The Gemini Deception (22 page)

When the conductor gave a slight nod in Juan Carlos’s direction, the Argentine president stood, bowed to Thomas, and offered his hand. She took it, rose from her chair, and allowed herself to be led to the middle of the dance floor amidst a smattering of applause. Once they were in position, the orchestra began to play.

Shield felt an unfamiliar pang of envy watching them glide across the floor, Carlos’s hand on Thomas’s waist, too tight for her liking. Thomas was doing a splendid job, though she appeared less relaxed than she had the day before once she’d allowed herself to surrender to being led. That forced smile was fixed on her face throughout the entire dance.

Though Shield stood against the wall with other bodyguards, in the darkened perimeter, Thomas was apparently well aware of her position. More than once, Thomas looked directly at her, albeit briefly, as she was spun around the floor.

Though it was rarely difficult for her while on the job to maintain the stoic, somber presence characteristic of bodyguards, she couldn’t keep from nodding encouragingly at Thomas during a couple of the longer glances her way.

Moore mingled with the crowd and he, too, would occasionally look Thomas’s way and smile. Shield realized her fists were clenched; how she wanted to punch that grin off his face, make him suffer for what he’d tried to do earlier. She was happy she’d only had audio and no video to the president’s bedroom, because she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to refrain from barging in and wiping the floor with him. No one would have been able to blame her either, because she would have been doing her job protecting Thomas.

What had he gotten Thomas involved in? And how long had he been harboring sexual feelings for the president? Was it before or after her husband’s death? At this point, Shield didn’t put the man’s demise past the creep’s abilities. They had announced that Thomas’s husband had suffered a sudden heart attack, but prompting one was child’s play for anyone who knew how.

The music finally stopped, and Shield exhaled when Carlos let go and the two presidents parted. Thomas smiled and nodded politely, to all appearances the picture-perfect, graceful leader of the country, but Shield could tell she felt uncomfortable. Her hands trembled slightly when she touched her neck, her eyes were too intense—dark and troubled—and she looked like she was suffocating. Shield wanted to sweep in and take her away to her home in Tuscany, show her what it was like to breathe again.

When Moore approached Thomas and led her toward one of the guests—an older woman—Shield repositioned herself closer to the president.

*

Ryden had kept counting the whole time she danced. Not because she needed to, but because it helped her cope with the Argentine president’s tight grip on her waist and Ratman’s beady eyes. When that ceased to work, she stole glances at Kennedy and tried to imagine she was dancing with her. Every time Kennedy smiled at her, she’d briefly close her eyes to retain the image of that beautiful smile.

“Where to now?” she whispered to Ratman as he led her off the floor and through the crowd.

“Someone wants to say hello.”

“I’ve met everyone on the list.”

“This one arrived late.”

“Who?”

Ratman stopped in front of a beautiful, middle-aged woman. Her white hair was pulled back tightly, and her dress looked very expensive and classically chic. She was of average height, but that was about the only average thing about her. Ryden had never seen a more elegantly ominous presence. Neither had she seen eyes so black, like they lacked a soul.

“Madam President,” Moore said, “I’d like you to meet Theodora Rothschild.”

According to Ryden’s briefing notes, Rothschild was one of the few guests the real president hadn’t already met in person. “Of course. Owner of the Rothschild Auction Houses. How wonderful to meet you in person.” Ryden extended her hand.

The woman took it and a chill ran through Ryden, as though her core body temperature had dropped from the cold hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Ryden gasped aloud. That icy voice was one she would never forget. “I…I know—”

“Stay in character, Madam President,” Rothschild warned her.

Ryden looked away. “Of course.”

“I came to see whether you’re indeed doing the wonderful job Moore is telling me you are.”

Ryden couldn’t bring herself to look at those terrifyingly dead eyes. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction.”

“Very. Keep up the great work. A new…life is just around the corner.”

“I look forward to that.” Ryden tried to keep her voice steady.

