Night Is Mine (36 page)

Wandering over to the north wall, she read aloud the end of his second Inaugural speech. “To do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.”

She had always flown by this standard and the one on the south wall spoken a century and a half ago at Gettysburg: “That government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth.”

She stared at the words, fighting the burning in her eyes. Fighting to keep focus on what she must do. She could never be near Mark again. Once this mission was accomplished, she’d have to be reassigned. Leave her crew? Leave her family? For the Black Adders were more than companions; they were family. She would take a round for any of them. And any of them would do the same for her. To leave that…

Reassigned or resign?

If she resigned, she and Mark could be together. It made her throat close to even think the word. If she resigned her commission to be with him, she’d never be able to forgive him, no matter how she wished to. That was not an answer either. Considering the reality proved too painful and she turned.

Turned and ran from the one place that had always given her hope.

The waiting game of cat and mouse continued. The blacksuits circled about her. FBI Director’s daughter or not, friend of the sparring gym or not, if Emily was the cause of the unrest in the White House, they’d land on her hard.

Frank did his best to hold onto friendly, but inside of two days, all signs of trust had faded away, first into caution and finally distinct mistrust.

Then he began to stalk her. She’d become more rather than less dangerous in his mind. A street fighter had different ethics. The primary code was survival above all else. It had served her well in SOAR. Survival of the team, of her squad, of her cadre had been her guiding light. Right now she and her one-man cadre were the only ones on the inside of that team. Even her father had to be outside the veil now. None of it sat well with the blacksuit’s team-player attitude. She considered a hop out to Anacostia, but too many memories lurked there in the sun and shadows. Mark became a caged animal. He didn’t try to touch her when they were in private. Even holding hands in public was agony. Walking side by side they fell into an easy, comfortable, impossible rhythm and then stumbled out of it, almost tripping with the wrongness of it.

Two more long days passed while the First Lady luxuriated in the hot tubs of Aspen. Two days of knowing the wheels were coming off the horse and being unable to take any action. She’d botched the whole operation from top to bottom.

She hovered around the kitchen like a mad ghost, Banquo gone even madder than Lady Macbeth.

With Mark here, the kitchen felt even more compressed, ready to explode at the slightest spark. He wasn’t even pretending to flirt with her anymore.

And she missed it. She couldn’t stand to think about how much.

They’d had a silent lunch of the worst chicken-salad sandwiches ever made by woman. She’d cleaned the kitchen, and still no sign of Katherine who was supposed to be back already.

Emily circled out. Cleanup wasn’t her job, but she headed out into the third floor of the residence. Checking gave her something to do. Some space away from Mark.

The First Lady’s favorite lounge for entertaining was empty and immaculate. Not a stray plate or lipstick-fringed glass to be seen.

Her bedroom was dark and empty. Her private office was quiet, the door ajar, the afternoon sunlight streaming in.

Emily stuck her head in.

Naked.

Sprawled in the center of the large oriental.

Awash in a pool of slanting sunlight. Katherine’s white skin and red hair a startling contrast to the tight green stitching of the massive rug.

First Lady Katherine Matthews arched in the throes of passion.

And beneath her, equally lost to the world, Chief of Staff Ray Stevens. Best friend to the President. The lightbulb in her head went off. There was the accomplice. Knowing that, the motive should become clear.

Emily backed away as quietly as she could. At the last instant, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought Katherine turned to look at her with a gaze that was anything but glassy eyed.

Emily didn’t remember returning to the kitchen. Didn’t remember trying to drag Mark out of the kitchen, out of the building, away from the city.

She did remember him digging in his heels before they’d gone even five feet across the parquet floor. Emily struggled. Pulled. Jerked.

Until finally he pinned her to the silvered face of the fridge with an arm across her shoulders, almost pressing against her throat.

“What’s up, Emily? Spit it out.”

She shook her head. Not here. Not…

She pushed at him, and he moved back a single step.

Hand signs. ASL, American Sign Language, was common among SOAR and Special Forces.

Lady
, a gesture like tracing the line of a bonnet,
and
Chief…
She couldn’t remember how to sign “staff” and had to laboriously spell it out. Then she made the sign pretty universally recognizable, even without ASL training, for “sex.” Two vees like peace signs slapping together palm to palm. Finally, for lack of any better symbol, she pointed emphatically toward the First Lady’s office.

I
thought
you
said
she
was
hot
for
the
Vice
President?

She
flirts
with
VP
all
the
time. All the time!
Circled the letter t for “time” before her open palm like a hand on a clock face, twice for emphasis.

And
he
flirts
back?

WAY!
Each letter punched into the air as a shout. She thought about it for a moment.
But
feels
just
playful.
Was Vice President Thomas just
a
cover
?

Mark paced off. Thinking.

Right, Army. In a jam, use your brain.

Mark paced back and forth on one side of the island, she on the other.

Twice he stopped, started to sign, and then lowered his hand, shaking his head.

