~~~~~~~~
Wednesday afternoon — 3:25 P.M.
“This was a very good idea,” Valerie said.
She lay naked on a mattress in his artist’s studio. The studio’s evaporative cooler worked over time but the small space was still hot. Mike was drawing flowers with ice cubes on her sweating body.
“Every actress needs her beauty nap,” Mike said.
Valerie giggled.
“You’ve been very good for me,” Valerie said. Rolling over onto her side, she said, “I was wondering...”
“I’m going back to LA with you on Sunday,” he said.
Valerie’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears.
“If the house is too small, we’ll have to get another. I’ll check out the garage to see if I can work there,” he continued. “It’s time.”
“What about Wes? What about…?”
“I don’t give a shit about Wes, Valerie. I’ve only ever, always cared about you.”
“What about hockey?”
“Now that’s a problem. We talked about it as a team. We used to only play Saturdays at midnight. We moved to Wednesday because the teams are better. But Colin thinks the better teams will move to...”
Valerie kissed him. One pulling kiss led to another. Valerie drew him on top of her. Taking her hands, he stretched her arms above her head while his mouth worked its way from her ear down her neck. She shifted, inviting their union, when he pulled back.
“Wait,” Mike said.
He kissed her then moved to the mattress. Concerned with his tone, Valerie sat up to look at him.
“That make-up guy? That Michael Moore? He said… Well, then I talked to Alex and she agreed… And...”
Mike shook his head and looked away from her. Valerie pressed his head back to look at her.
“He asked me what I was hiding from. With the beard. He said the scar’s not bad and hardly noticeable. Moore... He said I should...”
“Shave off your beard,” Valerie said.
Mike nodded.
“I’ve asked so much of you,” Valerie said. “I... We can cancel Oprah. You don’t have to...”
“I’ve practiced my interview, Val. I’m ready. Plus command wants me to tell my story. It’s important... I just...” Mike’s eyes scanned her face. “I’ve been hiding a long time.”
Valerie put her hand on his chin. Their eyes held for a moment.
“Will you... I bought all the stuff... John told me how to do it. His beard grows really fast and Alex won’t kiss him with a beard. If he’s goes a week without shaving, he has...”
Valerie gave him a lingering kiss.
“I’d love to see your beautiful face again,” Valerie said. “Scar and all. Tell me what to do.”
He gave her a cordless electric razor. She yanked the sheet from the mattress and wound it around his neck to catch the hair. By his instruction, she clipped an inch at a time until only a quarter inch of stubble remained. She took his hand to feel the stubble.
“You’re sure?” Valerie asked.
“I can’t hide forever, Val. They just win that way,” he said. “I’m... It’s over. I want to live in the present with you.”
Holding his face, she leaned forward until their foreheads touched. She breathed in his scent, his warmth, then kissed his forehead. Moving without hesitation, she sprayed the foam into her hand. She worked with slow, gentle, delicate care. The sound of the razor scraping over his skin seemed to bounce off the walls.
Finally, she was done.
Letting out a breath, Valerie sat back. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. Her gorgeous Mike had returned to her. Finally.
“That bad, huh?”
He hopped up and went to the pedestal sink. Checking himself in the mirror, he washed off the last of the shaving cream. He was rubbing some special ‘no bump’ cream over the place where his beard had been, when Valerie came up behind him. Her head peeked over his shoulder and their eyes held in the mirror.
In one movement, he spun around, lifted her from standing and carried her back to the mattress.
Chapter thirty-two
Who knew?
Wednesday evening — 5:40 P.M.
Washington DC
“I’m sorry,” the Undersecretary to the Secretary of State said.
He flew out of his office and she gulped. He was twice as handsome as his photo. Tall and fit, his long legs took him across the waiting room in two steps.
“I know I’ve kept you waiting out here a long time. But I’ve been called to the White House.”
