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Authors: Fern Michaels

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BOOK: Home Free
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Was she okay? No, not really. “Listen, Ted, I want you to do a . . .
deep
background check on Jason Parker. From the day he came out of the womb. Let's keep this just . . . just between us for the time being. Oh, one other thing. I won't be going to Annie's for Thanksgiving. I was . . . I am . . . invited to Camp David for the weekend. The president herself called me while I was at lunch with Nikki and Alexis. I was . . . I was stunned, Ted.” She realized at that instant how easy it was to fall back into the old familiar groove with him. A comfort zone, so to speak.
Ted's eyebrows shot upward. He grinned. “Looks like you hit the big time. Watch out for those politicians, or they'll eat you up and spit you out. Or are you thinking there is something devious about this invitation?”
“Listen, Ted, hang around for a few more minutes, until I get . . . till I see what Parker wants. I'll meet you in the kitchen. Make some coffee. Call the bakery and have them send over some cream puffs or eclairs or something sweet. By the way, where is Espinosa?”
“Men's room. Okay, coffee and sweets coming up,” Ted said cheerfully. Too cheerfully to Maggie's liking.
Back in her office, Maggie's snarly mood returned. She looked at Jason Parker, sitting in the chair across from her desk, really looked at him, trying to imagine what Nikki, Alexis, and even Ted would think about him if they got up close and in his face. He was tall, fit. Just the right amount of gray in the sandy hair at his temples. Interesting face. A Kirk Douglas cleft in his strong chin. Killer teeth some dentist somewhere was proud of. Winsome smile, masculine laugh. Nails blunt cut, buffed but not polished. Strong hands. Dressed well, spit shine to his shoes. Nothing ostentatious. Drove a Lexus. That was what she saw. Three-bedroom apartment in the Watergate. That was her guess. Nikki and Alexis—now, that was different. They didn't know Jason Parker was a good kisser, didn't know that he was attentive, that he held her chair for her, opened the car door for her. They would think his smile was practiced. Maybe even calculating.
To her dismay, Ted had already formed an opinion, without even knowing she was seeing and kissing Jason Parker.
Crap!
“Looks like I came by at a bad time,” Parker said, getting to his feet. “I'll call before I stop by again. At least this little visit allowed me to warm up. I walked all the way from the office. This is where you're supposed to feel sorry for me. Ah, I see that isn't working.” A second later he was on his feet. “Dinner this evening?”
“I can't. Listen, Jason, I . . . How would you like to go to Camp David for Thanksgiving dinner?”
Parker's eyes almost bugged out of his head! Maggie knew the man was rarely if ever surprised at anything, but at that moment he was stunned as well as speechless.
“
The
Camp David?”
“That's the one. Here,” she said, pressing a key on her computer to print out another copy of the e-mail she'd just read. She watched as he read the terse instructions.
“Well, this would certainly look good on a résumé if I was ever going to send one out. I'd be delighted to accompany you, Maggie, and thank you for inviting me.”
“Yeah,” Maggie drawled. “Look, I really have to get to work. I guess I'll see you in a few days.”
“Breakfast tomorrow?”
“No, I have an early engagement. I'll see you Thursday morning at seven thirty.”
Parker was dismissed, and he knew it. He was out the door and almost to the elevator before Maggie got her wits about her. Her insides churning, she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Ted was paying the bakery clerk for an oversize box of pastries. The coffee smelled wonderful. She watched as Ted poured out two cups, then reached up for the paper plates. Maggie felt a catch in her throat. She'd always loved these little meetings in the kitchen.
“So, what did that guy want?”
Maggie cleared her throat. Sometimes, a white lie was okay. “To tell me he was going to Camp David for Thanksgiving and thought it would make a good article for the Life section. He does like to beat the bushes for self-promotion.”
“To which you said . . . ?”
“ ‘I might see you there since I'm also invited, ' and no, I didn't think it was noteworthy enough to put in our Life section. I think he was disappointed.”
