The Gemini Deception

Chapter Twenty-four

The White House

Next morning, March 5

Ryden awakened with a massive headache that refused to subside even after plenty of coffee and a shower. She’d had three glasses of wine before Kennedy showed up and had asked Betty for another after she’d returned to her room. She was too aggravated and wound up to sleep after her encounter with Kennedy to go to bed.

She’d never been the one to initiate a kiss or any physical contact with another person, but Kennedy had made her feel helpless to do otherwise. So she had reacted on pure instinct, not caring about the fact that it was unprofessional, inappropriate, and unlike her. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after kissing a woman, but she certainly hadn’t counted on spontaneous arousal. It was a simple kiss, but Kennedy’s soft mouth, her breath, and her tight shoulders had made for a remarkable aphrodisiac. If such a quick brush of lips had undone her, she shivered at the thought of what a slow, long, and thorough kiss might reduce her to.

Kennedy, however, had shown no emotion at all at the encounter—hadn’t responded one way or another—and Ryden felt frustrated and embarrassed for disregarding that lack of response. She had reacted like the numerous desperate drunks she’d encountered and despised, and completely ignored Kennedy’s trepidations and obvious disinterest.

Unsteady on her feet, she sat at her vanity to prepare herself to face the day. “Snap out of it,” she said to her reflection as she ran a brush through her hair. “You have a million things to worry about, and here you are throwing yourself at a woman and adding problems to the pile.” She needed to concentrate on getting out of here and the new life ahead, and forget Kennedy and this obscene infatuation that would lead absolutely nowhere, anyway. But why was the thought of never seeing Kennedy again disturbing and… “God, how am I going to face her today?”

The ringing phone interrupted her musings. “Yes?”

“I want to meet in an hour,” Ratman said. “We have to prepare your speech on the illegal-weapons issue.”

“The press conference isn’t due for another week.”

“We had to push it up.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“I…no.” And it really didn’t. She was curious about the change in plans but didn’t care either way. The weapons legislation was one of the primary items on Ratman’s agenda for her, so as far as she was concerned, accelerating the announcement just meant she was another step closer to freedom and further away from this complicated existence. She hung up the phone and headed to the massive closet.

“Focus on the prize,” Ryden said aloud as she plucked a coral-colored blazer-and-skirt ensemble from the rack of designer suits. “Nothing else matters.”

*

Shield received an early, terse call from the president, notifying her of a change in the day’s agenda. Thomas was skipping breakfast and would be starting her day with an unscheduled meeting with Kenneth Moore in a half hour.

When the president emerged from her bedroom right on schedule, Shield, waiting outside in the hall, tried not to look at Thomas’s mouth. “Good morning.”

“About last night…I’m not a big drinker.”

“I gathered.” Shield smiled.

“No offense, the wine was exceptional,” Thomas rubbed her right temple with two fingers, “but I woke up with a horrible headache.”

“Like you said, you’re not a drinker.” Shield stood with her hands clasped behind her back. For someone with a headache, Thomas looked beautiful, almost radiant. She’d done her hair and makeup herself, and chosen an ensemble that was tailored to subtly accentuate her slim hips and high, round breasts. “If it’s any consolation, you seem…rested.”

Thomas looked away. “I don’t know what possessed me to enter your room and take your wine.”

“You needed to unwind. No harm done.”

“Anyway,” Thomas said with an air of flippancy, “I can’t remember very much about last night, so if I said or did anything to offend you, please forgive me and forget I was there. I can assure you, it wasn’t personal and it won’t happen again.”

“I’m not thrilled about having my room raided, but that aside, you didn’t say or do anything unpleasant.” She unwittingly focused her gaze on Thomas’s lush, full lips, glossy with a coral lipstick that complemented the color of her suit.

“Good to know.” Thomas sounded relieved. “I’ve witnessed inebriated people make complete fools of themselves.”

Did the president really not remember their conversation, or kissing her? “That may be true, but alcohol also enhances any preexisting mood.”

“Either way…” Thomas waved her hand dismissively. “It’s all a crazy blur. So again, forgive me if I did anything to offend you.”

Shield knew she should leave last night alone and feel glad for Thomas’s memory loss, but she couldn’t and didn’t. Instead, she took a step closer to the president, and as she did, she unplugged the communications device in her sleeve so they wouldn’t be overheard. “There was nothing offensive about your kiss.”

Thomas blushed and looked away. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you remember.”

“Then you also know I’m trying to deny any recollection.”

“So you remember.”

“I don’t understand you.” Thomas sounded angry. “You vehemently point out every reason in the world why we need to keep it professional, and then you turn around and seek confirmation of my attraction to you. Are you after validation, a need for acceptance, or some sadomasochistic satisfaction?”

Shield stared at her, unable to answer. Thomas was right, and she didn’t honestly know what she was after or why she felt the need to bring up that kiss. She’d always been professional at work and, after Carmen, distant in her private life and relations. As a rule, she didn’t care who remembered her and wasn’t out to make a lasting impression, but for some reason Thomas’s opinion mattered.

