Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  I was resolved to listen to Corinne's warnings from now on. I was prepared to act on them, too—to the best of my ability. I left a message for James, in code. He'd pay attention to Dalton's phone conversations until I asked him to stop.

  Sleep hadn't come for a while, so a third cup of coffee was in my hand while I waited for the others to gather in the hotel lobby. We had vans coming to transport us to the airport, and I had notes to write during the flight back to the States.

  Corinne—I needed to see the President about her. Rafe performed to expectations, but Corinne continued to puzzle me. Why had she chosen to reveal talents now, instead of after she'd received the drug?

  I'd have to consider that later—after I was rested and better focused. Rafe arrived first, closely followed by Dalton. The others, Corinne included, arrived less than five minutes later. I caught Maye and the others staring at Cori from time to time, but they quickly looked away when she turned in their direction.

  They were speculating, just as I was. The President's hand could be forced on this—there wasn't any way Corinne's performance the night before could be erased from all their minds. Our two wild cards—Corinne and Rafe—had saved our lives last night.

  The vans arrived, forcing my thoughts away from them and onto the task at hand. We rode to Heathrow, too tired to have anything other than necessary conversation.

  * * *

  Corinne

  My eyes felt as if they had sand in them, and an unusually bright morning in Britain made them water in pain. Maye and the brothers watched me whenever they could, attempting to figure out what had happened the night before. I might have been of less interest to them if I'd grown an extra head.

  The ride to Heathrow seemed to take forever—London is a huge city, after all. August squeezed between Dalton and me on a back seat in our van, and I appreciated his attempts to protect me. Rafe sat in the row in front of mine, and I hadn't failed to notice that Dalton didn't want to be near the former spy if he could help it.

  Rafe got Ken's company instead, with Maye and her handler in the first row. The others rode in the second van, and theirs followed ours as we made our way through London traffic to the airport.

  I didn't care where I sat on the jet, as long as I could close my eyes and sleep. On the trip from the States, I hadn't been offered anything. This time, I had a pillow, a blanket and bottles of water and juice.

  Who knew?

  Rafe took the seat next to mine, leaned back, closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes. I stayed awake for half the trip.

  * * *

  "You have a meeting with the President tomorrow," Dr. Shaw informed me when I walked into my kitchen. Rafe and August were right behind, so the message was meant for them, too.

  "What time?" August asked.

  "Three. She has an hour to give you. She wants a report, and has a few questions."

  "Great." I shuffled toward the fridge and pulled out the carton of milk. I offered a glass to Rafe, who shook his head and pulled the dusty bottle of bourbon off the top of the fridge before he went looking for a suitable glass. August and Dr. Shaw sat at the island to have a drink with Rafe and me. I was the only one having milk.

  The good news, I suppose, was that Rafe and I had two days off, so he wouldn't be pounding me in Krav Maga lessons. "The Vice President's funeral is scheduled next week," Dr. Shaw said, emptying his glass and pushing it toward Rafe, who poured more bourbon.

  "The White House is keeping the lid on the incident in London. The reporters only have information on the Prime Minister's two guards. The one who was shot was interviewed earlier from his hospital bed."

  "As far as I'm concerned, he can take all the credit." I hunched my shoulders and stared at the patterns in the granite island. "He saved Auggie's life; that's all I care about."

  "And I thought you didn't care," August quipped.

  "Shut up," I mumbled as good-naturedly as I could.

  "Corinne, I cleared some time for you tomorrow morning at ten," Dr. Shaw said. "I'll be here then, whether you're dressed or not. We'll talk."

  "Say it ain't so," I moaned and dropped my forehead on the island.

  Rafe stayed when August and Dr. Shaw left. "Corinne, what's wrong?" he asked. By mutual, silent agreement, we didn't touch.

  "Everything," I breathed.

  * * *

  As promised, Dr. Shaw arrived in the kitchen at ten the following morning. I had a bad-hair day going, following a bad-hair night. I brushed it and my teeth, at least, before sitting down with Dr. Shaw.

