Andrew Britton - The American

Still, it was amusing.

He moved his hand away, once again in full control. “As soon as possible, Nicole,” he said with another charming smile. “I have time today, if you do. And please, call me Tim.”

He thought the third house would suit his needs perfectly.

It was a farm, really, 97 acres situated on earth that would now be teeming with hundreds of rows of red winter wheat if the fields had been seeded in early September. Because they had not, the recent rainstorms had washed away much of the topsoil, leaving behind what could only be described as a lake of mud.

The property was located just off Chamberlayne Road north of Richmond. It was a rural community; the closest house was a half mile away, but Interstate 295, which ran east and west, was less than 3 miles away, and I-95, which ran north to Washington, was not more than 4 miles to his west. He turned his attention back to the one-story red brick house as they walked away from Milbery’s Ford Escape and up the hard-packed dirt of the driveway.

“As you can see,” she was saying, “the house itself is somewhat modest, but really quite lovely. I know it looks small, but the basement is finished and quite extensive. Perhaps the best part of all is the privacy.”

They were inside, moving steadily through the small structure. “This is the den. Hardwood floors in every room.” She stamped her heel lightly as if to prove her point. “Plus, a cozy little fireplace for the cold nights that we’ve been getting. Perfect for you and… Is there a Mrs. Nichols?”

Will Vanderveen held up his left hand, which was missing a ring on the third finger. When he winked at her, she blushed and turned her face away.

He looked around at the depressing surroundings. What a shit hole, he thought. He would never have been caught dead living in such a place voluntarily, but for less than a month, he could suffer in silence. Besides, he was interested in the property for other reasons.

“Nicole, do you think we could take a look at the barn?”

It was far more impressive than the house, a solid structure with staggered floors that followed the contours of a gently sloping hill. Vanderveen looked around, pleased by what he saw. From the road, only the very top of the barn could be seen, as it was located behind the house. The interior was dry and warm. It offered an entrance on only one end, but there was a large sliding door with a heavy lock. More importantly, the single entrance was wide enough to accommodate a large commercial van. He kicked aside some of the straw to reveal a hard concrete floor.

It couldn’t have been better.

He turned to ask a question and found her facing away from him, leaning over to pluck a wayward piece of straw from the top of her shoe. He thought she had timed it well. His eyes moved over her ass, firm beneath the short red skirt, and down the long, taut legs to the three-inch heels she was wearing.

She removed the offending article and stood up quickly. Turning to face him, she immediately caught his wandering gaze. A small smile played over her glossy red lips. “Do you like it?” She was trembling with anticipation. “The place, I mean.”

He wasn’t embarrassed at all. He held her eyes and said, very quietly, “It’s perfect.”

“So you’ll be taking it, then?”

“I think you could say that, Nicole.” He was already walking toward her, slowly working the buttons loose on his shirt. “You could definitely say that.”

It had been two days since the meeting with Director Andrews at Langley. Ryan spent the mornings at Headquarters, but the afternoons were reserved for Katie alone. They went window shopping in Georgetown, and for long walks hand in hand through the stark winter contrasts of Rock Creek Park. They ate at ridiculously expensive restaurants on the Hill, and even took in a play at Ford’s Theatre, something she had wanted to do for a long time.

It was late in the evening on the third day when they arrived at the Capital Grille, a small, elegant restaurant on the corner of 6th and Pennsylvania. As always, Ryan felt a pleasant little jolt at the way heads turned to follow Katie’s passage through the crowded dining area. She was wearing a slinky black dress that ended at midthigh, and sling-back heels that perfectly accentuated her long, slender legs. Her usual glossy pink nail polish had been replaced by a clear lacquer, and her hair was swept up into an impossible pile that she had somehow secured with a number of silver barrettes. Ryan thought she had never looked more beautiful.

The meal was delicious and the surroundings nothing less than spectacular. Katie was amazed when Senator John McCain came walking through the door, immediately followed by a phalanx of junior staffers. Ryan almost had to restrain her from jumping up to point and scream like a giddy schoolgirl; Katie followed politics with the same degree of enthusiasm her peers reserved for musicians and celebrities.

He wondered how she might react to the fact that he was meeting with President Brenneman in less than a week, but decided that the reserved atmosphere of the restaurant was no place to find out. He pictured her probable response: You’re kidding, right? You’re so full of shit, Ryan!” All of this in a loud voice, overheard by the horrified waiters as they tried to figure out what to do. The image caused him to laugh out loud, as did the questioning look that she shot him across the table.

When they returned to the Hay-Adams just after midnight, the warmth of their suite was a pleasant reprieve from the damp snow that was drifting over the city. Katie collapsed onto the bed without kicking off her shoes, still floating from her Congressional sighting and the excellent ’94 California chardonnay they had consumed with their meal.

“God, that place was great! This hotel is great, too. I think we should move here. There’s nothing to do in Maine anyway. What do you think?”

“I don’t think you mean that. Besides, there’s plenty to do in Maine. You could take up fishing.”

She pouted her lips and gave him a skeptical look. “Do I look like a fisherman?”

He smiled and joined her on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow as he began to remove the silver clasps from her hair. “No, you don’t look like a fisherman. That’s a good thing, by the way… I’ve never found them very appealing.” She laughed a little at that. His voice took on a different, more serious tone when he spoke again. “As long as you’re still marrying me, we can do whatever you want, Katie.”

She looked up at him in amazement as the last clasp came free and the honey brown waves tumbled down around her face. “Are you serious?”

A brief pause, and then he grinned. “No, I just thought it would be a romantic thing to say.”

She slapped him hard on the arm as he laughed. “I really do hate you.” But she didn’t mean it, and couldn’t help but respond when he leaned in to steal a kiss. A few minutes later she was sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders as he began to explore her body, his strong fingers running slowly down the lean curves of her back.

She moaned as his head dropped and she felt his lips grazing her breasts. She tugged at his pants as he unsnapped her bra in a practiced motion, sliding the black lace down until it caught for an instant on her hard nipples. Her dress slipped from the side of the bed to the floor, her fingers wrapping tight in the sheets as she felt his mouth move on her flat stomach. She sucked in her breath and squirmed as he kept going down…

A sound penetrated the waves of pleasure, and it took her a second to realize that it was Ryan’s cell phone. He got to his feet and reached for it. She whispered an expletive under her breath as he hit the TALK button and turned away from her.