“Hi.” Melissa plopped down at her table with a tuna sandwich and coffee, out of breath. “I have exactly ninety seconds for lunch. I heard you and Jason Merritt from Secret Service used to work together.”
Zoe studied Melissa, waiting for her to mention the sex dungeon and mystery man from the evening before. The woman gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary. She could’ve been an intelligence agent. “Where did you hear that?” Zoe asked.
“Jason. I thought he was going to give you an orientation.”
“Haven’t heard from him today.” Zoe shrugged, glancing around at the rush of people coming and leaving. “Is this what happens every time we have diplomats visiting?”
“Pretty much.” Melissa took a bite of tuna sandwich. “Worse this time. Stressful situation overseas,” she said under her breath.
“So I hear.” Zoe nodded toward the television. She lost her appetite for the rest of her salad. “The media says we’re heading into two wars on two continents. What a military nightmare. The world is like a patchwork quilt splitting apart at its seams.”
“This peace treaty has to pass.” Melissa glanced around the room as if making sure they weren’t overheard. She promptly changed the subject. “Jason didn’t call you?”
“No, was he supposed to?”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed with that bit of information. “What time did you end up leaving last night?”
“About one. I got started on another file, then Jason stopped in and wouldn’t let me leave until then.” The time she left could be checked. She didn’t have to give details.
Melissa put her coffee cup down and stopped chewing. Her face went pale. “Why so late?” There was an edge to her voice.
“There must’ve been a meeting or security issue late last night.”
“Oh? What makes you think it was a meeting?” Melissa was convincing in her act.
Zoe shrugged. She came up with a lie. “I don’t know. Jason had to lock me in until it was over. And I heard a number of people come down the stairs. I know the Situation Room is down there.”
“Not in your section,” Melissa argued. “How long did you two work together at Langley?”
Zoe kept her tone even. “Three years.”
“He’s a good guy.” Her friend forced a smile and averted her gaze. “You look exhausted. Try to get home early tonight.”
“I plan on it.” Clearly, Melissa had no intention of telling Zoe about the sex dungeon and the wild parties.
“Hey, Zoe. Hey, Melissa. Love the scarf, Zoe.” Alana MacKenna practically bounced over to their table. “Need a little icing to perk up your day?” Alana was a White House researcher who worked with Melissa and had more energy than Zoe and Melissa put together. Maybe she got more than three hours of sleep last night.
“Alana, you’ve been warned about this. Zoe hasn’t been briefed yet,” Melissa said, checking her watch. “Crap. Gotta go. We have to go out for drinks some time. I know where all the hot guys hang out.”
“I’ll take you up on that.” Zoe wasn’t sure about the hot guys. Seeing Jason had stirred up more than old wounds and mixed emotions. Their heated encounter last night was still fresh on her mind and filled her with a deep ache and longing. She was over him, or wanted to be over him. Whatever they once had was a brief affair. Messing around like a couple of teenagers in the closet was not the beginning of a relationship. It was opportunity and hormones, nothing more. Initiating another affair was a bad idea. He’d only disappear again. Did she want to go through that pain all over again?
Melissa frowned at Alana. “Best you keep your distance until it’s all over.” Her warning didn’t dull the sparkle in Alana’s green eyes. She retied her long, red hair into a neat twist and clipped it. “I know, but Zoe should see this anyway. She’ll be part of the program soon enough. Icing is what makes our job worthwhile.” She grabbed Zoe’s salad, didn’t ask if she was finished, and dumped it in the trash. “Hurry. You have to see this.”
Melissa walked in the other direction, shaking her head in disapproval.
“Pull your phone out,” Alana said softly as they walked toward the Oval Office. “Act like we’re waiting for a meeting or something. I’ll tell you where to stand.”
Zoe pulled out her phone and pretended to text someone. “Why are we doing this?”
“Icing,” Alana said again. She stopped, and they stood along a wall, several steps from the main entrance to the Oval Office. Alana ducked her head and checked her phone but had her gaze focused on the doors. Several staff members and Secret Service were around, so they were inconspicuous as far as Zoe could tell.
Be a ghost, don’t make eye contact, blend into the background was Zoe’s gut instinct. For what, she didn’t know yet. “What are we waiting for?” she whispered.
“See those three foreign guys standing at the door?”
Zoe nodded.
“They’re security for the Iraqi dignitaries who are speaking with the president right now.”
“About what?” Zoe asked.
Alana sighed. “Inside the Oval Office right now is the cake.”
“Cake?” Zoe didn’t get it.
Alana’s eyes widened with delight. “Yes, cake. Proof that we were successful at our job. Watch their expressions when they come out the main entrance. They’ll come out in a couple minutes.”
“Their expressions. That’s the icing?” Zoe was confused.
“Exactly.”
“Does this have to do with the peace talks?”
“It’ll all be explained to you.”
Shouts came from inside the room. And the doors burst open. Two Iraqi delegates charged out, faces red and teeth flashing as they snarled. The Iraqi president shouted orders to his guards in Arabic. Zoe studied his face, and he wasn’t the man she saw in the sex dungeon the night before. So why was he so angry? The group stood at the door, shouting, while the Secret Service tried to usher them out of the White House. A Secret Service guard closed the door to the Oval Office.