  "Now, what would you like to talk about?" Dr. Shaw said, first thing. "I suggest the events in London as a starting place."

  "Dr. Shaw," I began.

  "Call me Leo. You've earned that right."

  "Seriously? What about the stationery I ordered for all our communications?"

  "Corinne, be serious, please," he said.

  "I'll have to get used to it first," I said. "It just seems unnatural to say Leo to your face."

  He laughed. That didn't happen often.

  "There's one thing I ought to tell you," I said. "And believe me, I had a good reason for not saying it before."

  "What reason is that?" he asked.

  "Because we don't need a war with a certain Asian dictator to be named later."

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "Do you mean to tell me those burned paintings were fakes? That Louis the Fifteenth's crown at the Louvre is also fake?" I stared at Shaw in disbelief.

  "Corinne said, and I quote, we don't need a war with an Asian dictator to be named later."

  "Holy fucking hell," I blurted. My meeting with the President just became much more complicated.

  * * *

  Corinne

  "So," the President steepled her fingers and studied me with unblinking scrutiny, "The crown in the Louvre is a fake. Do you suspect that the ones behind the theft of Britain's crown jewels are also behind that attack and theft?"

  "Yes, but I can't get a handle on who's responsible," I said, doing my best to sit up straight instead of sinking into my chair.

  "Is that what you're doing—searching for the ones responsible?"

  "Or the one," I said, happy that my voice only shook a little. "He, she, it or they have lives to pay for. I intend to see that they pay."

  "I should have brought her to you in the beginning," Dr. Shaw muttered. He'd insisted on coming to the meeting with August, Rafe and me. "You've gotten more information in five minutes than she's given me in five years."

  "Don't get all upset, Leo," I said. "I had my reasons. I told you those reasons earlier. Heads have been hot over that whole incident. What could have happened if they had a specific target?"

  "I see your point," the President leaned back in her chair. "With the information coming out now and only to a select few, we may be able to employ—shall we say classified measures—to retrieve these items?"

  "I think we have agents in other departments who might be able to track them," August suggested.

  "Then I'll look into who might be able to handle this. Someone who speaks the language fluently and can fit in," the President said. "I'll let you know. Corinne, are you working on the other part of this, still—the part of making the ones responsible for that massacre pay?"

  "I am," I said. "I just need more cooperation from a few people."

  "Then you can have anything you want, within reason."

  "I just want photographs," I said. "Colonel Hunter knows which ones."

  "See to it," she nodded to Auggie.

  "What about the Secretary of State and the Prime Minister?" Rafe asked. "Are they still targets?"

  "Possibly," President Sanders replied. "Security has been increased and all departments here and in Britain are on alert."

  "Any word on the one who called herself Mary Evans?" Rafe asked his follow-up question.

  "None. Vanished like a puff of smoke in a high wind. We currently have nothing on her location, but our
resources are working on that now."

  "I believe she's our go-between," Rafe said.

  "Do you have any idea who is directing her movements?"

  "None at the moment, but if I can see those photographs Corinne mentioned, I may recognize someone."

  "Then you have my permission to contact the necessary departments. Look, I hate to end this meeting—it has been more than productive," the President said. "But I have another meeting. I'll have someone show you out. Thank you—all of you, for your exemplary service in London."

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  James brought information to me the moment I arrived in my office—a flash drive containing phone conversations between Dalton Parrish and General Cutter was placed in my hand as James offered a silent frown. He and I listened as Dalton informed Cutter of Corinne's performance in the tunnels beneath London. I cursed the moment I heard Cutter refer to her as a witch.

  * * *

  Corinne

  I owed Auggie cookies; he didn't mention my transfer to the President. Not while I was there, anyway. If they held a private conversation at another time, I didn't care, as long as they kept it to themselves.

  Usually, I don't bake on Tuesdays. As I had the day off, aside from meetings, I baked cookies for August and James. Rafe showed up after I took the first batch out of the oven, so the intended recipients got the second and third batches. I figured they could live with a dozen apiece.

