The Gemini Deception (20 page)

Thomas stiffened as soon as Shield touched her.

“I know I’m not a man.” Shield couldn’t help herself, remembering the president’s previous comments. “But please try to relax.”

Thomas avoided eye contact when she replied. “I didn’t mean…”

“You try to maintain this hold, and this distance, throughout the dance,” Shield said, standing about a foot away. “On the first beat, I step forward with my left foot, and you step back with your right.”

The president moved forward instead, which resulted in a chest-to-chest collision. “I’m sorry.” Thomas looked uncomfortable.

“No need. It takes getting used to.” Shield hurriedly put the correct distance between them. “On the next beat, I step forward and to the right with my right foot, making a kind of L, and you mirror what I’m doing with your left foot, stepping back. Your partner, presuming he’s good at this, will be subtly leading you with his hands.”

She demonstrated, tightening her hold slightly on the president. For someone who busied herself with paperwork, phone calls, and meetings, Thomas’s hands felt rougher than Shield expected. “Next, shift your weight to your left foot, while you keep your right foot stationary. On the third beat, you slide your right foot over to your left and stand with your feet together.”

Thomas still appeared tense as she looked down at her feet as if willing them to move. Shield placed her foot between both of Thomas’s and nudged her right foot to the left. Thomas looked at her bewildered.

“You can do this,” Shield said, and Thomas charily moved her foot. “Very good.”

“On the fourth beat, step forward with your left foot, while I step back with my right foot. Great. Now, on the fifth beat, I step back and to the left with my left foot, tracing a backward L and shifting my weight to my left foot, while you mirror me with your right foot, stepping forward.”

Thomas followed her lead.

“On the last beat, slide your left foot toward your right, until your feet are together. That’s the pattern. Now we repeat from step one, and as you dance each pattern, your partner will move you across the floor, turning your orientation slowly to the right by slight variations in the placement of your feet. This is where you really pay attention to how he’ll be leading you with his hand on your waist and with pressure against your palm. Shall we try a few patterns without the music first?”

“You’re the teacher.”

They took it from the top, and although still rigid in her movements, Thomas at least remembered the steps. After a half dozen patterns, Shield released her hold, and Thomas immediately pulled back a few steps like she couldn’t wait to let go.

“I think we’re ready for the music,” Shield said sternly. She hadn’t expected Thomas to launch into a tight embrace, but she didn’t know why she had to act so scared, almost relieved, Shield had let go. She walked over to the CD player. “I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, but can you hold on long enough to try it with music a few more times?”

Ryden tore her gaze away from those penetrating eyes. Kennedy looked frustrated. She understood the sentiment, since she knew she wasn’t a natural at this, but did the bodyguard have to be that obvious? “I think I can manage.”

She’d never felt at ease when anyone invaded her personal space, but being close to Kennedy was unbearable for reasons she couldn’t understand. Her touch was firm but gentle, her scent intoxicating, and her shoulders slender yet strong. Kennedy moved with the smooth grace of a feline predator, something Ryden had never witnessed before. In complete contrast to the men she had gotten close to, who were rough, hurried, and anxious to grab her ass and make her feel disturbingly like an object, Kennedy made her feel uncomfortably like the woman she always dreamed she could be.

“Very well.” Kennedy pressed the Start button and came to stand before her. She put one arm around Ryden’s waist and held the other up, waiting for Ryden to place hers. “Madam President?”

Ryden tentatively placed her hands.

“Do you remember the moves?” Kennedy’s eyes searched hers.

“I…think so.”

“Follow me and you’ll do fine,” Kennedy said, and moved into her.

They danced for ten minutes with Ryden counting steps to herself. She avoided eye contact because the few times she had dared a glance at Kennedy’s profile, she lost her footing.

“You’re doing great,” Kennedy said when Ryden followed her spin. She hadn’t realized when she’d stopped counting and simply allowed Kennedy to lead her smoothly across the floor.

Ryden smiled. “This isn’t so bad.” She felt weightless.

“I’m glad you think so.” Despite her encouragement, Kennedy remained serious and distant.

