by Kim Baldwin
“Fair enough, Madam President,” the secretary said. “We will find subtle ways to monitor their safety.”
“And the worst part,” she ignored his remark, “is that I am the first female president of this country. How do you think my abduction will sit with the rest of the world? My decisions so far will all be discredited. Every media journalist will throw doubt on any change I’ve made and will make. Soon, people will refer to me as the double instead of the president.”
“Not to mention everything they’ll start looking into, to prove it’s not the first time,” Kaplan said. “Every conspiracy nut and individual like Assange will dig until they expose anything they can.” His eyes narrowed. “And we do not want that.”
“The nation elected me for a better America,” Elizabeth said. “They trust I can give them a better tomorrow.” She stared at the large presidential seal embroidered into the Oval Office carpet. “And I will not let them down. I refuse to let anyone take away or befoul my reputation and ability to make decisions for the future of my country.”
No one spoke for a long while. She was damned if she was going to let anyone deprive her of her dreams and everything she’d worked for. If the world found out about this, her reputation would be destroyed, her decisions doubted and ridiculed. It would only be a matter of time before she’d have to choose between stepping down or serving her country with infamy and disgrace. She was not about to become another Bush.
“What do you suggest, Madam President?” the HLS secretary asked.
“That we do nothing. Reveal none of this,” the CIA director put in. “It wouldn’t be the first time,”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth agreed. “Everything said in this room stays here.”
“We can’t just let Rothschild off the hook,” Secretary Sneed said. “And what about Moore and Wagner?”
“Wagner was blackmailed into compliance,” Kaplan told her. “She was a florist with a squeaky-clean record until they framed her for first-degree murder. She was facing the death penalty when Rothschild’s lawyer bailed her out and made the offer. They trained her for months, but she didn’t know what they were up to until after all the surgeries had taken place.”
“But she complied, nevertheless,” Elizabeth said.
“Correct,” Kaplan said. “But she has been very cooperative and a key to unraveling this mess. Moore continued to threaten her with her life every day, until she was taken together with Kennedy last night to be killed.”
“Did she really think Rothschild was going to let her live?” Elizabeth asked.
“She shamefully admits to wanting to believe her in order to save her own life.”
“Very unfortunate for her, but we can’t risk word of this getting out…”
“No, we can’t,” Kaplan said. “I’ll take care of Rothschild, Moore, and Wagner.”
“Did Schuster know about my replacement?”
“No. He was never involved in any of it and was upset about being made to abort the weapons law,” Kaplan replied.
“Good. I like him and I’d like to continue to work with him.”
“Up to you, Madam President,” the CIA director said. “Although he did illegally purchase an organ from Rothschild.”
“To save his son.”
“But it remains illegal to—”
“Thank you, gentlemen. I take it we have nothing further to discuss?” she said, dismissing them.
Both men nodded.
“Thank you for your time, Madam President.” Kaplan extended his hand. “I’m glad we could clear up this…misunderstanding.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Penrose, Colorado
A week later, March 16
As promised, the CIA had given Ryden a new identity and moved her into a furnished condo in Penrose, Colorado, an agriculture-based town with all the necessities but too small to have a traffic light. So far, the locals seemed to be paying no heed to her likeness to the president. She’d shed the brown contacts and tried to minimize the resemblance by lightening her hair and getting it cut in a new style. She was also happy to shed the designer suits and high heels for jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers, which helped with the transformation. Part of her wanted to believe she’d heard and seen the last of TQ—she’d seen her ushered away by the feds with her own eyes, after all—but Ryden couldn’t help but look over her shoulder whenever she left the apartment.
She’d started applying for jobs right away and, five days into her new life, landed a position at the local no-kill animal shelter. She knew the work would be gratifying, and she might even have an opportunity here to resume her candle making. She’d spotted a little gift shop that day in town that she thought might be interested in selling her work on commission.
So, all in all, she couldn’t have asked for a better resolution to her ordeal—a good job, a comfortable home with a splendid view of the Rocky Mountains, and a modest bank account to get her started.
But she was lonely in a way she’d never been in her entire life.
The CIA had said her new identity forbade any ties to her past life, so now, here she was, moving furniture in an effort to forget Harper and make the new, unfamiliar environment hers.
The intercom by the door chimed and she stared at it in disbelief. No one knew where she lived and she didn’t know anyone in town yet. She slowly walked toward the panel and pushed the button. “Who’s there?”
“Harper.”
Her depression lifted in an instant, replaced by euphoric excitement. Ryden buzzed her in, opened the door, and dashed into the bedroom to check herself in the mirror.
Less than a minute later, Harper came through the doorway.
Ryden wanted to play it cool, but she flung herself into Harper’s arms as soon as she shut the door. “I thought you were gone…forever.” Ryden squeezed her tight and Harper returned the embrace, but with less enthusiasm. She felt the distance and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I was just so happy to see you.”
“I’m happy to see you, too,” Harper said halfheartedly.
