Something milder.”
Monique took up her robe, padded downstairs to her state-of-the-art kitchen, and opened the wine cooler. The bumbling fool didn’t know one wine from the other. He was a stupid hick from Iowa. The only reason president Davis chose him as VP was to get the Midwestern vote.
And hardworking, good-old-country- boy Ron Rafferty pulled in every ballot needed to win. Unfortunately, now everyone in D.C. had to put up with the moron.
Including her .
But she’d been able to pierce that corncob brain and show him the power he could wield as president without waiting for the next election. After a year, he’d finally gotten the message and seen how together they could rule America. All they needed was a brilliant plan, the right opportunity, and the perfect person to blame.
Monique reached for the sleeping pills s he kept in the cabinet for nights like this when she had later plans that didn’t include him. But... She drew back and tapped her index finger against her lips.
Tonight she had other ideas, and the time had come for her to lay some ground rules. Ron wouldn’t be waking up in her bed in the morning.
For a year she’d been there wherever and whenever he needed her. On his arm, in his bed, or in a bathroom waiting for a quickie.
Time she ratcheted down her accessibility.
Monique went upstairs with two glasses of wine. When she ent ered the bedroom, Ron ended a call. Was it one he made or received? As she handed him the wine, he offered no information and she knew better than to ask.
“I called your driver, ” she said.
His blond brows lifted as he turned and looked at her, his mouth hovering near the rim of the glass. “Why?”
“I think you should go home tonight. We don’t want to alert the media or the president’s insiders.”
His face paled and his Adam’s apple bob bed. “Why so concerned? Have you heard something?”
“No, of course not. ” She smiled, placed her palm on his chest and gazed into his eyes. “It’s just that stupid Alex Crane and his mistress are all over the newspapers again.”
He swallowed half the wine then strolled to the bathroom. “Crane is married. I’m not. I can do what I want.”
Monique climbed onto her bed and sat cross legged among the tangled sheets. “But what would Davis say?”
Ron stopped , finished his wine, and set the glass on the ceramic counter. She heard the toilet flush, and he left the bathroom. After a long, hot ravenous look, he gathered up his clothes.
They both knew that for now being linked romantically could be detrimental to their ultimate goal.
W ith his light blond hair, good looks, solid build, and strong Nordic ethnicity, Ron looked handsome. At fifty he had the appearance of a man in his early forties. He shoved a long leg into his pants.
A widower without children, he was indeed a free man. But no one under President Davis did as he pleased. Davis ran a tight agenda, and Ron knew it. If they were sleeping together, the commander and chief would expect full disclosure. Something they couldn’t afford.
Not with so much on the line.
***
Brody regained consciousness in varying degrees. From a throbbing headache to blinding pain in his neck to the humiliating realization he’d been attacked from behind. The smell of dirt and burnt food assaulted his nose as he struggled to stand.
Hands planted firmly on the ground, he rolled over and looked into the barrel of his own gun. Behind the weapon stood the man he’d given the money to earlier.
Carefully Brody scooted into as sitting position on the packed-dirt floor. Finally able to lean against the warm sod wall, he touched the back of his head.
Blood stained his fingers, but that wasn’t his biggest worry. The man with the gun stood so close that if he pulled the trigger, Brody wouldn’t have a face left to identify.
“You’ve been given order s to kill me?”
“Sí .” The man shook like a ten-year-old girl with a snake in his hand. Obviously murder
Monique took up her robe, padded downstairs to her state-of-the-art kitchen, and opened the wine cooler. The bumbling fool didn’t know one wine from the other. He was a stupid hick from Iowa. The only reason president Davis chose him as VP was to get the Midwestern vote.
And hardworking, good-old-country- boy Ron Rafferty pulled in every ballot needed to win. Unfortunately, now everyone in D.C. had to put up with the moron.
Including her .
But she’d been able to pierce that corncob brain and show him the power he could wield as president without waiting for the next election. After a year, he’d finally gotten the message and seen how together they could rule America. All they needed was a brilliant plan, the right opportunity, and the perfect person to blame.
Monique reached for the sleeping pills s he kept in the cabinet for nights like this when she had later plans that didn’t include him. But... She drew back and tapped her index finger against her lips.
Tonight she had other ideas, and the time had come for her to lay some ground rules. Ron wouldn’t be waking up in her bed in the morning.
For a year she’d been there wherever and whenever he needed her. On his arm, in his bed, or in a bathroom waiting for a quickie.
Time she ratcheted down her accessibility.
Monique went upstairs with two glasses of wine. When she ent ered the bedroom, Ron ended a call. Was it one he made or received? As she handed him the wine, he offered no information and she knew better than to ask.
“I called your driver, ” she said.
His blond brows lifted as he turned and looked at her, his mouth hovering near the rim of the glass. “Why?”
“I think you should go home tonight. We don’t want to alert the media or the president’s insiders.”
His face paled and his Adam’s apple bob bed. “Why so concerned? Have you heard something?”
“No, of course not. ” She smiled, placed her palm on his chest and gazed into his eyes. “It’s just that stupid Alex Crane and his mistress are all over the newspapers again.”
He swallowed half the wine then strolled to the bathroom. “Crane is married. I’m not. I can do what I want.”
Monique climbed onto her bed and sat cross legged among the tangled sheets. “But what would Davis say?”
Ron stopped , finished his wine, and set the glass on the ceramic counter. She heard the toilet flush, and he left the bathroom. After a long, hot ravenous look, he gathered up his clothes.
They both knew that for now being linked romantically could be detrimental to their ultimate goal.
W ith his light blond hair, good looks, solid build, and strong Nordic ethnicity, Ron looked handsome. At fifty he had the appearance of a man in his early forties. He shoved a long leg into his pants.
A widower without children, he was indeed a free man. But no one under President Davis did as he pleased. Davis ran a tight agenda, and Ron knew it. If they were sleeping together, the commander and chief would expect full disclosure. Something they couldn’t afford.
Not with so much on the line.
***
Brody regained consciousness in varying degrees. From a throbbing headache to blinding pain in his neck to the humiliating realization he’d been attacked from behind. The smell of dirt and burnt food assaulted his nose as he struggled to stand.
Hands planted firmly on the ground, he rolled over and looked into the barrel of his own gun. Behind the weapon stood the man he’d given the money to earlier.
Carefully Brody scooted into as sitting position on the packed-dirt floor. Finally able to lean against the warm sod wall, he touched the back of his head.
Blood stained his fingers, but that wasn’t his biggest worry. The man with the gun stood so close that if he pulled the trigger, Brody wouldn’t have a face left to identify.
“You’ve been given order s to kill me?”
“Sí .” The man shook like a ten-year-old girl with a snake in his hand. Obviously murder
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