She’d struggled all night with how Thomas’s frustration had led to her uncharacteristic confession of what she needed in a woman, and she’d also thought about that spontaneous, sweet kiss, absent any motivation other than unpolluted want. Shield needed confirmation of the purity she’d felt in that kiss. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled, more to herself than Thomas.

“Get over it. I’ve been under a lot of stress, I’m tired, and I miss my recently deceased husband. You just happened to be on the receiving end of misplaced emotions, a temporary distraction.” Thomas turned on her heel and headed toward the stairs.

Shield wanted to tackle her, pin her down and say something, anything to hurt her back.

She quietly caught up and said, “So, who’s playing with whom?”

“You’re a big girl,” the president said. “Deal with it.”

“I can deal with it just fine.”

“I’m glad.”

“Question is, how are you dealing with the political game you’re participating in?”

Thomas stopped halfway down the steps and turned around. “What game?”

“I know Moore is up to something,” she whispered, mindful of the pair of guards positioned at the bottom of the staircase. “It’s only a matter of time before I find out what, but what I don’t understand is your involvement and his power over you.”

“I’ve slighted you and you are obviously being irrational,” Thomas replied in the same low tone.

“Am I? Is it a coincidence your hands shake whenever he’s around?”

Thomas looked at her with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

“You’re terrified of him.”

“I’m not.” Thomas stood her ground.

“What did he make you do?”

“Even if you were right, why would I tell you anything?”

“Because if Moore can kill once, he can kill twice.”

“Kill?” Thomas glanced nervously toward the other bodyguards. “Killed who?” For the first time during this conversation, the president looked sincerely worried.

Before Shield could answer, Kenneth Moore came into view at the bottom of the staircase.

“There you are.” Moore smiled up at them. “Is there a problem?”

“No, sir,” Shield replied as the two women descended to meet him. “We were just talking about our mutual passion for tennis. Madam President agreed to teach me a few tricks tomorrow.”

“I see.” Moore looked apprehensive. “How interesting.”

“Hardly,” Shield said. “It’s common knowledge Madam President is a strong player.”

“Madam President is,” Moore agreed cryptically.

Thomas laughed nervously and clasped her hands together to hide the slight shaking. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s been months, and I’m sure I’m not up to par.”

“Time for our meeting, Madam President.” Moore took the president’s arm and led her away toward the Oval Office. “We have a lot to talk about.”

*

Southwestern Colorado

As soon as Pierce called her with the news of what they’d found at her house, Cassady Monroe booked a ticket on the first plane out of Boston, which left at five a.m. There were no direct flights, so by the time she picked up her car in long-term parking and reached the EOO headquarters, it was almost one in the afternoon. She found Pierce in his office with Grant and Arthur. “Let me see the note,” she said without preamble.

“Your concert is tonight,” Pierce reminded her.

Cass extended her hand. “The note.”

Pierce gave it to her and Cass read it three times before she looked up at them.

“It’s not a suicide note,” Arthur said.

“And I’m sure she didn’t walk out on you.” Grant put a hand on Cass’s shoulder.

“Then what the hell is going on?”

“When we got there, the alarm hadn’t been activated,” Pierce said.

“Jack always turns it on. She’s afraid of me walking in on a burglar. The fact that I can take him down or sense someone is there doesn’t seem to impress her.”

“We also found a half-eaten sandwich and milk on the counter,” Arthur said.

“She’d never do that.” Cass didn’t know if she should feel relieved or more worried. It was becoming clear Jack hadn’t just left or done something to hurt herself, so that meant… “She left to protect me from something.”

“Someone,” Pierce said.

“Who?”

“Do you know if she had any contact with past…clients?”

“Yuri Dratshev was in touch a week or so ago. He said he had a job for her.”

“You said she stopped taking hits,” Arthur said.

“She has.” Cassady didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Jack said Dratshev wouldn’t stop trying to reach her, so she planned to call him to tell him she’d retired.”

“I want to meet with Dratshev,” Pierce said to Arthur.

“With what excuse? Arthur asked.

“I’ll think of something.”

“You don’t think he did something to Jaclyn?” Grant asked.

“I doubt it,” Cassady replied. “As far as I know, he has a lot of respect for her, especially after the Owens case.”

Pierce got up. “Maybe, just maybe, Jaclyn decided—”

“I know where you’re going,” Cass glared at him, her temper rising, “and no…Jack promised she’d never go back to that life.”

Pierce raised his hand to calm her. “Cassady, listen to me. Maybe she was threatened to do so.”

“What would Dratshev threaten her with? He doesn’t know where to find her. He doesn’t even have her real name. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Maybe he managed to find her, somehow. It’s possible he took Jaclyn at gunpoint, which would explain the sandwich.”

“Why would he come with it now, nearly two years later?”

“Could be something good came up, and he desperately wants Jaclyn for the job,” Arthur said.

“And is using something,” Pierce added, “evidence, or whatever, against her if she doesn’t accept his offer.”

