"Absolutely not!" Sandra and Wyatt said in unison.
***
"Mr. President," Lance acknowledged as he walked into the Oval Office. The room was full of people and he felt as if he was late for a meeting. He hated being late. Why hadn't he been invited to attend when the meeting was convened?
"Lance, you know everybody here." Horton looked at him. He nodded. The room was full of advisors, the FBI director, secretary of defense, Melanie West, Senator Rutledge, and several other members of Congress. Even the Vice President was in attendance. Lance took a seat next to Senator Rutledge.
He didn't like this. He felt his blood rush in his head and forced himself to relax. He didn't want anyone to see him sweat. Didn't want them to know that he was not in complete control.
"Lance, let me bring you up to date," Everett sat down and stretched his long legs in front of him. The man didn't look like a president. He was overly tall and clumsy. The only thing he had going for him was charisma and Casey Horton. The First Lady was absent from this congregation, and Lance wondered where she was. The two of them ran the country as a team, unfortunately leaving the Vice President out.
When he was elected, he'd refused to be kept out of policy making decisions. He'd already felt Senator Whittaker out. The man was another extremely popular personality. If he played his cards right he'd be on the ticket for the next election.
"We've discovered someone hacked into the DOD computers last night," Everett was saying when Lance looked up.
"Was there a violation of any sensitive information?"
"Any time there's a break-in, there's that possibility, but the hacker wasn't interested in taking anything, just using it.
"I don't understand, sir."
"The hacker wanted to use the encryption-decoding data banks."
Lance forced his features to remain in place. There were only a few people in the country who had enough savvy to hack into the DOD. Their names were known to the FBI's computer theft division. They were also known to him. There were few of them in the Washington, DC, area and only a couple whom Senator Randolph would be able to locate.
"Were they successful, sir?"
"Very. We let them take everything they wanted and we kept track of the data."
Lance hated Horton. He wanted to make him sweat. He liked seeing him squirm. Why didn't he just come out and tell him what they'd found out? Why were they doing this asinine dance? Lance smiled. Horton wasn't as smart as he thought. He already knew about Mrs. Brooke Richards's invasion into an unauthorized area of the DOD computers. The report had been put on his desk almost as she'd gone in. He granted her his respect. She was good. Better than good, she was one of the best. She'd bypassed most of the bells and whistles that would have caught nine out of ten of the others on the list. He knew everything she knew.
The urge to take Horton down a peg by revealing he already knew the facts of Horton's explanation was so strong he almost couldn't resist making a fool of the President in front of an audience. But he held his tongue, thinking better of it. Let him think he had command. It was a false illusion and soon everyone would know it. He had time.
Lance knew where Randolph was. He'd have him in a matter of hours. Then Horton's world would fall apart brick by brick and Lance would stand as the level headed-leader. The television cameras would roll with his decisions. He'd stand as a pillar of strength as everyone around him scrambled to blame someone else for the mess Horton had created.
"I talked to the senator this morning."
Lance's head came up with a snap.
"He has the stones. He's coming in."
This was a change. Randolph couldn't turn himself in. Not to Horton. That wasn't part of Lance's plan. He wouldn't allow Horton to tear down everything he'd planned. He needed to get to Randolph first.
***
Jordon looked through the lens of his Leica. It was a battered old camera. He'd bought it used from a retiring photographer when he was a younger man getting started in photography. It had been around the world more than once and served him well.
He had many cameras, newer models, but he loved this one better than any of the newer ones. Today he was playing, not really intending to take a picture, just looking through the lens. The woman on the other end of his viewfinder was Annie. She lazed on the bed where they'd made love. The room was full of them. Her hair was mussed from his hands threading through it. She had no clothes on under the satin sheets, that made her look more sexy than if she'd been naked to his view.
Only her right shoulder and part of her left leg could be seen. Against the white satin her darkness was near black. Jordon opened the aperture wide and increased the shutter speed. Everything around her would be blurred. Only her perfect form at the center of the shot would appear sharply defined when he developed the film. He pressed the shutter button with a reverence that surprised himself.
The shutter sound made her lift her head. The sheet slipped down her back as she turned, exposing one full, ripe breast. The film automatically moved through the camera and Jordon took another shot. He took several as she moved. He wasn't doing this for the contract or any contract he would ever get. The shots would be worthy, probably would pay more money than he'd ever received from a contract before, but they were for his private collection.
"Jordon, stop," Suzanne said. "You know I don't do nude photos."
He set the camera down and went to her. Taking her in his arms, he said, "You should." Then he kissed her. "For my eyes only." Ignition as hot as plastic explosives shot through him as his mouth found and covered hers. They made love fast. The tempo catching and pushing them into a feverish frenzy. Like high school kids who couldn't keep their hands off each other, Jordon lost even a fraction of control whenever she touched him. He wondered if he'd ever get used to her enough to make love to her slowly, to savor the emotions she kindled in him like nitro exploding.
