Point of No Return

by Rita Henuber

  “I just did,” she said, sidestepping the man. Another man materialized and reached out as if to hold her arm. She looked into his face. “Don’t.” He hesitated then continued to advance. “If you are at all fond of that appendage, stop now. You touch me, I swear to God you won’t be getting any part of that hand back.” He stopped. The first man came closer, hand on hip, jacket pushed back, revealing a Glock holstered at his waist. Informal, my ass.

  “Agents,” her vivacious twenty-four-year-old niece, Kara, called as she hustled across the lawn, “she’s family.”

  Honey kept her focus on the man who kept his hand on the butt of the gun. Agents? Honey looked at the man beside her and saw the communication cord going from his ear to the back of his collar. “Kara, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Auntie. Language.” Kara’s perfectly shaped eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Mind the Secret Service’s ears.” She gave Honey a hug and whispered, “Mama went crazy and invited the VP. He accepted.”

  “Ripley Jordan is here?” Honey disengaged from Kara’s embrace. “See ya.” She turned back to her car, giving the agent who blocked her retreat a get-the-fuck-out-of-the-way look. Kara held her arm, keeping her in place.

  “Honey,” called a petite form backlit in the doorway. “Come in.” Theresa waved her arm in a welcoming gesture. “We’re waiting for you.”

  “Busted,” Kara said. “You leave now and Mama will make your life miserable for months.”

  Like she didn’t already do that.

  “Come on.” Kara nudged her toward the house. “Ignore Jordan. Have a drink. I’m dying to hear about where you’ve been.”

  Vice President Ripley Jordan was hard to ignore. Honey had encountered him on several occasions and considered him nothing more than a man who used his power and position to get what he wanted. He oversaw two committees directly affecting her work and his politics sucked. Worse than that, the admittedly handsome bachelor considered himself to be a charming ladies’ man. The concept of keeping his hands to himself and the meaning of the word no were lost on him.

  Honey stepped into an immense foyer with chandelier, curving staircase, and marbled floor. The image of the hovel she’d been in ten days earlier leaped into memory. She pushed it aside to receive her sister’s overly dramatic welcome of air kisses and a hug and went on high alert. Theresa was up to something.

  “Let me look at you.” She held Honey’s wrists, spreading out her arms. Honey stood still. It was no use fighting. Plus, she’d find out what was going on faster if she gave in.

  Theresa reached up, patted her cheek and clucked. “Considering what you do, you look amazing. I can only imagine what you’d look like if you took care of yourself.”

  Honey gritted her teeth and let the dig go. No matter what she did, she’d never completely please her sister. Her childhood memories of Theresa were of her clucking, as she’d just done, and reminding her how embarrassing it was to have a sister with a stick figure, a straight white mop of hair and weird blue eyes. For years she was envious of Theresa’s wavy black hair, big dark eyes, perfect olive complexion and petite, curvaceous body. Then she quit giving a damn what anybody thought.

  “Good evening, Major,” a male voice said.

  Honey stiffened. Being addressed with her rank on personal time was not her favorite thing. She preferred to keep her military and private life separate. Plus, any reference to the Marine Corps put Theresa on edge. Her sister considered the mention of the military and politics unpleasant, her only interest in the latter being what kind of party guests the current crop of legislators made. Honey bit her tongue, forced a smile and turned to greet the moron.

  “Good evening, Mr. Vice President.” She dipped her head respectfully.

  Ripley put his hand on her hip, sliding it to her back, low to the curve of her ass, closing the space between their bodies. Any other man she would have twisted his finger back until it snapped. The Secret Service, no doubt, wouldn’t let her get away with that.

  He gave Theresa a smarmy smile. “Is there someplace I can speak to the major in private?” His gaze went to the stairs. Panic registered on her sister’s face.

  “Sir. Please call me Honey this evening.” She moved enough to disengage his hand.

  “Very well, Honey, if you stop calling me Sir.”

  “What would you prefer?” She modulated her voice, reminding herself sarcasm was not to be spoken here.