Rothschild laughed coquettishly when the Speaker of the House passed by. “No need to keep you longer. You have guests to entertain, and I have a visitor of my own to see to.” Rothschild extended her hand and Ryden had to muster all her courage to take it. “Smile and say something trivial,” the bitch ordered.

Ryden plastered on a forced smile. “Have a nice—”

“Yes, yes. Run along now.” The cold creature shooed her away with her eyes.

Ryden needed to compose herself before she could resume her duties as hostess. Even finding Tim and his ex-wife dead and the prospect of a lethal injection hadn’t frightened her more than this lifeless being.

She was grateful that at least this affair was in the White House, so she could escape to her room for a few minutes. She headed up the grand stairs to the second floor. Shaken, she turned when she heard steps behind her.

“It’s only me.” Kennedy looked concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” She crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“Can I help?”

“I need a few minutes to collect myself.”

She continued down the hall and heard Kennedy say from behind her, “Beacon is fine and in my sights.”

She opened the door to her room and was about to close it when Kennedy gently pushed the door to stop her. “If there’s anything at all I can do or get you—”

“I need to use the ladies’ room, that’s all.”

Kennedy reached for her transmitter and turned it off. “Then why are you shaking?”

She hid her hands behind her back. “I’m tired.”

“You look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown.”

She looked down the hall. Two Uniformed Division guards had followed them and taken up positions nearby. “We’re drawing unnecessary attention.”

“Moore is in the East Room.” Kennedy said it like she wanted her to know it was safe to talk.

“Still, I…”

“Do you want me to come in?”

She opened the door farther and stood to the side.

“What’s going on?” Kennedy asked as soon as Ryden shut the door.

“Like I said, I’m tired.”

“With all due respect, you may be able to fool the rest, but not me. You haven’t been…well, since I arrived here.” Kennedy took a few steps toward her. “What’s going on behind the scenes may be none of my business, but your safety and well-being are.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re scared, Elizabeth.”

“No, I’m…”

“And my guess is Moore has a lot to do with it.”

Was it that obvious, or was Kennedy on to something? Ratman had told her Kennedy suspected something. Was she trying to get her to talk? Although she trusted Kennedy and wanted to tell her everything at this moment, somehow Moore would discover any wrong move, and she’d have to face not only him but that dreadfully cold woman. Even though Moore had been the one to continually threaten her, that lifeless, treacherous being was the real danger. Theodora Rothschild would be ruthless about terminating her and whoever else revealed their scheme without a second thought. “Kenneth Moore is a fine man. He cared a lot for my husband and stood beside me after his death.” She looked Kennedy straight in the eye. “He’s been very supportive.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Kennedy replied. “It’s not support he’s offering.”

What had Kennedy seen? Ratman had shown nothing but a professional interest in her, and if it weren’t for what had happened earlier, even she would’ve never guessed. “I resent that.”

Kennedy raised her hands in surrender. “If whatever you two have going on suits you, then I’ll back off.”

“Then back off.” She was desperate for the conversation to stop.

“Elizabeth, you’re lying.”

Why was Kennedy pressing? She couldn’t handle any more drama right now. “What if it does suit me?” She clenched her fists. “It’s none of your concern.”

“I don’t believe you, and it is my business if you’re in danger.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Of what?”

“Moore.”

Kennedy narrowed her eyes. “Why would I be?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me.”

Kennedy took a few steps nearer and stopped a foot away from her.

She would have normally backed away at such an intrusion into her personal space, but she couldn’t and she didn’t want to.

“And how is that?” Kennedy asked.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away from Kennedy. “Like…like…”

“The way you’re looking at me right now?”

It would be so easy to kiss her, Ryden thought. “I like you, Kennedy, but that’s it.” She looked away. “I’m not gay and—”

“And you’re the president,” Kennedy said. “And I’m your primary guard, and it would be highly unprofessional to…” She went silent and turned toward the door.

“To what?” Ryden asked.

“Nothing. I’m out of line. This whole conversation is out of line.” Kennedy gazed at her. “Just remember that should you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Kennedy had obviously said something because she saw her lips move, but Ryden had blocked it out. “It would be unprofessional to what?” Now Ryden pressed the issue.