When their hearts returned to a normal beat, Jordon gathered her to him and held her. Her smooth legs matched the length of his under the white cover.
"What do you plan to do when this is over?" he asked her.
"What is over? I have at least five new contracts waiting for me. And you well know it."
"I'm not talking about contracts. I'm talking about your sister and Randolph." Suzanne tried to move away, but Jordon held her tighter. "Don't do it, Annie. Each time I bring up your sister, you retreat into another world. I want to know about her."
"There's nothing to know."
She stared up at him. Her eyes were bright, flaring with hurt and anger. Jordon kissed her. He didn't want to make her hurt, but he knew she couldn't spend the rest of her life holding the anger she felt toward her family. He wanted to help her. He wanted her to trust him, to tell him everything about herself. He wanted to be the man she turned to in the night with her body and in the day with her triumphs and her problems. He also wanted to go to her when he had those same needs.
For better, for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. The words seemed to flow into his mind like images forming on nitrate-treated paper. He wanted to marry Annie, make her happy. He knew she could make him happier than any other woman in the world. He wanted that chance.
Jordon didn't ask again. He looked at her without comment. Her eyes clouded and she suddenly hugged him.
"Jordon, hold me."
He put his arms around her and pulled her to his side. Tears fell on his chest, hot and scalding. He swallowed the lump in his throat and waited.
"He's my father," she began. "My real father."
Jordon didn't push her. He wanted to ask who she meant, but he didn't. He waited, holding her and stroking her hair.
"They say he adopted me, found me in a backwater town and gave me a better life, but he didn't find me. He knew I was there. He's my real father."
"Senator Rutledge?"
"Yes," she sneered. "The great, powerful, and popular Senator Rutledge has a bastard daughter."
Jordo
n lifted her chin and looked her straight in the face. She was serious. "Annie, are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"You know politicians these days. In order to run for office they have to be squeaky clean. Something like an. . .illegitimate child would give the media, not to mention the senator's political opponents, enough fuel to kill any election bid he'd care to make. How is it they never found out?"
"You don't believe me," she accused, turning away and wrapping her arms around her knees. Jordon stared at her bare back and naked buttocks. Taking the sheet, he covered her and pulled her against him.
"How long have you known?"
"Four years. I found out just before Sandra got married."
Jordon expressed surprise at Annie's comment. Annie explained the circumstances, then took a deep breath and went on. "Sandra had to get all the legal papers ready to get a marriage license. She was in such a frenzy and I was helping her. Sandra was still living here then. I went to get the papers for her and that's when I found my own birth certificate. My real one. Not the one that was produced when I was adopted. That one has Melissa and Bradford Rutledge as my mother and father. The one my biological mother received when I was born had her name on it, Catherine Boatwright, and under Father was typed in clear legible English, Bradford Campbell Rutledge."
"He knew you were his real daughter and he never said anything?"
"He left her, used her, and when I was born he never even came to see me. He left us in that swamp to live or die. He didn't care. He was a senator. His career was taking off, soaring. He couldn't afford a bastard daughter from some backwater town pulling him down." She stopped and took a breath. "I confronted him with what I'd found. We had a really bad argument I left and I've never seen him since."
"Yet, he called here. He knew you were here."
"He knew she was here," Suzanne sneered. "Sandra, the precious one, the legitimate one, the one with all the best things in life. He didn't call me. He wanted to know why his precious little princess was making the front page of The Washington Post. He wanted to protect her, not ask if I was sick or dying."
She climbed off the bed, pulling on a robe. Grabbing the sashes, she tied a tight knot around her waist.
"He wouldn't care if naked pictures of me appeared on the morning news, but let Sandra's name be linked with anything that could malign her puritan reputation and in comes her father, like a white knight, ready to do battle."
"Then why did you help her?"
"I didn't."
Jordon stood up. He didn't pull any clothes on. His body was lean and hard, though nothing he'd choose to photograph if he needed a strong male, but he liked the way Annie looked at him when he was undressed. Even if he didn't consider himself in a class with muscle-bound hunks, she made him feel like he was.
"I know you helped her," he said quietly. "You got her the money."
"It was her money."
"But you used those banking skills of yours to cover any possible trail. When she came here you took them in and got them food and clothes. You even gave her the pearl necklace." He stopped, raising his hands to prevent her from speaking. "You gave it to her in case she ran out of money and needed to get more. The truth is, if anything happens to her, you'll feel guilty. She's not guilty of anything your father did and you know it."
Suzanne moved to turn away, but Jordon took her arms and stopped her.
"Look at me," he commanded. "She was a little girl. It wasn't her fault that her father treated you badly. You know it and you had to help her. No matter what you think about your father, Sandra didn't do anything to you. She loves you and you love her."
Suzanne looked at him for a long time before dropping her eyes and putting her arms around him. Why couldn't she deny his words? Why did he, of all the people she knew, have to be the one person who could see through her motives? Why did Sandra's plight have to become hers? When she'd seen the first newspaper account of her sister, the instinct to help, to protect, to set the record straight was too strong to deny. When Sandra showed up at the photo shoot that day, she wanted to hug her, to tell her everything would be all right, to ask her if there was anything she could do. But she wouldn't let herself.
