The Waterfall (4 page)

“I went outlet shopping,” she said.

“Where?”

“New England.” Let him think she was being evasive. She didn't care. She wanted him to know she was strong while at the same time believing he was stronger. It was a delicate balancing act.

He scratched one side of his mouth; he always looked relaxed, at ease with his surroundings. Yet he was observant, alert to every nuance around him. Barbara knew she couldn't make a misstep with such a man. He'd probably searched her apartment, she realized; but she'd anticipated as much.

No, she had no illusions. She wasn't yet sure of the exact nature of the game they were playing, but she knew Darren Mowery would kill her if she crossed him. She had to be careful, strong, sure of herself. And smart. Smarter than he was.

“We've been dancing around each other long enough,” he said. “Let's put our cards on the table. I want to know everything. No surprises.”

What did that mean? Did he know about her and Lucy? Barbara dodged the little needle of uncertainty and suppressed the surge of excitement that finally they were getting down to it. She shrugged, nonchalant. “All right. You first.”

He studied her. He had very blue eyes. Stone-cold blue eyes. “Lucy Swift left for Wyoming today.”

It wasn't what Barbara expected. Another, weaker woman might have panicked, but she sat back in her chair and yawned. She was the personal assistant to a powerful United States senator, a professional accustomed to managing the unexpected. She already knew about Lucy's trip to Wyoming; she'd found out when she'd checked in with Jack's office yesterday. Lucy must have told Jack, and a member of his staff had left Barbara a routine message. The unexpected was that Darren knew. “Yes, I know. Something to do with her adventure travel business, I believe.”

“Redwing Associates is based in Wyoming.”

“Ah, yes. Sebastian Redwing sold Lucy her house in Vermont. It belonged to his widowed grandmother. From what Jack tells me, he and Lucy aren't very good friends. Didn't Sebastian once work for you?”

She was tempted to pick at an itchy mosquito bite, but resisted. “I gather his company is doing very well.”

Mowery didn't react. Barbara liked that. It meant he had self-control. According to Washington gossip, there was no love lost between Sebastian Redwing and his old mentor. There was even talk that Mowery blamed Sebastian for the downfall of DM Consultants, Darren's private security firm.

Barbara supposed it was theoretically possible that Lucy would go whining to Sebastian about what had happened to her this week, but she doubted it. Lucy was quite determined to prove herself capable, independent—which, of course, she wasn't. Barbara had already calculated that Lucy wouldn't go to Jack or to the Capitol Police. Lucy wanted no part of being a Swift.

“I get the impression you don't like Lucy Swift very much,” Darren said.

“I don't see what concern that is of yours.”

He leaned forward. “Cards on the table, Barbie. I have a bone to pick with your boss. I want to make him sweat. And I want your help.”

“My help?”

“I think you've got something on him,” Mowery said, smug and confident.

“No. Senator Swift is a man of sterling integrity.”

Mowery threw back his head and laughed.

Barbara pursed her lips. “I'm serious.”

“Yeah, well, so am I. Barbie, Barbie.” He shook his head at her, sighing. “Office gossip says you threw yourself at the old boy a couple weeks ago, and he laughed you out of his office.”

Her stomach flipped over on her. “That's not true.”

“What part? You didn't throw yourself at him or he didn't laugh?”

“You're disgusting. I want you to leave.”

“No, you don't want me to leave. You want to help me settle a score with Jack Swift. You want to see him sweat. You want him to suffer for humiliating you.”

“He—he wasn't prepared for the level of intimacy I offered, that's all. He was scared.”

“Scared, huh?”

“He knows I've been there for him. Always. Forever.”

Mowery's gaze bored through her. “What do you have on him?”

“Nothing!”

“Barbie, I'm going to put the squeeze on Senator Jack. I'm going to bleed him. You're going to watch, and you're going to enjoy the show.” He reached over and touched her knee. “Revenge can be very sweet.”

She said nothing.

His eyes narrowed, and he smiled. “Only it's not revenge you want, is it, Barbie? I get it now. You want Jack to suffer and come to you, the one woman who loves him unconditionally. This is precious. Truly precious.”

“My motives,” Barbara said, “are irrelevant.”

“In twenty years, has old Jack ever made a pass at you?”

“He wouldn't. For much of that time he was a married man.”

Mowery laughed out loud. “God, you're a riot. This is going to be fun.”

She was on dangerous ground. Deadly ground.

Her stomach heaved, and she ran to the bathroom and vomited.

Oh, God. I can't do this.

But she had to. She'd given Darren Mowery all the signals. He
knew
this was what she wanted. Not just a chance to get back at Jack for spurning her, but a chance to provide him with the opportunity to come to her for help, to find solace in her strength and wisdom. She'd driven up to Vermont and harassed Lucy, hoping it would relieve the pressure of wanting to hurt Jack, too. But it hadn't. She loved him, and she wasn't one to give up easily on those she loved.

When she'd confided her love to him, Jack hadn't gotten angry with her or shown any passion, any heat, any depth of emotion. He'd been kind. Solicitous. Professional. He gave her the predictable speech about how much he appreciated her, how he felt affection for her as a member of his staff, and how together, over the past twenty years, they'd done so much good for the people of this great nation.

Blah-blah-blah.
He'd even offered her a way out of her embarrassment, saying they'd all been under tremendous pressure and she should take a few days off.

