Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

“Kennedy tells me your dance lesson went very well.”

“Did she?” Ryden asked, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.

“Yes. She said you were ready to teach Carlos a thing or two.”

Ryden’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know about that, but I’m glad she thinks I did well.” She smiled.

“You seem to enjoy her company.”

“I guess.”

“Strange,” Ratman said. “Not too long ago you described her as a boring mute.”

“I never said I didn’t like her. Maybe I prefer boring mutes.”

“Did you know she’s a dyke?”

“It came up,” Ryden said nonchalantly. “How is that relevant?”

“We don’t want people thinking your new best bud is queer.”

“I’m a Democrat and supportive of same-sex marriage, remember?”

“You, Madam President…” his tone oozed sarcasm as he took a few steps closer, “are whatever I say you are.” She looked up at him in the mirror and he smiled, exposing his little rat teeth.

“How much does she know?”

“Kennedy?”

Ryden nodded.

“Has she said anything to you?” Suddenly his smirk was gone and his tone worried.

“Why are you so concerned about what Kennedy has to say?”

“Because she suspects inside help and involvement concerning the attack.”

“You mean…” So Kennedy had no idea. Ryden didn’t know if she should be happy or upset. Of course she was thrilled to learn that Kennedy wasn’t Moore’s lackey and in on the conspiracy. But if Kennedy had known she was a fake, at least her attraction to Ryden would have been sincere—directed at the blackmailed frumpy florist. But this…this meant the bodyguard was attracted to Elizabeth Thomas, the Harvard-educated, eloquent president of the United States. Everything she was not. “You mean she doesn’t know?”

“And for you and your buddy’s sake,” he warned, “it had better stay that way.”

Ryden nodded but her mind was a million galaxies away.

“So, you’re all ready for tonight?” Ratman asked cheerily.

“Everything is under control.”

“I must admit, I never expected you to be this competent. Your learning and memorizing abilities would put many a scholar to shame.”

“A matter of life or death can do that to you,” she replied dryly.

He laughed. “Then again, she wouldn’t have settled for anything or anyone less than ideal.”

Ratman was talking about the woman behind this whole orchestration, the one responsible for ruining her life. Ryden had never met her in person but had had the displeasure of listening to that cold, menacing voice on the speaker during her training, when she would call for updates or, more often than not, with threats to her life if she failed. What she wouldn’t give for a baseball bat and a few undisturbed minutes with that arctic bitch.

“She’s a regular talent spotter,” Ryden said. “She should consider American Idol .”

He walked to her side and lifted her face to him by her chin. “Watch how you speak of her.”

Ryden nodded and he let go.

She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure this time of seeing how much he unnerved her, so she turned to the vanity table for something to busy her hands with before they started to shake. She picked up the hairbrush and busily pulled the loose hair from it.

“You’ve become a remarkably beautiful woman.” He stood behind her and started to massage her shoulders.

Ryden tried to get up, but he held her down firmly. Then when he was sure she wouldn’t move, he slid his hands downward to the front of her décolleté, stopping just above her breasts. She suppressed the urge to bolt. She really wanted to get up and stab him in the eye with the brush handle, but instead she sat very still as she watched his moist hands through the mirror reach even lower. It was like she was having an out-of-body experience; she refused to believe this beast was touching her.

“Maybe, we can…” Ratman sounded hoarse. “We can work out an arrangement for the duration of your stay.” He bent over and licked her neck. “What do you say, Madam President?”

“Please.” Ryden looked at him in the mirror. “Please, stop before I lose control.”

“Oh? And do what, beautiful?” He kissed her shoulder.

Ryden started taking shallow breaths as her insides churned. Her stomach couldn’t take any more of this—the disgusting saliva and breath on her neck and his hands on her. Her eyes started to tear up from the sudden need to empty her stomach. “I’m…I’m going to be sick,” she managed to say.

Ratman must have seen it in her face because he pulled back immediately, allowing her to run to the bathroom.

“Disgusting,” Ryden heard him say before she shut the door. “Get yourself cleaned up and ready,” he called out. “The guests arrive in an hour.”

*

Southwestern Colorado

Montgomery Pierce frowned down at the tuna salad and fruit plate Joanne Grant had just delivered for his dinner. He would kill for a cheeseburger and fries—it had been months since he’d had them—but she’d insisted on overseeing his meals until his blood pressure returned to normal limits. Sighing, he picked at the salad. Small price to pay, he told himself, to finally have love in his life and someone to come home to. In recent months, he’d toyed with proposing marriage, though they’d have to keep it secret or the whole no-fraternization rule among ops would have to go.

His phone buzzed. “Yes?”

“Shield’s on line one.”

He hit the button. “Pierce.”

“I have confirmed that some kind of conspiracy is going on in the White House,” Shield said. “Watchdog is certainly a part of it, but the real figurehead calling the shots is a woman—and it isn’t Lighthouse. Lighthouse is somehow being coerced into participating in this and she’s afraid.”

“Explain.”

She relayed the relevant parts of the bugged conversation she’d just overheard between Thomas and Moore, and asked whether Reno had been able to come up with anything new on the president’s special advisor.

“Nothing yet. Whoever made the big payments to Watchdog’s Grand Cayman account has taken extraordinary steps to avoid being traced. Reno has tracked the money through four dummy corporations on three different continents so far,” Monty replied. “It’s time to send someone in to bug Watchdog’s home.”

“Agreed,” Shield said. “Though I don’t expect we’ll hear anything from that. He seems to spend most all his time in the House, watching Lighthouse very closely. He’s at her side at every opportunity, often whispering in her ear. Not enough to really draw undue attention to himself, but definitely a lot more than his previous counterparts.”

“We’ll let you know if we turn up anything else. So far there’s no sign of Agency involvement. But from what you say, Watchdog is concerned about you, so stay sharp and let us know if you need backup.”

“Roger that.”

After Shield disconnected, Monty stared down at his dinner for a few seconds before pushing it aside, his appetite gone. Even if the CIA wasn’t involved, the confirmation that someone outside the White House was powerful enough to exert such control over the president was daunting news. What was the objective? And how many were in on it?

He feared for the country and for Shield. She was a top agent, but she was alone in there, among who knew how many conspirators.

*

Outside Houston, Texas

Jack woke up in the same cuffed-to-a-chair position, only this time in a cold, white, fluorescent-lit room, and she’d been stripped down to just her underwear and T-shirt.

She surveyed her surroundings. No windows, and apparently only one way in and out—through a steel door. Two cameras were mounted high on opposite sides of the ceiling. The temperature was moderate, but if she had to sit still much longer she’d start to feel cold. Her head was a bit fuzzy and her mouth dry.