Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

Monty turned on the lights next to the door. “Jaclyn, it’s Pierce,” he called out.

“And Arthur. Probably wise to warn her,” he said to Monty, “before she puts a hole in your head.”

“Jaclyn?” Monty called out again. “Cassady is worried about you.” When no one answered, he looked around the room. “They have an alarm, after all,” he said, gesturing to the small control panel on the wall and the two motion detectors.

They looked at each other and drew their automatics. Arthur signaled to Monty that he was going upstairs.

Glock in hand, Monty headed for the kitchen. He found a half-eaten sandwich and a carton of milk on the counter. The carton was half-full. “Doesn’t look good,” he mumbled.

“Monty?” Arthur said from behind him.

“Yeah?” He turned around.

Arthur held up a piece of paper, torn from a yellow notepad. “I found this in the bedroom, on the pillow.”

“What does it say?”

Arthur looked down at the note. “It says: I have to do this. I’m sorry, baby. I can’t bear the thought of anyone ever hurting you again. Know that I will always love you . Jack .”

Chapter Twenty-four

The White House

Next morning, March 5

Ryden awakened with a massive headache that refused to subside even after plenty of coffee and a shower. She’d had three glasses of wine before Kennedy showed up and had asked Betty for another after she’d returned to her room. She was too aggravated and wound up to sleep after her encounter with Kennedy to go to bed.

She’d never been the one to initiate a kiss or any physical contact with another person, but Kennedy had made her feel helpless to do otherwise. So she had reacted on pure instinct, not caring about the fact that it was unprofessional, inappropriate, and unlike her. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after kissing a woman, but she certainly hadn’t counted on spontaneous arousal. It was a simple kiss, but Kennedy’s soft mouth, her breath, and her tight shoulders had made for a remarkable aphrodisiac. If such a quick brush of lips had undone her, she shivered at the thought of what a slow, long, and thorough kiss might reduce her to.

Kennedy, however, had shown no emotion at all at the encounter—hadn’t responded one way or another—and Ryden felt frustrated and embarrassed for disregarding that lack of response. She had reacted like the numerous desperate drunks she’d encountered and despised, and completely ignored Kennedy’s trepidations and obvious disinterest.

Unsteady on her feet, she sat at her vanity to prepare herself to face the day. “Snap out of it,” she said to her reflection as she ran a brush through her hair. “You have a million things to worry about, and here you are throwing yourself at a woman and adding problems to the pile.” She needed to concentrate on getting out of here and the new life ahead, and forget Kennedy and this obscene infatuation that would lead absolutely nowhere, anyway. But why was the thought of never seeing Kennedy again disturbing and… “God, how am I going to face her today?”

The ringing phone interrupted her musings. “Yes?”

“I want to meet in an hour,” Ratman said. “We have to prepare your speech on the illegal-weapons issue.”

“The press conference isn’t due for another week.”

“We had to push it up.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“I…no.” And it really didn’t. She was curious about the change in plans but didn’t care either way. The weapons legislation was one of the primary items on Ratman’s agenda for her, so as far as she was concerned, accelerating the announcement just meant she was another step closer to freedom and further away from this complicated existence. She hung up the phone and headed to the massive closet.

“Focus on the prize,” Ryden said aloud as she plucked a coral-colored blazer-and-skirt ensemble from the rack of designer suits. “Nothing else matters.”

*

Shield received an early, terse call from the president, notifying her of a change in the day’s agenda. Thomas was skipping breakfast and would be starting her day with an unscheduled meeting with Kenneth Moore in a half hour.

When the president emerged from her bedroom right on schedule, Shield, waiting outside in the hall, tried not to look at Thomas’s mouth. “Good morning.”

“About last night…I’m not a big drinker.”

“I gathered.” Shield smiled.

“No offense, the wine was exceptional,” Thomas rubbed her right temple with two fingers, “but I woke up with a horrible headache.”

“Like you said, you’re not a drinker.” Shield stood with her hands clasped behind her back. For someone with a headache, Thomas looked beautiful, almost radiant. She’d done her hair and makeup herself, and chosen an ensemble that was tailored to subtly accentuate her slim hips and high, round breasts. “If it’s any consolation, you seem…rested.”

Thomas looked away. “I don’t know what possessed me to enter your room and take your wine.”

“You needed to unwind. No harm done.”

“Anyway,” Thomas said with an air of flippancy, “I can’t remember very much about last night, so if I said or did anything to offend you, please forgive me and forget I was there. I can assure you, it wasn’t personal and it won’t happen again.”

“I’m not thrilled about having my room raided, but that aside, you didn’t say or do anything unpleasant.” She unwittingly focused her gaze on Thomas’s lush, full lips, glossy with a coral lipstick that complemented the color of her suit.

“Good to know.” Thomas sounded relieved. “I’ve witnessed inebriated people make complete fools of themselves.”

Did the president really not remember their conversation, or kissing her? “That may be true, but alcohol also enhances any preexisting mood.”

“Either way…” Thomas waved her hand dismissively. “It’s all a crazy blur. So again, forgive me if I did anything to offend you.”

Shield knew she should leave last night alone and feel glad for Thomas’s memory loss, but she couldn’t and didn’t. Instead, she took a step closer to the president, and as she did, she unplugged the communications device in her sleeve so they wouldn’t be overheard. “There was nothing offensive about your kiss.”

Thomas blushed and looked away. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you remember.”

“Then you also know I’m trying to deny any recollection.”

“So you remember.”

“I don’t understand you.” Thomas sounded angry. “You vehemently point out every reason in the world why we need to keep it professional, and then you turn around and seek confirmation of my attraction to you. Are you after validation, a need for acceptance, or some sadomasochistic satisfaction?”

Shield stared at her, unable to answer. Thomas was right, and she didn’t honestly know what she was after or why she felt the need to bring up that kiss. She’d always been professional at work and, after Carmen, distant in her private life and relations. As a rule, she didn’t care who remembered her and wasn’t out to make a lasting impression, but for some reason Thomas’s opinion mattered.

She’d struggled all night with how Thomas’s frustration had led to her uncharacteristic confession of what she needed in a woman, and she’d also thought about that spontaneous, sweet kiss, absent any motivation other than unpolluted want. Shield needed confirmation of the purity she’d felt in that kiss. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled, more to herself than Thomas.

“Get over it. I’ve been under a lot of stress, I’m tired, and I miss my recently deceased husband. You just happened to be on the receiving end of misplaced emotions, a temporary distraction.” Thomas turned on her heel and headed toward the stairs.