Ted eyed the box of cream puffs as he decided if he should opt for a third or not. “And you think this means what? Is there something you aren't telling me? I'm sort of not liking what I'm thinking right now, Maggie.”
“And what are you thinking, Ted?” Maggie snapped.
“Is this personal? Are you involved with this guy?”
That
question didn't come under the heading of a white lie. Involved to Ted meant sex. She could truthfully answer that question, but she was splitting hairs and knew it. “No, I am not
involved
.”
She justified her answer to herself by saying that she had breakfast and dinner with a lot of people. And if you wanted to split hairs even further, she kissed some of those people. Maybe not on the lips, but on the cheek or one of those air kisses. So she was guilty of lip kissing, tongue kissing, but that didn't mean she was
involved.
“Do I look like I'm involved? The answer is no.”
Ted reached for an eclair with chocolate frosting. “So why are we doing this investigation into his background? What else do you have besides your reporter's gut instinct? Is he on some watch list somewhere?”
Is he?
He was definitely on Nikki and Alexis's watch list. “Sort of . . . kind of . . . then again, maybe not. I just don't know, okay? Can you just do what I tell you and not pick it to death, Ted?”
“Sure, Maggie. Are you sure nothing is wrong? Look, just because we aren't a couple anymore doesn't mean I don't care about you. I do. I would try to move the earth for you if you needed me to do it. I'm just saying you can count on me.”
Hot tears pricked Maggie's eyes. “I know that, Ted, and I would do the same for you.”
Espinosa took that moment to enter the kitchen. He took one look at the intense expressions on his boss's and his colleague's face and turned around to leave.
“Come on in, Espinosa. Have a cream puff. Ted made fresh coffee. I just gave Ted an assignment, and I want you on it, too. You two kick it around a while. I have to get back to work.”
When the kitchen door closed behind Maggie, the two reporters looked at one another. “Maggie has been personally invited to Camp David by the president for Thanksgiving,” Ted said, his voice so flat, Espinosa reared up in his chair.
“She's blowing off Annie and the girls?” There was such outrage in Espinosa's voice, Ted actually laughed out loud.
“Guess so.”
“That's not good. It isn't good, is it, Ted?”
“It is the president. It is Camp David. The president herself called Maggie. What would you do, Espinosa?”
“I'd go to Annie's. Switching up is like saying I got a better offer. Not nice, Ted, not nice at all. What would you do?”
“Well, the reporter in me would want to go to Camp David to find out why and what the president wanted from me. It's a given that she wants something. The personal side of me agrees with you. I'd go to Annie's. Obviously, Maggie made her choice based on what? I don't have a clue. That financial guru is going, too. I know that means something. Even more so now that Maggie wants us to check him out from the day he slipped out of his mother's womb.”
“That far back, huh?” Espinosa grinned. “That has to mean she's onto something, and I'm sure Annie will forgive her.”
Ted allowed his voice to drop to a hushed whisper. “Listen, I didn't tell this to Maggie . . . why, I don't know. I guess because she was off and running, and I wanted to hear her out. Anyway, about six months ago, I invested five thousand dollars with that guy's firm. In six months I made fifteen hundred. He guarantees to double your money.”
Espinosa narrowed his eyes. “I didn't know you were the investment type. I thought you kept your money in the bank like me. Especially in this lousy economy.”
“Yeah, well, I do but at one percent interest, I thought I'd take a flyer. It paid off, too, even in this economy. I heard these two Channel Five anchors talking at the Memorial Day parade, and they were both heavy investors. I figured if anyone had the skinny on the firm, they would, so I took a shot at it. My gut is telling me to cash it in now. What do you think, Espinosa?”
“I think you should listen to your gut is what I think. If Maggie is on his tail, then something smells somewhere. I saw him getting into the elevator. He reminded me of someone my mother would call a ‘dandy.' He has a lot of teeth. I think they're capped.”
“And that means what?” Ted said sourly.
“Too many teeth, looks like a dandy means he can't be trusted. Take your money and run.”
“So where did you park your money from Global Securities?”
