Campaign of Desire (CSA Case Files 4) (5 page)

“Is there a specific threat that caused Mr. Dunaway to seek out armed security details this early?” Ethan asked, his knee bouncing as if he were eager to get started on this assignment. “From my understanding a nominee normally doesn’t worry about security until later in campaign unless there’s been a credible threat.”

Lach wasn’t feeling any of his friend’s elation as he thought of Phoebe’s parting words. Once again a memory slipped in between the conversation.

“Phoebe, we should talk before you head to your family home.” Lach walked her through the airport and to what he knew to be a car waiting for her outside the glass doors. “We shouldn’t leave things like—”

“Lach, I meant what I said.” Phoebe had taken her backpack off of the luggage carousal before he could grab it and she refused to hand it over. It was now situated on her back, securely in place as she came to an abrupt stop right in front of the door and turned to face him. Her dark blue eyes shined with determination. “It was a nice hour of hot sex. I got off and so did you, but the bottom line is that we live in different circles. If you think you hurt my feelings by saying it was casual, you didn’t. Regardless of what you may believe, I don’t live in a sheltered bubble. If you’re worried I’m going to run to my father, I’m a big girl and don’t kiss and tell.”

Lach remained silent as he digested her little speech. They live in different worlds? Was that her way of saying he wasn’t good enough for her? He was relatively sure she hadn’t felt that way when he’d been buried deep inside of her this afternoon. Anger tightened his chest, but he refrained from saying or doing anything as she took a step toward the door.

“Have a nice life, Lach McKinnon.”

“I’m not aware of anything that would precipitate his request for security, but we’ll cover that in the three o’clock meeting.” Crest’s voice brought Lach back to the present and he knew that he needed to come clean with his superior. “Anything residing on the docket that I’m not aware of?”

They spent a few moments reviewing some of the outstanding cases and arranging to give them to Kevin. Ethan and Connor then headed to the door with their files in hand. Lach would get with them later this morning, as each of them would strategize their days to come. He remained in place and waited for them to close the door, the men having taken the hint that he wanted to speak with Crest alone.

“Something you need to tell me?” Crest leaned back in his chair, his laser green eyes seemingly taking in more than Lach felt comfortable with.

“I had intimate relations with Phoebe Dunaway during the extraction from Iraq.”

He didn’t feel the need to add anything else. Crest would either continue this assignment with the way it was laid out or remove Lach from the case. He wasn’t exactly sure how he wanted this to play out. He certainly wasn’t happy with the way they parted, but he wasn’t a man to beg. If Phoebe needed more than honesty, she’d have to get it from some other guy.

“Care to add anything else?” Crest asked, seemingly unfazed by Lach’s announcement.

“No.”

“You never mentioned her after that last assignment. Since you spoke in the past tense, I’m assuming the relationship ended. On good terms?”

“Not exactly.” Lach shifted his stance, uncomfortable with Crest’s inquiry. It wouldn’t have mattered if they were drinking buddies, Lach still wouldn’t have confessed what had transpired. “I’m not quite sure how one would classify it.”

“From your standpoint, will it interfere with your assignment? Will you be able to remain impartial and do your job?”

“Yes.” Lach didn’t add on that was probably how things would go down too—impartial. Phoebe had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t fit into her upper class world. He might have been good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be taken out in public. “That won’t be a problem.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Crest said, leaning forward and picking up the receiver of his desk phone. It was apparent that this meeting was over and Lach moved to leave. He’d made it to the door before Crest’s next words stopped him from turning the handle. “From this point on, Phoebe Dunaway is the daughter of the future President. I’d refrain from any further casual copulation if I were you.”

Lach looked over his shoulder to see Crest leaning back in his chair with the phone to his ear. A small smile formed on his lips, but his eyes clearly stated he was serious in his advice. Regardless of Lach’s past with Phoebe or what the future may bring, not that he thought it would change in any way, there would be no fucking on this case. The message was loud and clear.

“Understood.”

Chapter Four

P
hoebe Dunaway looked around her father’s campaign headquarters and mentally calculated the volunteers versus the paid employees. They’d need a lot more unpaid workers within the next few months if they were going to reach out to the demographics where her father was low in the consensus. She glanced down at her elegant Chanel Premiere watch, a gift from her mother back on Phoebe’s sixteenth birthday. It was the last holiday they’d celebrated as a family before Annabelle’s death. Phoebe briefly wondered what her mother would have thought of Stan Dunaway’s decision.

“I have my evening class tonight, so I’ve got to head out,” Kimmie said, picking up a black Coach tote that held her college books. As the youngest, she had never been held to the high standard that Phoebe had been. Kimmie’s faded jeans and hooded sweatshirt that showed her support for St. Thomas University signified her youth. “I told dad this morning that I’m too busy right now with my studies to give up my free time. He wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’ll cover for you, no worries.” Phoebe turned and leaned against the laminate workspace. There were multiple desks along with various sized tables for people to work from. The low murmurs of conversations being had on the telephones were distracting, but one got used to it the more they were in the bullpen. She looked at her sister, who happened to be six years younger yet made Phoebe feel at least thirty years Kimmie’s senior. Attitude and world experience had a lot to do with Phoebe’s outlook, although she’d made sure that Kimmie hadn’t been tainted by the public life their father had exposed them to. “You just concentrate on getting your degree. Graduate school is your top priority. Dad can handle his own life.”

