Swerve

by Inglath Cooper

“Be careful not to compromise what you want most for what you want now.”

  —Zig Ziglar

  HE HASN’T FELT like this since before he’d found out Santa Claus wasn’t real as a young boy. That excitement when he’d first woken and realized it was Christmas morning, and he couldn’t wait to find out what was under the tree.

  Sitting here at the table, watching Arrington saunter through the restaurant to their table, the anticipation of waiting for him to pick up the glass, it is all he can do to sit still in his chair, pushing his food with his fork to one side of the plate.

  “Everything all right?” he asks as Arrington pulls his chair out with poorly concealed irritation.

  “No idea what that was all about. Whoever called had already hung up when I got to the phone.”

  “Why wouldn’t they call your cell?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Well, while you were gone, I considered what you’ve said tonight. You have some excellent points that I will weigh in my own voting decision. Let’s toast to that. Working things out.” He raises his wineglass and waits for Arrington to do the same.

  The younger senator hesitates, his expression reflecting his surprise that Hagan has wavered on his position. The surprise is quickly replaced with a pleased look. Arrogance. Does it every time. Arrington reaches for his glass, clinks it against the rim of Hagan’s, the crystal making a pleasant ding.

  “To unexpected pleasures,” Arrington says, taking a hefty sip of the red wine, as if intent on rewarding himself for the hard work he’s done here tonight.

  “Indeed,” Hagan says softly. “Indeed.”

  Mia

  “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.”

  ―Plato

  THE CLOTHES MAKE her feel like throwing up.

  Mia stares at herself in the mirror, tears welling in her eyes at the realization she has been made to look like a much younger version of herself.

  No makeup except for a touch of pink lipstick. Her hair has been braided with a matching pink ribbon laced through the woven strands. Her dress is white with a high neckline and scalloped lacing. Her shoes are flat, ballet slippers.

  When she’d asked the horrible Helga why they were dressing her this way, she had laughed and said, “For playtime. What else?”

  Mia cannot imagine what man would be attracted to her in these clothes, but when she lets herself dare to follow that line of thought, she is afraid she does know what kind.

  Despair floods through her veins, and she wants to rip the dress from her body, shred it into tiny pieces. Yank the ribbon from her hair and scrub the pink lipstick from her mouth. But then she thinks about the woman with the dead eyes and the promise she had made if Mia does not go along with her plans. She pictures the enormous man who escorted her to the spa room and the thought of him touching her makes nausea well up inside her so that she runs to the sink and gags. Nothing comes up though, her stomach aching from the physical retching.

  She raises her head to stare at herself in the mirror again, recognizing herself as the caged animal she is. There will be no good end to this. How can there be? They will use her until she is either used up or no longer suitable for their needs. There is only one choice, really. Wait for them to end it. Or end it herself. As soon as she can find a way.

  Knox

  “The scientific method actually correctly uses the most direct evidence as the most reliable,

  because that’s the way you are least likely to get led astray into dead ends and to misunderstand your data.”

  —Aubrey de Grey

  EMORY HAS GONE to the restroom, and Knox is checking his phone for messages when he glances back at Hagan’s table. So he hadn’t imagined it.

  The guy with Hagan is starting to look stoned. He’s staring down at his plate as if he’s never seen food. He reaches for a piece of bread from the basket at the center of the table, picks it up and twirls it around, aims for his mouth and misses.

  Knox watches as Hagan leans over and says something to him. The guy’s lips work in an odd, puppet-like way. The two of them sit for another minute or two, Hagan glancing at his watch and then speaking to the man again.

  He slides his chair back and stands, then walks over to the other man’s chair, takes his arm and helps him up. The guy wobbles a bit. The waitress walks over and looks concerned. Knox hears her ask if there’s anything she can do to help.

  “Slight overindulgence in that wonderful wine,” Hagan says, his voice carrying. “Better get him home. My driver will be outside.”

  “Certainly, Senator Hagan,” she says, backing away and giving them room to maneuver through the dining room.

  Some of the other guests have started to stare. Hagan shoulders the guy out of the room, disappearing through the doorway Knox had used earlier to check out the hotel.

  He slides back his chair and gets up as casually as possible, following the two men. He spots Hagan ahead in the corridor, steps into a recessed doorway, and grabs a glance around the corner. Hagan is all but carrying the guy now, gone any pretense of two drunk buddies having a good time. He hears someone coming and ducks back into the doorway. The voices are low and urgent, but he recognizes the new one. It’s the woman he met in the hallway earlier.

  He leans over far enough to verify that he’s right. Their backs are to him, but there’s no mistaking the tall, imposing owner of the hotel. She’s now helping Hagan with the man, pressing what looks like a remote in her right hand. To Knox’s surprise, what had appeared to be part of the hallway wall slides open. He hears the sound of elevator doors opening. And then Hagan and the woman drag the other man inside. And the wall closes behind them.