Tears ran down her face. Jordon's arms tightened around her, pulling her into contact with him, making her feel secure and wanted. She loved him.
When had that happened?
***
Jordon listened to the water in the shower. He cracked the door open and heard Annie singing gently under the spray of the water. He closed the door and went into the living room. Picking up the phone, he glanced back toward the bedroom door.
He dialed the private number and waited for it to be answered.
"Christopher." The voice came over the line, clear and strong.
"Clarence, good morning."
"Jordon? What are you doing calling this line? Is this another one of your pranks?"
Jordon laughed. He liked the director of the FBI. When he wasn't under the pressures of his job, he had a wonderful sense of humor. Jordon had met him several years earlier when he'd been called to photograph the new director.
Portraits of executives were an unusual assignment. He'd thought the request clearly unusual, but he'd gone out of curiosity.
"No prank, Clarence. I have some information that I'd like checked out."
"What do you think this is, your personal data bank?"
Jordon chuckled. "You must be having a really bad day," he teased. Jordon checked his watch. "It's not even noon yet.”
"I am having a bad day. It’s been bad for weeks now, and I'm extremely busy. So could you please clear this line. I have an appointment with the President in twenty minutes."
"Senator Randolph is the subject, I take it."
"I don't think our business is any of yours."
"It might just be. I've seen the senator."
Silence greeted him as if Clarence was letting what he heard sink into his brain. "Jordon, I want to know everything you know. Be in my office at two o'clock."
"I'll be there, but I want something from you."
"This is not a negotiation."
"I want you to check out Suzanne Wright. You know her as Anne Rutledge."
"Bradford Rutledge's daughter? Why? It's the other daughter we're trying to find."
"I need the information."
"For what? Does this have to do with department business or are you using me agency for your personal research?"
"A little of both," he admitted. "Her real name is Annie Boatwright. Senator Rutledge adopted her when she was ten years old. She's from a rural Georgia town."
"What are you expecting us to find?"
"She says Rutledge is her real father, her biological father." Christopher's silence told him more than he wanted to hear.
"Clarence, I know what you're thinking and that's not why I called. Promise me you won't do anything with what you find until I've had a chance to review it."
"I don't work for you, Jordon." Christopher's voice was authoritative, but Jordon knew him as a man of honor. He would first give him what he asked. "Remember, be here at two."
Chapter 18
Wyatt put his hand to his head and closed his eyes. He'd left Sandra at the jeweler's and walked around the corner while the stones were being set. He didn't want to leave, but he'd been too restless to sit there silently while the man worked. This running had gone on long enough. He was tired. He and Sandra had what everyone wanted. He could end the stealing around, depending on friends for support, help, and even clothes and shoes. He looked at the pants he was wearing. They belonged to Marjorie’s husband, a man he'd only seen once in his life. The shoes were his. He'd had the dress shoes since the night they'd gone to the Casey Horton's party and ended up digging stones along the highway in Virginia. Red dirt clung to the sides and inside the stitches. He wanted to go home, sleep in his own bed, get up in the morning and go to a job, ride the metro, take vacations, do the things ordinary citizen
s did. But he couldn't. He couldn't because of what he had, what he knew.
Lafayette Park sat across from the White House. Ladybird Johnson had beautified it when her husband Lyndon Johnson was President. None of the fountains were on, and the flowers lay dormant under the snow waiting for spring. Wyatt sat on the cold bench, a solitary figure, in the darkness of early evening. Across the park and the deserted street was the most famous house in America, a place where the President of the United States lived.
He'd told the President he'd call him the moment he had something to report. News that they actually had possession of the stones should make his day. Yet, Wyatt was reluctant to place the call.
He stared at the White House. Lights blinked in many of the windows. He wondered which room Everett Horton was in and what would go through his mind if Wyatt walked through the gates and turned the stones over to him.
What would Sandra think if he did that? He'd become used to discussing everything with her. She was as involved in this as he. He couldn't make any decisions without her approval and he knew she wouldn't give them over without conditions. Conditions they were sure would be met. He needed to talk to her. She was practical, logical, and passionate. He loved her passion, not only in bed, although he loved that, too, but her passion for what was right and wrong. An idea was forming in his mind and he wanted to talk to her about it. He thought he had a solution that could get them out this, but it was dangerous.
He stood up to leave, then stopped abruptly when he noticed Sandra standing several feet from him. She stared at the house across me street. She seemed mesmerized by the lighted structure that symbolized the country's authority figure.
Wyatt liked Everett Horton. He'd even voted for him, and in the next election he'd probably vote for him again.
Sandra stood still, unconcerned about the coldness of the air. Wyatt wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if she was as tired as he was and only wanted to be rid of Project Eagle and all its implications.
White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2) Page 28