Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (20 page)

“Sounds pretty ‘sweet’,” Dexter replied, shooting me
a wink.

“Yes, I think so too,” I said.

The taxi stopped at a traffic light. I zipped my
purse shut and rolled up the car window. I didn’t want to risk
anyone important walking by on the crowded sidewalk and overhearing
what I planned to say next. “You know Dexter, I’ve been thinking
about what you said the other day about knowing a lot of important
people. I was kind of wondering if you could tell me exactly what
you meant by that.”

Dexter gave me a small nod in the mirror just as the
light changed, but said nothing more. His eyebrows raised in a
manner I could tell meant he wouldn’t give me more information
unless I greased his palm a bit. Hardly a surprise. From senior
senators all the way down to cab drivers, nobody got anything in
Washington unless a little cash was exchanged under the table.

Well, more like a
lot
of cash. I’d withdrawn
a thousand bucks from my savings account in anticipation of just
such a possibility. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use all of it, but
even if I did—and it helped me get hold of exactly the high-level
officials I hoped to use to bait my trap—I’d consider it money well
spent. I took a couple of twenties out of my pocketbook and passed
them over the front seat. Dexter tucked them into his pocket
without a word.

“Well, I could start out by hooking you up with the
editor-in-chief over at the
Post
,” he said. I pick him up
almost every morning at his townhouse in Georgetown and take him
into the office. “Given what’s happened over the past couple days,
I bet he’d love an opportunity to get an exclusive interview with
you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I always thought the
Post
was above delving too deep into the sordid personal
details of Washington sex scandals. Hell, what with all their
Pulitzer Prizes and highfaluting reputation, the
Post
probably wouldn’t cover sex scandals at all if they didn’t have
such a big impact on elections here in the States. It’s not like
Europe, where nobody cares how many mistresses their politicians
have.”

“True,” Dexter replied. “But I think the
Post
might have an interest in you because your position in this whole
scandal is, shall we say, unique.”

“All right,” I said. I scribbled the name and number
of the resort I’d be staying at in St. Lucia and handed it over the
seat to Dexter. “Go ahead and see if you can set up the interview.
The
Post
can call me at the hotel and we can do a phone
interview.”

“Will do.” Dexter smiled slightly. He didn’t seem
overly pleased with himself. I wondered how often he brokered these
kinds of backseat deals. By his blank expression, probably often—it
certainly wasn’t the expression of someone who was nervous about
taking illegal bribes in the back of his licensed taxicab. I
noticed then for the first time that Dexter wore an expensive
watch—a Patek Phillipe just barely visible underneath the cuff of
his ordinary work shirt.

If a cab driver could afford a forty-thousand-dollar
watch, chances were good he made his living from something other
than cab driving.

“All right, so you know the editor-in-chief of the
Post
, but what else have you got? “ I asked. “Anybody big on
the Hill? What about White House staff? Know anybody there?”

Dexter gave me a tight-lipped grin that indicated I
wouldn’t get any more information without some more palm-greasing.
I reluctantly handed over another twenty, but Dexter kept his palm
out. Clearly the information I was seeking came only at a premium.
I peeled twenty-dollar bill after twenty-dollar bill off my fat
roll of cash. Dexter finally was satisfied enough to pocket the
dough and start talking after I’d greased his palm with almost six
hundred bucks. For that kind of haul, Dexter’s inside information
better be worth it.

“I can hook you up with just about anybody you’d
like on the Hill. Congressmen, senior senators, whoever. I have
contacts in both parties. White House staff will cost you a little
extra”—at this, I tossed another fifty bucks over the seat, which
Dexter immediately pocketed—“and I can arrange that too.” Dexter
pulled the cab onto the entrance ramp to the freeway that led to
Dulles Airport, which I’d chosen to fly out of over Reagan National
specifically because Dulles was more than an hour away from
downtown Washingon—giving me plenty of time to grill Dexter for the
information I needed for my crazy plan to work.

Dexter finished merging onto the freeway and gave me
a quick glance over his shoulder. “But before I give you this
information, I’d appreciate it if you can tell me a little bit
about what you plan to do with it.”

