Madam President (32 page)

A few feet behind Dev came Liza, her nose stuck firmly in her electronic organizer.

"Good morning, Jane." Dev did her best to smile despite the throbbing pain in her shoulder and hip. "Would you come into my office for a moment, please?"

"Of course."

The three women entered but Liza broke away from the other two, taking the mug out of Dev's hand and setting it on the President's desk. She immediately went to work on her half-day schedule, pounding away on her organizer with one hand while writing in Dev's leather bound appointment book with the other.

Dev turned to Jane when the door clicked shut. She stepped forward and gave the woman a hug. "Thank you. Thank you for being a rock for my family again, Jane. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jane, who was never big on emotional scenes, gave Dev a warm hug and then pulled back. "You'd leave your own head lying about if David, Emma and I didn't keep it fastened there."

The President rolled her eyes but quickly acquiesced. "You're absolutely right."

"And now Liza has earned her place on the roster as well, Devlyn. That girl doesn't earn nearly enough money for chasing around after you like she does."

Dev's eyebrows jumped. "You're right again. I should send her some flowers, don't you think?" she asked in a whisper.

"What a grand idea, Madam President," Jane whispered back with a grin. "I'll get right on that."

"Thank you." Dev turned toward her desk, then paused. "Oh, Jane?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you get yourself one of those ugly cactuses you like, too."

Jane huffed, "I may get two. And expensive ones at that!"

Dev grinned and shook her head as she listened to the older woman leave the Oval Office. The President gingerly settled down at her desk, taking time to look over her schedule and sip her coffee. "Liza, where did Lauren rush off to this morning? Do you know?" She propped her cane up alongside her desk, out of sight.

"Yes, Ma'am." Liza winced slightly at the mention of the writer's name. "Ms. Strayer had several meetings on the Hill today. Doing interviews for the book with the congressmen and senators from Ohio, I believe."

"God, I hope everybody is in a good mood up there this morning," Dev mumbled as she signed her name to several documents. She paused, staring long and hard at the paper in front of her. "What the hell is this? A grocery list?"

Liza peered over Dev's shoulder. "It's the suggested menu for the State Dinner, Madam President."

"Ah, well give this back to the social secretary to go over. If she has any questions, have her direct them to Jane or even Beth McMillian. They make much better stand-ins for the First Lady than I do. Besides, as long as they don't serve sauerkraut, I don't care what we eat."

Liza's eyes widened. "I'll meet with Jane immediately."

Dev chuckled. "You do that, Liza."

The young woman took the file from Dev's hand and handed her a half a dozen more.

Dev glared at her, but there was no real heat behind the look. She lifted a single dark eyebrow. "You get a perverse pleasure out of doing that, don't you?"

Liza smiled. "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

"Oh yeah? Well, you haven't looked at your watch in at least ten seconds."

"I don't need to look at my watch to know that you have four minutes until the Chief of Staff and the special prosecutor arrive."

The smile slid from Dev's face. She sighed and dropped her head forward onto her desk. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but look at it this way. Today is the last day for a week. This time tomorrow, you, the children, Ms. Strayer, and the McMillians will be on your way home to Ohio for a much deserved vacation."

"This is true. Tomorrow night, Lauren will no doubt be treated to my mother's pot roast."

Liza bit back a smile. How many times had the President already mentioned Lauren this morning? "Is it good?"

Dev read over another paper before answering. "I never said that." She signed her named, never looking up.

Laughing, Liza excused herself just as David and a tall, dark-haired man entered the Oval Office. David moved over to Dev's desk and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk's edge. "Liza looked pretty happy. Glad to see you haven't lost your ability to make people laugh."

"That was pity, my friend. She knows we're having dinner with my folks tomorrow night."

David's eyes grew wide and he crossed himself. Twice. "Is your Mom cooking?" He gulped. "If she is, I need to tell Beth to pack the antacid."

"Well, that's the threat currently hanging over our heads, old buddy. Her world famous pot roast. And don't even think of backing out now. You know it would hurt her feelings." She closed the last folder and looked up at the man quietly waiting behind David. She started to stand, but David motioned her back down.

Dev grunted her thanks and interlaced her fingers. "So, gentlemen, I take it you're here to discuss the prosecution of a fifteen-year-old boy."

"Madam President," David began, "this is special prosecutor William Miller."

"Mr. Miller." Dev extended her hand, they shook formally, then the President gestured. "Please have a seat."

The slim man unbuttoned his suit coat and carefully dropped into one of the wing back chairs that sat in front of Dev's massive desk. David was already in the other one. "Thank you, Madam President."

Dev pressed an intercom button. "Jane could you have someone-"

"Send up a tray of coffee? It's on its way, Madam President."

