Three-Part Harmony (22 page)

Her brow scrunched. Kress’s airway closed as he fantasized that his arm grew ten feet, letting him personally soothe that frown away.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just…getting my shit together, you know?”

“Understood.” Pennington pressed a kiss to her temple. “But we still missed you at breakfast this morning. Yeah, Kress?”

He dived for the easy out of sarcasm. “Yeah. He’s a bitch before his caffeine.”

David grunted with humor, but Dasha looked to both of them, features still troubled as a fallen angel. “I
am
sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored your request.”

“It wasn’t a request,” David stated. “And you’re right, you shouldn’t have ignored it. We needed to know you were okay, D. That’s our right and responsibility after what we asked of you last night.”

The angel gave a righteous huff. “You know my status quo on how I deal with stuff. I thought you’d just figure it out.”

David’s hand tightened in her hair. “We’re not dealing with status quo right now, not on a lot of levels. I thought you’d figured that out.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “You’re right; you’re right.”

“Hmm. Thanks. Now say it like you mean it.”

“I
do
mean it.” She added, with a soft jab at his ribs, “Sir.”

Kress caught Pennington’s fast glance. “I don’t think she means it, Kress. What’s your scope reading?”

He doubled a stare back at his buddy. Sure enough, the subtext in David’s words now gained reinforcement in the guy’s eyes. Was he really thinking of more discipline for D…now? Yet the man knew her, maybe better than anyone else on earth right now…and the glints now flaring in Dasha’s gaze, a brown-sugar mix of fear and lust, confirmed that like the woman had just chugged Sodium Pentothal. And in the doing, revealed something else too.

Maybe Pennington
was
contemplating a pleasure-and-pain ride for her with the two of them again.

Because maybe, if the growing intensity on her face was any indication…she considered it too. Considered it and was excited by it.

The
holy shit
had just had begun its victory dance in his brain, when a Skype call rang from his computer.

Dasha was simultaneously relieved and peeved by the sudden ring from Kress’s computer. Only when it sounded did she realize how thick the air had gotten in the room���and how she was hoping Kress would answer David’s question with one of his blatant, down-on-the-floor-now-girl stares at her. It’d been easy for her to imagine it, seeing how his stubbled jaw and uncombed hair had started the job for her…

But real life was determined to have its way with them today. The Skype rang again, sounding even more strident than before.

“Who the fuck?” Kress muttered.

She sent him a teasing singsong. “Hello, Agent Moridian? It’s the president on the line…”

The humor didn’t help. Kress’s glower deepened as he peered at the laptop. “Damn. It might well be. It’s a high-clearance, secured number from Washington.” He sat down with a hard grunt. “But it’s likely my director or one of your daddy’s security team.”

She lifted her head from David’s shoulder in astonishment. “Daddy’s team?”

“Oh yeah. The bunch of them have been all over my ass since this thing started.”

A mixture of emotion hit, along with the surprise. While she felt lousy Kress had to deal with another team of Washington asses, it eased the ache from Dad’s abrupt good-bye yesterday. In his roundabout way, maybe Daddy really was looking out for her.

Funny how she’d thought about aching. It seemed the ideal term to define poor Kress now, as he shifted in the chair with a grimace—and a discernible bulge at the front of his jeans. Dasha barely hid her smile. So she wasn’t the only one who ached for a reprise of last night. The knowledge warmed her, though Kress’s face hardened like a chunk of granite.

“Oh, this is gonna be a joy,” he grumbled. “You two might as well go watch another movie. Now’s a good time for
Titanic.
They’re gonna want a full debrief on the mall throwdown.”

He finally clicked the Answer button. The screen came to life. A face appeared at the other end of the call, making Kress blink with surprise—and hauling Dasha off David’s lap. She took a couple of stiff steps, then stopped in disbelief.

There was no mistaking who it was. Crystal Corso looked like Snow White in Prada, with those big blue eyes, the bouffant with tube curls at the bottom, and even a pristine business shirt starched into perfect collar points. The woman’s voice shattered that parallel, though. Her no-nonsense tone came over the speakers with clipped, queenly efficiency.

“Agent Moridian, I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kress replied, his posture still composed, his face all business. “And may I ask who…”

“Crystal Corso. I’m Senator Moore’s Chief of Staff.”

