The Gemini Deception (27 page)

Ryden took the bottle back to her own room. “I deserve a night off.” She dialed Betty for a corkscrew.

*

By the time Shield returned to the White House, it was eleven o’clock. According to Jason, everything had gone smoothly except for Thomas’s foul mood at the fact that she’d taken the day off. “She said she wanted to see you when you got back.”

“How long ago did she retire?”

“Two hours.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Shield decided to stop in her room to drop off her bag before she saw Thomas, but as soon as she flipped on the light, she realized someone had been in there. The closet door was half an inch ajar, and her private-collection wine was missing. She was about to run out of the room in search of answers when a knock from the adjoining door stopped her.

“So you’re finally back,” the president said loudly through the door and then laughed. “Did you have a nice time with that someone you had to see?” Thomas sounded different, somehow.

“Elizabeth, are you all right?”

The knob turned, and a moment later, the president stood looking at her curiously from the other side, dressed only in a pale-blue nightgown that ended mid-thigh. It was made of silk, with spaghetti straps and a lace-trimmed bodice. She had Shield’s bottle of wine in one hand and a half-full goblet in the other. “Care for a glass?” Thomas asked.

“What are you doing?” Shield asked quietly, trying to control her anger.

“You’ve been holding out on the good stuff.”

“All my wine is good, but that’s beside the point.”

“Hmm.” Thomas lifted the bottle and eyed it. “This one here says Special Collection. You can’t tell me it’s not better.”

“You were in my room.”

“You’re sharp.”

“You have no right.”

“And
you
shouldn’t be drinking on the job,” the president said, and chuckled to herself.

“I didn’t…don’t. It was a keepsake I like to have with me whenever possible.” Shield’s heart sank when she realized the bottle was more than half-empty. “It was a special bottle. The only one of its kind.”

“Settle down.” Thomas waved the bottle in the air. “I’ll get you another one.”

“You can’t.”

“I’m the president. I can do anything.” Thomas laughed.

“Why were you in my room?”

“Like I said, I’m the president. I can do anything.”

President or not, Shield was close to losing what little patience she had left. No one invaded her personal space or touched her things. The loss of her beloved bottle was particularly upsetting. “Look, Madam President,” Shield said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but you have no right to be in my room unless you need me because of an emergency.”

“Maybe it
was
an emergency,” Thomas replied, “but then again, you wouldn’t know because you weren’t here.”

“If that’s the case, you had a guard with you all day.”

“And if they were competent to begin with, they wouldn’t have hired you.” Thomas hiccupped. “Am I right, or am I right?”

“What was the emergency?” Kennedy crossed her arms over her chest, not believing a word of it. Had anything happened, she would have been informed immediately.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Thomas entered Shield’s room on unsteady feet and leaned against the dresser.

Kennedy followed her with her gaze and turned to face her. “So I heard. I was about to come to you when you knocked on my door. What do you want to see me about?”

“I um…I…”

“You’re drunk, Madam President.”

“I’m tipsy, and stop calling me that. Call me Elizabeth like I asked you to. Or better yet, call me Lizzy.”

“I can’t do that. Maybe you need to sit down.” Shield walked over to Thomas and slowly took the bottle and then the glass from her hands. She placed them on the dresser and put an arm around Thomas’s waist.

“This feels nice. Maybe we should go for a walk. It’s a lovely evening,” Thomas said as Shield led her to the armchair.

“I don’t think you should be going anywhere.” Shield helped her sit.

“Party killer.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“A glass…or three.”

“You really are a lightweight.” Shield took a seat on the armchair across from her.

“So, how was your day, Kennedy?”

“I had to fly to Maine for business.”

“To see someone.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s in Maine?”

“Your late husband’s golf club.”

“My who?” Thomas looked confused.

“Mr. Thomas.”

The president blinked several times. “Oh, yeah. Him.”