“Have a seat,” Ryden said.
“I’m fine.” Harper moved to the middle of the room.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Ryden said, looking around.
“It’s…nice,” Harper replied dryly.
“I still can’t believe they let me go.”
“My employer had a lot to do with that.”
“He hardly knows me.”
“I asked him to.”
“I…thank you.” She fidgeted with her pockets, wanting to show her gratitude but not sure how. “I read about Moore’s…accident.”
Harper nodded. “He got the worst end of the deal.”
“He drove his car over a cliff.”
“A tragedy.”
“The CIA took care of him?” Ryden asked.
The corner of Harper’s mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile and looked down at her feet. “I can’t talk about that.”
“I see. I can’t say I’ll miss him.” Ryden grinned, but the smile quickly faded. “Rothschild is still out there, though.”
“They told you.”
“Not really much more than she was let go and that was part of the reason for my relocation.”
“They led her to believe you had an accident, similar to Moore’s,” Harper said. “But with TQ, you can never be sure of anything.”
“I wouldn’t want to risk it, either.” Ryden shivered at the thought of TQ suspecting she was still alive. “Why did they let her go? Couldn’t they make her disappear, too?”
“She had power lawyers pounding down the door by the time they brought her in for questioning that night,” Harper replied. “The attorneys stayed on the case even after she was led to CIA headquarters, and they pulled every political, fed, and—dare I admit—CIA string they had.”
“But she’s an arms dealer and a terrorist.”
“Among other things. But she also owns people in high places, either because she knows their dirty big s
ecrets or because they owe her money or favors or simply fear for their life.”
“But she doesn’t own the president,” Ryden said. “Thomas could have decided TQ’s fate.”
“Not officially. As you know, Thomas chose to sweep it under the carpet to save face and protect her own family.”
“How can TQ have so much power?”
Harper shrugged. “She bought the right people.”
“So, she just gets away with everything?”
“Life has a way of turning the tables,” Harper said. “I’m sure she’ll one day get what’s coming to her. The question is, how many more people will she destroy until then?”
Ryden wanted to stop thinking about TQ and focus on the fact that Harper was here with her. “Please,” she said. “Why don’t you sit?”
“I can’t. I…I have to go.” Harper took a step toward the door.
“You just got here.”
“I leave for Europe in a few hours.”
Ryden felt like someone had pulled the floor from under her. “Tuscany.”
“Yes.”
“When will you be back?”
“Not any time soon.”
“Oh.” Ryden hugged herself. “I…I thought…you’d stick around for a while.”
“I can’t. I have a business to run and we have to stay away from each other. It’s not safe for you.”
“But…”
“TQ knows I work for the EOO. If she starts looking for me—”
“She wouldn’t. She’s terrified of Pierce.”
“I know, but she’s a disturbed individual. If she starts looking for trouble again and finds me, she’ll find you as well. That woman doesn’t forgive or forget.”
“I don’t care. Let her come after me. I refuse to let that bitch dictate my life.”
“I do care, Ryden. I can’t risk your safety.”
“So, what are you saying? You’re just going to walk away?”
Harper stared at her like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. A sad helplessness was etched on her face. “I have to.”
“This is so unfair,” Ryden said, her frustration boiling over. “I never thought I’d find someone like you, someone I can lo—”
“Please don’t.”
“You can control what you do but not what I say.” She was pissed. “I’m in love with—”
Harper grabbed her and sealed her mouth with her own, kissing her long and hard until both ran out of breath. “I don’t want to leave.” Harper sighed. “But I can’t stay.”
Tears streamed down Ryden’s face. “I want you to.”
Harper turned around and grabbed the doorknob. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ryden Wagner, inside and out, then and now.” She opened the door. “Don’t ever forget that,” she said in parting. Then she was gone.
Ryden leaned against the door as the sound of Harper’s footsteps receded down the hallway. She refused to believe she’d lost the only person she’d ever loved, until the long silence that followed confirmed Harper wasn’t coming back. She finally let herself slide to the floor, where she cried for hours.
*
Southwestern Colorado
“Why can’t I just go home?” Jack asked Cass. They’d released her from the hospital after five days, but only with the agreement that she receive appropriate after-care. The bandages on her leg needed to be changed regularly and her vitals closely monitored because of the swelling to her brain.
“The doctor said it’s a wonder you don’t have permanent brain damage,” Cass replied sternly.
“I’m fine.” Jack winced when she tried to sit up. Her broken ribs made it tough even to breathe normally.
“Obviously,” Cass said.
“You’re beautiful even when you’re sarcastic.”
“Flattery won’t help you, Harding.”
Jack looked around at the cozy bedroom, which she had to admit was more conducive to a quick recovery than the sterile hospital ward. “Why did he bring me here?” She couldn’t fathom why Pierce and Grant had moved her into their home near the EOO campus.
“Because he wants to keep an eye on you.”
“What for?”
