At the Pleasure of the President (The Perfect Gentlemen 5)

Liz ended the call, then strode onto the elevator, her thoughts already working on the problems ahead. She wasn’t sure a good solution existed. This was exactly why pleasure and business didn’t mix. She couldn’t think logically about Zack. She loved him and had for far too long to pretend otherwise. It would be almost impossible to give him up now.

She would offer to step down, but what good would that do? There was no clear successor to her role. Even Vanessa, though very good, wasn’t ready to helm the press office on her own. Chaos was the last thing the administration needed, especially now. In fact, the press was far more likely to speculate aloud if she suddenly stepped down. She would look guilty of something—probably being Zack’s squeeze on the side.

The elevator dinged and then opened. Liz marched toward her door, determined to be positive. After all, she was surrounded by some of the smartest people in the world. Collectively, they would find a way out of this. They just needed a bit more time. Once they worked their way out of the blackmail, they would have more breathing room to decide how to proceed. Perhaps if Zack announced that he’d chosen not to run for a second term after all, that might unravel this tangle once and for all.

But Zack didn’t want to step down.

As she slid her key into the front door and headed into her place for the first time in a week, she set her purse, phone, and keys on the bar while reviewing her mental checklist of items to pack. Clothes. Her hair supplies because Zack did not believe in conditioner. Did she have any lingerie or had she thrown it all out? She glanced briefly around the small vestibule that led to the living area and the kitchen she’d never once cooked in.

It was a bland apartment. It had come furnished. When she’d signed her lease, that had been a bonus. Now? Nothing about this place felt like home. It never had, despite the fact that she’d been looking forward to having a more permanent base camp after spending most of a decade running campaigns and being on the road.

A vision of a home with Zack floated through her head. He would want to be close to New York, so they would look in Connecticut for someplace with room to breathe, where the press wouldn’t be all over them and they could sit together to have their morning coffee and watch the sunrise.

A place where they might raise a couple of kids.

It was way too soon to think about that, so she shoved the images aside and headed for her bedroom.

“Good evening, Ms. Matthews.”

She froze, then whirled toward the unexpected voice with a gasp.

Oh my god. She wasn’t alone.

A man sat on her sofa, leaning back casually as if he’d simply been waiting for a friend. But that deep Russian accent belied his seemingly relaxed nature and told her he wasn’t even her garden-variety burglar or rapist.

Liz’s heart revved. Suddenly, she feared she would appear on the news, this time because she was being carried out in a body bag.

“Who are you?” She managed to ask the question in an even tone, which was good because she was completely terrified.

How had this man gotten into her apartment? How long had he been waiting for her?

“Who am I?” The large, muscular man cocked an eyebrow as though pondering a philosophical issue. His dark hair might be graying at the temples, but that didn’t make him look any less menacing. In fact, the scar marring his cheek bespoke his life of violence. “That is a very good question. Let us say I am a businessman. You received the package I left for you in London?”

Liz tried not to show her panic. How many steps to the door? Maybe she could run, grab her phone, and scream like hell. Hopefully someone would hear her and call the police. Except this building was notorious for being empty during the day. The whole tenant list was Washington insiders who worked far more than they were ever at home.

“I wouldn’t run if I was you,” the man said with a sigh. “You never know who’s lurking around these days. It can be very dangerous for a woman such as you. Besides, I am only here to talk. I thought it was long past time I made contact with one of the president’s closest…friends. The last one I spoke with, he was not so lovely as you. I promise to treat you better than him.”

Oh my god. She was standing in the same room with the man who’d beaten Mad half to death.

“You’re Ivan Krylov.”

His eyes were dark and serious, a predator studying his prey as he waved off her speculation. “Names, I find, are fairly useless in my business. If I disappear, another will take my place. Institutions, though, are forever. So don’t think you can make this problem go away simply by getting rid of me, Ms. Matthews. This has been going on for far longer than you’ve been alive, and now that we have what we want, we will not let Zachary Hayes go simply because he does not wish to fulfill his destiny.”

She felt her hands fist at her sides. She couldn’t fight this man, not physically, and that made her feel so damn vulnerable. “It doesn’t matter what you have on Zack. He won’t do your bidding.”

He considered her for a long moment. “That is a shame. I rather thought that would be his stance. That is why I am here, talking to his more reasonable half. Let me give you a history lesson of sorts. A long time ago, there were people—smart people—in the KGB who realized that your democracy was nothing but an illusion. It’s a lovely mirage that allows the poor to believe they have some say in their lives while the real people in power manipulate matters for their benefit. Of course, they work quite hard to perpetrate the fantasy that voting is important, that America belongs to every citizen so you should all take care of it. You wouldn’t destroy something that belongs to you, correct? It’s quite a good scam, I think. If we had thought of this, perhaps we would have no revolution. But these men in Russia saw how tenuous your government’s hold truly is and realized all we needed was a way in.”

“Zack is not your way in.”

“Oh, but he is,” Krylov disagreed. “We thought perhaps his father would provide us the access we sought. His grandfather was a loyal man with roots going back to Moscow for generations. They did a good job of integrating here and building fruitful businesses, but he never forgot that he was Russian at heart. His grandfather knew that sometimes these things take time and patience. He built an empire, but his son was too impatient and weak to win the one prize we required.”

The presidency. “Frank Hayes was working with you.”

Those dark eyes stared through her. “Maybe he was…or maybe it is best to allow our targets to be as authentic as possible until such time as we find the need for them and the right tug on their leash. Until recently, Zachary did not realize there was a leash around his neck, did he? And now he is fighting it.”

“He won’t give in,” Liz swore.

Krylov chuckled sanguinely. “That is why I am here, talking to someone practical. Someone capable of changing his mind. Maddox Crawford turned out to be more resilient than we expected. I suspect, despite his untimely and rather public death, that he is still around and causing me trouble. But you will not prove difficult, will you, pretty lady?”

“You underestimate me.” Anger started to crowd out her fear. How dare he think he could come into her home and threaten her?

“But I do not underestimate your love for him. You do not wish to see him removed from office.”

“I don’t care if he’s the president. If he stepped down tomorrow, I would still be by his side.” But she also knew Zack wouldn’t resign if he thought it would give the syndicate the upper hand they wanted. Still, she had no problems encouraging him to walk away if it meant saving him the stress and worry of being used as a Russian puppet.

“Step down? You misunderstand. This is not the only way to eliminate a problem.” The Russian stood. “Ask Joy Hayes.”

A chill iced Liz’s veins, and she couldn’t help but take a step back. “You killed her.”

“I said no such thing. I worry, though. That family seems cursed. Death stalks them. So sad… Please let your president know that I will pray for his

continued health and that perhaps next time we shall have more pleasant things to discuss. If the kind letter I sent to him in London isn’t clear enough and he chooses to view it instead as a to-do list, rather than a friendly bargain, I will be forced to rethink my strategy. Perhaps even end this experiment.”

“Kill him?” The question slipped past her numb lips.