"Of course it is. I'm sorry I doubted you, Jane."

David winced at Dev's faux pas. Jane
never
forgot coffee and cookies.

"It's the painkillers. I forgive you," she chuckled from the other end of the intercom.

"Thanks so much." Devlyn looked at David who gave her a disapproving look. "Can I help it if I'm addicted to coffee? That's got to be why Emma makes me drink a glass of milk every night. She's trying to coat the hole in my stomach." She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and studied both men seriously. "So tell me what's going on with this young man."

"We intend to prosecute him to the fullest extend of the law, Madam President," Miller stated authoritatively as he removed a file from his briefcase.

"What about the people who put the gun in his hand and taught him how to use it?" David took one of the files offered to him, flipping through it. "A boy doesn't materialize a handgun out of nowhere. He stole it, bought it, or it was given to him. He had help."

Miller nodded. "We are looking for accomplices, sir. But so far we haven't come up with anything."

"Good. Because I want everyone who had a hand in this brought to justice."

Dev crossed her arms. "David?"

"Yes, Madam President?"

"Suppose he did it on his own. No law against being a bigot."

"But there is one against attempted murder," David shot back. "And where'd he get the gun? That person is responsible too, Dev."

Special Prosecutor Miller broke in. "The gun was purchased on the street. It's been traced back to a small police department in Wyoming where it was stolen from an officer who was shot and killed in the line of duty. The gun is a complete dead end."

"Jesus." Dev let her head drop. "The gun has quite the history doesn't it?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it does."

"You know," Dev said. "That gives me an idea." She reached over and scribbled a note on a pad.

"Your ideas can be dangerous, Dev," David mumbled. "Don't forget we're going on vacation tomorrow."

"I'm not." Dev looked back up. "Mr. Miller, if the boy is prosecuted what kind of sentence can he expect to get?"

"Life."

She blew out a disgusted breath and closed her eyes. "Such a waste."
He's not that much older than Ash. And his whole life is probably over.

"Dev, what that boy tried to do to you... Well, it isn't that different from what Ted Harris did to Sam." David shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew he was hitting below the belt by mentioning Samantha. But he could tell Dev was on the verge of doing something stupid, like publicly coming across as soft on what Louis Henry had done. It was one thing for her to appear sympathetic to the boy's parents, to his brothers and sisters, and the community that helped raise him. But it was quite another for her to openly act as though what he did could be forgiven. If she did, she'd be opening the door for every nut in the world that wanted to take a pot shot at the President.
 
 

Saturday, June 12
^th

Lauren nervously wiped her hands on her jeans, shifting from one foot to the other as she stood outside the President's office on Air Force One. They'd been in the air for forty-five minutes and she'd finally mustered her courage, knowing that she couldn't put off this discussion with Devlyn for much longer. This had already been a month in coming and that was way too long.

Their friendship was suffering and she wasn't sleeping well because of it. Lauren hadn't realized how much she counted on the little intimacies between them until this awkwardness sprang up, robbing her of something she'd come to want... maybe even need in her life. She felt foolish and guilty. Their relationship was slipping between her fingers like fine grains of sand and she was letting it happen.
No more. I need to put this right.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and gave the door three light raps. There was no answer. She tried a second time. Still nothing.
That's odd.
I know she's in there.
Taking a chance, she quietly turned the handle and peered around the door. "Dev?"

Devlyn was lying asleep on the sofa with Lauren's very first Adrienne Nash novel fanned open on her chest as her gentle snores filled the room. The blonde's eyes softened and her heart swelled with affection as she took in the sight of the President sleeping curled up on the sofa, her chest rising and falling in a slow even pattern.

Lauren started to retreat when Dev cried out quietly and her eyes began to working beneath closed lids. "Don't," she whispered. "Please."

The writer hesitated for only a second, before clicking the office door closed behind her and crossing the room. She knelt on the floor next to Dev. "Devlyn," Lauren soothed. "It's okay."

Dev's arms began to thrash and she knocked the book that was lying on her chest onto the floor. "Please don't," she whimpered again as her breathing increased and she began to struggle weakly.

The urge to touch Devlyn was too strong to ignore, and Lauren reached out and laid warm hands on Dev's arms, using her thumbs to stroke soft skin. "Everything is just fine, darlin'. You're not alone. And it's only a dream." The thrashing stopped at once, and the older woman's short breaths began to lengthen and even out again.

Lauren gnawed her lower lip as she wondered what Dev's nightmare was about.
Samantha? The shooting?
Or something else perhaps.
She smoothed a dark lock of hair off Dev's forehead, careful of the still healing pink scar that ran along the left side of her forehead.