I sucked in my breath. How much could I reveal?
Dexter
seemed
trustworthy, but given our illegal backseat
transactions, I figured it was just as likely he’d sell any
information I gave him to somebody else. But I probably had to risk
it; it was evident I wouldn’t get what I was looking for otherwise.
“I’m thinking about inviting certain high-profile persons around
town to come visit me in St. Lucia for some political conversation
and—ahem—entertainment,” I said, trying to be as vague as possible.
“I’m hoping to cultivate some new relationships with folks on the
Hill, since I’ll be needing a new job and all. I’ll consider
working with elected officials, government staffers, and the media.
Wherever I think my, umm, unique skills might fit in the
marketplace.”

“I see,” Dexter chuckled.“And these
relationships
you’re looking to cultivate. Will they be with
persons of the male persuasion or the female persuasion?”

I swallowed hard. “Both.”

Dexter chuckled again. “All right. And I assume
you’re going to want all of this to be happening exclusively on the
Q-T?”

“Yep.”

Dexter cleared his throat and brazenly thrust his
open palm behind him across the back seat. I reluctantly placed
several more bills in his hand. I couldn’t keep this up for much
longer, or I’d be flat broke.

Dexter pocketed the cash. “I’ll be sure the right
people get the information you’re looking for,” he said. “I’ll take
care of getting them to the airport, too. Though they’ll have to
pay their own airfare down to the Caribbean. But it’s so nice down
there this time of year, I’m sure none of them will mind.
Especially if you give them a receipt for their taxes. You could
always make the event into an offshore charitable fundraiser.”

I blinked at this. Dexter was a clever Washington
crook indeed. And yet he seemed so kind and gentle on the surface!
I wondered what other crooked shenanigans he got away with. “I’ll
take that into consideration,” I said.

My stomach lurched a bit; at this point I knew I was
crossing into dangerous territory. After so many years in
Washington, I wasn’t naïve about how things really got accomplished
around town. Bribes and backroom dealings were the norm in the
hallowed halls of our government. But this was the first time I’d
participated in those bribes and backroom dealings myself. I
couldn’t help but feel a little dirtied by it all.

We were approaching Dulles Airport. Dexter drove the
last few miles without speaking; he turned up the volume on his
radio, which blared the obnoxious kind of early-80s
country-and-western music that I couldn’t stand. But I didn’t
figure I was in any position to complain given the huge favor he’d
just done for me. If you could even call it a favor, that is. With
as much money as I’d put out, it was more like
me
doing
him
a favor.

Dexter pulled the cab into the Kiss-n-Fly driveway
in front of the terminal. He helped me with my bags and shook my
hand after I gave them to a skycap to check in. “Pleasure doing
business with you, Miss Rand,” he said. “Call me again anytime you
want to work together.” He headed back to the idling taxi, then
paused and turned back to me. “Or if you ever just want a
ride.”

With that, Dexter drove off.

I headed into the terminal, feeling a more than
little nauseous.

Chapter
15

My cell phone rang when I was standing in the
ridiculously long line to get through airport security. I was in
the midst of taking off my shoes so I could run them through the
X-ray machine along with everything else I owned. I nearly knocked
over an elderly woman standing behind me as I fished the phone out
of my overflowing purse while balancing on one leg.

“Hello?”

“Jasmine, I need to talk to you.”

It was Rodney Doyle.

Since there were a half-dozen federal security
officers standing only five feet away, I suppressed the urge to
hurl my cell phone across the terminal along with a string of
obscenities. “Ha,” I seethed, clenching the phone between chin and
shoulder as I worked the buckle on my left shoe. “I don’t even
think so,
Rodney
.” My voice dripped ice cubes. “I’m hanging
up now.”

But I didn’t. No matter how much I wanted to deny
it, I couldn’t ignore the face that Rodney’s voice pulled at my
groin. My belly went soft and melty, and my phone attached itself
to my ear and didn’t want to let go.

Rodney cleared his throat on his end of the line.
“Jasmine, I thought you were going to hang up.”