“In the bank, in CDs at two percent interest. I can sleep nights, Ted. That's more money than I can save in a lifetime working here at the paper, so I want to make sure it's safe even if it doesn't earn much. I thought you did the same thing.”
“I did, with the exception of the five grand. Okay, okay, I'm going to cash out as soon as I get my next statement.”
Espinosa crumpled up the bakery box and jammed it into the trash container. He poured the last of the coffee into his cup, then threw away the grounds and rinsed the pot as Ted watched him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You're so tidy. I admire that,” Ted said.
“My mother taught me to be tidy, so the person who comes behind me doesn't call me a slob. My mother is a saint and is never wrong, in case you don't know that.”
“I do know that. She raised you, and you are a fine specimen, Joseph Espinosa. I was just jerking your chain. Maggie always leaves the kitchen a mess.”
“So, we're back to Maggie, are we?”
“No, we are not back to Maggie. I have accepted that Maggie and I are over and done with, but I'll go to the wall if I think someone is out to hurt her in any way. I know you feel the same way, don't you, Joe?”
Espinosa knew Ted was beyond serious, because the only time he ever called him Joe was when he was deeply troubled and needed his help in some way.
“I do, Ted. I really do.”
Chapter 7
C
ountess Anna de Silva, also known as Annie to loved ones and friends, looked around her spanking new state-of-the-art kitchen. It wasn't exactly an alien world to her, but she definitely was not at home there, or in any other kitchen, for that matter.
Isabelle had outdone herself in the kitchen area. Annie had asked for cozy and warm, and that she did appreciate. The monster fireplace with old Virginia brick, in which one could roast an ox, for some reason was not at odds with the streamlined appliances, which gave off Annie's reflection when she stood next to them. Healthy green plants dangled from ancient beams complete with the original wooden pegs that were used instead of nails back in the day. Isabelle had saved the beams when the original building was demolished. Bright apple red crockery was everywhere and matched the fancy red knobs on her new Wolf stove.
Annie had specifically asked for a Wolf because of the red knobs and Maggie's telling her how much she loved the Wolf stove she had in her own kitchen. As Annie looked around, she realized that Isabelle had given her exactly what she'd asked for, a combination of the old world she'd grown up with and the new world she was living in.
So much for a beautiful kitchen. Now, if she only knew the first thing about how to cook, it would be perfect.
Annie hooked her feet over the rungs of the stool she was sitting on at her center island and took in the mind-boggling array of cookbooks staring up at her. It was almost midnight, and she should be asleep in her old flannel nightgown in her new bed with her brand-new silky soft Frette sheets.
Tomorrow . . . well, maybe not tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow, she was going to hightail it over to Myra's and bring home some of the barn cats and begin trying to domesticate them.
A half hour later, with two cups of tea heavily laced with brandy, Annie had reached the conclusion that country living sucked. So did cooking—not that she had tried to do any yet.
More important, her personal life sucked, too. She definitely needed a cat. Or a bird. One that talked, preferably a foulmouthed parrot that had once belonged to a pirate. She would have to ask Charles if he knew someplace she could get one. Then she wondered what her guests would think if she served them scrambled eggs.
She was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace when her cell phone chirped to life on the kitchen counter. Annie looked at the clock on the Wolf stove. A call after midnight had to mean trouble of some kind.
Well, trouble is better than looking at these damn cookbooks,
she thought as she walked over to the phone, flipped up the cover, and barked, “This better be good, because it's after midnight, and I'm trying to make a Thanksgiving dinner here.”
Annie listened to the voice identify himself and sat down, the phone clutched to her ear as she reached for the last of her tea, which was more brandy than tea, and swallowed. “Fergus Duffy! Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“I do, dear lady. But if I recall correctly, you told me you never sleep. That's why I have been driving around for the past two hours trying to find your house. I am hopelessly lost. I was coming for a visit.”
This was deep. Wayyyy too deep for Annie. “You were? You are? Don't you have a map? People from other countries should buy maps. They used to be free at gas stations. Now you have to buy them. So, where are you exactly?”
