Another Notch in the Beltway (13 page)

“What about you?” his agent asked.

“Don't know yet.”

“Fair enough.”

He spent the next twenty minutes going through the article paragraph by paragraph and gave Nik all the information he could to neutralize it.

“Good stuff—we'll get on this like yesterday.”

“Any idea who floated this trash about Michael Patrick? And better yet, how did they know we were collaborating on a book at my ‘palatial estate'?” Lenore asked with rueful laughter in her voice.

“A well-placed American source is all we've been able to get. I've been receiving calls all morning. More from Britain and the European Union, a couple of calls from the usual US rags, but that's expected.”

MP and Lenore looked at each other, and MP shook his head no. They'd been debating about telling her Lenore's own colorful story but decided against it.

“Do you think we're being followed or, without sounding too dramatic, spied on?” Lenore asked.

“Good question. I don't know,” Nik said honestly.

“We're not going out in public much and neither of us even have photos on our jacket covers. While my pseudonym is by no means foolproof, the entire world is not privy to the fact that I'm LaSandra Lacy.”

“Either of you have any stalkers or angry exes?”

“What about your gray man?” MP asked Lenore, raising his eyebrows.

“He knows I write for a living but not specifics. He thought you were his replacement, but he'd have no reason to make you as MP Finnegan.”

“Who is your gray man?” Nik asked with a trace of humor.

“John Irving.”

“Ah, yes. You can tell me that story later.”

“Not much to tell.”

“Let me get to it,” their agent said.

“Call if you need anything,” MP offered.

“I will and I'll have you read whatever we plan to put out to make sure it's accurate. I'm looking for a front-page retraction from
The Sentinel
.”

MP laughed, “Good luck with that.”

“Let me do what I do; in the meantime, go write some squirmy love scenes.”

“Will do,” they said together.

“Stop it.” Nikko said and hung up laughing.

No names, throwaway phones, voice distortion devices, who would have ever thought? Corrine pondered this as she sat in the remote section of a cement parking garage outside of Nordstrom's in the Crystal City Mall. She started to drag a hand through her hair and stopped when she encountered resistance from the firm hairspray she now used. Last thing she needed was mussed hair when she met friends for lunch later. She was well aware they were already talking about her.

Riiinnng, Riiinnng!

“Damn it,” she said to no one as she jumped, startled by the intruding sound.

No pleasantries or preamble, only the robotic voice that she found annoying and unnerving.

“The device is working. Feedback is interesting. I've sent it to you. I think it might be beneficial if you talk to her.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Her robotic voice echoed back at her, making her cringe.

“Safety in numbers, baby, two women scorned. She, too, was an innocent when she met Caligula. He told her the marriage was over. That you hadn't had relations since the first spawn was conceived. Then you turned up pregnant with the spare at the same time he knocked her up.”

“I was still married, and she screwed around with my husband.”

“She was a twenty-year-old virgin, brilliant but naïve.”

“Weren't we all?” She sighed, the sound reverberating back like an eighteen-wheeler on gravel. “I'll think about it.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you there?” the mechanical, stilted voice queried.

She murmured something unintelligible.

“I didn't get that.”

The phone was already off.

Friday morning, Lenore was sitting in her office, nursing a cup of tension-tamer tea and a headache. She hadn't felt this level of stress in a long time, if ever. She had been too young and stupid when she tangled with Maxwell the first time to be stressed. Her main concern then had been her unborn child.

The meeting with Maxwell was set for 10:00 Saturday in her attorney's Philadelphia office. Gerald Morris had relayed that all of Lenore's requirements would be met. He'd even been proactive about the article that was printed about MP. He claimed that they were in no way involved, and why would they be since they were trying to obtain help for Maxwell's son through her. While she wanted to believe it was Morris who had orchestrated the article, she had to agree it would have been stupid. But again, if not Maxwell's camp, then who? She'd been asking herself this over and over again. If it was only about MP, that would be one thing, but someone knew they were working together and leaked it. Not many people knew.

