Executive Actions (34 page)

T
he man hadn’t worked in over a month, but on balance it had been a very good year. His off shore accounts had swollen by some three million dollars. All of it earned tax-free. The IRS wouldn’t have approved of the deposits for any number of reasons, the least of all murder.

He read the news and surmised that his first shot had done as intended. The subsequent assignments fell more into the category of “insurance.” Since he held no practical political positions and none of his various identities ever cast a vote, he really didn’t care about any American presidents except the dead ones on U.S. currency.

Little got to him. Not even the urge to kill. Assassination was simply his profession. He could walk away from it, and happily would, if no other work came along. He did, however, answer his sexual desires. And one had been building for months. The hotel maid in Hudson, New York.

“Carolyn, it’s for you,” the front desk clerk at the St. Charles said. He’d found her cleaning a room on the third floor. “I’ll put the call right through. Hang up. Here it comes.”

“Hello,” Carolyn Hill said a moment later. She didn’t recognize the voice.

“Ms. Hill, this is Roger Waterman. I met you during the summer when I….”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The call caught her off guard. “You haven’t been here in months.”

“Quite right. I’ve been busy traveling. Pennsylvania, Virginia. Scouting antiques. But I’m in the area, and I wanted to see if you had time for dinner?”

“Dinner?” This really surprised her. “Me?”

He instantly read it. “Absolutely, you.”

She’d fantasized about this call. Now it had happened. “You’re coming into Hudson?”

“Actually I’m not. I can’t seem to get any further north than Poughkeepsie this trip. But, you could drive down, or better yet, just take the train.”

“I don’t know, I mean, I’m working…”

She wasn’t. He’d memorized the schedules of everyone who worked at the hotel. “Don’t you have Saturday’s off? How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Tomorrow? This tomorrow?” she laughed, knowing full well she hadn’t felt this excited in years.

He instinctively sensed her interest.
One more thing will put her over
. “Well, yes. This tomorrow. I think we’d have a good time together. Besides, I have a pair of picture frames for you. Remember?”

“Oh my god, yes!” she replied.
He’s really giving them to me
, she thought. Then she let her mind drift further, to where this all might lead.
He’s good looking. He’s successful. He’s asking me out. Out of town!

“I don’t know, I guess I could have my mother baby-sit.”

“I’m sure she would.”

The twenty-eight-year-old single mother chuckled. “Yes I know she would.”

“There’s a 2:40 out of Hudson that gets in at 3:16.” Waterman also commited the train schedule to memory. “I can meet you.”

Carolyn Hill was so flustered she didn’t even notice he never mentioned the train ride home. But Waterman had no intentions of getting her back that night. None whatsoever. He was going to have her. Risky as it was, it was also sport to him. Dangerous and exciting. Add sex to the equation just increased the drama and his erection. Of course, he would make a surveillance pass through the Poughkeepsie station well before she arrived. If anything looked remotely suspicious he’d leave. If she had a tail when she disembarked, which he’d easily recognize, he’d never show himself.

“So what do you say, Ms. Hill.”

“Carolyn. It’s Carolyn.”

He had his answer. He was going to get laid.

He was quite taken by the woman who got off the train. He’d only seen Hill wearing plain hotel whites. Now she had on a black cocktail-length skirt with a perfectly fitting red blouse, which allowed for his immediate enjoyment. She wore a red print scarf for accent and carried a black jacket on her arm. None of her wardrobe was expensive, but it all looked nice. She did her hair up in a sexy twist. A shiny red gloss made the most of her lips. And then he saw her legs. Carolyn had great legs and he immediately imagined them wrapped around him. He had all night to make it happen.

“You look wonderful,” he said completely certain that she was alone.
No police.

“Thank you, Mr. Waterman,” she replied somewhat shyly, though her outfit had already given her away.

“Please. If you’re Carolyn, I’m Roger. I’m not your guest now. I’m your dinner date.” He kissed her on the cheek for emphasis and to see how she’d react.

“Mmmm,” she said without pulling away. “Okay, Roger. You’re my date. But you know we’ll miss the first debate. It’s on tonight.”