Annie listened, then rattled off directions. “You are five minutes away. I'll leave the porch light on, and unless you're blind, you can't miss it. I know it's cold out, Fergus. My house is warm. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
Annie blinked when she was told that explanations were better given in person. She powered down and looked at her teacup.
The hell with the tea.
She slugged directly from the brandy bottle until her eyes watered. Just as a car's headlights lit up her parking area, she realized she was wearing her flannel nightgown. She groaned and took another slug from the bottle. She told herself that if she wasn't drunk, she was so close to it that there was no point in splitting hairs.
Then Fergus Duffy was standing in her kitchen, all six feet four inches and 260 pounds of him. “What took you so long?” Annie mumbled.
“I was driving, not flying, Annie.” Fergus looked around, then marched over to the fireplace to warm his hands. “This is nice. I like it. It's you, Annie. My whole cottage back in Scotland could fit in this kitchen.” He shucked off his jacket and walked over to the island and sat down opposite her. “Do you always read cookbooks at this hour of the night?”
“You came all the way out here to ask me a silly question like that? The answer is no. Why are you here?”
Fergus eyed the brandy bottle and Annie's glassy eyes. “I'm retired now and doing some traveling. I had a meeting with your president earlier today, along with . . . several colleagues. I just sat in as a courtesy until my replacement can get here Monday. I was going to call you earlier, but I just didn't . . . What I mean is, I was already ready for bed, and I just knew I had to see you. That's the only explanation you're going to get from me, so take it or leave it.”
Annie sniffed. “Well, since you put it like that, it doesn't look like I have much of a choice. As you can see, I'm not really dressed for company. And I've also been imbibing a little. I'm also in a state of flux right now.”
“I see that.”
“Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow? Well, today, actually. It's Thanksgiving. I have to warn you, though, I might be serving scrambled eggs.”
“Is that a definite invitation, or are you just rambling here, Annie? I'm asking for a specific reason.”
Annie squinted to see Fergus better. “Well, you're already here, and it
is
Thanksgiving Day already, so yes, it is a definite invitation. Why, are you expecting a better offer to materialize at this late date?”
“Actually, I've already gotten an invitation, but I think I like yours better. I accept.”
“I thought you said you don't know anyone here. Who invited you for dinner?” Annie asked, suspicion ringing in her voice.
“President Connor. She invited me and my colleagues to Camp David. I'm to be at the White House in a few hours. I have a number to call if I can't make it. I think I'll call that number right now.” Annie was speechless as she watched Fergus punch in the numbers that would put him in touch with the White House. With nothing better to do, she picked up the brandy bottle again and took another healthy swig. She knew her eyes were crossed, but couldn't bring herself to care.
Fergus dusted his hands together dramatically, then he opened the monster stainless-steel refrigerator. Eyeing the array of food and the thirty-pound turkey sitting on a tray, he turned to look at the scattered cookbooks on the island, then at Annie. “You can't cook, can you? And just so you know, you only have a dozen eggs in that thing you call an icebox. A dozen eggs will not feed many people.”
“What was your first clue?” Annie sniffed. “Have you always been such a know-it-all?”
Fergus pointed to the cookbooks, then the refrigerator. “That bird has to go into the oven around six in the morning if you plan on serving dinner late in the afternoon. And then there is all that other food you have to prepare.”
“I think I'm up to the challenge.” Annie sniffed again. “I suppose you're going to tell me you could whip this all up with your eyes closed.”
“Actually, I can. I did many dinners like this when my wife became ill. Do you want my help?”
This was definitely not the time to be coy. “Yes!”
Fergus looked down at his watch. “We have five hours before the clock turns to six, at which time we will absolutely have to start to work.
Five whole hours?
I suggest we adjourn to your second floor and do what both of us have been dreaming about.”
“I guess you think I'm easy,” Annie called over her shoulders as she galloped toward the staircase in the back that led to the second floor.
“The thought never entered my mind,” Fergus shouted as he whipped off his shirt and tie.