“I, ummm, am. In a minute.” The TSA inspector who
ran the X-ray scanner was giving me a dirty look. I’d been so
struck dumb by Rodney’s call that I’d completely forgotten to put
my belongings into the scanner.

“You’re holding up the line, miss,” the inspector
growled at me. “Let’s move things along, shall we?”

I glanced behind me and saw at least three dozen
angry travelers, all tapping their feet and checking their watches.
Not a good sign. Rodney had had me on the phone for less than a
minute, and he was already screwing with my world.

And if I let my guard down for one instant, pretty
soon he’d be screwing
me.

“Jasmine, are you still there?” Rodney actually
sounded worried. The two-faced jerk.

I tossed my belongings onto the scanner, and walked
barefoot through the metal detector. “Yes, I am,” I replied.
“Unfortunately.”

“You seem to be having a hard time hanging up on
me,” he chuckled. “I suppose that’s because you find me so
irresistible.”

At this, the bile rose in my throat. “No, I suppose
it’s because I find you so shockingly repulsive that I just can’t
turn away. Sort of like watching a car crash on the side of the
highway.” My coat, purse, and shoes cleared the inspection and the
TSA officer handed them back to me. I sat down on the hard plastic
chair provided at the end of the security line to put on my shoes.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m at the airport and I need to go catch
my plane.”

“What the hell are you doing at the airport?” Rodney
boomed.

I ground my teeth. The man was really full of
himself. “None of your goddamn business.”

I made a move to shut off my mobile, but before I
got a chance Rodney interjected. “Jasmine, I called to tell you
that I’m very, very sorry about what happened in the papers this
morning. And I also called to tell you that I had absolutely
nothing to do with it.”

I wanted to believe him; I really, really did. But I
just couldn’t. “You’re lying,” I seethed. “How can you not know
what’s going on at your own newspaper?”

“It’s complicated, Jasmine. That’s why I need to
meet with you as soon as possible. To explain things.”

I glanced at the departures monitor and saw that my
flight had already begun boarding. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but there’s
nothing you can do to explain away what happened. My Washington
career and reputation is ruined, and it’s all because of something
you
asked me to do. That’s all there is to it.” I tried to
sound stern, but in actuality I was choking up. And my groin and
belly were as hot and melty as ever. Try as I might to be furious
with him, I couldn’t deny the fact that Rodney had a profound
effect on my body and soul—even when we weren’t in the same room
together.

“Jasmine, please—“ Rodney’s usually authoritarian
voice was plaintive. It tugged at my heartstrings—as I’m sure he
wanted it to—but I clamped down on that feeling as hard as I
could.

“I’m sorry, Rodney, but my plane is boarding. Good
bye.” I pressed the END button on my cell before he could get
another word out. I’d won this round.

Or so I tried to tell myself.

Because if I’d won, why did I feel so miserable?

The delightful warm, melty feeling that Rodney had
stirred up in my lower half went cold and damp as day-old soup when
I boarded the plane.

****

The plane touched down in St. Lucia two hours later.
The all-inclusive resort where I planned to stay was near Marigot
Bay, on the other side of the island from the airport. I hailed a
battered taxi driven by a coffee-colored Rastafarian with
bleached-blonde dreadlocks. He gave me a blinding white smile as he
tossed my luggage in the trunk and held the cab door open for me
like an Old World gentleman.

“Where going, madam,” he lilted in an island patois
I couldn’t help but find sexy.

“Silken Sands Resort, at Marigot Bay,” I
replied.

“Yes, madam,” the driver lilted. “I know where
‘tis.” He pulled the rattling cab onto the island’s only highway,
homegrown reggae blaring on the taxi’s ancient tape player.

“You have no been here before?” the driver shouted
over the bouncy island music.

“No, I haven’t,” I replied. “Is it that
obvious?”

“Yes, madam, ‘tis,” he laughed. “If you don’ mind me
sayin’ so, madam, you be very uptight.
Relax
. You be in da
islands now.”

“You’re right,” I said, stretching out full-length
on the cab’s backseat, which had no seatbelts (or any other safety
features, for that matter) to hold me down. “I am
very
uptight right now. Which is the whole reason I came here, in
fact.”