She was grateful that Nikko was successful in getting a front-page retraction, complete with a heart-wrenching article about Michael Patrick's fight to save his nephew/son's life.

The rebuttal story was so well written and fleshed-out within such a short time, Lenore wondered if the ugly article wasn't planted by someone as a PR stunt to get this glowing article of MP into the papers.
The New York Times Sunday Book Review
printed the article as well. Questions as to whether MP and LaSandra Lacy were collaborating on a book together were addressed by their agent's response: “I am not in a position to confirm or deny that rumor.” Which, of course, would stir up interest in the idea and both of her authors.

Ink was good—dramatic ink was better. Now that MP was “out as a man,” it might have a positive impact on the sale of his books, especially in conjunction with the article that showed him as a truly compassionate, unselfish, altruistic person.

The publisher even gave a definitive yes to their collaborative work the Tuesday after the
Times
article.

The scheme worked to his, her, their advantage; in fact, she was beginning to wonder if MP planted it himself. After all, he wasn't overtly distraught about the piece in
The Sentinel
. Maybe she'd ask him. Better yet, why did she think he'd do such a thing? Trust issues on her side, she thought. She'd call Nikko and see if she had come up with anything before confronting MP. Why wouldn't he leak something? He needed the money. He'd said so himself. Author, agents, publishers leaked stuff all the time to boost sales. Why not MP?

“
Mo chuisle
,” MP said as he approached her, then reaching out, touched her face with long, sexy fingers that usually made her want to purr when they lingered on her skin.

She unconsciously jumped as if she'd been branded. Angry with herself for the raw emotional reaction, she tried to push the negative thoughts away.

He was looking at her. She saw puzzlement and concern on his face.

“Sorry, I'm distracted. My mind was in some other less hospitable place.” She smiled weakly and took his hand, pulling him down next to her. “Between Maxwell and the ugly article on you—”

“Don't worry about me. Nik did a brilliant job with that, so don't let it plague you.” Running a thumb over her full bottom lip, he moved in and kissed her lightly.

She didn't return the kiss and didn't meet his eyes.

“Did I do something to upset you, Lenore?” he asked, tipping her face to his.

Meeting his eyes this time, she saw they were cloudy and guarded. “Did you?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Didn't think so, but tell me what's bothering you. I can't respond unless I know what you're thinking.”

Lenore knew the question wasn't one to ask. She silently berated herself. If he had leaked the story, she'd be angry, hurt, and betrayed. If he hadn't, he'd be angry and hurt by her lack of trust in him. She wasn't prepared to deal with the ramifications of either answer.

“Lenore?”

She shook her head. “It's not you, MP. It's me. I need some time to regroup. Would you mind? I need to pack an overnight bag and get my thoughts in order before I meet Nathan at the Omni in a few hours, and I'm in overdrive. My mind is nowhere good.”

“I thought I'd drive you down. I don't like the idea of you driving alone.”

“You're a sweet man, but I've hired a car. I'll be okay.”

“I'm being dismissed, am I, lass?”

“I hadn't thought of it that way. I usually hire a car if I'm going into the city later in the day.”

“Smart lady, but did you think to ask or tell me?”

“No, I didn't, MP. I'm used to functioning by myself, taking care of myself, and I've done fine the last two decades.” Her annoyance was evident in her voice.

“But you're not by yourself now.”

“Michael Patrick, please leave me alone. I function better alone and desperately need to function on all cylinders for the next thirty-six hours.”

“Okay, I'll leave you by yourself, Lenore. I'll be at the hotel; call me on my cell if you need me. If I don't hear from you to the contrary, I'll be here Monday at about 10:00, and we can work on the book.”

She'd upset him. His calm, formal tone spoke volumes, but she couldn't deal with it, so she nodded her agreement and said, “Thank you. It will be better next week.”