“Liar!” Annie giggled.
Five hours later, the couple, all smiles and, as Annie put it later, all kitchey-koo, descended the staircase, where Fergus immediately replenished the fire while Annie swept the cookbooks off the counter.
“I'll pick those up later,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “If you want breakfast, I have some donuts and juice. And, of course, coffee. I make very good coffee.”
Fergus grinned. “I'll take it. Tell me something, Annie. Is what transpired upstairs something we aren't going to talk about, or should we beat it to death and go on from there? I just want to say that, for a woman your age, you certainly are . . .
agile
. I had no idea you had a tattoo on your rear end. I like that.”
Annie stopped measuring out coffee into the wire basket. “You do? I can pole dance. Did you know that?”
“I . . . ah . . . suspected as much when I saw that pole in your dressing room. Perhaps you would give a recital for me.”
“Just say the word. Oh, God, did I just say that?”
Fergus laughed. “You didn't answer my question.”
“I . . . actually . . . I guess . . .”
“Yes?” Fergus drawled.
“It was the best sex I've ever had. There, is that what you wanted to hear?”
“It'll do. I think I can say the same thing. Shall we do it again after all your guests leave?”
“Make this dinner come out perfectly, and I'll give you a recital you won't soon forget.”
Outside, as the sun came up, light snow was falling. Annie took a minute to stare out the window as she peeled sweet potatoes. She realized in that one nanosecond that she was happier than she'd been in years. “Just let me hold on to it for a while,” she whispered under her breath.
Fergus watched Annie out of the corner of his eye.
What an extraordinary lady Anna de Silva is.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this upbeat, this happy, and he'd just turned down an invitation issued personally by the president of the United States. What in the world had he done to deserve this instead?
By ten thirty, all the prep work was done. What loomed ahead was a magnificent Thanksgiving dinner made by two pairs of loving hands. The kitchen was tidy; all the dishes, pots, and pans were washed and put away, the cookbooks returned to their special drawer.
Annie made fresh coffee for both of them. “This is so nice,” Annie said. “I love the fire, these two rocking chairs, dinner roasting, my family coming today, and it's snowing outside. And then there is . . .
you, Fergus
. I can't help but wonder what brought you back into my life right now. Can you tell me why you went to the White House?”
“Well, I'm retired now and not bound by the same rules I once was. But I know better than to talk about things I shouldn't. What is it you want to know?”
“I think you know me and the others well enough to know that whatever is said to any of us goes no further. I probably shouldn't do this, either, but I want to show you something. Wait right here.” Three minutes later, Annie returned with a gold shield in her hand. “By any chance, do you know what this is?”
“I do. We have the equivalent of it abroad. I can't say that I am surprised at what you're holding. But do you know there is another shield that tops yours and mine, because there is? I can't be sure about this, but I think only three have ever been issued.”
“Who were they issued to?” Annie asked.
“I don't know. Over the years, we've all speculated, but no names were ever mentioned. I guess I can tell you what the meeting was all about, and, no, I will not insult you by asking you not to tell anyone. I know the rules.
“Your government, like all governments, has, for want of a better way of phrasing it, tons of money no one knows about. Secret slush funds. Sometimes those amounts total in the billions. Confiscated monies is what we've always been told. Ugly-gotten money to do good. Think of Robin Hood. That sort of thing. There seems to be some kind of problem—that's all I'm at liberty to tell you—concerning those slush funds.”
Annie's mind raced as she tried putting two and two together with what Nikki and Alexis had told her just yesterday about Maggie and her new beau. Meaning Maggie's suddenly being invited and actually going to Camp David with that beau, no less. It all had to mean something.
But, what?
“Maggie Spritzer, the editor in chief of the
Post,
was also invited to Camp David. She's taking a guest, some financial guru or someone involved in making and investing money.” Annie tossed this out to see if Fergus had a reaction. He didn't. “She thinks something is going on. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been invited. Her reporter's instincts, I guess. We're going to miss her at dinner today.”
BOOK: Home Free
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