  "Do you have a washer and dryer?" Rafe asked as he stuffed the rest of a cookie in his mouth.

  "Yes—in a closet outside my office," I said. "Why?"

  "I like to wash my own jeans. The service here puts starch in them. I prefer to keep them soft. It allows me easier movement."

  "Fine. You can borrow my washer and dryer."

  "I'll make gumbo tomorrow for dinner."

  "Really? What kind?"

  "Seafood gumbo."

  "You're my hero," I said. "Do we have crackers left?"

  "I'd prefer fresh bread."

  Rafe brought six pairs of jeans over, stuffed them in my washer, then made himself comfortable on a nearby chair while I went through the most recent chapter in the book. Taking days away from a manuscript requires that I go through the last two or three chapters, just to get back in the groove.

  "I've read it already. It's good," Rafe said when I finished reading.

  "It needs editing. I'll send out the first half soon, so my editor can start working on it."

  "Want to invite James to dinner tomorrow night? I tend to make enough gumbo to feed an army."

  My inter-Mansion phone rang beside my desk. I couldn't call out on it, but anyone inside the Mansion could call me. "Hello?" I said after picking up.

  "I want to come," James said immediately.

  "We really need to find you a date," I informed him dryly. "But your cookies are here waiting. You probably already know that."

  "Can I come get them now?"

  "You're always welcome here, unless I'm asleep or in the shower."

  "On my way." The line went dead.

  "What shall we name our adopted child?" I asked Rafe. He laughed.

  * * *

  I had no idea we'd have uninvited guests. Thank goodness Rafe did make enough for an army. All of the Five showed, with Carol, Kevin's handler, and Jeff, Maye's handler. James had a great time—he probably hadn't been to a party since college.

  "Why didn't we know you could—you know," Maye said to me as Rafe handed her a glass of wine.

  "I can't explain it, really. August would probably kill me."

  "He wouldn't, he'd just be pissed," James grinned. "This gumbo is awesome."

  "I guess it's a good thing I made extra bread," I said dryly.

  "It goes great with the gumbo," Ken said, dumping more gumbo in his bowl. Everybody was in my kitchen. Extra chairs had been dragged in from somewhere, and several were eating around my dining table while the rest took seats at the island.

  "Why didn't we think of this before?" Kevin asked. "I want to grill burgers on the back patio."

  "I haven't been to a cookout in a long time," Nick said. "I vote for steaks, though."

  "I think we could accommodate that—I enjoy cooking steaks," Rafe responded.

  "I'll buy the grill, if they'll allow it," I said.

  "What's this about a grill?" August and Leo walked in.

  "Ask them. I'm just funding it, if it's approved."

  "I think the new VP might approve it," August grinned. "Cori, the President asked me what I thought. The former Secretary of State will be the new Vice President." My mouth dropped open—I know it did—because Rafe tipped it closed with a finger beneath my chin.

  * * *

  "You saw who took off the minute we started cleaning the kitchen," I said, flopping onto a barstool with a cup of chamomile.

  "No surprise. I'd have bet money on Becker leaving first, and I'd have won."

  "Hah. No way I'd take that bet."

  "I'm surprised Dr. Shaw stayed to help. Not surprised that James did."

  "Here's to good gumbo." I held up my cup.

  "I'll second that."

  * * *

  Thursday, it was back to running, followed by Krav Maga and weight training. Becker was the only one to show up for Krav Maga. I'm sure it was for pointers. At least he hadn't shoved me in the mud, because it was raining during the six a.m. torture. Springtime in the D.C. area. Lovely.

  August waited in our kitchen for Rafe and me when the weight-lifting torture was over. By that time, I was ready for a shower and lunch. Auggie, I thought at him, why is Dalton even here, except as a spy?

  "This won't take but a minute, and we can talk on our way to the former Vice President's funeral. The President wants both of you to ride with her and the First Gentleman," Auggie didn't bat an eyelash at the mental communication.

