’t know because you weren’t here.”

  “If that’s the case, you had a guard with you all day.”

  “And if they were competent to begin with, they wouldn’t have hired you.” Thomas hiccupped. “Am I right, or am I right?”

  “What was the emergency?” Kennedy crossed her arms over her chest, not believing a word of it. Had anything happened, she would have been informed immediately.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Thomas entered Shield’s room on unsteady feet and leaned against the dresser.

  Kennedy followed her with her gaze and turned to face her. “So I heard. I was about to come to you when you knocked on my door. What do you want to see me about?”

  “I um…I…”

  “You’re drunk, Madam President.”

  “I’m tipsy, and stop calling me that. Call me Elizabeth like I asked you to. Or better yet, call me Lizzy.”

  “I can’t do that. Maybe you need to sit down.” Shield walked over to Thomas and slowly took the bottle and then the glass from her hands. She placed them on the dresser and put an arm around Thomas’s waist.

  “This feels nice. Maybe we should go for a walk. It’s a lovely evening,” Thomas said as Shield led her to the armchair.

  “I don’t think you should be going anywhere.” Shield helped her sit.

  “Party killer.”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “A glass…or three.”

  “You really are a lightweight.” Shield took a seat on the armchair across from her.

  “So, how was your day, Kennedy?”

  “I had to fly to Maine for business.”

  “To see someone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s in Maine?”

  “Your late husband’s golf club.”

  “My who?” Thomas looked confused.

  “Mr. Thomas.”

  The president blinked several times. “Oh, yeah. Him.”

  Shield was certain Moore was involved in the death of Thomas’s husband Jeffrey. But Thomas herself, under the influence of alcohol and unconstrained by lucid emotions and responses, seemed to be showing absolutely no emotion for her late husband. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad situation after all. It seemed a perfect opportunity to get more information from the president about what was going on. “How was your relationship with Mr. Thomas?”

  “Just fine.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Sure, he was my husband,” she said flippantly.

  “And Moore?”

  Thomas grimaced like she’d just licked a lemon. “What about him? I sure as hell don’t love him.”

  At least she finally admits to disliking that bastard. “Did he and your late husband get along?”

  The president shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  Shield wasn’t about to remind Thomas of her previous statement, avowing how much Moore cared for her and her husband. “You must have been pretty scared during the attack.”

  “That was something, all right.” Thomas’s voice and demeanor were devoid of any grief or melancholy. Anyone in her position would at least show discomfort at the mere mention of such a dramatic memory.

  “What happened in there?”

  “I can’t talk about that.” Thomas looked away. “But hey…I get to live.”

  “It might help you cope if you share,” Shield said. “You need to talk to someone, Elizabeth. You can’t do it all on your own.”

  “I can’t talk to anyone, especially not you.”

  “Why not? You can trust me.”

  “Funny you say that.” Thomas smiled. “Because I do, more so than anyone else I know. Which is also funny, since I hardly know you.”

  “You know me well enough to understand I want to keep you safe. I’d never harm you, Elizabeth.”

  “I also know you like to manipulate and humiliate.”

  “I…”

  “You acted like you wanted to kiss me.”

  “I did that to make a point, not to hurt you.”

  “Same thi
ng,” the president said quietly. “And you did…hurt me.”

  “Elizabeth, did your husband know you…like women?”

  “No.”

  “And Moore?”

  “How could they? I’m not gay.”

  “You do realize I’m a woman, right?”

  “Of course, but I’m not gay, and I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman before.”

  “Do you think it’s a shock reaction to your attack?”

  “Who knows what it is?” Thomas raised her hands, exasperated. “All I know is that you made me feel stupid for feeling attractive.”

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

  Shield wasn’t getting the answers to the questions she wanted, and Thomas seemed to be sobering up pretty fast.

  “Am I not your type?” the president asked.

  “You’re a very attractive woman.”

  Thomas blushed and probably didn’t even know it. She looked so soft and vulnerable at that moment, her cheeks flushed, that Shield found it hard not to stare. “But?”

  “You’re the president, and I’m security.”

  “What if I wasn’t?”

  “Then I wouldn’t be here,” Shield answered diplomatically.

  Thomas looked almost defeated. “Because I would be some plain Jane and not the president.”

  Shield didn’t know how to respond to that. Truth was, she would have wanted to kiss Thomas no matter who she was, and it had taken all her restraint to walk away from that beautiful mouth. Having her just out of arm’s reach now, dressed so provocatively, was a true test of her professionalism.

  “What’s your story, Kennedy? Why aren’t you capable of wanting someone who’s not all that powerful…like a plain florist, for example? Why does it take someone like a friggin’ president to get your rocks off?”

  A florist? Where did that come from? “I never said that.”

  “Oh, please. I bet you’re just as demanding for quality in your women as you are for your wines.” Thomas got up. “A simple house brand can be pretty damn good, too.”

  Shield stood as well. “That’s very true.”

  “Then maybe you should get off that high horse of yours and try it.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to assume you know anything about me.” Shield was getting irritated with Thomas’s accusations.