“Do you think he’s threatening her with me?” Cass asked.

“Why would you think that?” Pierce replied.

“Yes, I think he is.” Grant looked at Cassady. “Jack wrote that she had to do this because she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone ever hurting you again. I think Jack decided to go to him to protect you.”

“Then why the undertone of finality?” Cassady looked down at the piece of paper. “‘Know that I will always love you,’” she read. “Jack knows I’d forgive her. I’d understand her having to take a job to save her own or my life. I’d do the same.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Cassady,” Grant said.

Pierce turned to Arthur. “Does the Russian still live in Manhattan Beach?”

“I’ll have Reno check,” Arthur replied.

“Have me booked on the first flight out tomorrow,” Pierce said. “I want to see him ASAP.”

Arthur started to leave, but Cassady put a hand out to stop him. “Make that two tickets.”

Pierce frowned. “We don’t know what he’s holding against her. It may be you, or it may not. It’s not wise to expose the company or your relationship to Jaclyn and give him ammo.”

“How would I be exposing the company?”

“He knows who I am,” Pierce replied. “Yuri and I have met.”

*

Houston, Texas

TQ smiled as she looked out the window of her office at the downtown skyline. Everything was falling nicely into place. Her guest, confined to another of her apartments in the same building, was cooperative, the double was performing even better than she’d hoped for, and the culmination of her plan to cripple the illegal-weapons agenda was only hours away. She couldn’t wait to be able to return her attention fully to growing her business and, with it, her power. Now all that remained was to tie up all the loose ends. She called Kenneth Moore to make sure everything was on track for the big announcement.

“We are going public with it tomorrow,” Moore said.

“As scheduled then. I’ll call the Russian imbecile to have his people get Thomas ready.”

“Oh, and the florist and her gal pal need to be taken care of as soon as the switch takes place,” Moore said.

“Of course. You sound worried. Do you want to share something?”

“I think Wagner talked to the bodyguard.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I caught them talking, and when I asked what it was about, Kennedy said the president had promised to play tennis with her.”

TQ straightened in her chair. She knew the double’s capabilities well; she’d studied every facet of the woman’s past and had herself decided what should be included in her training. “What did Wagner have to say about that?”

“She looked uncomfortable,” Moore replied. “I doubt Wagner offered to play anything against the guard.”

“Of course not, you idiot. She’s never held a racket in her life.”

“How sure are we about that?”

“Sure enough to know Kennedy made it up on the spot.”

“We’re going to upset some very dangerous people by killing one of theirs,” Moore said.

“They’ll never find out who did it.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in the unpredictable Russian.”

“It’s not Dratshev I’m placing my chips on. I know he’s capable of using the florist as a bargaining tool, either with me or with the police.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why I’ve chosen someone with too much at stake to disappoint us.”

“How do you know he has the nuts to do it, let alone do it right? Threatening someone’s life or their family doesn’t mean they won’t screw up.”

“First of all, it’s a she,” TQ replied. “Secondly, she’s one of the best in the business, and last but not least, her Achilles’s heel is worth more than anybody’s money can buy.”

“And you own that heel.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, good.” He sounded relieved. “Because frankly, I’m ready to have this over with. I haven’t slept in six months, my wife won’t stop complaining about my lack of libido, and I’m losing my hair.”

TQ sighed. Moore was an essential ingredient to her plan’s success, but he was proving to be too high-maintenance. “Aside from irrelevant, it’s also an I-don’t-give-a-damn tidbit of information. Make sure Wagner does her homework and stop whining. It’s very unbecoming.”

She disconnected and dialed again. Yuri Dratshev already knew the time and location for the switch back; she needed only to tell him that things could proceed as scheduled.

Yuri Dratshev picked up immediately. “Da?”

“Your guest is ready to go home,” she said.

“I will take care of it.”

“You are not to touch the florist,” she reminded him, “or her friend. My people will deal with them.”

“What friend?” he asked.

“It doesn’t concern you. Once your delivery is made, your job is done.”

She’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again. The caller ID told her it was the guy she’d put in charge of watching Cassady Monroe. “Yes?”

“We lost Monroe.”

She put the call on speakerphone. “Tell me I heard wrong.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“I pay you enough to make sure you know how everything happens.”

“She must have left late last night or very early this morning.”

“Where were you?”

“The hotel across the street.”

“Sleeping.”

“I stayed on watch until two.”

“I don’t pay you to fucking sleep.” TQ slammed her hand on the desk.

“We were taking turns. The lights in her room were still on when Mike took over.”

“So Mike should have seen her leave.”

There was a prolonged pause on the other end. “He didn’t.”

“Pray tell.”

“He fell asleep.”

“Where is he?”

“Next to me.”

“I don’t like disappointments.”

“I know, ma’am.”

She couldn’t abide incompetence. Everyone who worked for her was aware of the penalty for failing to deliver. “Then you know what you have to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Once you’re done with him, I want you to spend all eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds of every day looking for her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”