Shield was certain Moore was involved in the death of Thomas’s husband Jeffrey. But Thomas herself, under the influence of alcohol and unconstrained by lucid emotions and responses, seemed to be showing absolutely no emotion for her late husband. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad situation after all. It seemed a perfect opportunity to get more information from the president about what was going on. “How was your relationship with Mr. Thomas?”

“Just fine.”

“Did you love him?”

“Sure, he was my husband,” she said flippantly.

“And Moore?”

Thomas grimaced like she’d just licked a lemon. “What about him? I sure as hell don’t love him.”

At least she finally admits to disliking that bastard.
“Did he and your late husband get along?”

The president shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Shield wasn’t about to remind Thomas of her previous statement, avowing how much Moore cared for her and her husband. “You must have been pretty scared during the attack.”

“That was something, all right.” Thomas’s voice and demeanor were devoid of any grief or melancholy. Anyone in her position would at least show discomfort at the mere mention of such a dramatic memory.

“What happened in there?”

“I can’t talk about that.” Thomas looked away. “But hey…I get to live.”

“It might help you cope if you share,” Shield said. “You need to talk to someone, Elizabeth. You can’t do it all on your own.”

“I can’t talk to anyone, especially not you.”

“Why not? You can trust me.”

“Funny you say that.” Thomas smiled. “Because I do, more so than anyone else I know. Which is also funny, since I hardly know you.”

“You know me well enough to understand I want to keep you safe. I’d never harm you, Elizabeth.”

“I also know you like to manipulate and humiliate.”

“I…”

“You acted like you wanted to kiss me.”

“I did that to make a point, not to hurt you.”

“Same thing,” the president said quietly. “And you did…hurt me.”

“Elizabeth, did your husband know you…like women?”

“No.”

“And Moore?”

“How could they? I’m not gay.”

“You do realize I’m a woman, right?”

“Of course, but I’m not gay, and I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman before.”

“Do you think it’s a shock reaction to your attack?”

“Who knows what it is?” Thomas raised her hands, exasperated. “All I know is that you made me feel stupid for feeling attractive.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

Shield wasn’t getting the answers to the questions she wanted, and Thomas seemed to be sobering up pretty fast.

“Am I not your type?” the president asked.

“You’re a very attractive woman.”

Thomas blushed and probably didn’t even know it. She looked so soft and vulnerable at that moment, her cheeks flushed, that Shield found it hard not to stare. “But?”

“You’re the president, and I’m security.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t be here,” Shield answered diplomatically.

Thomas looked almost defeated. “Because I would be some plain Jane and not the president.”

Shield didn’t know how to respond to that. Truth was, she would have wanted to kiss Thomas no matter who she was, and it had taken all her restraint to walk away from that beautiful mouth. Having her just out of arm’s reach now, dressed so provocatively, was a true test of her professionalism.

“What’s your story, Kennedy? Why aren’t you capable of wanting someone who’s not all that powerful…like a plain florist, for example? Why does it take someone like a friggin’ president to get your rocks off?”

A florist?
Where did that come from?
“I never said that.”

“Oh, please. I bet you’re just as demanding for quality in your women as you are for your wines.” Thomas got up. “A simple house brand can be pretty damn good, too.”

Shield stood as well. “That’s very true.”

“Then maybe you should get off that high horse of yours and try it.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume you know anything about me.” Shield was getting irritated with Thomas’s accusations.

“Then why don’t you tell me what it is about powerful women that does it for you?”

“That depends on your definition.” Shield struggled to keep her voice low. “If by power you mean I need a president or whoever with a title to get turned on, then you’re very mistaken.”

“What’s your definition?” Thomas asked.

“I like women who know what they want and fight for it. I like survivors—someone who’s not afraid of falling because they know they can get back up.”

The president stood a foot away, her head tilted to the side, staring at her. “What else?”

“Someone I can count on to stick with me when I fail, show me they love me, want me, and not just wait by the sidelines for me to comfort them for my failures because for some obscene reason their pain is way more important than mine.” Shield exhaled a long breath. “In other words, I don’t want powerful women. I want one strong one.” She raised her hands. “Okay? Satisfied?”

