Fires of Autumn (2 page)

The warm glimmer
in Mother's eyes faded. "Why do you ask?"

He
shrugged. "Because I've seen pictures of him and I don't think I look much
like him."

"You
look like my side of the family, you know that."

"Is
that the truth, mom?"

It wasn't.
But she had been telling him that for so long that she had almost convinced
herself of the fact. But now, there was no longer any reason to lie to him.
Jack was a grown man; he had a right to know
.
And she had a duty to tell
him.

"No,"
she finally murmured. "It's not."

Jack's expression
told her that he wasn't particularly surprised. Mother kept waiting for him to
explode, but his features remained steady
.

"Who
was he?"

Mother
continued to stare at him
.
Her eyes softened and her cheeks seemed to pinken, the first
color she had had in weeks. Much to Jack's surprise, she actually smiled. Then
she patted the mattress beside her and Jack sat down, laying his head on her
shoulder like he used to when he was a boy. For a moment, the only sound that
met his ears was the growling in his mother's chest. Then, the faint sound of
her familiar, gentle voice.

He closed
his eyes and listened.

The West
Wing of the White House

CHAPTER ONE

Washington,
D.C.

A few
years in the future

Winter was
a horrible month. Coming from Southern California, Casey Cleburne never really
appreciated the true hell of winter's wrath. There were layers of clothes to
wear and the threat of suffocating beneath all that wool. No one dressed like
this in California unless they lived in the Sierras, and then it was
fun
to bundle
up because you knew that within a matter of hours you could be back at the
beach sunning yourself and shaking off the chill.
In
California,
you could have your choice of weather. But here, it was all one temperature -
freezing.  After twelve years, she should have been used to it, but she wasn’t.
She was a wimp.

The smell
of exhaust was heavy in the air as she quickly covered the last hundred yards
from the parking structure to the guard gate located at the north side employee
entrance of the White House.
It
was stupid to have a car in D.C.,
she knew. Everyone took public transportation. But she had driven all the way
from California in her Honda all those years ago and couldn't seem to part with
having a car.  These days, she had a big gas guzzler.

Running
along the wet path that led towards the entrance, her Jimmy Choo pumps made
sharp clicking noises along the pavement. At one point she slipped and nearly
lost her balance, but it didn't slow her pace. Directly in front of her was a
large guard shed, painting a stark white, and a host of parka-clad security
guards checking in the nine-to-five White House employees
that
worked in the West Wing.

"Hi,
Stan," she said as she pushed her way inside the warm shack.

The
African-American guard, a middle-aged man with bulging eyes, smiled at her as
she displayed her identification. "Good morning, Ms. Cleburne. Have a nice
day."

Casey
flashed him a hurried smile, shoved her I.D. back into her purse, and pushed
past the other employees in various stages of admittance. At the door leading
toward the main building of the White House she came across a fellow employee,
struggling with a scarf hooked into an earring.

Lisanne
LeVine was in a panic. Her gold earring was twisting and the DKNY scarf wasn't
faring much better. When she saw Casey, her pixieish face screwed up in
desperation.

"Help,
Casey," she moaned.

Casey
shifted her briefcase and her purse, untangling the strings. She smiled at the
tiny, dark haired girl. "No damage, calm down," she said. "Your
mother's scarf is safe."

Lisanne
looked guilty and defiant at the same time. "She still doesn't know I took
it from her when I was home for Christmas."

Casey
snorted softly. "If she's anything like my mother, when she discovers that
it's missing, she'll hunt you down like an animal."

Lisanne
laughed like a delinquent kid. Either she didn't care about her mother's wrath
or she was far enough away from home that she indulged a false sense of
security. As the two women exited the guard shack and walked the path to the
west wing of the White House Administrative offices, the wind picked up and
whipped at them mercilessly. Casey pulled her coat tighter and grimaced.

"I
can't stand this weather," she grumbled. "What in the hell was I
thinking when I decided to move here?"

A strong
gust of wind caught them just as a marine guard opened the door. Cold and
leaves followed them inside, faster than the Marine door guard could close the
door. Debris scattered on the mat that had been placed on top of the plush dark
blue carpeting, adding to the pile of muck that had formed from countless
employees entering and exiting. Casey stamped the damp leaves off her feet, the
instant warmth of the corridor like a slap in the face.

"Thank
you, Lord," she exclaimed softly, removing her gloves. "Let there be
heat."

Lisanne
was right behind her, removing the stolen scarf and pulling off her gloves.
"You should have stayed on the coast." Her New York accent was
strong. "Only hard-asses can take this weather."

Casey
lifted a well-defined eyebrow "I can deal with the weather," she
insisted. "But can a hard-ass take an earthquake?"

Lisanne
shook her head, grinning
.
''Not on your life. I prefer my ground to stay still."

The door
to the President's outer offices was wide open and already Casey could smell
the cigar smoke, even at this time of the morning. The new President loved his
cigars, at any time of day. Her jacket coming off, she marched through the
lobby with Lisanne in tow, down the hall to the reception area, and greeted the
Secret Service agent that sat to the left of the receptionist's desk.