Zoe glanced at Alana who had a slight smile that was barely noticeable to anyone around. The woman had backed into the shadows of the crowd, a ghost, blending into the background. But why?
“Icing?” Zoe asked.
“Icing.” She nodded. “The cherry will be the announcement this afternoon at the press conference. The Iraqis just signed the peace agreement.”
Zoe skimmed and copied documents in her office until well past the dinner hour. She was stalling until she could do more exploring. Jason hadn’t explained what had been going on beyond the walls of the sex dungeon, when they both heard the voices coming from another room.
Tonight she would find that room—and hopefully some clues as to what was going on there so late at night while the first lady had been getting her rocks off next door in the sex dungeon. Remembering her director’s warnings about keeping her eyes open, she was determined to uncover any security risk if there was one. She felt a bit uneasy with her plans, but until she knew who to trust, this had to be done.
The files in her hands were old journals from numerous first ladies or their secretaries. They documented dates, times and names of well-known political figures, foreign diplomats, ambassadors, princes, presidents. These women had met with the high-ranking officials for tea or cocktails, dinners or lunches in various rooms in the White House. Acting as hostesses prior to important meetings with the president?
There was so much Zoe didn’t know about entertaining foreign dignitaries. These guests had the power to start or stop a war, murder or save thousands with a nod, or invade another country with the push of a button. How did you serve coffee and dessert to these people with a smile? She locked the files away and shut down her computer.
She hadn’t heard from or seen Jason all day. Should she be surprised? She ground her teeth. The man was true to his old ways. Torment her with sweet, hot sexual attention, then vanish. At ten thirty she put her work away and left her office, since it was unlikely anyone wou
ld come downstairs this late at night.
If she figured out who belonged to the voices behind the walls, the rest might make sense. Armed with keys and the ID badge she’d found, she stopped in front of the door adjacent to the sex dungeon. Silence engulfed her. If there were spare offices at this level, she doubted they were being used.
A habit from her old job in counterintelligence was to be hyperaware of her surroundings. One trick she’d learned: If she wanted to hide a secret, put it on the ceiling and to the left. Most people rarely look up and instinctually look to their right first or turn right when entering an unfamiliar place.
If trying to hide a secret message, write it on the ceiling to the left.
Zoe didn’t see anything besides a cracked plaster ceiling, but high above the thick Colonial trim around the door, she did notice an odd drawing. It was approximately eight or ten inches across, a symbol consisting of three interlocking triangles that created a nine-pointed star. A double eagle and a crown were etched in the center of the star. Beneath the eagle was the phrase Deus Meumque Jus. Latin for “God and my right.” It was a Masonic symbol.
Did the Masons have anything to do with choosing the bald eagle as the American symbol? Her father and grandfather were both Freemasons. They had told her brother but never her. Zoe found out by accident after her grandfather died and she’d helped her grandmother go through his personal items. Zoe discovered the lodge manual and her grandfather’s Mason ring. When she confronted her dad, he shrugged it off as being a guy thing. Just like her job as an intelligence agent wasn’t as important, or as dangerous, as Damien’s job. He’d never used those words precisely, but it was clearly implied.
With the set of keys found inside her desk, she tried them one at a time until she found one that fit the lock in the old doorknob. The lock turned, and she entered the dark room.
CHAPTER 4
Jason’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Meet me in the parking lot in ten. The text message was from Melissa. Now what?
Outside, the night was clear, but with all the security lights in the parking lot, only a few stars were visible. When Jason reached the employee parking lot, Melissa was pacing back and forth, checking her phone and frantically working her thumbs on the keypad.
“What’s up?” he asked. Just because it was eleven p.m. didn’t mean White House staff went home like most nine-to-five workers. At least the people in her vicinity were long gone. Still, only a few cars remained, including Zoe’s ten-year-old hybrid. “She’s still here.”
“No kidding. And you haven’t told her about the FLC.” She glared at him while she finished her text. The air was brisk for an October day and smelled fresh like snow. He liked the snow, since he never saw much of it while growing up in Texas. A breeze blew her long, dark hair about her face. She didn’t seem to notice. “Julia doesn’t want her down there during a presentation until she’s formally a member. We don’t want a Celia repeat. Tell her.”
Jason groaned and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He was dreading it and now he hated himself for bringing Zoe into this. He still cared for her, but hadn’t realized how much until now. “She’s not right for the FLC. Not this part. I thought she’d be helping me with surveillance.”
“Are you crazy? It’s too late for that.”
“It’s true she can role play a drug or arms dealer, but she doesn’t know the dominance and submissive lifestyle.”
“We needed someone to replace Celia with top-level clearance,” Melissa said.
The mention of Celia’s name left a sizable hole in his chest. Everyone took Celia’s tragedy hard. Celia had never been right for the FLC. “Isn’t there someone else we can bring in?”
She shook her head. “It’s taken months to plan this. You know what will happen if we fail.”
