Pandora's Box (11 page)

She scanned the room slowly.
 
She took in everything at once, the books, the desk, and the president’s chair.
 
Her eyes lingered on the flag near the window for a moment.
 
Her father had instilled a strong sense of duty and love in her for
America
and a respect for the government, whether you agreed with the men in charge or not.
 
Duncan Grey had told her numerous times that it didn’t matter to him who the president was, republican or democrat; he would stand behind them.
 
If nothing else, you had to respect the office.

There was no way her father would willingly try to kill a president.

She didn’t care what it had looked like to the naked eye.

Her father was innocent; it was up to her to prove it.

The door opened and the president entered, leaving two men outside the room, intentionally shutting the door in their surprised faces.
 
He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
 
“How are you holding up, my dear?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances, sir.”

“I apologize for not getting in touch with you.
 
I wanted to, but we’ve been inundated with work.”
 
He smiled down at her, still grasping her shoulders.
 
“You must know I believe in your father’s innocence.
 
He was a great man and I am saddened by his loss.”

His words were a comfort and
Madison
relaxed a bit.
 

The president circled his desk and sat behind it.
 
He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs on the opposite side, which she did.
 
He continued to talk to her about her father’s years of service and tireless dedication to his country while he rifled through a stack of papers.
 

And
Madison
realized something in those revealing moments of distraction.
 
Although President Law was saying all the right things, there wasn’t an ounce of emotion in his words.
 
He was doing his politician-thing where he glossed over bad events, uttered a few sympathetic words, and went about his own business.
 
She’d heard him do it a million times.
 

But Malcom Law was a great man.
 
Wasn’t he?

“You and my father were good friends once,” she said, trying to wring a sincere response from him.
 
“What happened?”

“People grow apart.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“We were busy men filled with ambition, both climbing the slippery ladder of success.
 
There wasn’t time for socializing.”

She dug deeper.

“So you didn’t have a falling out over something?”

President Law stiffened.
 
A muscle throbbed in his weathered cheek and he seemed to swallow convulsively.
 
“I had nothing but the utmost respect for your father.
 
Why?
 
Did he say something different?”

“No, sir.
 
I was just wondering why you stopped visiting our house.”
 
He shrugged without comment and she changed the subject.
 
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, sir.
 
I know how busy you are.”

She crossed a leg over her knee and settled back in the cushioned chair.
 
She observed the president’s body language and facial expression while trying to figure out if she knew this man at all.
 
She shook her head to clear it.
 
The president didn’t have loads of free time.
 
She needed to get to the point of her visit.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything,” President Law said without hesitation.

“Could you please tell your son to stop tailing me?”

“Pardon?”
 
The president glanced up from the mountain of work.
 
“What do you mean by tailing you?
 
Is this some new sort of hip lingo the younger generation is using?”

“No, sir.”
 
She leaned forward in the chair.
 
“
Tyler
has been following me relentlessly.
 
He’s appointed himself my personal shadow.
 
I’m not sure why.
 
I only know I want it to stop.”

“I can’t imagine why he would follow you.”
 
The president’s throat emitted a strangled laugh.
 
“I shall have a talk with him at once.”
 
Malcom Law leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses.
 
He stared off into space for a moment.
 
“I knew it was a mistake, allowing
Tyler
to play detective.
 
He should return to the Navy and resume his own life.”

Madison
didn’t say anything to that because she had the feeling the president wasn’t exactly speaking to her.
 
He seemed to be thinking out loud.
 
In fact, she started to think he might have forgotten she was even there.
 
But then he looked straight at her and smiled as he replaced the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Anything else,
Madison
?”

“Well, actually I was wondering when I might return to work.
 
I mean, the vice-president and the director of the CIA made it sound like I was under investigation and wouldn’t be allowed to return anytime soon, but since you don’t believe my father actually tried to kill you…when can I come back?”

He set his papers aside and met her gaze straight on.
 
His lips parted.

The door opened, slamming against the interior wall, and the first lady swept into the room.
 
Vivian Law wore a cream-colored tailor-made suit.
 
Her dark hair had been groomed expertly, no doubt by a third party whose hands didn’t shake.
 
Vivian held a Martini in her hand, as usual, two olives.
 

Madison
stood.
 
If the first lady was going to make a scene,
Madison
preferred to leave her conversation with the president for another time.
 

“Oh dear, did I interrupt an important meeting?”
 
Vivian placed an arm around
Madison
’s shoulders.
 
“I am so sorry about your father, darling.
 
He was a wonderful man.
 
The only thing he did wrong was to fail in his assassination attempt.”

