by Sandra Brown
“I apologize for being so mysterious. I felt I had to do something, tell someone, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. You came to mind because of your interview with Vanessa.”
“You knew something untoward was going on at your lake house?”
“I sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. George…” She rolled her lips inward. Amanda wasn’t the kind of woman who would weep in front of strangers. She didn’t continue until she had regained her composure. “George doesn’t confide in me anymore. But I believe if that nurse hadn’t suffered a fatal heart attack when she did, Vanessa would also be dead.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Gray confirmed.
She looked at Barrie with barely controlled desperation. “Once you left the TV station, I didn’t know how to contact you.”
“Why were you trying to reach me?”
“To tell you something you obviously already know. David Merritt isn’t the man that everyone’s been duped into believing. He’s an unconscionable villain. He must be stopped.” She fixed her dark eyes intently on Barrie. “May I ask you something?” Barrie nodded. “You burst into the morgue at Shinlin Hospital because you believed it was Vanessa’s body under the sheet, right?”
“Right.”
“And you also believed that my husband brought about her death?”
Barrie looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry. That’s precisely what I thought. And so did Gray.”
Amanda folded her hands together in her lap. “I see.”
“Vanessa’s manic-depression and the medications required to keep her mood swings under control offer a physician lots of room to maneuver. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Amanda replied thickly. “I would imagine so.”
“We have several good reasons to believe that Vanessa is still in grave danger,” Gray said.
“From George?”
“From David.”
“But through George.”
He didn’t need to answer. His expression made it clear.
Barrie knew they weren’t telling Amanda anything she hadn’t already figured out. Still, having her worst fears confirmed couldn’t be easy. But she retained her dignity, which won Barrie’s admiration.
“I realize how extremely difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Allan,” she said. “I’ve never met him, but based on what I know of your husband, I don’t believe he’s acting maliciously.”
“I know him,” Gray said. “I think he’s as much David’s victim as Vanessa is.”
“We didn’t come here to accuse Dr. Allan of anything,” Barrie said. “We’re only seeking information.”
“You don’t have to defend yourselves to me,” Amanda said with a bitter laugh. “Ever since David assumed office and appointed George the White House physician, he has put my husband through pure hell.”
“David’s gifted that way,” Gray remarked.
He and Amanda exchanged a look of shared understanding that momentarily excluded Barrie. Finally breaking the eye contact, Amanda focused on a recent family portrait on an end table. “George is caught up in something terrible. Whatever it is, he’s powerless to extricate himself from it. It’s wreaking havoc on our personal life. It’s having an adverse effect on our children. It’s put George at war with himself. He’s tormented. He’s disintegrating right before my eyes, and I can’t seem to reach him, not even with pleading or with threats of leaving him. Whatever this something is, it’s more powerful than I.” She looked at Barrie. “Do you have an inkling?”
“David Merritt killed Vanessa’s baby. It wasn’t SIDS.”
Amanda pressed her thin, white fingers against her lips to keep them from trembling.
“Your husband was trapped into complying with something that goes against his nature as a healer and his personal moral code,” Barrie said softly. “That’s why he’s tormented.”
What she couldn’t bring herself to say was that Dr. Allan had covered the murder for the President and was now assisting in the elimination of the only witness to the crime.
But Amanda was an intelligent woman. She didn’t need it spelled out for her. Finally, she lowered her hand. Her lips were pale, but no longer trembling. “I loathe that man for what he’s done to my husband. Even if it means implicating George in a crime, I’ll do whatever I can to help you expose David Merritt for what he is. I prefer having George alive and serving time in prison to having him dead. If this nightmare doesn’t end for him soon, it’s going to kill him by one means or another.”
“Barrie and I were hoping you would agree to help,” Gray said.
Amanda turned to him. “Plainly speaking, you believe that David has commissioned George to eliminate Vanessa?”
“Yes, we do.”
“What about her father? Clete Armbruster would kill anyone, including his son-in-law, if one hair on her head was harmed. Have you asked him for help?”
“We’ve tried,” Barrie told her. “But since the debacle in Shinlin, he won’t even speak to us.”
“There could be another reason he’s avoiding you,” Amanda said. “The senator isn’t altogether innocent. He plays high-stakes politics. George has alluded to some of his shenanigans.”
“My theory exactly,” Gray said. “If Clete starts firing accusations at the White House, chances are good they’ll ricochet and he’ll wind up shooting himself. David’s M.O. is to get the goods on the people surrounding him. Dirty secrets instill blind loyalty. No one is exempt. Not even the father-in-law who got him elected.”
“I have no such loyalty to David Merritt,” Amanda said. “What do you need from me?”
“The name of the facility where George is keeping Vanessa.”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me. But I presume it’s Tabor House.”
Barrie looked across at Gray. He appeared as puzzled as she.
“A private detox hospital,” Amanda added.
“I never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t,” she explained. “Tabor House is kept very hush-hush. It’s available only to high-ranking government officials and their immediate families. Substance abuse among high-profile Washington personnel occurs more often than anyone would guess. The facility was founded about twenty years ago so that the government could save face when someone in power needed to be detoxed.”
