Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

“Probably quite a few things, but we’re good for now.” Evyn glanced around the clean but shabby room, searching for a way to put on the brakes. She needed to grab the controls, get her head back on straight. “At least there’s TV. Hopefully it works. News okay with you?”

“Do we need to talk about last night?”

Evyn stopped on her way to check out the TV. The space between the bed where Wes sat and the dresser with the TV on top was tight. If she took two steps forward she’d be standing between Wes’s legs. She mentally nailed her feet to the floor. “You don’t run from the hard stuff, do you?”

“I don’t see any point.”

“Last night was great. If I think about it much more, I could probably scare myself, and I’d rather not.”

“I understand.” Wes cradled the cardboard cup between her hands and watched the coffee swirl around the rim. “If I knew enough to be scared, I probably would be too.”

“So,” Evyn said. “Since neither of us really scares easily, this should be simple. I don’t have a problem with last night.”

Wes heard the emphasis on last night . Sounded a lot like past tense, as in over and done. Okay. She could accept that. The pain in her chest didn’t mean anything. Her turn to step up and make this simple. “Neither do I. My number one priority is to be sure we can still work together—that there’s no disruption to the team.”

“I don’t see why what happened should interfere with anything,” Evyn said quickly. Wes was giving her a graceful way out of a potentially sticky situation, just the kind of exit she usually wanted. She didn’t feel all that happy about it, but her emotions were screwed up and she couldn’t trust them anyhow. Better to ignore them. “We’re both adults, both professionals.”

“Yes,” Wes said, counting on Evyn to be rational and in control. Especially now, when she didn’t really feel that way herself. “We both have jobs to do. And considering the circumstances, we can’t afford any distractions.”

Evyn stiffened, hearing what Wes wasn’t saying. “You know about the problem with POTUS.”

“Yes.”

“You have me on the short list of suspects?” Evyn had to ask, even as her body went cold thinking Wes might consider her capable of such betrayal.

“No, Evyn,” Wes said softly, “I don’t.”

“Why not? You should.” Evyn knew she sounded angry. She was angry. The whole situation made her crazy. The president was at risk, and it was her job to protect him. She couldn’t do that effectively when someone she thought she could trust was a traitor. Her impotence stoked her fury. “You don’t know me. A roll in the hay isn’t exactly a great judge of anything.”

Wes jolted. She didn’t run from reality, she never had, and Evyn was making their reality very clear. Last night was a physical encounter and nothing more, and really, why would she think it was anything more. “So we keep doing our jobs.”

“No reason it can’t be that simple.” Evyn shrugged, relieved to settle back into her comfortable pattern again. “We aren’t the first two people to spend the night together and then go back to business as usual the next day. In fact, around here, it’s more business as usual than not.”

Wes might not have indulged in battlefield trysts, but she knew plenty did. Evyn apparently had. “No reason for last night to change anything.”

“Right.” Evyn quickly turned to switch on the TV. “None at all.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Senator Russo received a text in the middle of breakfast. The alert read HK1. He’d been waiting two days for this update. Setting his fork aside, he swiped his thumb over the banner alert and read the five words that sent a swell of satisfaction streaming through him. The item is in hand. He deleted the message, wiped his mouth with a pressed linen napkin, and said to his wife, “I’m sorry, my dear, I need to return this call. The car will be here in half an hour. You’ll be ready?”

He wasn’t really asking, but his wife seemed to do better with the stresses of campaigning when she could cling to the trappings of civility she’d been raised with. She wasn’t fond of public appearances under the best of circumstances, and even less so now that his speeches increasingly drew protesters from some liberal leftist group or another. He’d assured her this was expected when someone with his strength of conviction and popularity engaged the people and spoke the truth. Her Southern belle sensibilities would have annoyed him more if her family name wasn’t helping him to carry the Deep South.

So he played the game she needed, as long as she did as he wanted. She understood she had to be by his side during these events—he was running on a family-values platform, and she was the figurehead of his, naturally. Thus far he’d managed to keep the whole issue of his eldest daughter’s absence from the campaign trail in the background. Nora had spun Jac’s history as a war veteran into some very positive press while simultaneously downplaying her sexual escapades and questionable choice in partners. Since Jac had made it plain she wouldn’t take part in his public appearances, that was the best they could do in terms of damage control. Fortunately, he had another daughter, a younger, feminine, wholesome daughter who didn’t have any choice about participating.

“Yes, of course I’ll be prompt,” his wife said quickly, an altogether artificial smile failing to erase the anxious shadows in her eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “Wear the blue suit. It looks good on camera. And goes so nicely with your eyes.”

“Thank you,” she said, her attention on her plate. “I will. Yes.”

He strolled toward his study, mentally reviewing his remarks for the town meeting Nora had scheduled later that morning in Nevada. He wanted to use the community forum to demonstrate his solidarity with the American people and distance himself from the recent emphasis by members of the press on his private wealth. He might live differently from most Americans, thanks to his wife’s family money, but he was still one with the people. He unlocked his study door and walked in, pleased with the way things were going for the moment.

Once behind his desk, he unlocked another drawer, removed a disposable cell phone, and called Hooker. “I got your message. No problems, I take it?”

“I made the exchange for the amount we agreed upon. I’ll have it tomorrow. None too soon either.”

“You’re certain of its authenticity?”

“As certain as I can be,” Hooker said. “It’s not like I’m an expert on this sort of thing. I’m mostly the courier here.”

“Courier or not, I’ll hold you responsible for any malfunction.”

“You’re not the one who’ll be sitting with this stuff in his refrigerator. It gives me the creeps,” Hooker snapped. “You hired me to broker the deal and run interference between the players. I fulfilled my contract. Once this is out of my hands, I’m done.”

Russo clamped down on his temper. As insubordinate as Hooker could be, he had excellent contacts, he got the job done, and he was as trustworthy as any man in his profession. The election campaign was just getting started, and he’d need Hooker’s services again. “You’re right, of course. What news do you have from DC?”

“Not much. So far the transition hasn’t been a problem.”

Russo grunted, irritated by the unexpected speed with which the usually slow White House bureaucracy had replaced the WHMU chief. “The inevitable disruption may work to our favor.”

“If we move fast.”

“Then by all means, let’s move forward.” Russo glanced at his desk calendar. December was more than half over. Soon the holidays would be in full swing. “You have his itinerary?”