The Candidate (Romantic Suspense) (The Candidate Series) (20 page)

What wasn’t so comfortable was how matter-of-factly he crammed his tongue into her mouth.

She was too shocked to do anything. At first. He got the message that he’d overstepped all boundaries of propriety when she bit down hard on his tongue.

He yelped and jumped up off the couch. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She glared at him.

 “What do you think? I’m comforting you in your hour of need!” He spit blood with his words.  “You know, for old time’s sake.”

So Maddy had been Paul’s lover, too, once upon a time
. 

The thought made Abby bow her head in disgust. “How dare you, Paul! And today, of all days.”

He smirked despite his pain. “I guess you’re right. Forgive me. I thought you would be missing him by now and would appreciate a little company. You know, for old time’s sake.”

The next thing she knew, he was on top of her again, cupping her breast with one hand, while the other roamed between her legs. She struggled, but he was much too strong for her. She closed her eyes as his fingers grappled with the buttons on her blouse—

And then he was gone. 

She opened her eyes in time to see Ben punch Paul in the gut. Paul groaned as he doubled over. The hit sent him reeling backwards and down on the elaborate Persian rug.

Ben jumped on top of him. He was about to pummel Paul in the face. Abby cried out, “Ben—don’t!” He froze, but just for a moment, then shoved Paul’s head back to the floor. 

He rose and made his way over to him. “Did he hurt you?”

She shuddered, but shook her head. “Please, get me out of here.”

“So that’s it, eh? You’re with him now? Ha! Figures.” Paul sat up, but he stayed put. “Wait until Preston hears about this. He’s not going to like it one bit.”

Abby turned to face him. “That should be about the same time he hears what you just attempted to do to me in here.”

Paul’s mouth opened to say something, but then he closed it without saying a word.

Satisfied she’d made her point, Abby took Ben’s hand and walked out of the library. 

She needed to get out of there.

She needed to get out of Maddy’s hellacious life.

If only she could get back to the life she thought she had.

 “Disgusting,” Abby muttered under her breath as she and Ben stepped out of the limo and onto the sidewalk in front of Maddy’s loft.

Ben followed her up the landing, to the front door. “Hey, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that Paul is such a pig—”

“I wasn’t talking about him—but yes, he’s quite a son of a bitch, too.” At the thought of him, she gave the hem of Maddy’s tight skirt a modest yank, as if doing so might actually cover another half-inch of her thigh. Wishful thinking.

Ben tried not to notice. His smile proved otherwise. 

Ignoring it, she put Maddy’s key in the front door lock. “I meant Talbot. Did you see how he timed his departure so that everyone at the reception would take note of it? He didn’t express his condolences to Uncle Preston. He gave a campaign speech! What was it he said? Oh yes: ‘Andrew Mansfield was an American hero, and a worthy opponent.’”  

“Yeah, the so-called mourners were tickled pink.” Ben’s laugh was devoid of humor. “History was being made, and they were a part of it.  I counted at least twenty smart phones pointed at them.’” 

Abby shrugged as she opened the front door. 

Then she gasped.

The place was a shambles.

Ben put an index finger to his lips and motioned her to stay put. He grabbed one of Maddy’s sculptures off the foyer table. It was only a foot long, but like all her pieces, rose to a sharp point.  He held it like a weapon as he moved from room to room, then up the staircase to the loft.

No one.

He dropped the sculpture to his side.

His cell buzzed. The Caller ID came up as
Sukie
.

 “The senator’s townhouse was broken into, as were our campaign offices,” she sobbed. “Everything’s a mess. In the office, the files are all over the floor. And Andy’s house has been tossed, too.”

“I’m at Maddy’s. They’ve done the same thing here.”

“Who is ‘they’?” 

Ben could hear the fear in her voice. He knew he had to keep her calm, but keep her out of it, too. “Um…no one. Nothing. Don’t…don’t worry about it. Just—clean up as best you can. Call the private security firm that’s supposed to be watching both places. Give them an earful. And have them send a three-man detail over here, too. Make sure they give us guards we know and trust.” He sighed. “Sukie, you need to secure Andy’s senate office, too.” 

“I’ll call Security now, and tell them to beef things up.” 

As if that will keep them out, he thought as she hung up.

“What’s happening?” Abby whispered.

 “They think we have it.” He plopped down on the couch. “Could Maddy have hidden the envelope between the time she left me here, and when she met Andy at Manassas?” He rubbed his eyes, as if that could stir some hidden memory of those last few moments with her. “I got in my car and followed her, but only as far as the Roosevelt Memorial Bridge turn-off.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you know, it was the one time I needed to be obsessive about her, and I talked myself out of it.”

“It takes less than an hour to get to Manassas,” Abby reasoned. “Why would she have started the journey several hours prior to take-off? Unless she needed time to stop somewhere else—Oh my God! She detoured to Asquith Hall!”

“What? Would she have had time for that?”

Abby nodded. “Even in bad traffic, it’s s no more than two hours from the city. Afterward she could have easily circled back to Manassas.” 