“Where is it?”
“Virginia. By car, about an hour and a half.”
“That explains George’s helicopter trips from the White House lawn every day,” Gray said. “Can you give us directions?”
She frowned with consternation. “I’ve never been there. Visitors aren’t allowed. But I know the name of the nearest town.”
They followed her into the kitchen, where she sat at a built-in desk and wrote down for them what she knew. Finding the exact location of Tabor House would be left to them. Gray read over the information she’d provided, then pocketed the paper. “This is more than we had,” he said. “Thank you, Amanda.”
“Gray.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I trust you to be careful. With George, I mean. I’m doing this to save his life. Our life. But by helping you, I also feel that I’m betraying him.”
“I understand the conflict. I’ve been experiencing a similar one. Remember, I once served under David, as his aide and his friend.” He paused. “I won’t do anything to physically harm George. You have my word,” he reassured her.
She pressed his arm, then dropped her hand. “This is so terribly dangerous for you. I’m surprised you took a chance on coming here.”
Barrie told her about the surveillance they’d been under since the incident in Shinlin. “We were followed when we left my friend’s house. Gray was able to lose the other car in traffic. But I must warn you that someone else we talked to was murdered last night.”
“My God.”
“Why don’t you and the children go away for a while. Until all this is cleared up,” Gray suggested.
She considered it, but only briefly. “If I took
the children out of school and fled, that would make us look all the more suspicious. Besides, I won’t leave George.”
Barrie’s admiration for the woman increased again.
“We took every precaution to protect you, but don’t trust anyone,” Gray warned her. “Not even someone you ordinarily would. Like Spence Martin.”
Amanda cocked her head. “But… you took care of that viper. Didn’t you? I assumed…”
“What do you mean?”
Amanda indicated the small TV built in to the kitchen cabinetry. “It was on earlier. A news bulletin.”
“What was the news?” Barrie asked.
“Gray. Gray Bondurant was the news.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gray Bondurant, hero of the hostage rescue mission, was being sought by the FBI for questioning into the disappearance of Spencer Martin, presidential aide.
David Merritt heard of this at the same time as the rest of the country did.
He and Spence were holding a confidential meeting in the President’s private quarters. Only a handful of people at the White House knew that Spence was in residence. He had moved into an extra bedroom on the third floor. Here, they could talk freely. The room was both soundproof and impossible to bug.
“The guy was a moron,” Spence said of Howie Fripp. “He was actually glad to see me. Invited me in. Didn’t even stop to wonder how I knew where he lived.”
“You’re sure he didn’t have time to contact Travis and Gray between the time he left the bar and when you showed up at his door?”
“I had him in sight the whole time.” Spence took a sip of Pepsi. “But it wouldn’t have mattered if he had contacted them. He didn’t know anything. He was only boasting that he did, to impress me. He couldn’t—”
“What the hell is that?”
Turning to see what had captured David’s attention, Spence was as alarmed to see his face on the television screen as the President was. It was an old picture, probably the only one of him on file. Nevertheless, he was recognizable. He picked up the remote control and disengaged the mute button.
“… has been reported missing.”
David and Spence looked at each other with complete bafflement, which only increased as the network’s Capitol Hill correspondent went on. “It is believed that Gray Bondurant, who came to national fame following a daring hostage rescue mission, was the last person to see Spencer Martin, when he recently entertained the President’s adviser at his ranch in Wyoming. A full-scale investigation to locate Mr. Martin is under way.”
“Jesus!” Spence surged to his feet. “Who’s responsible for this?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” He reached for the telephone and demanded that a call be placed to the attorney general.
“Use the speakerphone,” Spence said.
Attorney General William Yancey was out, so one of his subordinates got a good taste of wrath, presidential style. “What the fuck is going on? Where is Mr. Yancey? I want to speak with him immediately.”
“He and Mrs. Yancey are out to dinner, Mr. President.”
“Well, track him down. Now. In the meantime, I want to know who authorized this investigation into Spencer Martin’s disappearance.”
“Mr. Yancey himself, sir. As I understand it, he received a tip.”
“A tip? He got a tip? And he’s authorized a full-scale investigation on that basis alone?”
“The tip came from a very reliable source, Mr. President.”
“Who?”
“Senator Armbruster.”
David swung his gaze toward Spence, who launched into a vicious, albeit silent, spate of obscenities. Lowering himself into a chair and massaging his temples, David imposed a rigid calm over his voice. “I see. Senator Armbruster probably just forgot to discuss it with me beforehand.”
“The senator said that Mr. Martin has been missing for almost two weeks.” After an uneasy pause, he added, “Mr. President, Mr. Yancey assumed that Senator Armbruster was acting on your behalf.”
“Well of course he was,” David said smoothly. “I too have become increasingly disturbed by Mr. Martin’s absence. What I don’t understand is why Mr. Yancey is looking for Mr. Bondurant.”