The agent,
an African-American with a Heisman-trophy physique, merely nodded his head.
Lisanne, the receptionist, planted herself behind the huge mahogany desk and
switched the night service off on the west wing phone banks , which were
already beginning to light up. Casey moved past the chaos of reception and
continued on, heading for the door to her left that led into her own office.
But she came to abrupt halt when a stout woman with an expensive haircut
blocked her path.

Casey
almost bumped into the woman. "Good morning, Maggie," she said,
pulling her camel-hair coat the rest of the way off. "What's up?"

Maggie
Broom smiled; she was actually a very nice woman, middle-aged and built like a
Russian factory worker. Her face was round and her teeth were a lovely shade of
smoker's yellow. Casey had a difficult time looking at her when she smiled; she
had to resist the urge to recommend a good dentist.  Maggie was the assistant
to the Chief of Staff, an efficient and non-nonsense woman.

"The
President is in his office and he wants to see you immediately," she said.
"Today is the day the new special agent-in-charge takes over from
Walt."

Casey
pushed past Maggie and unloaded her coat on the hanger behind her door. "I
know," she said, moving to her desk to dump her briefcase on the smooth,
dark surface. With a quick glance at the day's agenda, she faced Maggie with
her hands on her hips. "We've got a busy day, Mags. Can you handle my
overflow? Russ has got several meetings lined up and I'll be taking minutes
until my hand falls off."

Maggie
nodded strongly. "The President has already asked that I take up your
slack. There's an agenda for today's meeting with the Ways and Means Committee,
and a .... "

Casey held
up her hand. "I know the list, believe me." She sat down in her black
leather chair, rolling it across the floor to where her three flat-screen
computers were lined neatly in a row. She soft-booted all three and watched as
the monitors came on line. Satisfied, she made sure the two fax machines were
also on-line as the computer screen to the far right began to print out the
returns from the New York Stock Exchange. Running a practiced eye over her electronic
kingdom, she realized Maggie was still standing in her office.

Casey
glanced at her. "Is there anything else?"

Maggie
looked hesitant, unusual for the normally confident woman. After a moment of
uncertainty, she simply shook her head and picked up the remote from the edge
of the desk. Pushing the button, a panel in the wall opposite Casey's desk
suddenly lifted, revealing three large plasma screens recessed into the wall.
All three major news networks came on at another push of the button and Maggie
set the remote back down.

She seemed
solicitous but Casey wasn’t paying too much attention.  She was focused on her
schedule for the day as her Outlook came online.  Maggie lingered by the second
desk in the office, the desk where the President’s travel coordinator sat.  

There was
a doorway almost directly across from Casey’s desk that led to a very small
office where the President’s special agent in charge was positioned.   It was
empty, having been vacated yesterday by the man who had guarded the President
since he began his election campaign two years ago.  Maggie eyed the empty
office, and the empty travel desk, as if to confirm there was no one else
around.  Then she

 spoke.

"Have
you ever met Colt Sheridan?"

"You
mean the new Special Agent-in-charge?" Casey shook her head. "No.
Have you?"

“I’ve seen
him in passing.”

“Okay… so
why do you want to know if I’ve met him?”

Maggie
continued to look uncomfortable. Casey swore she even saw a hint of a blush.

"No
reason," she replied, though it was a lie. "I just... well, I've
heard about
him
and.... "

Casey
smiled. "Rumors?"

"About
his reputation."

"Pretty
intimidating stuff."

Maggie
nodded. "But you ... you've never seen him?"

"No
.
"

"Then
you don't know anything personal about him?"

Casey was
intrigued
.
Maggie was the consummate professional and not prone to be star
struck, by anyone. The woman had met many heads of state without batting an
eye. So why did she seem so interested in a mere Secret Service agent?

 "Like
what, Mags?” her grin broadened suggestively. “Like ... if he's married?"

Maggie
flushed a dark red. "Call me if you need me." She turned and left the
office.

Casey
watched her go, regretful that she had apparently offended the woman. She
really hadn't meant to, but given Maggie's normally-stiff nature it was hard to
take her seriously-Maggie Broom inquiring about a
man?

Still
smiling, Casey turned back to her computer and decided she'd make up for her
lack of tact by taking her friend to lunch. After everything was smoothed over,
she'd probe her some more.

She hadn't
been alone
thirty
seconds when Lisanne was in her office, waving a large white
envelope in the air.

"This
just came for the new special agent-in-charge," she said, laying it on
Casey's desk. "It came by Secret Service messenger with two escorts. Must
be important."

Casey
cocked an eyebrow, examining the exterior of the envelope. No name, no return
address; usual Secret Service stuff. It was completely blank but stuffed full.
She tossed it back on the desk and turned back to her computer.

"Just
your usual spy propaganda,” she commented.

Lisanne
grinned, propping her skinny bottom on the edge of Casey's desk. "Haven't
you heard about this guy? He's supposed to be some kind of James Bond."