Well, she had, hadn't she?

She splashed her face with cold water and stared at herself in the mirror. Her gray eyes were bloodshot from the effort of vomiting, the lashes clumped together from water and tearing. She was just forty-one, not old. She still could have children. She knew plenty of first-time mothers in their forties.

But she couldn't have Swift children. Jack didn't want her. Twenty years of dedicated service, and what did she have to show for it?

Lucy was the one with the Swift children.

Barbara dried her face. She could have had Colin. She could have had the Swift children. Instead, she'd waited for Jack.

Darren opened the door behind her, and she placed a hand on the sink to steady herself. “I'm sorry. My stomach's a little off. It must be the heat.”

He was so smug. “Blackmail's not a game for someone with a weak stomach.”

That
was
what they were tiptoeing around—and had been right from the beginning. Blackmail. She nodded, cool. It was to her advantage for him to think he was the security expert with the murky past, the dark and dangerous insider convinced he knew how the “real world” worked better than a super-competent, desk-bound bureaucrat possibly could.

“Colin and I,” she began. She swallowed, met Mowery's cold gaze. “We had an affair before he died. Jack doesn't know. Neither does Lucy. No one does.”

“And?”

“And I have pictures.”

Mowery nodded thoughtfully. “Kinky pictures?”

“You're disgusting.”

“Well, if it's pictures of you two on his daddy's campaign trail—”

“By your standards, the pictures would be considered ‘kinky.' By mine, they're proof of the physical and emotional bond we shared.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to see them?”

He rubbed his chin. “So you fucked the son, and the widowed daughter-in-law and the innocent grandkids don't know it.”

“Must you be so coarse?”

“Listen to you, Barbie. You're the one who had an affair with another woman's husband. The boss's son. And this you tell me not two weeks after you threw yourself at the boss, presumably because you'd like to get some of him, too. Let's talk about who's ‘coarse.'”

She was silent. Stricken.

“Well,” Mowery said, “it's not pretty, but it could work.”

“It will work. Jack will pay dearly to keep such information quiet.” She straightened, eyed him coolly. She wanted him to think he was in control, not that she was a complete ninny. “If you're not convinced, walk out of here now. I'll forget we ever had this conversation.”

He gave a curt laugh and started back down the hall to the living room. Without turning around, he motioned with one finger for her to follow.

Barbara joined him. She had to stiffen her muscles to keep herself from trembling. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms from the air-conditioning. She was cold now. Dehydrated. Not nervous, not afraid, she told herself. She was absolutely positive this was the best—the only—course of action.

“Here's the deal, Barbie. In for a penny, in for a pound. I don't do cold feet.”

She raised her chin and met his gaze directly. “I'm not some weak-minded twit.”

She sat stiffly on a chair and crossed her legs and arms, steeled herself against the cold of the air-conditioning, the itching, stinging bug bites, the insidious feeling that Mowery knew more about her than she realized. She had to remember the kind of work he did, remain on her guard.

Slowly, her shivering subsided.

“Did you fuck the son,” he asked, “or are you just making that up because Jack doesn't want you?”

She remained calm, practicing the restraint she'd learned in twenty years as Jack Swift's most trusted aide. “Men like you don't understand loyalty and service, true commitment.”

“Damn right we don't.” He grinned, deeply amused by his own wit. “Well, it doesn't matter. You can have whatever little fantasies you want, Barbie.”

“I'm not a woman taken to fantasizing.”

Indeed not, she thought. She wouldn't have gone to Jack if she hadn't believed with all her heart, soul and mind that he wanted her to speak up, finally, after all these years. She didn't invent this sort of thing, not after two decades in Washington. She hadn't misread the cues. Jack Swift simply wasn't prepared to act on his own feelings. He had run. And now she needed to turn him back in the right direction, back to her.

Darren jumped up, grabbed both her hands and lifted her onto her feet. Her breath caught. What now? What was he doing? He was very muscular and strong. She could never physically overpower him. She had to rely on her wits, her intelligence and incredible self-discipline.

There was nothing sexual in the way he held her. “How long has it been, Barbie? How long since you've had a man?” He squeezed her waist, choking the air from her. “Not since Colin Swift? Not ever?”

“That's none of your business.” She kept her tone deliberately cold, in control. “Our relationship is strictly professional. We are partners in a scheme to blackmail a United States senator. That's
all.
”

He squeezed harder, painfully. She couldn't move. “No surprises, Barbie. Understand? If this is going to work, I know everything.”

“I told you—”

“Did you have an affair with Colin Swift?”

“Yes.”

This had to be a test. She didn't know what to do to pass. Run screaming? Beg him to make love to her? Slap him?

No, she thought. Hold your ground. She wanted him to underestimate her, not to think he could roll over her.

“You stereotype me at your own peril, Mr. Mowery,” she said. “I'm not some dried-up prune pining for a man I can't have.”

“Where were you last week?”

“On vacation. I hit outlet stores all over New England.”

“Vermont?”

“What?”

He moved his hands higher, squeezing her ribs. “Did you go to Vermont?”

“I can't breathe—”

“You can say yes or no.”

She nodded, gasping. “Yes.”

“Did you see Lucy Swift?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“She decided to go to Wyoming at the last minute. She paid top dollar for the tickets. She took her kids. I want to know why.”

“I can't—breathe—I—”

He eased up, just slightly.