“Because he cares.”
“Why?”
“Ask him,” Cass said.
“It’s guilt.”
“If that’s so, then he has his reasons for feeling that way.”
“Isn’t he afraid I’ll strangle him in the middle of the night?” Jack joked.
“I guess he’s willing to roll those dice.” Cass smiled. “In your condition, I doubt you’d make it to the door.”
“You’re sexy even when you underestimate me. I’ll have you know I can make it to the bathroom on my own since this morning. Should’ve avoided the mirror, by the way.”
“Look at you, all on fire.” Cass avoided any comment on Jack’s swollen and stitched-in-places face.
“Hey, it’s all the way down the hall.” Jack smiled.
Cass gently brushed a loose strand of hair from Jack’s face. “I’m proud of you, baby.”
“You’re patronizing me.”
“You find that sexy, too?”
“Damn straight I do.” Jack winked.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Give me a day or two and I’ll tell you exactly what to do with me.”
Cass kissed Jack softly on her swollen mouth. “I’ll be back for more sexual harassment in a couple of hours. Now, get some rest.”
“Okay, sexy.”
Cass walked sensually to the door. “Later.”
Jack tried to sleep but her swollen bladder kept getting in the way. “Damn.” She slowly rose and got out of bed, wincing at the pain. Holding on to the walls for balance, she limped down the hall, passing the living room. “Anyone there?” she called out. No one replied, so she continued down the hall to the bathroom.
With an empty bladder and not ready to go back to bed, she took her time walking back, sticking her head in the rooms she passed. “Not bad, Pierce.” The home was cozy and tastefully decorated, with colorful prints on the walls, modern but comfortable furniture, and subdued lighting.
Jack came to a closed door and started to pass by it, but curiosity got the better of her. She knocked first, and when no one answered, she turned the knob and looked inside. Pierce and Grant’s bedroom, evidently. Near the king-sized bed, Pierce’s trousers were hung over a plush armchair and Grant’s skirt was draped next to it. Like the rest of the rooms, the décor and furnishings were stylish but minimal. The bedside tables were bare except for lamps and a solitary framed photo on one. Interested in what Pierce or Grant considered frame-worthy when the rest of the house was devoid of any pictures at all, Jack entered the room and went to the nightstand.
She couldn’t bend over to look at it because of her ribs and the pounding in her head, so she picked up the photo and turned it toward the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Jack stared in disbelief, turning it this way and that. It was the same exact picture her mother had shown her: Jack as a baby, on her first birthday, covered in chocolate cake. “What the fu—”
“That’s what happens when you open closed doors.”
Jack turned to find Pierce staring at her. She held up the photo. “Where did you get this?”
“From your mother.”
“Why?”
Pierce walked over to the closet and removed a small metal box from the top shelf. He continued to the desk to retrieve a small key. “Why don’t you sit?” He took a seat at the edge of the bed.
“What the hell’s going on?” Jack didn’t know if it was the concussion or the situation that was this confusing. Maybe her mind wasn’t registering something it should.
“I wanted to wait until you were better,” Pierce said, “but…it’s too late now.”
“Wait for what?” Jack asked with trepidation.
He opened the box and pulled out handfuls of pictures, spreading them across the quilt. “Take a look.�
�
Jack eyed the pictures from a distance. She didn’t need to look hard or very long to see they were pictures of herself at all stages of her life. Many were the same as those her mother, Celeste, had shown her, and quite a few had been taken in recent years, after Pierce found out she was alive. “Where did you get these?” she asked quietly.
“The earlier ones are from Celeste. The later were taken here.”
“I can see that. Celeste has some of the later ones as well. She said my father would occasionally mail pictures to her up until…I disappeared.”
“That’s correct.”
“That still doesn’t explain what you are doing with them.”
“They’re mine.”
“What am I not getting?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Jaclyn…” Pierce ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.
“Well?” Jack was angry Pierce had once again invaded her private life. “Do you collect pictures of all of us and alternate at your bedside?”
“No. Just my daughter’s.”
Jack didn’t…couldn’t register what Pierce had just said. “What?”
“Jaclyn, you’re my daughter.”
Jack let this sink in for a moment, her eyes going from Pierce to the scattered pictures. “No. That’s not true.” Her mind flashed back five months earlier, when she’d stumbled upon the mother she never knew, still alive and residing in Sainte-Maxime, France. Celeste had filled her in on the circumstances of her birth and had provided some details about the father who came to claim her when she was three. “My father was an American soldier stationed in France. That’s where he met Celeste and got her pregnant.”
“Correct.”
“No,” Jack shouted. “He dumped her when she got pregnant. She…she was a prostitute and not good enough for him.”
“I liked Celeste a lot, but I was never in love with her,” Pierce said. “I never counted on her getting pregnant, and when she told me she’d given birth to my child I went to get you. I couldn’t let you grow up in a brothel. Celeste loved you more than life, but I couldn’t let my child grow up like that.”