“Sir, if you don’t want to…”
“Talk about Michael Roper?” the Undersecretary said. “I know it looks that way, but nothing could be further from the truth. Would you mind walking with me?”
“Sure,” the freelance reporter said.
She had hoped to really nail this interview so that maybe, just maybe, Oprah would give her more work. The money from this assignment was rent and groceries for a month. She wasn’t going to give up easily.
He wanted to walk? She would walk.
Looking up at him, she was pretty sure she’d do anything he asked. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from giggling.
“Oh great,” the man said.
With the Undersecretary’s palpable relief, the reporter felt her confidence return. Smiling, she picked up her handbag, turned on her hand held digital recorder, and followed him out the door. The man glided down the hallway with purpose and speed. The reporter almost ran to keep up with him.
“I was the last one they rescued before they were all killed and Michael...”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the reporter asked. “Rescued? Who’s they? Killed?”
The Undersecretary came to a complete halt. Taking her elbow, he looked into her eyes.
“The Fey team,” he said. “I thought...”
“I’m sorry, sir. I was sent to ask you about Michael Roper,” the reporter said. “I...”
“About three years ago, I was held hostage.”
“What? Where? There’s nothing in your bio…”
The reporter searched her mind. Had she even read his official biography? She had at looked his Wikipedia page on the way here from her job at the grocery store. But his official biography...
“The ‘where’ isn’t a big deal. And I’m certain you’re right. There isn’t anything in my bio,” he said.
He continued striding down the hall.
“I wasn’t held long. I mean, I was held long enough to have... Never mind. The Fey team was a Special Ops group that retrieved hostages. They went around the world rescuing people. Americans mostly, but important people from other countries too.”
“Wow. Why doesn’t everyone know...”
“You can look them up,” he interrupted. “They have a Wikipedia page. Have you used Wikipedia?”
“Yes, sir,” the reporter said. “But what...”
“Great service, Wikipedia.” The Undersecretary flashed his identification at a station in the hallway. Pressing past her question, he continued, “So they rescue me one day, take two days of vacation, then wham, the entire team is killed. Except for one guy. And that’s because his wife was having a baby.”
The Undersecretary put his hand on the stairwell door. Looking down at the reporter’s three inch heels, he asked, “Stairs OK?”
“Sure,” the reporter said.
“Gives us more time. And a little more privacy.” Moving into the stairwell, he said, “I won’t tell anyone if you want to take the heels off.”
The reporter blushed. Her feet were killing her, but these were her only dressy shoes. Looking into the man’s face, she saw his sincerity. She nodded.
“Thanks.”
“Where was I?” he asked. Seeing her hands were full, he added, “I can hold the recorder.”
“Ok, thanks,” she said. “You were telling me that the Fey team was killed.”
“Right,” he said.
“I woke up two days after they were all killed. I can’t tell you how… disturbing that was for me. I mean these people had just saved me, rescued me from hell, and now they were dead. I...”
They went down a flight of stairs before the Undersecretary spoke again.
“Anyway, Mike came to see me. He was visiting a friend at Walter Reed and stopped into my room. He told me there were almost four thousand of us.”
“Us?” the reporter asked.
“People rescued by the Fey team,” he said. “Mike visited me every day. We’d talk about being held hostage and…”
“Michael Roper was held hostage?” the reporter interrupted.
“Uh huh,” the Undersecretary said. “He took even took me to get my ‘F’.”
“Your ‘F’?”
The Undersecretary moved his watch to review a script Vivaldi ‘F’ tattooed on the underside of his left wrist.
“Almost everyone who was rescued by the Fey team has these ‘F’s. Mike said the Fey...”
“The Fey?”
“Long story. Anyway, the Fey didn’t want to keep rescuing the same people over and over again so people got these tattoos. Frankly, it’s kind of a status symbol.”
“What?”
“They all had them. The team, that is. These same ‘F’s in a green arm band on their right arms. The guy who’s left – Joseph – he has one too.”