Without warning, Thomas closed the distance between them and placed her hands on Shield’s shoulders. On her tiptoes, she gave Shield a soft, almost shy kiss on the lips, then turned around and walked to the adjoining door.

Shield, in disbelief, remained rooted where she was.

“I’m not powerful,” Thomas said without turning around. “But you have no idea just how strong I am or how much I have to fight to survive.” Then she was gone.

Shield didn’t realize she’d licked her lips until the aftertaste hit her senses—wine, with a hint of Thomas’s own sweet flavor.

The situation between them was getting more absurd by the day.

How could Thomas feel such distress concerning Shield’s opinion of her and show absolutely zero sentiment about her husband’s death or the attack?

Shield had witnessed plenty of people in post-death and danger shock and denial, but no matter how strong they acted, she could always see the truth in their eyes. That was where grief could not be hidden or denied. Thomas, however, was so far removed from any emotion she hadn’t even asked why Shield had gone to her husband’s golf club. Come to think of it, Thomas had never shown any distress in regard to anyone, other than Moore.

Then again, she also didn’t seem emotionally inept. On the contrary, the president was a passionate woman, capable of deep sadness. Shield couldn’t remember a moment when Thomas hadn’t had to force a smile, except for the times they were alone.

A dirty political game was going on, but one of the players didn’t fit the profile.

Houston, Texas

Jack sat in a comfortable leather armchair that faced away from the massive windows dominating one wall of the spacious apartment. It wasn’t like she could have admired the view, anyway. Retractable, locking window screens blocked any possibility she might be able to recognize where she was, but the amenities of her surroundings were a world away from those of her last captive environment.

The owner had an impressive bankroll and an appreciation for unparalleled excellence in all things. The floor looked like it was Italian marble, the rugs priceless Arabian antiquities, the furniture handcrafted of leather and expensive woods.

The most impressive features were the art and artifacts all around, which looked like originals as far as she could tell. Oil paintings in elaborate frames adorned the walls, and custom glass display cases held a variety of masks, tapestries, coins, and other ancient relics. More glass cases, custom designed with their own ornate stands, had been built to display the heavier and larger objects, which included sculptures, a full suit of armor, and what looked like pieces of an ancient Greek column and Egyptian obelisk.

The opulent apartment was tomb quiet and obsessively immaculate, like no one lived there, as though it had been hermetically sealed away from the likely urban landscape outside.

When they’d come to get her from the white room, they’d finally let Jack use the bathroom and had given her water and a couple of ibuprofen. They’d also returned her clothes and watch, but not her Glock and cell phone. Then they’d blindfolded her and placed her in an elevator that immediately started to ascend when the door shut. After she’d been transferred into a vehicle, they’d injected her with something to knock her out, and she’d awakened here, in the chair, without restraints.

She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, grateful for the dim lighting. Her headache hadn’t completely disappeared, but the painkillers they’d given her were the biggest gift she’d ever received.

Though Jack heard the door open and shut again, she kept her eyes closed. “Evening.” No one answered, but she still didn’t move. “What, no greeting?”

“Proper manners command you look at someone when you greet them.” The now-familiar icy voice rebuked her.

“They also dictate you don’t kill.”

“I have never personally killed anyone.”

“‘Personally’ being the key word.” Jack rubbed her eyes. “Anyway, I was talking about me. Funny how you didn’t seem to have a problem with my
savoir-vivre
when you asked me to off that guy.”

“And how instinctively and easily you did it.”

Jack lifted her head and opened her eyes. Her captor, dressed in an elegant cerulean-blue business suit, faced her from ten feet away. “I’m flattered you think so.”

TQ was and was not what Jack had anticipated. She hadn’t expected the cold bitch to be a very attractive middle-aged woman. What she had expected were the cold, almost dead eyes and demonic smile. Jack smiled back. “So, who did I kill?” she asked as though she didn’t know.