Dasha gasped. Kress spun around as she plunked back down to the couch, back into David’s hold. The agent looked like he thought a crazed psycho had gotten in. Maybe one had, Dasha concluded, and that nutcase was her.

“Chief of Staff!” She snapped it in a harsh whisper. “She was hired as a senior
aide
. Only a month ago!”

“Moridian?” Corso demanded from the computer. “What’s going on? Is everything—”

“We’re fine here, Ms. Corso. Naturally, we’re taking all kinds of precautions for Miss Moore’s safety, even inside the compound. I overreacted to…uh…something.” His features, now in profile to Dasha, dropped fast back into respect—though she saw he now scrutinized Corso in a new light. Despite her fury, Dasha melted into a tiny smile again. His immediate credence to her opinion was a special gift. “I regret the interruption. How can I be of service?”

“I’m simply checking in on your progress personally,” she replied. “As you know, the senator has asked for regular updates on his daughter’s case, and in light of the protracted pace of the investigation, I assured him I’d make it a top action item on my own list.”

The woman’s dig, even given in her friendly press-conference tone, clearly chafed Kress. “A manhunt like this doesn’t get solved like a TV show, Ms. Corso,” he said through tight lips. “If you let a lunatic know you’re on to him, he’s likely to hide deeper or run farther.”

“The senator is aware of your sensitive position,” came the whittling knife of a reply. “So you believe it’s a man?”

“Point of speech,” Kress clarified. “But, yes, the Bureau’s psychologist has indicated we’re likely looking for a male.”

“Good. That’s good, Agent Moridian.”

“Really?” The brow Dasha could see clicked higher. “And why is that, Ms. Corso?”

“I simply mean good progress.” Crystal gave him another canned smile. “Senator Moore is extremely concerned about his daughter’s well-being, and—”

“Then why doesn’t Senator Moore come and tell her himself?”

Dasha jumped up again as she cut Crystal off with the charge. She couldn’t stand by any longer and watch the woman try her smooth-operator routine on Kress. He wasn’t falling for it anyway. She let her glare say exactly that as she leaned in at the computer monitor.

“Dasha.” If she took the woman by surprise, it got covered well. “What a lovely surprise. You look well, darling. How are you?”

“I’m not your darling.” She couldn’t control the retort. “We’ve only met once, Ms. Corso.”

“Of course.” The fairy-tale smile tightened a little. “It simply felt like a natural thing to say. How fortuitous that you’re there, however. The second purpose of my call was to speak with you.”

She felt the guys’ tension levels ramping up in tandem with each other. “This is gonna be entertaining,” David muttered—and Dasha almost let out a bizarre giggle. She didn’t trust Crystal as far as she could toss a bushel of poisoned apples at the woman, and it felt good to hear David sharing her instinct.

“Speak with me about what?” But for a long second, Crystal didn’t reply. The woman scanned as much of the library as she could see through the laptop’s camera, as if expecting their dove killer to magically pop out from the volumes and turn himself in. She was so busy conducting her little Scooby-snoop-swoop, she didn’t notice Kress scrutinizing her in return.

“Crystal?” she prompted again.

“Yes. Forgive me, dar—erm, Dasha.” Corso popped back into character, tilting her head with practiced ease. “Well. I have some exciting news. Your father will be flying to Atlanta at the end of this week.”

A handful of words. That was all it took to flip her mind from Angry Girl to Stunned Daughter. “He—really?”

“Oh yes. Really.”

She caught Kress’s skeptical stare, as well as David’s unchanged brood. She ignored both, focusing instead on her own face in the corner of the Skype window. She connected with her joyous gaze and excited grin. “So what time—”

“We’ll be there midday on Friday, give or take a bit,” Crystal interjected. “Your father has a couple of early appointments; then we’ll head for Dulles. I’ve booked a private charter.”

“That’s awesome.” Her elation gained momentum. “He’ll probably be in time for lunch. The chef at this mansion is amazing. Dad will love these peach things she makes for—” That’s when her face fell. “Wait,” she blurted. “
We’ll
be there?”

Corso’s expression remained as lacquered as her hair. “Of course.”

“Dad and…you?”

“Dad and everyone. This is a huge trip, Dasha.” The woman curled an evocative smile. “I’ve saved the best part of this for last. Your father has been identified as a potential front-runner for the candidacy in two years, and CNN wants to tape a special interview with him. Only him!”