“That’s just fine. They say most people really can’t do anything about politics anyway.” And with that, Waterman smiled and led her to his rental car.

He was polite and classy, she thought. And he was obviously rich. He called her. That was the amazing part. During their drive, Carolyn felt like a teenager on a
really
important night.

“Well, where are we going?” she asked.

“I like Le Pavillon, a French restaurant fairly close.” He glanced away from the road and at Carolyn. “It’s romantic. At least you’ll make it that way.”

She took a deep breath.
Yes.

“It’s up Salt Point Turnpike,” he said demonstrating his knowledge of the area. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Well then, I’d love to go there.” In truth she’d never had French food before, but on the way down to Poughkeepsie she vowed almost ironically,
What would be would be
.

“Then Le Pavillon it is. You’re in charge,” she said moving her hand across the seat and letting it touch his thigh.

“We do have some time before dinner. Let’s drive a little; get to knew each other better. Does that sound good?”

Everything sounded good to her right now. “Sure.”

After spending two hours sharing stories about their lives, his made up, hers limited, he pulled up in front of what Carolyn thought was a three story colonial home. But instead she discovered that this was Le Pavillon. They entered a warm, inviting dining room, where white walls broken up by gold curtains and freshly ironed table clothes marked a degree of grace she’d never experienced. As they were led to their table he told her that Zagat had given the restaurant a wonderful review awhile back. Not that it mattered, she was already impressed.

“Let me order for you,” he offered, wanting to make certain that Carolyn enjoyed dinner.

He decided against mixed drinks and asked about the wines. He easily settled on a New York State Cabernet Sauvignon from Bedell Vineyard for $38. “Are you sure?” She had never tasted a wine that expensive.

“For you, yes.”

She watched as he swirled the wine in his glass, took in the bouquet, then sampled the Cabernet. His approval led the waitress to pour a glass for Carolyn.

“I like it,” she said taking a healthy sip.

“How would you describe it?” he asked. “A good wine like a beautiful woman deserves appreciation, comment and savouring.”
She’ll like that,
he correctly surmised.

“I guess I’ve never actually thought about the taste much.” Carolyn smiled then lowered her eyes out of embarrassment. She suddenly became aware she sounded unsophisticated.

“Try.”

She took another sip, more delicate than the first. “Spicy? Maybe a little spicy.”

He swirled the wine in his glass, then sipped it. “Very good. There is a spice to it. What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“The aroma. The nose. Smell it.”

She took a casual sniff.

“No, no, no,” he explained, enjoying his performance. “Really put your nose
in
the glass. Like this.”

“Okay,” she replied, laughing as she followed his lead. “I think I smell a little cherry.”

“That’s called the ‘nose.’ And you’re very close. Now sip again. There’s a hint of raspberry.”

“Mmmm,” she added. “Yes. It’s there.” She was loving it. She was loving the evening.

“It’s a Merlot blend. Helps to create a depth of flavors.”

“What goes with it?”

“You,” he said, his second seductive line of the evening.

“Roger, you’re trying to flatter me.”

“I’m complimenting a ravishingly beautiful woman.”
Three’s the charm.

“Like a good wine?” she quickly responded.

“Oh, far better than the wine,” he added. “Now if you’re asking about what foods it complements?”

She nodded.

“On tonight’s menu…oh let’s see. The sirloin steak au poivre. The grilled Bordelaise. Or we could switch to a fine white for the salmon sauté with shrimp, if you’d like.”

“This is just fine,” she said through a sensuous smile. Her first. “How do you know so much about wine?”

“I travel a great deal. I look for the character in everything and everyone. I analyze and I explore.” At that moment he stared deeply into Carolyn’s eyes. She didn’t retreat.
No defenses.
He felt himself getting hard.

“To us,” he proposed raising his glass. Carolyn liked that. They clicked glasses and after a long beat, he turned back to the menu. “I think the escargots may be too exotic an hors d’oeruvre, but how about starting with the trio of pasta with basil garlic and olive oil and, of course, the Hudson Valley foie gras. After all we’re here.”