  “Ripley would be nice.”

  Asshole would be better. “Certainly.” The first rule in a hostage situation popped into her head. Never allow yourself to be taken to a second location. “What did you want to speak to me about, Ripley?”

  Jordan’s slick smile dimmed as he realized she wasn’t going anywhere with him. “I read your report of the girls’ rescue. It was extraordinary.”

  Theresa’s eyes darted between them. “Girls’ rescue?”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll convey your praise to the team.”

  “Team?” Theresa said.

  The politician’s smile returned. “I’ve sent them a letter.”

  Honey glanced around. “May I remind you the report you speak of is highly confidential. I hardly think this is the time or place”—Honey looked pointedly at Theresa—“to discuss the matter. I’d be glad to come to your office, at your convenience of course, to talk.”

  Jordon looked as stunned as Theresa. He didn’t reply.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Ripley, I haven’t seen my family in months and unless this is an order . . .”

  “Nooo.” He dragged the word out and gave a hand signal. Two agents came forward and one took Theresa’s arm, moving her away. Honey took her other arm, holding her in place, and gave Ripley the evil eye until he dismissed the agents with a flip of his hand. The arrogance of the man was mind-bending. Where was a police-grade Taser when you needed one?

  “Yes, coming to my office to talk would be a good idea. You are in an extremely dangerous line of work.”

  Theresa gasped like she was hearing that for the first time. Well, hell, maybe she was.

  “I have to say,” Jordon droned on, “I feel a responsibility to suggest you consider another line of work. With your background you would be a valuable asset here in DC in the political community working for me.”

  Of all the unmitigated gall. Of course, her father’s political legacy and money would be an asset. Jordon would never see a single dollar or word of support from her. And referring to anything in current politics as a community was a sick joke.

  Theresa brought herself to her full five-foot-two height—no, make that five-six with the shoes she had on—and said, “I don’t think what my sister does is any concern of yours,” stunning the hell out of Honey.

  “Ripley.” Honey edged between Jordan and Theresa. “I appreciate your concern, but that is not going to happen.” She kept the hand twitching to do him physical damage on Theresa’s arm and squeezed. “I can assure you I can take care of myself in every situation.”

  “One can only imagine what a woman like you can do.”

  “I would be glad to show you anytime, sir.” She played into his innuendo. Jordan’s head snapped back. His eyes sparked with interest. “I can set up a day at Quantico for you to observe my shooting, martial arts, hand-to-hand combat and interrogation skills.” She looked to her sister. “Perhaps you’d like to come.”

  Theresa’s dark eyes were huge and for once she was speechless. She nodded then shook her head. Ripley scanned Honey’s face. His expression said he was having a problem deciding if she was being snarky or serious. He decided she was serious and the spark died. “Yes, I’ll check my schedule and let you know when I’m available,” he finally said.

  “Certainly.”

  “Good evening, sir.” Honey guided Theresa briskly down the hall to the pantry.

  “Honey,” Theresa protested.

  “Shush.”

  Theresa planted her Alexander McQueen–clad feet. “Don’t you shush me, Honey Thorn
ton.”

  Honey responded with a hard look. “Move,” she said in her best Marine Corps voice and continued to motivate them past the catering staff to the pantry, Theresa’s shoes clacking on the kitchen tiles as she tried to keep pace with Honey’s long strides.

  “How dare that man,” Theresa blurted indignantly once the pantry door closed. “Telling you what you should be doing.” Theresa’s eyes were big as Oreos. “I don’t care if he is the VP, he has no right.” She paused. “Do you really know martial arts?”

  Lord. “Yes, and what’s going on?” Honey said, working past a bizarre need to lay a hug on her sister for defending her.

  “Going on?” Theresa looked at the ceiling.

  She was sooo not good at lying. “Why did you insist on me being here tonight?”

  Big sis’s Oreos darted side to side as she chewed on her lower lip. “I . . .”

