Merritt’s smile slipped a fraction. Even the most accomplished actor couldn’t have maintained one. “Spence is taking some vacation time. Practically had to force him to go, workaholic that he is. He said he might stop by your place, but I haven’t heard from him since he left. Did he say where he was headed after Wyoming?”
“He didn’t mention any plans. But you know Spence. He’ll turn up when you least expect it. I certainly wasn’t looking for him when he showed up at my place.”
Merritt had clung to a thread of hope that Spence was still alive. He now knew with certa
inty that he wasn’t. Spence was dead. Gray had killed him.
Merritt couldn’t let himself get sentimental about it. He didn’t need Spence anyway. He didn’t need anybody. But then, Spence had been extremely handy to have around. Men with his talent and blind, unquestionable loyalty and obedience were rare. Even more rare were men with absolutely no conscience.
Gray had robbed him of this valuable asset and was sitting here cracking jokes about it, a guileless expression on his face. Merritt wanted to smash it. But he carefully schooled his anger. To reveal it would be self-incriminating.
Besides, he didn’t want to waste energy on a situation that couldn’t be reversed. Spence would be the first to agree that mourning was counterproductive and only the weak would indulge in it.
“I was wondering, is the First Lady around?”
Gray’s question served as a cattle prod on Merritt’s private musings. “Uh, no, she’s still away.”
“At this ‘undisclosed location’?”
“That’s right,” Merritt replied. “And I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Gray leaned forward, propped his forearms on his thighs, and assumed a confidential posture that Merritt frequently used himself. “David, I’ve been worried about her. Is she okay? Level with me now. Don’t give me the bullshit that Neely feeds to the media. How is Vanessa, really?”
“Are you trying to get a scoop for your new bedmate?”
“When we’re in bed, she’s got better things to do than interview me.”
“Hard to talk with her mouth full, huh?”
Gray grunted the required laugh. Then his lined, lean face turned serious again. “Vanessa hasn’t seemed herself since the baby died. Is she ill?”
Had Merritt had a choice at that moment, he would have gone for Gray’s throat. This man had made him a cuckold. The gossip about him and Vanessa had been quelled, but not soon enough.
How many people had concluded that Gray, not he, was the father of Vanessa’s baby? How dare the son of a bitch mention the brat without so much as a glimmer of apology in his arctic blue eyes?
By a force of will, the President of the United States reined in his fury. How could he have explained Gray’s drowning death in the whirlpool of the White House gym? Even Spence wouldn’t have been bold enough to try and sell that one to the attorney general and the American public.
Suppressing his murderous impulse, he bowed his head and plowed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t mind telling you, Gray, it’s been rough. She blames herself—her illness—for not being a perfect mother and saving the baby from crib death.”
“I was afraid it was something like that. I understand George Allan is working with her. Is he qualified to deal with this?”
“Eminently. He’s been her attending physician for years. He knows exactly what she needs to keep her functioning as normally as possible. Once she’s over this crisis, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.”
Merritt made a point of glancing at the wall clock, then rose to his feet. “It’s been great seeing you, Gray. I hate to wind it up, but I’ve got a cabinet meeting in half an hour.”
“I was lucky to get to see you for even this long.” Gray stood and the two shook hands. “Please tell Vanessa that I asked about her. Any chance I could visit her?”
“Afraid not. She’s getting better every day, but she won’t even consent to see Clete. Convey my regrets to Barrie Travis about her townhouse.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
Secret Service agents were standing outside the door of the gym, waiting to escort the President back to his quarters. To one of them, he said, “Please see Mr. Bondurant back to his car.”
“That’s not necessary,” Gray said easily. “I used to work here, remember? I know my way around.”
“All the same,” Merritt said, matching Gray’s nonchalant tone, “we like to give old friends the red-carpet treatment.”