“Vivian!”
 
President Law leaped from his chair and circled the desk faster than
Madison
would expect a man of his size and age to move.
 
“You’re making an ass out of yourself... again”

“Ass?”
 
She giggled at the word and her glass tipped.
 
The clear liquid came close to splashing over the side.
 
The first lady glared at
Madison
.
 
“I’ve seen the way you look at my husband.”

Madison
’s eyes widened.
 
Was the first lady actually accusing her of wanting Malcom Law in a sexual way?
 
The thought sickened
Madison
.
 
Not only had he been a friend of her father’s, but she’d known him since she was born.

The first lady added, “The obvious admiration and respect you have for him makes me sick. Wake up and smell the coffee before it’s too late for you.”

Okay, she wasn’t being accused of being in love with him.
 
That made
Madison
relax a little, but she was puzzled over what the first lady meant.
 
Why shouldn’t she admire the president?

“I think maybe you should have some coffee,” the president said.

He grabbed his wife by the elbow and dragged her off to the side for a heated argument.
 
They fought in loud stage-whispers, calling each other names and making threats.
 
Madison
didn’t want any part of their domestic dispute.
 
Without a word she headed for the door.
 
Before she reached it, the president spoke to her.

“Please take this,” he handed her his wife’s glass, “while I take Mrs. Law up to her room.
 
I think she needs to rest.”

“Give me that back!”
 
The first lady reached long fingers for the glass, eyes wide and fearful, but the president drew her back against him sharply.
 
Then he pulled her through the door.
 

Madison
went to a nearby table.
 
She had every intention of setting the martini glass down, but something didn’t feel right about it.
 
She lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed.
 
It didn’t smell like alcohol.
 
She took a taste.
 
Water?
 
Her eyes went to the open doorway.
 
Why would the first lady pretend to be drunk?

Vice President Mercer stuck his head inside.
 
“Where’s President Law?”

“He and Mrs. Law went upstairs.
 
I think she’s going to take a nap.”

Mercer’s face tightened.
 

Madison
waited for him to begin questioning her again on her father, but he didn’t say a word.
 
He seemed worried about something.
 
So she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?
 
I’m sure the president will be back in a second.”

Mercer walked away without another word or glance in her direction.
 
Strange man.
 
She’d disliked him from the start.
 
She set the glass down on the corner table and left the Oval Office.
 
The president hadn’t asked her to wait for him.
 
If he wanted to talk to her, he had her number.

******

She couldn’t wait for Madison Grey to discover her true identity.

“The Blonde Assassin.”
 
Roxie said her nickname out loud, savoring the feeling of it on her tongue before taking another sip of white wine.
 
She smiled behind the glass as she wondered who had originally tagged her with the name.
 
“I like it.”

“You like what?”
 
Her employer, the man with the plan entered the room behind her.
 
He went straight to his desk and took a seat behind it.
 

Was he trying to intimidate her at this late date?

“Nothing,” she said.
 
Her lips compressed and she pushed a load of air through her nostrils, wanting him to know how irritated she was at being kept waiting for so long.
 
“I’m ready to speed things up.”

“Meaning?”

“I want to kill Madison Grey.”

“We aren’t wavering from the plan.”

“She’ll get in the way.
 
The sooner we dispose of her, the better things will go.”

He shook his head, jaw tight.
 
“She has an important role yet to play.
 
Trust me.
 
Madison
won’t be a problem.”

But instinct told her that Madison Grey was already a problem, and she wondered if the man behind the desk had feelings for the woman.
 
Did he want to spare the young agent’s life?
 
That would be unfortunate—for him.
 
The Blond Assassin usually obeyed his every command, but she couldn’t allow
Madison
to walk away unscathed this time.

Roxie had wanted to kill
Madison
for what seemed like forever.
 
She’d been put off long enough.
 
To her boss she said, “You want the president dead, and I want her laid out beside him.
 
I’ve killed for money and I’ve killed for you.
 
This one is personal.”

“Why do you hate her so much?” he asked.

“That’s my business.”
 
She placed her glass on the edge of his desk and walked out.
 
She pretended not to hear him call her name.
 
He thought he was in charge, because he usually was, but not this time.
 
This time he was just a puppet in her death game.

******

Madison
shook a pink packet of artificial sweetener before ripping it open and dumping the contents into her steaming coffee cup.
 
She’d purposely chosen a small table at the rear of the all-night diner, far from the door and huge square windows, an old habit she’d learned from her father.
 
This way she could keep an eye on the people coming and going.
 
No one could sneak up on her—if she was paying attention.