“So the ‘F’ is a kind of marker?”
“Sure. Like a badge or a rank. If you look around, you’ll see that lots of people have these tattoos. Some guys have them on their arm. Most guys do their wrist because it’s noticeable and also subtle.”
“You said guys?”
“Or gals,” he said. He rounded a corner to the first floor. “Listen, when I open this door the Secret Service is going to whisk me to the White House.”
He blushed, stammered a little bit.
“Here’s my phone number,” the reporter said. She put her card into his hand. “I love dinner, but breakfast is my favorite meal.”
He nodded.
“Do you have what you need?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said. “I assume dinner is off the record.”
“Yes, off the record.”
“Then is there anything you’d like to add?” she asked.
“I would not be standing here if it wasn’t for Mike Roper. The doctor’s cured my body. But Mike cured my mind.”
He ran a hand through his short dark hair.
“I mean, I had therapy. A lot of therapy. But knowing there were others and they were doing well? I… I owe my sanity to Mike Roper. He’s a great guy.”
He moved to push the door open.
“I’ll be done by 8, maybe 9? Would you like to…?”
“I like a late dinner,” she said.
“Great! I’m… I’m excited. Mike saved me again.”
The Undersecretary pushed the door open and, as predicted, was whisked away by the Secret Service. Just before leaving the building, he turned and waved to her.
Smiling, she went home to finish the piece, and get ready for dinner.
~~~~~~~~
Wednesday evening — 6:25 P.M.
Denver, CO
“Merde,” Frederec said.
A woman’s angry voice echoed down the hall.
“What?” Mike asked.
Wearing a tux shirt and his boxer shorts, Mike stood with his arms out so Frederec could make the final adjustments to his new wardrobe. Mike was afraid to move in case he was pricked by a pin or tore something or whatever he might do to such finery.
“Maman has seen Jill’s hair,” Frederec said.
“Listen, it’s not Jill’s fault. It’s not like she...”
“No, no,” Frederec said. “No one blames Jill.”
“Is your Mom going to terminate the contract? I know Jill’s been really excited...”
The woman’s angry voice came down the hall and past the door of the small room they were in. Frederec laughed.
“No, Maman is yelling at my father,” Frederec said. “She wants him to...”
Frederec paused trying to come up with the word in English.
“Castrate is probably the closest word… the person who did this to Jill.”
“Jill keeps her contract,” Mike said.
“Take that off,” Frederec said. “Here are your garments for Oprah tomorrow.”
Mike began to pull on a pair of Levi’s jeans.
“Undergarments?”
“Oh right,” Mike said. He pulled off his boxers and took a pair of designer briefs from Frederec. “Jill?”
“Oui. Jill, her Katherine, they are part of the family now.” Frederec smirked. “I almost feel sorry for this Trevor.”
~~~~~~~~
Wednesday night — 8:10 P.M.
“Would you like to cut the cake?” Sandy asked Noelle.
“Daddy should cut it! It’s his ‘Happy Day’ cake!” Noelle said. Noelle sat on her knees on a chair at Sandy’s round dining room table. “Don’t you think, Nash?”
“Sure.” Nash mumbled from Sandy’s computer table.
Sandy had baked a delicate white cake with toasted coconut cream layers to celebrate the public announcement of Aden taking over Lipson Construction. Standing with her hand in Aden’s, she had felt Aden shake with anxiety. But when Jacob invited Aden to answer questions, Aden had been every bit the charming, professional leader. She, Noelle and Nash screamed and cheered for him. To avoid the press, the family retreated to Sandy’s condo for a sleep over and cake.
“Daddy has to get out of the bathroom,” Sandy said.
“Hey!” Aden came out of the bathroom in a bathrobe. “You’re the one who told me to wash off my nervous stink.”
Sandy laughed. Aden kissed her.
“Let me get dressed.” Aden scooted into Sandy’s bedroom to change into jeans.