  ~

  HE WAITS WHERE he is for a minute or two in case they come back out. When there’s no further sound coming from the end of the hall, he steps out and walks quickly back to the restaurant.

  Emory is sitting at the table now, looking up at him with a curious expression. “I thought you left without me.”

  “We need to go,” he says quickly, pulling his wallet from his jacket.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice low and alarmed.

  “I’ll tell you when we get outside. Let’s just pay and go.”

  He waves for the waitress, and it seems as if it takes forever for her to run his credit card and bring back the receipt for him to sign. But once they’re outside and headed for the Jeep, Knox takes Emory’s arm and leans in, as if they’re an ordinary couple at the end of an ordinary date.

  “Something’s going on here,” he says close to her ear. “We might be being watched. I just saw Senator Hagan drug his dinner date and basically carry him out of the restaurant. And then the owner of the place helped him get the guy into an elevator hidden behind a wall.”

  He feels Emory stiffen but she says nothing until he opens her door and waits for her to get in the Jeep, before going around and sliding in the driver’s side.

  “What?!” she says, her voice rising.

  “I know. It sounds crazy, but something’s going on here.”

  “But what could that possibly have to do with Mia?”

  “Probably nothing. I don’t know.”

  She leans back in her seat, releases a long sigh. “We don’t have time to waste figuring out why the disgruntled husband of your lover is taking advantage of his dinner companion.”

  “Ouch,” Knox says, noting the edge to her voice.

  “This was just a dead end, wasn’t it?”

  “Emory, I don’t have the answer from here. We’re following a trail of breadcrumbs, and the only way I can determine whether what we’ve found has anything to do with Mia is for me to follow it through to a conclusion. Do you want me to call an Uber for you to go back to the city?”

  “No,” she says abruptly. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what you’ve found.”

  “Okay, but I need to come up with a plan first.”

  “To do what?”

  “Get inside that elevator.” />
  “How did they get in?”

  “The woman had a remote control.”

  Emory stares out the windshield for a moment, silent, and then, “Think she might have a second one in her office?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “So how do we get in her office?”

  “You sure you’re up for that?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “The young woman at the front desk. Let’s see what we can find out from her. If it looks like I’m getting somewhere, you say you’re going to the ladies room, and you’ll be right back.”

  “Should I ask what you have in mind?”

  “Probably not.”

  The Proprietor

  “Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure;

  seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.”

  ―Jane Austen

  SHE STARES AT the senator, fury blazing from her eyes. The elevator has delivered them to the hidden bunker of the hotel. The younger senator can barely stand.

  “I have no idea what you think you are doing, Senator Hagan, but do you have any idea what you have risked here tonight?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, looking at her with a confidence that belies his words. “He had a little too much to drink.”

  “This looks like more than overindulging on wine.”

  “May I be honest with you?”

  “I recommend it.”

  “There’s something I need Senator Arrington to do regarding an upcoming vote. He hasn’t responded to the normal leverage I like to employ. I believe a video clip of him with the date you’ve set up for him would change his mind.”

  She stares at him for several long seconds, aware that he is struggling to hold Arrington up now. Her fury has turned to steel, and her mind scrolls through her options like a computer searching through code. With a single photo released on Twitter, she could ruin him. But the game plays both ways. She can see his awareness of this in the way he holds her gaze. They are two predators sizing each other up, weighing the reality of whose weapon will inflict the most damage.

  She steps back, pulls a set of keys from her jacket pocket. “This way,” she says, aware that he thinks he has won. The battle, maybe. But not the war.

  Mia

  “No one will come and save you. No one will come riding on a white horse

  and take all your worries away. You have to save yourself, little by little, day by day.”

  ―Charlotte Eriksson

  SHE HEARS THE key turn in the lock, stiffens from her spot on the edge of the bed. The door swings in. She stands quickly, pressing her hands down the front of her silly, pink dress.

  The woman enters first. Behind her is a tall man in a suit all but carrying a younger man also wearing a suit. Fear rises on a rush of bile in her throat.

  The man drags the nearly unconscious man to the bed and drops him there.

  “What is this?” Mia asks, raising her chin to offset the quiver in her voice.

  “Your date,” the woman says. “He’s a bit out of it at the moment, but he likes little girls, so you should be able to bring him around.”

  Mia’s face blazes red as the man standing next to her stares at her bare legs, the fitted waist of the dress, and finally at her face. “Very nice,” he says.

  The woman looks at him, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have any special instructions for her?”

  “Wake him up. And just make sure he smiles for the camera,” he says.

  “Camera?” Mia asks, horror replacing her nausea.

  “Of course,” the woman says in a calm voice. “How else will I know you’re following through on our agreement?”

