Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

She found the backup Secret Service agent outside her door in the same position she’d left him, like he hadn’t dared to move. “When is Kennedy expected to return, Jason?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “She didn’t say, Madam President.”

“Of course not. I mean, why bother? It’s not like she has a job to do.”

“I…I’m…I don’t…”

“Tell Kennedy I want to see her.”

“Of course, Madam President.”

She was wired so tight, her responses had become abrupt even to Ratman, but at this point, his menacing stare didn’t affect her. Every time she’d exited one meeting to go to another today, she’d expected to find Kennedy waiting for her outside the door. Instead, she would find her backup agent, who’d jump to attention at the sight of her. His expression was usually a mixture of frustration and fear she might ask him about Kennedy.

The twenty minutes alone in her room, her first real break, had done little to soothe her frayed nerves. Ratman had been at her side the entire endless day, beginning with her meeting with Juan Carlos and continuing through appointments with the joint chiefs of staff and several cabinet members. He had made sure she followed her script and gave them all the correct answers, and in between each appointment, he’d grill her to make sure she’d done her homework about whatever was coming next.

Around nine p.m., after her last meeting, she announced to that miserable excuse of a human that she was retiring for the night.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” Ratman’s tone was smooth, almost flirtatious, as he followed just behind her toward the stairway to the second floor.

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

“I know,” he replied with a smile.

“Whatever,” she said under her breath as she headed up the steps. She couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. She was too tired and too irritated for a confrontation. “I need to be alone. It’s been a long, draining day, and frankly, I’m in no mood for threats or advances or whatever else you have in mind.”

His smile instantly disappeared, and he grabbed her arm as they reached the upper corridor. To all appearances, it was a benign gesture for her to slow down, but his pointy little fingers dug hard and deep into her flesh. “Don’t push it,” he whispered. “Just because they can hear and see us doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that, florist.”

Ryden stopped and smiled. Her bodyguard was a good distance out of earshot. “You know, you used to scare me, but…” She shrugged. “I got over it.”

“Did you, now?”

“The way I see it, you need me. And will need me until I get the job done. So get your ratty little fingers off me and leave me the hell alone until it’s absolutely necessary to burden me with your foul existence.”

“Ah, she has a backbone.” He released her and clapped three times but remained serious. “One I can snap in two.”

“You could, but you won’t, because you need me.”

He leaned in. “What happens when I don’t?”

“Is that a threat?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because, according to our agreement, you can’t touch me once I’m done with this charade.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “ I can’t.”

“Good. Now act your role and fuck off, because the president told you to.”

Ratman turned on his heel and walked down the stairs.

Ryden went to her bedroom and locked the door, then leaned her back against it and released a long breath. She didn’t know where or how she’d bought the balls to talk to that despicable man the way she did, but right now and all day, for that matter, she’d felt too irritated to care about what anyone thought. She was annoyed, and tired, and…where the hell was Kennedy?

She practically ripped her clothes off with disgust. She didn’t want any part of her present life permeating her skin, reminding her how weak she was for letting herself get involved and manipulated into playing the role of a strong, powerful, elegant woman. A woman who had nothing in common with the type of woman she was.

Ryden took her time in the shower and, still refusing to wear anything that was Thomas’s, sat on the bed with nothing on beyond her underwear. Her conversation with Ratman had given her the strength, and enhanced her need, to be the woman she’d always wanted to run away from and change—a simple person who craved simple pleasures and didn’t have to answer to anyone. So what if Kennedy would never desire someone as plain as Ryden the florist? She was a good, decent, hardworking woman, and as long as she was proud of herself and the difficulties she’d overcome, then screw Kennedy and every other Kennedy for wishing her to be someone else. Someone refined, with immaculate table manners and knowledge of expensive wines, and… “I could use a glass of wine right about now.”

She eyed the adjoining door to Kennedy’s room. “You think you can play with people. Does that make you feel special?” Ryden got up. “Special, my ass. You wouldn’t know a good, decent woman if she slapped you on the ass. How dare you try to kiss me and then…how dare you manipulate me, too?”

Ryden got up and knocked on the door. She waited, biting her lip and prepared to give Kennedy a piece of her mind. But when no answer came, she did something completely out of character. She tried the door to see if it was unlocked.

It was. Of course it was. Kennedy had to be able to reach her immediately at any hint of danger.

Ryden knocked one more time, her hand on the knob, before she entered Kennedy’s room. It was too dark to see anything, so she made her way toward the light switch, hoping it was where her own was. “Crap it all to hell,” she shouted when she stubbed her toe on something. Limping, she found the switch.

Except for a few items on the dresser, the room was seemingly devoid of anything personal except for the musky, alluring scent that was Kennedy. Ryden opened the closet and found three black suits and two blue ones, an array of shirts, three belts, and a few pairs of black shoes. Every item appeared well sewn and the fabrics and leather expensive. “Looks like the wine business is doing well.”

Part of her wanted to feel guilty for what she was doing, but the other half couldn’t and didn’t want to resist. She didn’t know why she was in Kennedy’s room, and although she’d feel completely embarrassed if Kennedy walked in and found her there, practically naked, Ryden almost wished she would. I wonder what her pillow smells like. “Okay, now you’re just being scary.”

And why the hell did it matter what it smelled like, anyway? Kennedy was just another manipulative idiot. Ryden spotted a bottle of wine on the bedside table and picked it up. “Il Grigio Angelo.” But not the one she’d tried that day with Kennedy. This one had a gold label that said SPECIAL COLLECTION. Kennedy must have gotten it from the White House’s wine cellar. “If it’s fit for a president, then it’s fit for a florist. Besides,” she said, raising the bottle toward Kennedy’s neat rack of suits, “you shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyway.”

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.