“This week has been really fun,” Noelle said. “I’m glad we didn’t have to stay at Nuala’s house.”
“Milk?” Sandy asked.
“Yes please,” Noelle said.
“How about you, Nash?” Sandy asked.
“Huh,” Nash looked up from Sandy’s laptop. “What did you do to this?”
“It just stopped working.” Sandy shrugged.
“It’s pretty messed up,” Nash said. “Think I can fix it. You have wireless?”
“The building does,” Sandy said.
“Great. I’ll start a virus scan...”
“You’re a life saver. Thanks.” Sandy kissed the top of his head.
“Ew.” Nash bat at her with his hand then leaned back against her.
“What’s this about cake?”
Aden was walking by the front door when there was a knock. He looked through the peep hole, made a puzzled face, and then opened the door. Without warming, the Denver Police Officer attacked Aden. His forearm at Aden’s throat, the police officer pushed Aden all the way back to the wall. The table knocked over shattering a vase filled with flowers. The men stood face to face.
“We can do this hard or we can do this easy,” the Police Officer said. “Your choice.”
Noelle screamed and launched herself across the room. Sandy caught her before she reached the men. Nash came up beside Sandy to hold her hand.
“Let him go,” Sandy said. She wasn’t anxious or angry. She sounded mostly annoyed.
“Sandra,” the police officer said. “This man has a criminal record.”
“Uh huh,” Sandy said. “Your history’s not so hot either. You’re going to pay for the vase you broke.”
The police officer stepped back. He lifted Aden by the shirt and set him away from the wall.
“Aden, I’d like to introduce you to my ridiculous, overbearing, jerk of a Godfather, Seth O’Malley.”
“Now Sandy,” Seth said. “I had to be sure we could have a conversation. He has a violent record.”
“You scared the kids,” Sandy said. “Do you feel like a man by terrifying two small kids
?”
“Sandra,” Seth said. He held his arms out for a hug but Sandy shook her head at him.
“You really overstepped your bounds this time,” Sandy said.
“Sandy,” Aden walked up to her and the kids. “I’m Ok.”
He hugged Noelle and Nash then stroked Sandy’s hair.
“We were just about to have some of Sandy’s cake,” Aden said. “Would you like to join us?”
“But Dad!” Nash said. “That’s police brutality. We should...”
“I’m all right,” Aden said. “Ever since Sandy told me that her stepdad and Godfather were police officers, I’ve wondered when I’d get… uh… introduced.”
Sandy nodded then went into the kitchen. She returned with a broom and dust pan which she thrust into Seth’s hands. He raised his eyebrows and laughed. He set about cleaning up the flowers and broken vase. When he finished, he held his arms out and Sandy hugged him.
“May I introduce my friend Aden Norsen?”
The men shook hands.
“Seth O’Malley.”
“Nice to meet you,” Aden said.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Seth pulled at his collar. “Sandy’s stepdad was my best-friend and the best person I’ve ever known. I saw Sandy’s name on your police report. Well, naturally, I got a little hot about that. Then I saw you and Sandy and the kids on the television tonight… I’m a little protective.”
“She deserves it,” Aden replied.
“This is Noelle and Nash,” Sandy said. “We’re having a celebration for Aden. Is it okay…?”
“Please join us,” Aden said.
~~~~~~~~
Thursday early morning — 1:35 A.M.
Because Jacob could only sleep a few hours at a time, he and Jill fell into the habit of hanging out during the times he was awake. While he looked forward to the day he could sleep an entire night, he loved getting to know Jill in the quiet of the morning.
This morning, they were sitting on a feather bed in front of the fireplace. A large fire danced in front of them. While Jacob was cold, Jill was warm. She wore only a white tank top and panties. He would definitely miss that.
A few hours ago, Katy had joined them in bed after another nightmare about Trevor stealing her away. She was now sound asleep in the middle of their bed.
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