“You protect me, teach me about wine and, now, how to waltz. I’m a genuine handful.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Not exactly. I’m sure your responsibilities don’t include making up for my ineptness.”

“I do what’s necessary.”

“I wonder what’s next, then.” The words spilled out of her before Ryden realized what she was saying.

“That would depend on you, Madam President.” Kennedy gazed so intently at her Ryden had to look away.

“The girls in Tuscany must be all over you.”

“I guess.”

“Yet you say you don’t have anyone special.”

“I used to.”

“What happened?”

“A woman named Carmen. I stopped dating after her.”

“You loved her a lot.”

“Let’s just say she spoiled me for any other.”

“I see,” Ryden said curtly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why?”

“You’re successful, intelligent, and…attractive.”

Kennedy arched one eyebrow and swirled her before she replied. “I’m also not interested.”

“Something is holding you back.”

Kennedy abruptly slowed them, almost to a halt. “That something is a dislike for settling.”

“You’re not ready to settle down?” Ryden asked.

“I’m not prepared to settle for an imitation of what I want,” Kennedy replied, and picked up the pace again.

“What do you want?”

“Someone who doesn’t bore me with petty issues, melodramas, and inane exchanges…and someone who doesn’t need me for what I can buy them.”

Ryden realized for the first time how lucrative Kennedy’s business must be and that plenty of women would want to take advantage of that. Though she’d noticed that Kennedy was always meticulously well groomed, only now did she note the smooth, expensive fabric beneath the hand that rested on Kennedy’s shoulder. The navy suit had been tailor-made to fit her. The white shirt beneath was no ordinary off-the-rack, either, but made of quality materials and required cufflinks. Kennedy’s were gold, square-shaped, and with some kind of design carved in them that Ryden couldn’t discern from the glimpses she got as they danced. Kennedy was understatedly elegant, not enough to draw any attention to herself, though clearly the woman didn’t need this job.

But they did have something in common. Kennedy, too, didn’t like pointless conversations and small talk. Did she think their conversation tedious? Was that why she was being so quiet and distant? Ryden, disappointed by the prospect, began counting her steps again, turning her head away to concentrate on the wall behind Kennedy.

She jumped when she felt Kennedy’s breath close to her ear.

“What do you want?” Kennedy asked.

Ryden turned her head slightly, to find Kennedy’s face very close to hers. She was wearing a V-necked blouse, and Kennedy was staring at her exposed neck.

“I mean,” Kennedy murmured in a low voice, “aside from stopping the illegal-arms trade, more jobs, equal job rights for both sexes, and world peace?”

“I…I, uh…” Ryden couldn’t stop staring at Kennedy’s mouth. “Don’t know.”

Kennedy’s soulful blue eyes sought hers, and Ryden lost herself in them; she let herself be swept across the floor in widening patterns while they remained looking at each other. Ryden didn’t know if her feet were touching the ground or how much time was passing. She didn’t care if the world fell apart, because she felt like a princess in the arms of her knight.

Ryden also didn’t know when or how, but they had closed the distance between them until she could feel Kennedy’s hips and breasts against her own. They moved as one.

“Who are you?” Kennedy suddenly asked.

It took a few seconds for the question to register. “You know who I am.” Ryden’s voice sounded breathless, even to her own ears.

“I mean, aside from the obvious.”

Was this a serious question or a trick one? Kennedy knew very well who Ryden was.

“Who is the woman behind the façade and what does she want?” Kennedy asked.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Would it clear it up if I said, what we did yesterday, what we’re doing now, is highly unprofessional on my behalf and vastly unconventional on yours.”

“I know.”

“What’s going on, Elizabeth?”

“I…” Ryden stopped dancing and let go. She walked to the CD player and turned it off. “I don’t know, but…”

“But?”

“It has to stop.”

Kennedy stared down at her feet. “I know.” She looked disappointed, or maybe embarrassed. Ryden couldn’t tell which, but maybe, like her, Kennedy felt both.