  A knock interrupted. “Mama? Aunt Honey? Can I come in?” Kara said.

  “No,” Honey blurted.

  “Yes,” Theresa said at the same time, obviously wanting backup.

  Kara came in, eyes big as her mother’s. All they needed now was a glass of milk. “Mama, what’s going on?”

  “That makes it official. Two out of three people in this room want to know,” Honey snapped.

  “Tell her,” Kara said, stepping closer to her mother. Honey rarely saw the two together and she was struck by how much Kara had come to look like her mother.

  “I . . .” Theresa squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I invited a man I think would be good for you.”

  Honey looked from one to the other. She closed her eyes and took a moment. “Ladies, we had a conversation about my job. I remember you being in attendance. I told you things like this were not good. Apparently it went in one ear and came right back out the same ear. And Jordan? Really?”

  “No, not that ass,” Theresa said indignantly. “Cindy Moore talked me into inviting him.”

  “Mrs. General Cindy Moore?” Honey said in a harsh half whisper, half growl. Theresa nodded. Oh! It just got better and better. “The general is here?”

  “No. He . . .”

  “Never mind.” Honey waved a hand. “I don’t want to know. Tell me about this other man.” With her luck he’d be on the ten most wanted list.

  “He isn’t here yet,” Theresa said, looking at Kara, who nodded confirmation.

  Well, that was a break. She could leave now and escape terminal boredom. Honey leaned back on the counter and looked around the room that was bigger than most people’s bedrooms. “Why do you think I need help getting a man?” She’d carefully explained to them her choices were limited. Civilian men were intimidated by a woman in her line of work and she didn’t date men she worked with directly. Apparently, it had been for nothing, a flyby. Everything she said had sailed past their heads.

  “You hang out with NFMs,” Kara said.

  Honey said nothing, waiting for the explanation. “No. Future. Men,” Theresa said.

  Kara came close. “Oh, Auntie, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s comfortable around the A list. He can even tolerate the veep.”

  Really? That clinched it. There was something wrong with him.

  “Not drop-dead gorgeous,” Kara went on, “but close, and he’s got a bod to die for. At a party I asked him to dance and felt him up. Nice package.”

  “Kara!” Theresa and Honey said in unison.

  Kara clucked and sighed. “I was kidding. Relax, you two.”

  Honey eyed her. “If he’s so great why aren’t you, with your many charms, going after him?” Her patience was getting short.

  “Too old. He’s your age. Mother and Daddy would have a fit.” She shot her mother a look.

  “At least check him out. He’d be a good fit for you. He owns a huge company that does business with the government,” Theresa added.

  They were tag-teaming her. Honey narrowed her eyes at her overenthusiastic relatives. “Where did you get all this information, DC gossips?”

  “We Googled him,” Theresa said, getting back to her mission task.

  “You don’t have to be an S-P-Y to get information about people,” Kara said, quite pleased.

  Honey raised an eyebrow. “Apparently not. Okay. What’s this guy’s name?”

  “David Bristol,” Theresa said.

  Honey hadn’t been surprised in a long time. And never like this. Even so, she went through her options at lightning speed. One: She could stay, meet, and observe him. An investigator’s dream scenario. Get a baseline read on his reactions before he had any reason to lie. Two: Meet him and spill she would be reviewing his company the next two weeks. He could report he’d met her socially and get her yanked from the job. Or three: Get her ass out of here. She chose to get the hell out.

  “The two of you listen to me very carefully.” Theresa opened her mouth to speak. Honey held up a finger. “Quiet. Not a word until I’m done.” They both nodded. “To keep me busy while I’m here in DC I was given the job of reviewing Bristol’s company. You’ve put me into one of those compromising positions we talked about.”

  “Oh.” Theresa’s face looked like a child’s drawing. Huge round eyes. Mouth a circle outlined with red cupid lips.