The woman’s eyes gleamed as if world peace had just been achieved. But on this side of the conversation, Dasha felt like she’d just tossed smoking grenades. “What’re—you—” she stammered. “What candidacy?”

“Why,
the
candidacy. For the presidency.”

She blinked hard. A lot of times. “P-president? But—”

“Isn’t it thrilling?” Corso gushed. “The numbers we’ve gotten back so far look phenomenal!”

“He never told me he wanted to be president.” Something upended her heart again. Shock wasn’t the right word. Upended seemed more fitting. She shook all over. Kress gripped her arm gently and guided her to sit in his chair.

Crystal had no trouble chugging right on. “Dasha, this could be the start of a snowball effect. Your dad is starting to pick a team for the campaign—”

“I wonder who thought of that,” Dasha muttered.

“—and of course, we’re planning follow-up trips to Iowa, New Hampshire, and Florida after this. We may stage Florida first, though. Even the blue hairs there know your dad right now, thanks to his daughter’s little incident at the Viceroy last week.”

With a short huff, David came forward fully now. “Ms. Corso, the details of what happened in Miami are not for public consumption.” He added, for the ears of the three of them alone, “For many different reasons.”

“Of course not,” the woman returned. “Which is why everyone’s wild to see Dasha herself.”

Dasha jerked her head up again. “See me where?”

“At your father’s side, silly! Where else?” Corso’s precision-plucked brows jumped higher. “They’re going to do an extended personal piece. They’re covering your father’s childhood and your mother’s passing, of course…ending with a thirty-minute, commercial-free interview featuring the two of you!”

Broadside, part two.
Dasha worked her lips together, unsure how to react. Or even how to feel. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Corso continued. “The special will air next Monday, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. You’ve canceled all those concert stops, so you have the time to spare. We understand you’re set up in a lovely private mansion in Atlanta, so we can shoot right there.”

“Stop.” David leaned in again. “Ms. Corso, this is a lot of presumption.”

Finally, Snow White looked like one of her apples was shoved up the correct end of her body. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” David responded. “Just because Miss Moore is on a temporary break from her tour doesn’t attach your puppet strings to her schedule.”

The woman absorbed that at first with a wild flare of nostrils. Within seconds, her expression reverted to graceful calm. “I think Miss Moore should have something to say about that.”

“She does,” Dasha injected. “And she says Mr. Pennington is right.” The tension from the other end had become nearly a physical force, but she went on, “I support Dad always, Ms. Corso, no matter how much he’s been coached to think something else. I’m here for him.”

She lifted her chin then, compelled to the action not by strings or motivation from the outside but by a strength that came from a deep, bottomless place on the inside. She looked to Crystal with a clarity she’d never known before—because she knew it was right. The men flanking her had given her the courage to embrace that and claim it as her own truth.

“I’d be happy to be available for the interview,” she stated, “with one condition.”

Corso’s nostrils flared with dainty impatience. “Condition?”

“Dad must do the asking. Himself.”

“Dasha.” The flare never happened. The I’m-talking-to-a-toddler tone did. “I’m sure you understand that he would if he could, but—”

“
He
calls, Crystal.
He
asks. Or the Moore Family Special is a no-go.”

Two very fast days had passed since that ultimatum. Now David took a chance to slow down, stand back, and contemplate the remarkable woman who’d issued it.

He’d lived nearly every day of the last five years with Dasha Melodia Moore. Five years full of countless moments to be crazy proud of her. All her award-acceptance speeches. The time she’d first gone platinum. The morning she’d sold out the Garden. The half marathon she’d run for cancer research. Those were just the highlights. The list was endless.

The number one slot just got a new contender.

It was a perfect afternoon. A little breeze played at the trees, making the sunlight dance across the golden halo of Dasha’s hair as she and the senator chatted with an attentive Anderson Cooper. The journalist sat opposite them on one of the mansion’s shady patios, in a setting of ideal Southern charm. Lemonade was poured in cut crystal glasses on the table. The senator looked relaxed in a crisp shirt and casual Geoffrey Beenes. And Dasha wore another of those sundresses that screamed for David to rip it right off her pretty shoulders again. But definitely not right now…