Katherine Matthews was having an affair with the Chief of Staff. Flirting with the Vice President, though Emily had seen no signs of more.

And… Peter wasn’t just too busy to have dinners with his wife. He and his wife were wholly estranged. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! That was obvious, once she thought about it.

She tapped Mark’s shoulder. Once you started signing, you sort of forgot you could talk.

P
and
FL
, President and First Lady, then she shook her head emphatically.

She didn’t need any sign language for Mark’s mouthed, “Duh!”

Heat flooded her face. Okay, she should have picked that up sooner. A lot sooner, back to the moment she arrived barely two weeks ago.

But if that was the case, that meant that Peter was perhaps being more than just polite when he said how much he missed her. How much…
Don’t go there, Army. Don’t go there!

Stay focused.
Katherine, VP Thomas, and Chief of Staff Stevens.

Katherine did nothing by accident, but what was she doing?

And how did the attempts, or as her father insisted and she now believed, apparent attempts, on the First Lady’s life fit into the puzzle?

Mark grabbed Emily and slammed her back against the fridge. In a second his mouth was on hers, one hand grabbing her behind, another under her shirt and clamped on her breast.

He swallowed any protest she made deep in her throat. Even to her ears, it sounded more like a moan.

It burned. It sizzled. It scorched out her brain and left a puddle of need in its place. She clamped both her hands hard into those firm buttocks of his and held on.

Blind! Deaf! Dumb! All she could do was feel as Mark overwhelmed her senses. He didn’t attack her with lust; he attacked her with need. Not of man for woman, but of him for her. She’d howl like an alpha she-wolf if she wasn’t so lost in her own pounding blood.

She inhaled, consumed, feasted.

And Mark matched her, taking as good as he gave. He held her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, but that was okay. She didn’t want to.

Then he pinched her breast hard. Hard enough for her to yelp if his mouth hadn’t been clamped on hers.

That was nasty!

She prepared to retaliate when she heard it.

The kitchen door opened.

She concentrated on the kiss a moment longer. Leaned in, taking one last deep taste of her tongue against his. Her bones were wilting, but the memory of that pinch kept her from getting lost again.

She managed to open one eye and spotted Katherine at the door. She winked at Katherine. The First Lady winked back and then withdrew.

They held the clench a while longer, just in case. Then she tried to pull back.

Mark didn’t appear interested in that. His fingers hooked deep in her bra, driving her crazy, making her half hope he’d just rip the barrier away and ravage her. The initial, brutal force of his kiss eased back to a tease that curled her toes. His body pressed hers against the fridge with need. Very evident need.

She managed to get her mouth free, and he moved down to nuzzle her neck. For a moment, she allowed herself to wallow in the sensation. She had no choice. The heat poured into her body like flaming jet fuel.

No one ever had made her feel this way. And his hands, those wonderful hands, shifted from grope to fondle to caress. She laid her head back against the refrigerator as he studied her collarbone with the tip of his tongue, her waist with his fingertips.

Of its own accord, one of her legs wrapped around his hip and pulled him tight against her. Their mutual moan echoed down inside her. She wanted him. Now. Against the wall, on the maple and cherry block, on the floor—

Then she pictured Katherine and Ray Stevens naked on the floor, and that was a splash of ice water.

Mark sensed the shift and had the decency to back away. At least in mood, if not in distance.

He rested his forehead against hers.

“Damn.” Barely a whisper. “Goddamn.”

She couldn’t agree more.

A minute passed before her body recovered enough to unwrap her leg from his waist. Another as their hands both shifted from behind to each other’s hips to limp at their own sides while their foreheads still rested against each other. While their noses still brushed.

With a strength she could never match, Mark stepped back until a single breath of air separated them, then another.

So close, she could be wrapped around him before her next heartbeat. Then she wouldn’t stop. She knew. They both knew. Next time there would be no stopping themselves.

Now she had her duty. She had to go find Katherine.

Katherine would never be accused of being coy.

“Your blouse is still awry, Emily.” Katherine turned away to give her a moment as she entered the First Lady’s office.

Emily checked, and she was right. She had Mark’s damage fixed, at least mostly, by the time Katherine turned to her with two freshly poured glasses of wine.

“Girl-to-girl time, honey.”

She followed the First Lady to a pair of floral-print armchairs snuggled together by one of the tall windows, running red with the lowering sun.

“Peter and I…” Katherine shrugged as she kicked off her sandals and settled in deeper. “We have an arrangement. I keep it private, and he pretends he doesn’t know anything. Now you weren’t planning on spoiling our little plan, were you?”

“Not me.” Think fast, Em. “Who’d believe me?” Not good enough. This wasn’t guy-speak world. This was the world of her mother. Of shade and nuance. Of multiple meanings revealed or implied but hidden. Or, when it really hit the fan, gal-speak mandated a forthrightness that a man could never achieve with all the guy-speak shorthand on the planet. And, in her professional estimation, it had just hit the fan. With a gut-wrenching splatter like the staff sergeant who’d walked through her tail rotors one day while not paying attention.