  “I’m working on a promotion.” Misdirecting lies with the truth made lies more believable. “Any misstep can be used against me. I need to get out of here. You can set up something in a couple of weeks.” She looked at Kara. “If he’s as great as you say I’ll be interested. If he doesn’t ask me out, I’ll ask him.” A lie to put salve on the guilt they would have and keep them from bringing Bristol up again. If they pushed it, she’d become the DC distributor of guilt in a heartbeat and remind them of tonight. “Does Bristol know about this setup?” Theresa shook her head. “Good. Now get out there with your guests. Don’t mention me. Act like I was never here. If someone asks for me, says they saw me, tell them I had to leave. Say no more. Don’t embellish. Don’t lie.” Honey gently guided her sister to the door and opened it. “Do not ad-lib or deviate from what I told you to do. Do your best to stay away from Jordon. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, nudging her sister into the kitchen, then closed the door.

  “You.” Honey dug a business card from her purse and gave it to Kara. “Take this and give it to the senior Secret Service agent here. Ask him to meet me on the back patio. Say there is no danger, it’s important I speak with him. Direct him to the patio. Do not come with him. Go back to the party.” Chatty Cathy Kara was unusually silent and still. She made no move to leave.

  “What part of that didn’t you get?”

  “This is so exciting. I want to work with you. I’m going to enlist Monday.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “But why?” Kara said, frowning as Honey moved her to the door.

  “Monday’s a holiday. Recruiting offices are closed, and by the time Tuesday rolls around I’ll have planted so much crazy shit about you on the net they won’t even talk to you.”

  “Auntie.”

  “We are not having this conversation again,” Honey said as they stepped into the busy kitchen. “Go.”

  • • •

  Honey waited in the shadows on the flagstone patio, watching the doors.

  “Major,” a deep voice said from behind her, giving new meaning to the secret in Secret Service. She turned to see a man about her height standing a couple of feet away.

  “If this is about the vice president, I can’t discuss him,” he said in a clipped and very rehearsed tone. Damn. His detail was accustomed to making excuses for the man.

  “It isn’t about Jordan, Agent . . . ?”

  “Swenson.” He stepped closer and she saw her card in his hand.

  “I’m an intelligence officer and have a . . . a conflict with a guest. I want to go around the house without being shot by one of your men and leave. My car is the Beemer in the driveway.”

  “Did you get that?” Swenson said. Every agent in a hundred-mile r
adius got it thanks to lapel cams.

  “You’d tell me if this guest was a threat to the VP.”

  “There is no threat. As I said, I have a professional conflict.”

  Swenson nodded then cupped a hand over the Secret Service pin on his lapel. “Sorry there isn’t anything we can do when he oversteps.”

  “Not a problem. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Swenson’s lips twitched into a smile. “I gathered that.” His hand came away from the pin. “Major, your car is clear. I’ll see you to it.” He gestured to the stone path leading around the house and Honey took off.

  Swenson closed her car door and leaned down. “My card. If you ever need anything.”

  “Thank you.” She saw his cell number and fanned the card. “I appreciate this.”

  He gave her a nice smile and straightened.

  Behind him, David Bristol walked up the stairs to her sister’s home.

  Chapter 6

  Honey parked in a space marked Visitor, lifted her briefcase from the roadster’s passenger seat and headed for Global’s entryway. The sprawling facility was located in an undeveloped wooded area nowhere near other government facilities, or at least none she knew of. These days that was a difficult call. Its concrete buildings looked as cold and stark as they had on the satellite and digital photos. To a visitor or passerby, it resembled warehouses with nothing hinting at the vast technical complex connecting the company to units and outposts around the world. She pushed her way past the glass doors etched with the company’s world atlas logo. Automated glass doors at the other end of the entry vestibule slid open and she walked into a large reception area. Across the room a woman who complemented the company image, rough, sat behind a desk guarding more glass doors. Honey went to stand in front of the receptionist, who diligently ignored her.

  “Yes?” the woman finally said but kept her attention on three oversized monitors on her desk. Honey had no doubt one was connected to the outside cameras and the woman had watched her arrival.