“You don’t understand. I almost lost her on a mission. I won’t let that happen. I’m not setting her up for something dangerous.”
Melissa placed her hand on Jason’s arm. “I do understand. Zoe’s well trained and won’t do anything stupid. Secret Service and you will make sure she’s safe. But it has to be Zoe.”
He swore under his breath then nodded. “All right, all right.”
Melissa frowned. “I knew we could depend on you.”
***
The air in the room was cool and smelled damp and slightly moldy, but there was also an odor of incense. Zoe found a light switch and flipped it on. Light flickered from a small, antique chandelier and gave a dim, surreal glow.
The room appeared to be staged like an old office of a hundred years ago. A heavy antique desk stood in the center of the small room with a brocade wingback chair that faced the door. Heavy red brocade drapes covered some of the walls, while others held a few faded canvas pictures. Some were drawings of iconic Washington structures—the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Other canvases showed strange symbols. One she recognized. A ruler and compass with a G in the center. The same symbol on rings worn by both her father and grandfather.
Was this room a meeting or meditation room for Masonic study or rituals? Above the door faded painted words—In Hoc Signo Vinces—caught her attention. She’d have to check to see what that meant.
Arranged on the desk were a skull—it looked like a real human skull—a candle and a metal bowl holding a powder of some sort. It reminded her of voodoo, but she knew a little about the Masons, and although their rituals appeared strange and mysterious to some, they were benign. She sniffed the powder. It had a strong, unpleasant odor. Not the woody oil scent she detected when she first entered. Maybe wood polish?
This room creeped her out. Did the president use this room? Past presidents had been Masons. She’d read where the main structures in Washington had been designed by Masons, their cornerstones set in formal ceremonies. What was going on down here? First, a sex dungeon and now a Mason room. What next?
A draft of stale air swirled into the room, and the drapes moved. Behind them, she discovered an opening about two and a half feet wide. A passageway. The air here was cold and the tunnel completely dark. She thought about running back to her office for a penlight but remembered her cell. It gave off enough illumination to light her way.
She walked for several yards and tried not to think of rats or bats or other creepy things that might live in dark spaces. Maybe this was an old escape route in the event the White House was taken over? It hadn’t been that long ago that the country had been in the midst of the Civil War. The White House could’ve been seized back then.
Far ahead, she thought she saw another door. Then she heard the noise. A scratching or shuffling sound. Oh God. There are rats. She froze and looked down at her feet. Please, no rats.
Then a hand clamped around her mouth. She raised her elbow, about to jam it with enough force to crack ribs, when she heard Jason’s voice.
“Shhh. Don’t scream and don’t kill me.” He chuckled softly as he turned her in his arms and pressed her against the wall with his body.
“Bastard. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t yell down the tunnel. Voices carry. What the hell are you doing?”
“Gathering intel. Um, exploring,” she said. Neither sounded like a good excuse. “I was trying to figure out where those voices came from last night.”
“You can’t go wandering around in the White House,” he said. Her back was against the wall, and he was facing her, his thigh planted between her legs. God, she was getting turned on.
“I work down here. I’m authorized,” she argued. “Is this an escape tunnel? Has it always been here?” In the light of her cell, his gaze was intense. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. Heat radiated through her in so many naughty ways.
He took a breath. “This isn’t your grandmother’s house where you can go off exploring every nook and cranny.”
“I know.” She leaned her head back, tilting it in a defiant pose, and gave him a smirk. “So where does it go?”
A grin twitched at his mouth, and he licked his lips. He had to do that. Her sex tingled as fond memories recalled what that mouth was capable of. “Another part of the basement.” His vague answer pissed her off.
“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.” She tried pushing past him, but he caught her arm, slammed her against his body and pressed her into the wall. His thigh rubbed on her pussy. Instantly aroused and wet between the legs, she felt his cock harden.
His mouth came down on hers in a rough kiss. Tongues plunged into each other’s mouths, desperately drawing her deeper and deeper, as if all the air had been sucked out of the tunnel and she was gasping for the last few breaths of it.
His arms wrapped around her and pulled her in tighter. His cock pressed into her belly. Large hands moved around her front and kneaded her breasts, then he groaned and yanked her blouse from the waist of her skirt, lifting it high and shoving the bra clear.
His mouth clamped down on one nipple. Groaning, she tried arching her back to meet his mouth, but the confined space wouldn’t allow it. Zoe had an image of two people trying to fuck inside a coffin.
“God, Zoe. What are you doing to me?” He pulled up her skirt and reached for the top of her pantyhose. She heard the rip of material as he shoved his hand down and found her clit. “Damn, you’re soaked. I want to taste you.”
His fingers worked her sensitive flesh until she was on the edge of climaxing. “Jason,” she moaned and gripped his shoulders, moving with the rhythm of his hand. “Yes.”
Then his finger plunged into her channel. And she cried out. “Shhh,” he said as his mouth captured hers and silenced her moans.
The heel of his hand rubbed and stimulated her nub until it was raw and throbbing.
“Oh God, like that.” Her head rested on his shoulder as her body coiled on the edge of the most intense orgasm she’d had in a long time.
Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories Page 223