Kennedy walked up to her and put her arm around her waist. Their lips were an inch apart and she was dizzy with excitement and expectation.

As her breathing quickened and her heart raced, she repeated, “To what?” in a whisper. She dropped her gaze from Kennedy’s eyes to her mouth.

When Kennedy brought her head closer, Ryden forgot to breathe. “To kiss you,” Kennedy said against her lips and then pulled away.

Ryden stared at her, dazed.

“I was right.” Kennedy let go of her. “You don’t want Moore any more than you want whatever he’s gotten you involved in.” She walked to the door.

“And this is how you make a point?” Ryden yelled.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t let me, Elizabeth.”

“I can have you fired.”

“But you won’t.”

“Because you’ll tell the world I wanted to kiss you?” She was furious. “Is my life a game to you, like it is with everyone else?”

“I don’t play games. That would be your friend Moore, and I could care less about announcing anything to the world. All I care about is doing my job and you…are my job.”

“If you don’t play games, then what were you trying to prove a second ago?”

“What I already suspected.”

“That I’m attracted to you?” Ryden asked.

“That you’re afraid, lonely, and that something very wrong is going on.” Kennedy walked through the door and closed it behind her.

*

Kenneth Moore led Theodora Rothschild away from the East Room and into the Red Room so they wouldn’t be overheard. The event was winding down and nearly all the media had already departed, so there was little chance of someone photographing TQ. But she was ultra-sensitive to that possibility, and Moore also wanted to minimize his being seen with her.

“She is the perfect political decoy,” TQ said as soon as he’d shut the door. “I struck gold with this one, and it took me only four tries.”

“I saw the missing-person pictures of the others on the news. Well, two of them anyway. The blonde wasn’t reported locally.” He went to the bar and poured them two cognacs as Rothschild took a seat on the couch. “Good luck finding and identifying scattered ashes.”

“I warned them,” she replied. “I told them there was no space for mistakes or imperfections. Well…except the one who died during surgery.”

“No one could have foreseen her intolerance to anesthesia.” He handed her one of the snifters and sat beside her. “Her heart seemed fine.”

“But it wasn’t. What a disappointment.”

Kenneth lifted his cognac in a toast. “Just as well. None of them were half as convincing as the florist.”

“No telling what rock talent might be hidden under, dear friend,” TQ replied. “A florist, an uneducated orphan, is more convincing than anyone could have imagined.”

They both laughed at that, but Kenneth stopped abruptly when he remembered the loose end they had to consider. “We need to have that press conference ASAP.” He put his glass down.

“Of course.”

“I mean really soon.”

TQ’s expression grew serious as well. “Is something the matter?”

“Her bodyguard, Harper Kennedy—some private-contractor dyke the Secret Service assigned to her after the attack—she’s snooping around. She suspects internal involvement, and I don’t like the way she looks at me.”

“Why haven’t I heard of her before?”

“She hasn’t been a real threat, but our florist has taken a liking to her.”

“Who does this Kennedy work for?” she asked.

“The Elite Operatives Organization.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“I’ve asked around. It wasn’t easy to find out much. Only the highest levels of government know about their existence. It would appear they are very capable, and their agents are adopted and trained at a very young age. They require a handsome payment, but they get the job done whatever the cost or risk to themselves.”

“I’m aware. That’s why I considered them in the past.”

“It would be wise to steer clear of Kennedy,” he said.

TQ smiled. “Since when do you get paid to think?”

“I just mean—”

“If I have to deal with Kennedy or the EOO, I will.”

“I know.” Kenneth took a sip. “Senator Schuster has had enough time to come up with his arguments against the president’s illegal-arms plan.”

“More than enough. Have the double call him tomorrow and tell him she’ll hold her press conference in three days. She’ll announce she’s putting the plan on indefinite hold because his opposition has killed its chances in Congress. He’ll hold his own press conference immediately after to explain his reasons.”