David Baldacci - First Family

"So weren't lots of people trying to get her, like Science Matters? And they're a lot bigger than you, right?"

"Sure they are. And I know they probably offered her a lot of perks and probably more money, but Tuck was able to convince her to come with us."

Sean nodded thoughtfully. "Any idea how?"

"It's just an idea."

"Let me hear it."

"He might have offered her part of his equity stake in the company. I know she gets a salary because I pay the bills. But the equity part would be papered just between them."

"Even though you're a partner?"

"Like I told you, a minority partner. Which basically means I have to eat my gruel and ask for more, politely."

"But if Tuck and Cassandra are having an affair and it comes out?"

"It would not be good for us."

"Any reason why she might want the affair to come out?" asked Sean.

"I don't see why. If she does own a piece of the company it would just hurt her, right?"

"Not if she has a Plan B that pays her even more, Dave."

TWO HOURS LATER Sean waited until a car drove through the gates of the condo building and he followed it in, the automatic gates closing behind him. He parked in a visitor's slot, grabbed the slender box off the front seat, and walked into the building's foyer.

The concierge, a wiry, balding man in a too-big blue blazer, looked up from his newspaper. "Can I help you?"

Sean patted the box. "Flower delivery for a Ms. Cassandra Mallory."

"Okay, you can leave 'em here."

"No can do. My sheet said personal delivery only. She has to sign for them."

"I can sign for them. We don't like delivery people using the elevators."

"Come on, give me a break. They barely pay me enough to cover my gas. I live on my tips. You're not going to tip me, right?"

"Those flowers ain't for me, so damn right I'm not."

"Look, I'm just a working stiff trying to make a living. I got a dozen long-stems in this box and another fifteen deliveries to make before eight tonight. I'm busting my butt for chump change."

"You look a little old to be schlepping flowers."

"I used to have my own mortgage finance business."

The man gave him a knowing look. "Oh."

"So can you just call up and tell her I'm here? If she doesn't want them, no sweat."

The man hesitated but then picked up the phone. "Ms. Mallory. It's Carl at concierge. Look, I got a flower delivery for you here." He paused. "Uh, I don't know. Hang on a sec." He looked at Sean. "Who are they from?"

Sean riffled in his shirt pocket and consulted a blank piece of paper. "A Greg Dawson."

Carl repeated this into the phone. "Right, okay, you're the boss."

He hung up and looked at Sean. "Your lucky day. She's in Unit 756. Elevator's over there."

"Super. Hope she's a good tipper."

"You're a good looking guy, so if you're really lucky she might tip you something else."

Sean feigned puzzlement before saying, "What, are you saying she's a babe?"

"Let me put it this way, friend, when she saunters across the lobby I feel like I'm in a Playboy fantasy. Only reason I keep this crummy job."

Sean rode the glass elevator up, staring out at an incredible view of the coastline. Cassandra must've been waiting by the door because it opened only a second after he knocked. She was barefoot and wearing a terrycloth robe that stopped mid-thigh. Her hair was damp; she might have gone for a swim or taken a shower.

"Flowers?" she said.

"Right, from a Mr. Dawson."

"I have to say I'm surprised."

Sean gave her the once-over. "Ma'am, you strike me as someone who gets lots of flowers from gentlemen."

She flashed him a smile. "You're sweet."

"Just need you to sign here." He held out his pad and a pen. While she signed, he opened the box. Inside were twelve long-stem roses that he'd bought from a street vendor for four bucks.

She held one and smelled it. "They're beautiful."

"You have a vase to put them in? Good to get water on them right away."

She glanced up at him and her smile deepened. As she ran her gaze over his lean six-foot-two-inch frame and handsome face, she said in a throaty voice that made Sean feel suddenly unclean, "What's your name?"

"Sean."

"I haven't seen you around before, Sean."

"I haven't been around before. My loss, I guess."

"Why don't you bring the flowers in while I look for a vase?"

As she turned she managed to slide her breasts across his forearm. It was done so well that Sean could only conclude the lady had perfected the motion over the years. He followed her in and closed the door behind them, the lock automatically clicking into place.

The condo was a luxury one and Sean noted details of great expense everywhere. The lady also had good taste in art, furniture, and oriental rugs. She reached the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and bent over. The view this presented to Sean actually made him blush. A pair of tiny black panties had replaced the white thong, but the rest was all Cassandra.

Still bent over she turned, obviously to make sure he was watching. As her gaze followed his she feigned being startled. "Oh, I'm sorry."

He managed a grin. "I'm not. The female body is beautiful, why hide it?"

She smiled back. "I like your attitude."

She took so long retrieving the vase he could have identified her dead body by her butt cheeks alone. She finally straightened up and turned to him.

And stopped smiling.

She stared at his camera screen, at the shot of Greg Dawson handing her the envelope.

"What is this? Who the hell are you?"

Sean sat down on one of the barstools set next to the granite kitchen counter.

"Where did you get that picture?" she said accusingly.

"First go get some clothes on. Your striptease act is wearing kind of thin on me."

She scowled at him. "Why the hell shouldn't I just call the police?"

In answer he held up the camera again. "Because then this fab shot of you and Greggie boy will get sent to DHS. And unless you can explain to them why a man who runs the company that's competing with Tuck Dutton's firm is handing you an envelope at a nice cozy lunch at his house, Science Matters can kiss that fat contract goodbye. Am I right or am I right, Cassandra? Now go get some clothes on!"

She stalked off to change. When she came back she was covered up in a mauve-colored velour warm-up suit.

He nodded at her approvingly. "Much better. Now I can actually treat you like an adult." He sat down on the sofa in the living room that had impressive water views. She sat across from him and tucked her bare feet under her.

"So I take it the flowers weren't from Greg?" she said with attitude.

"Nope. His blowing you off at lunch was entirely legit. Maybe he's used to chicks like you and knows better."

"So who exactly are you and what do you want?" she said. "Because the sooner you get out of here the better."

"One ground rule, you're not asking the questions, I am."

"Why-"

He held up the photo and she quickly closed her mouth.

"I know about you and Tuck Dutton."

She rolled her eyes. "Is that what this is about? Please."

"You were having an affair with him."

"Prove it."

"I actually don't have to. I can leave that to the FBI."

"FBI? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Tuck's wife was murdered and his oldest daughter kidnapped. You telling me you didn't know that?"

"Of course I knew about it. It's been in all the papers. His sister is the First Lady."

"You like screwing the First Brother-in-law?"

"Go to hell."

"That's something you should be worried about, actually."

"What is that supposed to mean exactly?" she said in a false bored tone.

"It means exactly that the oldest motivation in the book for a philandering husband to bump off his wife is so he can marry the mistress."