Exasperated, she ran her hand through her hair. “You can’t even begin to imagine what…what…”

“Of course I can,” Kennedy replied quietly. “And I would never say anything.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“Come in,” Ryden said.

The aide who’d left them the CD player entered and stopped just inside the door. “Madam President, Advisor Moore asked me to remind you of your appointment with him in thirty minutes.”

“Tell him I’m aware,” Ryden lied, and headed toward him. In reality she’d forgotten about it completely. She was happy she could remember her name at this point.

“Of course,” the aide replied, and moved to the side as Ryden passed him by.

Kennedy followed her to her bedroom and Ryden stopped outside the door. Unable to face Kennedy, she remained with her back turned. “I was going to say, you can’t even begin to imagine what you’re doing to me,” she said before she disappeared into her room.

Denver, Colorado

Jack had been warned about TQ and the influence she had on higher-ups, but it boggled her mind that the bitch had been able to find out about Cassady—certainly no easy feat. Too afraid to call Cass, the only other option that crossed her mind was Montgomery Pierce. She hated to admit it, but the EOO probably had the kind of power needed to deal with someone like the Broker. Jack reached for her phone a few times during her drive to Denver but couldn’t make herself contact him.

It wasn’t so much pride that stopped her, but fear. She had no control over what Pierce and the rest would do, and she refused to take any chances with the woman she loved. Cass had already been through too much, and Jack was damned if she would let that bitch hurt her.

No, this was Jack’s war. Pierce had warned her that the Broker wouldn’t forget, and from the short discussion with TQ, Jack knew she wasn’t the type of woman to forgive, either. She had fueled this war by killing Dario, and she was going to make sure no one else paid the price.

Jack parked her black 1967 Mustang in front of the warehouse. That way, it was exposed and clear for anyone to see; now was not the time for heroics or taking stupid risks. She knew TQ meant it when she said she’d terminate Cass if she tried anything or wasn’t on time, because it was exactly what Jack would do. She grabbed her Glock from the passenger seat and got out.

The place was massive and long abandoned. The warehouses on either side were, too. TQ had done her homework. There was no point in looking for another entrance. The bitch would have enough eyes and capable manpower to sure as hell have this place completely secured. They could likely take her out at any moment.

The sun was about to set when Jack knocked twice on the metal door, then went inside, Glock exposed to show she meant business but not concealed so as to get herself killed. They’d expect her to be carrying, so there was no point in denying or hiding it.

Jack cautiously entered the dim warehouse. She detected no sound from within or sign of movement, and she couldn’t see clearly where she was going, but she was sure she’d find out soon enough where the bitch wanted her.

She took a few more steps through the dark entryway and reached an open door. The fading daylight through the filthy windows inside allowed her to make out one chair in the center of the otherwise empty room, a pair of handcuffs resting on the seat.

Jack looked around before she picked up the cuffs and sat. She didn’t expect TQ to show up in person. As far as anyone knew, the woman was a ghost. No one in law enforcement and no one Jack knew in the underworld had ever met or seen her, and who knew if that was even her fucking name.

Jack was curious where TQ’s men would take her. She didn’t know what the woman had planned for her, but immediate death clearly wasn’t it. She had mentioned working for her. Jack figured if she got close enough to the Broker to discuss a deal, she’d find a way to either kill or bargain herself out of it. She just hoped the miserable bitch would keep her word and leave Cass alone.

She placed the Glock gingerly on the ground in front of her, kicked it a few feet away, and handcuffed herself to the chair like they expected her to. “Let’s get on with the show.”

Moments later, a small man or woman—Jack couldn’t tell which in the fading light because he / she was wearing black clothes and a black plastic mask—approached from the front. Without saying a word, the stranger stopped before her and lifted one gloved hand to expose a syringe.

“I guess it’s good night, motherfucker,” Jack said.

*

The White House

Next evening, March 3

Ryden stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, unable to believe it was really
her
staring back in bewilderment. Never had she been this beautiful—the stunning dress and hair, the jewelry, the shoes. She looked like a princess. What would Kennedy think of her tonight, especially in light of her not-so-spontaneous admission?