He returned the nod and left her office. She heard his light tread on the stairs and then the door closing behind him.

She should have at least kissed him good-bye, Lenore thought darkly. He'd usually have kissed her. But… Oh stop, she chided herself. You wanted to be by yourself and so you got your wish—deal with it. With that, she went to her bedroom to pack. MP and what he did or didn't do would have to wait.

****

Michael Patrick got in his rented Toyota Prius and headed toward his hotel. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he'd done or, conversely, what he should have done. With any woman it was hard to tell. But Lenore wasn't any woman. He was beginning to fancy her as his.

Maybe that was the problem. He wanted more of her than she was willing to give. That wasn't true, though; she'd told him she enjoyed spoiling him.

That scene in the kitchen made him smile. He could imagine spending lazy mornings with her in the kitchen, more lazy mornings in bed, and then the two of them writing companionably in the large office upstairs on their own projects or collaborated ones. He had imagined there could be more than this one book they shared.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Think, Finnegan, think,” he said to himself while at a stoplight and lightly pounded the steering wheel. He jumped when he accidentally hit the horn. The driver in front of MP flashed him the finger. “Jesus.”

More focused now, he thought back to the phone call from Nik. But even then, after he'd poured out the whole incredible tale of his nephew/son, Lenore understood and accepted his motivations and was not repulsed or horrified by them. On the contrary, she thought they were unselfish.

What was it then? Hell if he knew. Well, at least she couldn't walk away. They had a book contract to fulfill, and he knew she took her work very seriously. He'd have time to figure out what had gotten hold of Lenore Held. Maybe it was that she was simply stressed out and needed time to herself.

Pulling into a parking space at the hotel, he suddenly hit the steering wheel again. The horn blared this time, but he didn't care. “Damn it, Lenore,” he said, angrily slamming the car door shut as he got out.

****

Lenore's mind continued to race as she settled into her two-bedroom suite at the Omni. The accommodations were elegant and well appointed, but she didn't pay much attention. She ordered up tea from room service, sighed, and slumped into the Federal-style blue couch. Nathan wasn't expected to join her for several hours, and she knew exactly what she was going to tell him. She'd had the conversation in her mind many times over the years. The unknowns were how her son would react to the news and what questions he might ask. While she was concerned about the conversation, there was nothing to do about it at present.

The more immediate concern was her nagging doubts about MP. She knew she had trust issues with men but… “Oh hell,” she muttered digging out her cell phone.

“Nik, sorry to bother you, but have you come up with any new information as to who leaked or planted the story on MP?”

“Well, hello to you, Lenore,” her agent said with a lilt in her voice. “No, I don't know anything else.”

Lenore didn't say anything for a few seconds.

“Why?” Nikko asked.

“I'm going to talk to you as a friend, woman to woman, okay?”

“Is this something I want to hear, giiirrrlfriend?”

“I don't know, but you're the only one I can talk to about it.”

“I'm all ears.”

“Do you think MP could have orchestrated the release of the
Sentinel
article himself?”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Nikko asked, truly taken aback.

“I don't know, but it's been gnawing at me.”

“Why? MP is full of Irish charm but I've always found him to be an honest man, a man of integrity.”

“I agree with you, I guess, but he didn't seem that upset, and he had all the information at his fingertips, who to talk to, who to get releases to, even tracking down his old girlfriend.”

“You don't trust him.”

It was a statement.

“I want to, Nik. But if you didn't leak it, and I didn't leak it”—and Maxwell's camp didn't leak it, a thought she kept to herself—“who did?”

“Addy?”

“I don't think she knows about Michael Patrick's nephew or his financial problems,” Lenore said with a trace of impatient humor and raked the hair back from her face.

“Why would he do it?”

“Financial gain? Increase sales of his books? That follow-up article you did was very moving. What woman who reads romance wouldn't like to see what MP writes about sex and love after reading a piece like that? He's admitted he needs money—”