Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

Agent Sherlock presided at the far end of the table, her thick red hair shining at him under the chandelier. She looked pleased and relaxed, a forkful of spaghetti in her hand, nodding at something one of the men said. She looked magnificent, he thought. She would look that way until he closed his hands around her skinny little neck and squeezed the life out of her.

Blessed straightened. It looked to him like those people would be here for a long time. Should he take the risk and stay until they left, hoping no one would see him?

His stomach growled again. He had to eat, then he’d decide whether or not to come back.

Natalie Black’s house

Friday night

Natalie usually liked it black as pitch when she went to sleep, but not tonight. She felt too antsy, too on edge. There was something she had to figure out, something unpleasant and real just beyond her reach, but for the life of her, she couldn’t grasp it. Everything that had happened, both in England and here at home, was flying about in her head like scattered bits of paper in a high wind.

She had to focus. Why was the president still defending her? She grinned—Thorn, the president—she clearly remembered him at twenty years old, smooth and cocky even then, always ready to break a rule, but so very smart. He’d always been there, Brundage’s best friend from freshman year, then hers, too, and there had been more, on his part, but it had never been spoken of until Arliss had come out and asked her about it. The four of them had mixed together so well, settled into friendships that became deep and abiding, that had lasted.

But now Brundage was dead. Thornton was the freaking president of the United States, with the ultimate authority over her future. How much longer could he resist his advisers, all the party bigwigs, all the pressure from the public who wished her gone? And then what? Disgrace, yes, but would it end with that? If someone wanted more than to disgrace her, if they wanted her dead, what could stop them? Perhaps she could stay alive for a while, but how long could she keep bodyguards around her? Forever?

Every politician, every public figure in the world, no matter how well protected, could be killed. There is always a way. Always. She could see herself ending up paranoid, suspicious of all her acquaintances, all her friends.

And now they’d put Perry in the mix. Why? How did that make any sense?

She had met so many and diverse people in the foreign service, made so many important decisions that had affected her and Perry, at least before Perry had gone to college and become independent. Would one of the decisions she’d made result in her murder? And Perry, there was always Perry, and the fear for her daughter ground deep.

Had it all begun with George McCallum? In any case, that’s when it had come out in the open. Dear George, a fine man, honorable, innocent of any wrongdoing. She hadn’t loved him like Brundage, not to the depths of her. She was sure there would be only one such love in her lifetime. But she had cared deeply for him. He’d given her pleasure and companionship and respect, and they both knew they would rub along very nicely together. And then he’d been, what? Sacrificed? Or was he the target? But then why blame her, why all the malicious rumors? Why come after her here, at home? Bits of paper—swirling about, never coming together.

She turned onto her side, staring in the darkness toward her window. She was making herself crazy. She had to sleep, had to have a clear head, because soon now, tomorrow, she would have to make a decision that would change the course of her life.

What would you say, Brundage? Would you tell me to resign? Would that help protect Perry? Natalie felt a shift in the cool, still air in her bedroom, a puff of a fresher and colder air. From the window. She stared toward the curtained windows though it was so dark she could barely make them out. Were they moving? She started to reach for the cell phone on top of her night table. The autodial was set to ring in Connie’s and Hooley’s rooms, her new-age panic button. No, not yet. If she pressed the button, both of them could come running in, and if there was someone outside her window about to come in, he’d very likely escape. Besides, she was far from helpless. She picked up her pistol and waited, breathing lightly as if she were asleep.

Perry Black’s condo

Friday night

It was nearly midnight. Perry sat on the sofa, leaning over her laptop on the coffee table, a bottle of water at her right elbow. Davis sat opposite her in a wing chair directly in front of the fireplace, wishing a bit of heat would come his way. He got up, added more firewood, and sat down again. He looked over at Perry, who was drumming her fingers as she read over what she’d written on her blog. Every once in a while, she looked over at him, then down again, quickly. How much longer could she pretend she wasn’t finished? She couldn’t ignore him for the rest of the night, could she?