“It’s you I’m worried about,” Kimmie replied, her dark brown hair draped over her left shoulder. Their physical appearances were the total opposite and Phoebe stared into the soft brown eyes of her sister. Concern was shining through. “What about Crescent? I’m not going to say it doesn’t make me happy to have you on U.S. soil, but we both know the donations will dwindle if you don’t stay on top of your supporters.”

“You mean the same benefactors that will be forking over money for Dad’s campaign?” Phoebe replied wryly, knowing exactly what would happen to Crescent’s donations and already having taken precautions. “When Dad mentioned last year that he was debating on the run, I figured it was only a matter of time so I made some investment decisions to carry the foundation through his election.”

“That was smart, but I’m still wondering why you’re even here.” Kimmie looked pointedly around the room as if she still couldn’t believe it was real. She’d voiced her concerns during a family meeting, but she’d been overruled. Their father had been adamant about running and now here they were. “Dad has a campaign manager and enough staff that neither one of us has to be here. We both agreed to do whatever interviews he wanted us to do. Why take time off from Crescent at all?”

“Because it’s what Mom would have wanted.” Phoebe gave her sister a sad smile, all the while knowing Kimmie wouldn’t really understand. She had only been ten when their mom passed away. It had been Phoebe who’d stepped into her mother’s shoes. She loved her father and absolutely adored her sister. Annabelle would have wanted them to support their father in his quest for presidency. “Mom also would have required you to concentrate on your studies. Go to class and I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

“I feel like I’m abandoning you to werewolves.”

Kimmie had been about to say something else when her eyes must have caught sight of something over Phoebe’s shoulder. She turned around and her stomach immediately felt like someone had placed a brick in it. A thousand protests ran through her mind but from the smile on her father’s face she knew it was an uphill battle—that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. Lach McKinnon was the last man to enter and also the last man she thought would ever cross the threshold of this office. Kimmie had no idea how true her words rang.

“Kimmie, I’m glad you’re here,” Stan said, his voice booming as he walked around the tables to join them. Her father was a force to be reckoned with, from his physical appearance to his personality. Kimmie had gotten his looks, from his dark hair to his brown eyes and all the way down to his personality. Her sister was also tall, although nowhere near their father’s height of six feet. Those two butted heads constantly and she knew now wasn’t going to be an exception. Whereas Kimmie was downright stubborn, Phoebe knew how to negotiate with the best of them. She waited while her father continued. “Would you two please join me in my office? I’ve hired security details for the two of you and—”

“Sorry, Dad,” Kimmie exclaimed, hoisting her tote a little higher on her shoulder. She might have expressed an apology, but there was no regret in her voice. Phoebe felt envy for her sister’s youth of twenty-four years and her ability to be brutally honest. “They’re more than welcome to follow me but I can’t stay and chat. I’ve got class and I’m already running behind.”

“Kimmie, this is important.” Stan gave his youngest daughter the pointed stare that he seemed to think worked when it did the exact opposite. “We’re talking about your safety.”

“They can keep me safe,” Kimmie replied with a shrug, although she did raise herself on her tiptoes and kissed their father’s cheek. “But they’ll have to keep up.”

“Dad, one more day isn’t going to hurt,” Phoebe said, placing a hand on Stan’s arm and doing what she did best—compromise. It also gave Kimmie a chance to slip around everyone and head for the door. “Even you have to admit that you should have run this by us first. Can we talk in private?”

Phoebe might have been addressing her father, but all of her attention was on Lach. He stood several feet away, his black leather jacket unzipped. She knew that it gave him easy access to his weapon. He’d yet to take his eyes off of her, not even when Kimmie walked by him. His dark gaze concealed his emotions and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, let alone feeling. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and if her dad thought she could have Lach around her on a daily basis, her father was dead wrong. She wasn’t even sure why they needed security details at this point. They hadn’t even formally announced her father’s candidacy yet.

“Yes, we can talk but it won’t change anything,” Stan said, his warning evident. He turned and addressed two of the three men that had walked into the office with him, excluding Paul Mooney. Phoebe noticed that the third man had followed Kimmie at a close distance when she’d left for her class. “I need five minutes alone with my daughter before we sit down and go over our schedules.”

Phoebe didn’t wait to be introduced, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t be necessary. She’d been around politics her entire life and she knew that candidates didn’t get security details until one hundred and twenty days before the election. Her father apparently had high hopes that he’d make it through the primaries, not that she would argue with him. His polls had come out on top and he’d also hired one of the best campaign managers around. Tomorrow’s declaration was a little later than when his other opponents announced, but the speculation on his run only swayed the public support more in his favor.

“Dad, this is unnecessary,” Phoebe declared after she’d closed her father’s office door behind them. “One, there’s no need for security at this early stage and two, it’s a waste of money. Lach McKinnon works for CSA. From my understanding Gavin Crest charges an astronomical fee.”

“Crest is good. He can charge whatever he damn well likes,” Stan replied with a chuckle. He walked around his desk and took a seat, leaning back in the leather chair, his gaze softening. “Phoebe, I just spent over two hours with the man. Nothing is more important to me than my daughters. You know this.”