Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

Not that Kennedy would give a damn either way. Any attraction she might have felt toward Ryden during their time in the White House had disappeared within seconds of her finding out the ugly truth of who Ryden really was—nothing but a lying, selfish florist. Why couldn’t Kennedy understand that she’d just tried to stay alive? Although, in retrospect, it was stupid to trust these people, her gullibility and will to live should somehow excuse her actions. If Kennedy wanted to believe she was a maniacal terrorist and manic liar, that was her right, but Ryden was getting fed up with having to defend herself.

“You clearly want nothing to do with me, so please give me the kit.” She snatched it from Kennedy’s hands. “I can take care of myself. I always have.” She went to the bathroom and closed the door and looked at herself for the first time in the mirror. She had definitely seen better days: pale from tonight’s angst, black circles under her eyes from days of not more than a few hours of sleep, and the pain were starting to show in the lines of her face. “You look like a zombie,” she said to her reflection.

She unzipped the hoodie and managed to slip her arms out with minimal discomfort. Then, without thinking, she began to lift her arms to remove her long-sleeved T-shirt and screamed as pain tore through her arm and shoulder.

Kennedy stormed through the door in seconds, gun in hand. “Are you…?”

“It hurts.” The white-hot burst of agony had subsided, but tears still streamed down her face. She tasted salt as she licked her lips.

Kennedy placed the weapon on the sink. The bathroom was barely big enough to fit them both. “Will you let me help you?”

“I can’t lift my arm.”

“We’ll do it slowly.”

“I can’t. Just cut the shirt off.”

“We can if you want to walk around half-naked for the duration of our stay here,” Kennedy said, a trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “It’s up to you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Kennedy stood in front of her and took hold of her good arm. “Let’s start with this one.” She coaxed the arm free of the sleeve. “That wasn’t too bad, right?”

“No.”

“Ready for the head?” Kennedy’s voice was gentle, little more than a whisper.

She nodded and Kennedy gingerly pulled up the shirt. She ducked her head to help and winced as new pain resonated through her shoulder.

“Coping?” Kennedy asked.

“You’re good at this.”

“I hope you continue to think so after we’re done with the other arm.”

“Give me a moment.” Ryden backed up, nauseated from the pain, and held on to the sink. “I don’t understand why it hurts so much all of a sudden.”

“Because you’re tired and the adrenaline high is gone.”

“I guess.” She looked down at her half-exposed body. Why had she chosen to wear such a sheer, lacy, black bra? It left nothing to the imagination. Kennedy, she noticed, was staring at her chest, too. Her cheeks burned. “I…I um…”

“You didn’t seem shy about seducing me,” Kennedy said.

“I didn’t…”

“Oh, that’s right. You were in character.”

“It was never part of any plan to seduce you.” Dealing with the pain in her shoulder was bad enough. She didn’t need Kennedy aggravating her already fragile state. “I told you then and I’m telling you again, I have never been interested in women and wouldn’t even know where to start seducing one.”

“Which only amplifies my sentiment. You don’t expect me to accept the fact that a forty-something straight woman playing the role of the president suddenly decided to experiment.”

“It wasn’t a choice, and I was definitely not conducting any kind of sexuality research.”

“Whatever you say,” Kennedy replied flippantly, and turned her face away.

Ryden’s cheeks flushed like they always did when she got angry. She let go of the sink for a moment, forgetting about her pain. “What do you find hard to comprehend? The fact that I wanted you to kiss me or that I actually did?”

“You were drunk.”

“Tipsy. I knew damn well what I was doing, and I didn’t do it because of any ulterior motivation.” She closed the foot of distance between them. “What gain would I have from seducing you? You have nothing I want.”

“Nothing?” Kennedy asked arrogantly. “Not even the comfort my money can buy, for a new life far away from the people who hired you? Away from a career in flower arrangements?”

Her belittling tone exacerbated Ryden’s growing anger. She pushed Kennedy away. “How dare you accuse me of—”

“Using me for a better life?” For the first time Kennedy lost her cool demeanor. “Isn’t that why you agreed to this plan? For money and a new beginning?”

“They framed me,” Ryden shouted. The T-shirt dangling from her shoulder aggravated her even more so she pulled it off. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

Kennedy arched her brow. “And how convenient that a florist in a dead-end job, making what—twenty thousand a year?—finally gets some cash to pimp herself and her life.”

Ryden almost gasped. Sure, the idea of a second chance at a new life had been exciting, but she had agreed before they ever told her the terms, and by that time it was too late to change her mind. Even then, she would have accepted the offer anyway if it meant surviving. “For your information, my life was just fine before they took everything away. I loved my job as a florist, my candle making, and my tiny home. And yes, the death penalty would’ve put a glitch in my humble but otherwise satisfying life, so I accepted. You have no right to belittle my life or blame me for what I did, when all I’m guilty of is choosing to live.” She took a deep breath.

“All you needed was some adrenaline.” Kennedy looked at her shoulder, then bent to pick up the bloodied shirt. After handing it to her, Kennedy took the first-aid kit and went back into the living room.

Ryden stomped after her, the pain in her shoulder mostly forgotten in her growing anger. “I suppose it’s easy for you to stand there, acting all righteous, when you’ve never had to decide between life or death.”

Kennedy took a seat on the couch. “I make that call every time I throw myself in front of a bullet to save someone’s life.”

“Because it’s your job,” Ryden yelled, standing in front of her, trying to cover her nakedness with the soiled shirt. “I doubt you do it because you value a stranger’s life more than your own or because you have a death wish.”

“I do it because…” Kennedy looked away. “Because I don’t have a choice,” she mumbled.

“And that’s how I felt.”

Kennedy looked at her with sadness. “I never had a choice. It was made for me.”

“When your organization adopted you.”

Kennedy nodded.

“I guess orphanages and foster homes do that to a person.”

“Do what?”

“Make them feel they should accept anything, out of gratitude for being selected and given a chance. I should know.”

“What do you mean?” Kennedy asked.

“For years I was sent from home to home, trying to please whoever with the hope of being allowed to stay. I guess I wasn’t good enough, not pretty enough, or who knows what the hell. Point is, I spent my life trying to please others just to make them love or at least care.”

Kennedy was silent for a long while. “Let me take a look at your shoulder,” she finally said.

*

Southwestern Colorado

Monty was closing the blinds to the conference room when David Arthur joined them, soaked to the skin from the thunderstorm raging outside. Joanne was already seated at the big table.

“What’s Reno got?” Arthur asked.