“Sir, Bondurant recently told Senator Armbruster that Mr. Martin had been to his place in Wyoming. As far as anyone can tell, that was the last report on Mr. Martin’s whereabouts.”
“Has Mr. Bondurant been apprehended?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“And track down Mr. Yancey. I wish to speak to him immediately.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll convey the message right away.”
David disconnected. “Well, do you want to suddenly reappear and put a stop to this nonsense?”
Spence paced for a moment. “No. I can operate better if I’m not visible. But I’ll order my men to look the other way if they spot Gray. We sure as hell don’t want him questioned by the FBI or Yancey.”
“Yancey,” David repeated with rank dislike.
William Yancey had seemed the perfect man for the position of attorney general in the Merritt administration. Ten years David’s junior, he was as young and aggressive as Robert Kennedy had been when his older brother appointed him to that job. Like Kennedy, Yancey had distinguished himself in criminal prosecution, both in state and federal jurisdictions. He was charismatic, attractive, and articulate. So David had asked him to sign on, and he’d regretted it ever since. Yancey was too sharp, too industrious, too honest. Yancey and Bondurant would be a dangerous pairing of like minds.
“As soon as Gray sees this news story, what’s to stop him from strolling into Yancey’s office and volunteering that you’re buried in his root cellar?”
“He won’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“First, because it would put him out of commission. At least temporarily. He’d have to explain why he shot me and imprisoned me in his cellar. It would take time to get to the bottom of that, time that Gray doesn’t want to spend. Second, when he saw Howie Fripp’s body, it was as good as a calling card. Gray knows I’m no longer in that cellar.”
David frowned. “Timing’s suddenly become critical, hasn’t it?”
“Very.”
“Dammit, we don’t need this,” he said angrily. “What the hell was Clete thinking?”
Spence indicated the telephone. “I suggest you ask him.”
* * *
“I really don’t understand why you’re so upset, David,” Clete said, flicking his cigar ashes into a china ashtray bearing the presidential seal.
The senator had responded immediately to the President’s summons. With the complete understanding that an enraged David Merritt was waiting for him, he’d approached the meeting in an upbeat frame of mind. Pulling off a tricky double-cross always put him in a good mood.
David was shitting bricks over this matter of Spence and Bondurant, just as Clete had known he would. David certainly didn’t want Bondurant to go on record as saying that Spence had been dispatched to assassinate him. Naturally, he would deny any such claims and turn the tables on Bondurant by calling him a traitor and a murderer.
But the damage would already be done, and it would be irreparable. Seeds of doubt would already have been planted in the public’s mind. Prior to an election year, this was sticky business for an incumbent. The opposition party would have a field day pointing out to an impressionable public the shady kind of characters their president surrounded himself with.
By betraying Gray Bondurant, Clete had made an enemy, but the man was expendable. Barrie Travis certainly was. He’d sliced-and-diced her credibility all to hell after that scene in the hospital morgue.
Even though they had David Merritt dead to rights, Clete had no qualms about stymieing their efforts. He couldn’t have those two loose cannons running around causing mishaps, jeopardizing his own plans to destroy David.
The
re was also the outside chance that, in their bumbling fashion, they would stumble across the Becky Sturgis affair. That would unquestionably ruin the President. But it would also ruin Clete Armbruster. In the lineup of his priorities, self-preservation was second only to power.
So, to keep Bondurant and the reporter occupied, he’d clued Attorney General Yancey to the fact that the former recon was the last person known to have seen Spencer Martin alive. Now that they’d been derailed, Clete’s aim was straight. He had to get Vanessa healthy and away from David permanently, then destroy him.
Meanwhile, David was on a verbal rampage. “Without discussing it with me first—”
“I’ve been trying for days to discuss it with you,” Clete interrupted. “You haven’t taken my calls. You were in Georgia yesterday. This afternoon you had that meeting—”
“I know what my agenda was, Clete. You could have waited until I was free before calling Yancey.”
“On the contrary, David. I did not feel that this could wait any longer. People have been asking about Spence.”
“What people?”
“People on your own staff. People to whom his absence is noticeable. You’ve been distracted, so they’ve come to me.”
“Why you?”
“Because you and I are so close.” Clete let the statement lie there like a gauntlet, daring David to pick it up. “Everyone assumes that you share your thoughts and concerns with me. If you discussed Spence’s unexplained absence with anyone, it would be with me.” He puffed contentedly on his cigar.
“Gray told you that Spence had come to see him?”
“That’s right. The night I met him and the Travis broad in Shinlin.”
“There was so much going on that night, how did Spence’s name even enter into the conversation?”
Clete frowned as though trying to remember. “I can’t exactly recall. Best as I remember, it was a casual reference. I probably wouldn’t have thought of it again if Spence had reappeared. But he hasn’t, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to. I did some snooping. His mail’s backed up. Nobody in his apartment building has seen him in weeks. He hasn’t returned phone calls. Looks like he went to Wyoming and got swallowed by a Teton, doesn’t it? Appears that Bondurant was the last person to see him.”