William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“She didn’t stay gone, did she? She came back. The day of the press conference.”

“She, like everyone else in America, had seen all the publicity the day before announcing my nomination and my voluntary outing.”

“Did you talk to her?”

Another nod. “My housekeeper let her in, though she fibbed about it later to protect me. I didn’t recognize Vickie at first. She’d totally changed her look—and I don’t just mean a new hairdo. I’m talking plastic surgery. Major changes.”

“Nose job? Breast augmentation?”

“More like total reconstruction of the facial features. Seems the heat was on her pretty hard after the robbery. Jerry’s body was discovered, and some rich relatives called out the dogs. There was a concerted effort to find his killer, financed by not only law enforcement but some major-league big bucks. Somehow they figured out she was involved. She had to disappear, totally disappear. So she changed her name, got some fake ID, redid her face. Even altered her fingerprints, apparently. That’s why she’s been so difficult for the police to identify. She’s not only no longer Vickie—she’s a person who doesn’t really exist. Victoria. No past. No records of any kind. A phantom figure. Not even the IRS had anything on her. And that’s saying quite a bit.”

“What did she want?”

“Three guesses.”

“Money.”

“Got it in one.” Roush sighed. “Once a thief, always a thief. Tried to shake me down. Figured a potential Supreme Court nominee with a dark secret was good for something. Figured it wouldn’t help my chances if the world knew I’d paid for an abortion. Threatened to expose me unless I came across with a million bucks. Said she’d already given all the proof to a third party. It was pay up or kiss the Supreme Court good-bye.”

Ben swallowed. “So you—”

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t have opened that door during the press conference if I’d had any idea she was there. But I knew better than to blow her off. She wasn’t bluffing when she said she’d expose me. So I told her I couldn’t deal with this at the moment, with reporters and a zillion other people running around the estate. It wasn’t like I kept a million bucks lying around the house. Told her to hide out behind the arbor gate till everyone was gone and we’d talk about it. I went back to my business and, well, you know the rest. Next time I saw her, she was dead.”

Ben batted a finger against his lips. “Dead, and positioned in a place where her body was bound to be found during the press conference.” He looked up suddenly. “And Ray—”

“I’m certain he had nothing to do with it. I’m certain.”

“He was near the body.”

“I don’t care.”

“Disguised or not, he knew who she was. And what she could do to you.”

“I’m telling you, Ben—it wasn’t him.”

“He had a motive.”

“Hell, I had a motive!” Roush’s voice shattered the stillness of the room. “But I didn’t kill the woman. And I don’t know who did. But it wasn’t Ray!”

Ben rose slowly out of his chair, one hand pressed against his aching forehead. “ That’s it. That’s what this is all about!”

“I don’t follow you.”

“The murder. The way it was done. It was about giving you a motive.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’ve been framed, Tad. You and Ray. Intentionally. By someone who knew who that woman was. And that proof Vickie gave to a third party—when her confederate heard she was dead, he or she must’ve forwarded it to a right-wing political interest group that leaked it as soon as you got out of committee.”

“But who would kill that woman just to get at me?”

“I don’t know—yet. That’s what we have to figure out. As soon as possible. It’s the only thing that can save you now.”

“How are we going to do that? The police don’t have a clue.”

“I don’t know. But if we can tell your story, if we can show that you’ve been framed, that this is part of some conspiracy to keep you off the Court—” A light shined in his eyes. “Dear God, I wish you’d told me all this before. This changes everything.”

“I don’t see what you’re so excited about.”

“Finally, this game is being played on my home turf.” He batted a finger against his lips. “We expose the true murderer, show that you’re the victim of a frame-up, and the rest of these objections to your nomination will seem trivial by comparison. Political puffery. Part of the scam.”

“I’m still not following you.”

Ben leaned across Roush’s desk. “Since this whole thing began, people have been dragging me along, trying to get me to do things I don’t know anything about. Representing you at the hearing, which I was pathetically unsuited to do. Dealing with politics, which I don’t even begin to understand. My performance has been pitiful. But clearing an innocent man who has been intentionally framed…” Ben’s eyes met Roush’s, a determined expression on his face. “That’s what I do. ”

54

Loving stared at the gun Pretty Boy held at point-blank range. Had he made it so far, suffered so much, only to come to this? He had put up with Renny’s torture, had seared his own flesh to get free, only to be drilled by this ignoramus?

“Now, wait, Pretty—er, Wilhelm. I don’t think you wanna do this.”

“Really? Because I am pretty sure that I do. Paying this debt will give me enormous pleasure.”

“Well, yeah, you, sure. But I’m not so sure I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“I am rather certain you will not.” He readjusted his aim, pointing the gun at a somewhat lower part of Loving’s anatomy. “I will make the first six or seven shots nonlethal, yet highly painful. I will cripple you. I will eliminate your manhood. I will let you bleed. Then at long last, I will kill you.”

“Gosh, Wilhelm, I can see you still bear a grudge, but this seems like a bad way to work it out. Perhaps we could just arm wrestle?”

“I do not think so.” Pretty Boy extended his gun arm.

Loving swallowed hard. So this was it, this was really, truly it. There was nothing he could do, no place he could run. His bag of tricks was empty. Nothing left but getting drilled by this Eurotrash moron.

Pretty Boy’s trigger finger tightened. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Loving.”

“Sweet dreams to you, sucker,” said a voice in the darkness. And a second later, Pretty Boy tumbled downward in a heap on the floor.

Loving’s eyes fairly bulged. “What in the—”

Trudy stepped into the light. Holding a baseball bat. “How do you like my swing, slugger?”

Loving was so astonished—and relieved—he could barely speak. “I think you’re so incredible I could—”

Trudy’s eyelashes fluttered. “Yes?”

Loving pulled Trudy close and delivered a kiss right on the lips.

“My, my,” Trudy said when it was over. “Has my big handsome gotten over his teeny-weeny difficulty?”

“Not likely. But a debt is a debt.” He grinned. “Thanks for showin’ up and savin’ my bacon.”

“I just wish I’d gotten here sooner, sugar. You’re a mess.”

“Don’t worry. I clean up pretty good. What are you doin’ here?”

“Did you really think I was going to leave my boyfriend all by himself?”

“Trudy—”

“After we split, I kept a low profile but hung around the club to see what, or who, emerged. When Renny returned to his private lounge without you, but with traces of blood on his hands, I knew something was up. I saw him whisper something to this lug down on the carpet, who got a great big grin on his face I didn’t like at all. So I followed him.”