  “Please,” Mia says. “Don’t do this. I’m not—”

  “You know what your options are,” she says, her gaze as cold as her voice. “I’m sure you have concluded by now that this limp excuse for a man will be a walk in the park compared to what I have planned for you if you do not cooperate. You have one hour.”

  She walks out of the room then, the other man following along behind her. The door closes behind them with an ominous thunk of the lock.

  The man on the bed makes a moaning sound. Mia turns to look at him, pushing back her own disgust for what she has agreed to do. She glances at the corners of the ceiling, looking for the camera she knows is hidden somewhere. But there is nothing obvious. She cannot tell where it has been placed.

  Is it worth it? Doing this to stay alive? How much time will it buy her? Is it time to give up? Let whatever is going to happen, happen?

  She thinks of Emory and the fact that she would be leaving her alone in this world. If their places were reversed, would Emory leave her?

  She knows the answer. No. She wouldn’t.

  Mia walks over to the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It’s like looking at someone she doesn’t know. Maybe that’s how she can get through this. Pretend she’s someone else. A person she’ll never see again after tonight. She picks up the glass at the corner of the sink, fills it with water. And then she walks over to the bed and tosses it in the man’s face.

  Emory

  “Do not avert your eyes. It is important that you see this.

  It is important that you feel this.”

  ―Kamand Kojouri

  WE’RE STANDING AT the front desk, and Knox is working his magic with the woman now smiling at him and waiting to hear how it is she can help him. She is mid-twenties with a serious manner supported by her dark-gray suit and the severity of her hairstyle, a bun at the nape of her neck, pulled back so tightly that her eyes appear to squint a bit. She hardly looks like a pushover, but Knox has adapted a relaxed, easy-going posture that somehow manages to make him an even sexier version of the man I came to dinner with.

  “I met the owner of this beautiful place earlier at dinner,” he says, leaning one elbow on the mahogany reception desk. “We were chatting in the hallway, and I think I might have dropped my phone near there. We’ve searched the hallway, but I thought she might have picked it up and turned it in here.”

  The woman—whose name tag reads Sarah— shakes her head and says, “No. I’ve been here all night. No phones have been turned in.”

  “Is she still here? Or has she gone home for the evening?”

  “Actually, she lives here on the property, but she’s not available at this time of evening.”

  “Ah. Is there a chance she might have put the phone in her office?”

  Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can find out for you in the morning.”

  “Oh. Shoot. We were driving back to the city tonight. I really need to get that phone.”

  “You know, hon,” Emory says, “while you’re sorting this out, I’m going to the little girls room.”

  Knox nods without taking his eyes off Sarah. “Okay. You do that,” he says.

  And as ridiculous as she knows it to be, Emory feels a little stab of jealousy as she heads out of the lobby without looking back.

  Knox

  “Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”

  —Squire Bill Widener

  AS SOON AS Emory is out of sight, Knox leans forward, elbows resting on the desk, his gaze set on Sarah’s face. Her eyes have gone wide behind her black-frame glasses, her lips slightly parted.

  He glances over his shoulder and then back at Sarah. “I was hoping she would give us a minute or two. May I tell you something?”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose so,” she says in barely more than a whisper.

  “I noticed you earlier in the night when my girlfriend and I were having dinner. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you.”

  Her eyes widen a little more. “Really?”

  “I’m sure I’m not the first man to visit this place who’s told you that.”

  “Oh. No. Of course not.”

  “You know what else I’ve been wondering?”

  “What?” Her gaze darts to the
hallway down which Emory had disappeared a minute before and then returns to his.

  He leans in closer, says the words close to her ear. “What your kiss would taste like.”

  Her intake of breath is audible. “But I don’t even know your name.”

  “Knox.” He glances at her name badge. “And you’re Sarah. A favorite name of mine.”

  A small smile touches the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “Is there a place where we could be alone for a few minutes so I could test my theory?”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “That you taste as good as you look.”

  The struggle between her disbelief that he’s serious and her desire to find out is visible on her face. A full ten seconds pass while he determines to let her make up her mind. And then she says, “We could look for your phone in the owner’s office. Just in case she found it and, like you said, left it there until tomorrow.”

  “Lead the way,” he says, his voice low and intent.

  She sticks her head around the wall behind the desk. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she says.

  A male voice answers with, “Got it covered.”

  Sarah steps around the reception desk and beckons for him to follow her toward a hallway that is on the opposite side of the lobby from the women’s restroom. Knox hopes Emory won’t return before they’re out of sight.

  They make it to the office with Sarah leading the way. She sticks a key in the lock and turns the knob. He follows her inside, closing the door behind them.

  The office is dimly lit by a lamp on the corner of a desk in the center of the room. At the back of the office, an open door reveals part of a bathroom. Knox is weighing his options when Sarah launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him as if she’s been on a deserted island without male company for a few years at least.