He stood up “I don’t think we should waste any time.”

She turned toward the window. “Do you think they’re watching?”

“My guess is yes.” He wished Maddy had curtains for the large open windows throughout the loft.  “In any event, we can’t let them see us leave.” 

Abby shivered. “Perhaps we should call the police. They can escort us out.”

“Nope, not a great idea. If Fred has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t trust anyone. Who’s to say that the real police would show up, anyway?” Watching her frown, he added, “Maddy’s back staircase leads out into an alley. We’ll leave the bedside lamp on, and nothing else. If they think we’re staying put, we may just give them the slip. And besides, the security detail we use at campaign headquarters will be here momentarily.”

He grabbed her arm and headed for the kitchen. 

They went out the alley, and over to C Street, where they hailed a cab.

The tiny microphone left by Charlie, the Ghost op who had tossed the place, allowed him to hear their conversation. He cursed the fact that they didn’t exactly spell out where they were headed. 

He followed their cab to the Thrifty Car Rental office. Ben and Abby drove off the lot in a nondescript white Camry. This was reported to Smith, whose directive was just one word: “Terminate.”

Charlie got as far as Centreville, out on 66, before he lost them behind a tractor-trailer. Asquith Hall was nowhere to be found on his GPS. 

The last thing he wanted to tell Smith was that they’d given him the slip.

It took him a couple of hours before he found someone who had heard of the place. When he asked a teenage clerk behind the counter of a Stop-N-Go in Gainesville, the kid gave him a shrug. Thankfully the old coot standing behind him overheard the question. 

“That’s the old Alcott homestead, just beyond Rixeyville. Follow 29, down through Warrenton. There, you’ll pick up 229, which happens to be Rixeyville Road. Old Barn Road is on the left. You’ll find Asquith Hall at the end of the road.”

He thanked the man and the clerk with bullets to the head, then erased store’s videocam feed. No need for witnesses who might remember the man who asked about the estate, should the bodies of Ben Brinker and Maddy Vandergalen surface there.

He’d make sure they wouldn’t. 

Because if he fucked up, he’d be next on Smith’s hit list. 

Chapter 46

The road between the DC metroplex and Asquith Hall was not a well-traveled one. Ben found that comforting. 

But he didn’t really relax until they got onto Rixleyville Road. It was a just a two-laner, and it curved and flowed up and around the Northern Virginia hillsides. Every time he saw a pair of headlights in the rearview mirror, he sped up until he was sure the car behind him turned off.

By the time they reached Old Barn Road, he was bathed in sweat.

He was glad they got there after sundown. 

Abby gave him the code that opened high wrought iron gates. A half a mile down the tree-lined drive, a three-story brick Colonial mansion loomed in front of them. 

“It’s dark. There’s no staff on the property?”

“Not since Aunt Lavinia’s bad fall last year. Uncle Preston insisted that she move into town. She now lives with him, in Georgetown.” Abby frowned. “She hates it. At least, that’s what she claims. But many of her life-long friends live there, too, and that has made things easier for her. She had a few of them with her today, at the funeral.”

“Fred was among them.”

“He was there?” Abby’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t see him.”

“You weren’t supposed to. In fact, he was in drag.” 

Abby laughed. “Then I guess it’s true that no one looks at an ugly woman. Shall we go in?” She practically ran to the front door. 

She wants to get this over as soon as possible. I can’t say I blame her. Here’s hoping we find what we came for.

The Alcott mansion was huge. Its common rooms were both large and high-ceilinged. Although the rooms contained a massive amount of ornate furniture, Ben and Abby’s footsteps echoed as they made their way to the double staircase at the far end of the foyer. 

Even with the lights on, the white sheets draped over the furnishings gave it a ghoulish feel.

The girls’ bedrooms were the dormered rooms on the third floor. Inside, they could not have been more different. Abby’s room had whitewashed pine furniture, and lace curtains on the windows. The bed was covered with a delicate quilt. The wallpaper had a floral pattern. 

In stark contrast, graffiti had been scribbled on practically every inch of the gray walls in Maddy’s old bedroom, and the furniture looked like thrift shop castoffs. Clothes and books were stacked all over the floor.

Ben’s shock came out in a whistle. “Talk about angry. And I thought her sculptures made me queasy.” He glanced around the room. “Where should we start?”

“Why don’t you take the desk and the bed, and I’ll take the closet?” Abby suggested.

When he slapped the old blanket on the bed, a cloud of dust rose to greet him.  He reached under the bed, there was a stack of magazines—
Interview, Granta, Mother Jones, Rolling Stone
. He flipped through each copy in the hope that the envelope would fall out, but no luck.

The dresser held mostly jeans and old tee-shirts. He pulled each drawer out, in case she’d taped the envelope behind them, but he found nothing except a roll of old condoms.

That’s my girl, he thought.

 The top of the desk was also covered with a layer of dust. Still, he rummaged through the desk’s drawers, which were filled with old school papers and a few pictures of heavy metal rock groups. Again, no envelope.