  "Who's taking the Secretary of State's spot?" I asked.

  "No idea, yet, but the moment they're brought on board and the schedule is cleared, that trip to France is in the offing."

  "Auggie, I don't want to go there," I slumped my shoulders.

  "Cori, it'll be all right."

  It wasn't the first time I'd heard those words. They made me sad. "Corinne, I don't have a specific time for next Tuesday, but I expect both of you to be ready at nine. We'll be updated sometime after that, as to when we have to leave. The President doesn't want to take any chances."

  "I understand. I'll be ready."

  "I'm giving you permission to go out with James and Rafe tomorrow, to buy something to wear. Make sure it's tasteful and discreet."

  "Does it have to be a dress?"

  "That's preferable, yes."

  "Damn," I sighed.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  "I'm just waiting for him to make his move," Shaw said.

  "What move?"

  "With Corinne."

  "Has he said anything to you?"

  "No, but it doesn't take a genius to see it."

  "Neither one has any names on their list."

  "Do you think for a minute they'll be that obvious about it—face it, placing a single name on that list is the same as announcing to the entire Mansion that they're a couple."

  "Look, I know he has a big beef with the Russian government right now—a lot of Ukrainians do. You think we can trust him with Corinne?"

  "Do you think Corinne would trust him, if he wasn't trustworthy?"

  "I don't know. People have been blinded by love or lust in the past."

  "Corinne isn't acting like a Chihuahua in heat, you know. Neither of them are young and stupid."

  "Then let's keep an eye on them while they're out with James tomorrow. We'll see where this goes."

  * * *

  Corinne

  You'd think I'd been let out of prison. Nice jeans, low-heeled short boots, a blue, boat-necked top and earrings were what I wore. The day was overcast, but I didn't care. I was going outside.

/>   With Rafe.

  What did it matter that they'd have an entire SWAT team discreetly following us? Somebody, somewhere, wanted to know whom the target was when the helicopter exploded, so they were watching us like hawks. It made me wonder if they were watching Auggie and Dalton, too.

  "Stay on your toes, cabbage," Rafe breathed next to my ear as we walked out of the Mansion's side door toward a waiting car. We'd have a driver and James as a personal escort. I made a point to make eye contact with the driver.

  No problem there.

  Alexandria, Virginia, was our destination; an upscale department store waited there. It wasn't far away, but traffic made the drive longer. Our destination was quite close to the Pentagon, actually, in Pentagon City. When we arrived, I stared—the adjoining mall was huge.

  The driver found a spot in a parking garage, and we walked from there. Just as Rafe asked, I watched everything around us—he did, too. James appeared to be more watchful than I'd ever seen him be, and together the three of us strolled into the mall area and headed toward the department store.

  I knew we were followed discreetly; that was also a concern. Someone had gotten to a helicopter pilot; what might keep them from getting to one of those who followed us now?

  "Stop being obvious, cabbage," Rafe rumbled at my side.

  "Okay." I attempted to breathe out the tension gathering inside me. "This is supposed to be fun. Relaxing," I reminded myself. After my confinement at the Mansion, the mall and its many shops overloaded my senses, especially since my fear was waking and shoving everything else aside. I found I couldn't focus on anything except that.

  Rafe's hand went to my neck, gently swept my hair aside and massaged my skin. I wanted to moan at the contact—it felt wonderful. Too soon, we arrived at the department store and he took his hand away.

  "Dresses or suits first?" James asked.

  "Let's do suits," I said. "I'm too shaky to pick an outfit right now."

  "Cori?" James turned his full attention on me.

  "It's nothing," I lied and waved away his concern. "Nothing imminent, anyway."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, it's just the usual," I said.

  "Let's look at suits, then," Rafe took charge of the situation as well as my hand and led me toward the nearest escalator.

  "Get what you want; we can get it altered faster than they can do it here," James advised as Rafe and I studied the selection of suits. For a funeral, it had to be dark, tasteful and discreet. I forced my mind to focus on Rafe and his selections.