“I’d love it all,” she said still focused on him. She didn’t give the foie gras, which she had never tried, a second thought.

“You don’t have to rush right home?” he said sensing the right moment.

“No, I told my mother I might be late.”
Very late
. She moved her leg up to his under the table.

As the dinner plates were cleared, he ordered espresso and Grand Marnier. The caffine to assure they’d stay awake. The liquor to level out any of Carolyn’s lingering nervousness. There was none.

They drove for barely 11 minutes; the time it took Waterman to get to the Copper Penny Inn on New Hackensack Road. She made no objections when they pulled into the parking lot of the restored 1860s colonial farmhouse. When they stopped, Waterman faced her and pressed forward, kissing her forcefully. Very soon her legs would be completely around him.

Roarke decided to visit Katie over the weekend. They ate take-out from DeLuca’s and watched TV, though only partially committed to the first debate. The president drilled down on his successful peace initiative which backed two nuclear powers away from the launch buttons. India and Pakistan were still within ten launch-to-detonation minutes of one another, but their WMD’s were at stand down.

“The world owes a debt of gratitude to Morgan Taylor for his courage,” the Democratic nominee proclaimed, never addressing him as president. Instead of attacking Taylor on his success, he chose to congratulate him.

It pissed off Taylor because he was ready to seize the moment. However, he didn’t show his anger to the cameras and Roarke and Katie certainly didn’t see it.

“So who do I thank for us meeting?” Katie playfully asked while reaching for his shirt buttons. “The president or the congressman?”

“Umm,” Roarke purred, pulling Katie’s sweater out of her skirt. “Now that’s an interesting question.” He found the hook and eye to her bra and gently unfastened it. “I’d have to say the president.”

He let his shirt fall off his arms onto the floor and lifted her sweater over her head.

“But you came up to the office because we used to handle the Lodge’s affairs. So wouldn’t that count some for the congressman?” Katie responded.

“I suppose so.” He turned her around, kissed her neck and unsnapped her skirt. His fingers followed the path as it dropped down, stopping at her black lace underwear. Katie was doing the exact same thing to Roarke with her hands working behind her back. “But remember I didn’t have an appointment. It was a cold call.”

Her fingers found him under his boxers. “…That turned into something hot,” she added seductively.

“What do you say, we just thank them both.” Katie nestled her head back into him He answered her movements, walking his fingers down until they were exactly where she wanted.

The debate continued, but only on TV. Roarke came around to face Katie and kissed her deeply. After what was almost a minute, she took his hand and walked him from the livingroom into her bedroom.

“You know what I’d like?” she asked pulling him down and rolling on her side.

“What?”

“Your
special
massage.”

He maneuvered closer to Katie, taking her from behind and letting his hands knead her back as he slid into a wonderful position.

“What a nice rub,” she moaned.

“You know, I’ve never asked which way you’re going to vote,” Roarke whispered as he worked his hands over her back and moved slowly inside of her.

She answered to the same meter as his movements, “No, you haven’t.”

“So who’s it going to be.”

“Normally I’m a Democrat,” she cooed. “But I’m feeling some pressure right now.”

The pressure continued through the night.

Carolyn’s tongue explored Waterman’s mouth. The sophistication he displayed over dinner had disappeared. Now he revealed to her a different kind of hunger; insatiable and rough. She was acutely aware of his strength. He was stronger than she first believed; his body much harder. Dressed, he looked bookish. Naked above her was a muscular, needy lover with none of the antique dealer’s mannerisms.

He had an appetite like a wild animal that had stalked her. She had been alone for so long she was ready to be devoured. And then the animal instinct came out of her, too. Carolyn became the aggressor, as she never had been before.

Teddy Lodge thought Christine Slocum was wonderfully inventive in bed. She exhibited as much creativity under the covers as she did in her writing.

Lodge began his conquest the night of the convention. They had been extremely discreet, though Newman purposefully provided her with an adjoining room to the congressman’s suite. Even his Secret Service detail didn’t know they had begun sleeping together.