Would he be any better? Any more honorable than the last man to occupy the office?
Somehow she doubted it, but it didn’t really matter. She wouldn’t be around to see it.
She glanced up, her eyes flickering around the living room of her small apartment. Each wall festooned with computer print-outs, newspaper clippings. Photos. Tracking Roger Hancock’s every movement, recording it — as if for posterity.
And in the midst of the chaotic disorder, a single picture held to the wall by a red thumbtack. A face smiling back at her, as though enshrined.
The face of her beautiful sister.
She bit her lip, staring into those eyes — the tears beginning to fall. As they always did.
I haven’t forgotten you, Mary, Alicia found herself whispering. Nor had she forgotten the promise she made.
He was vulnerable now.
There weren’t many payphones in the city anymore. Fewer still that hadn’t been stripped by vandals. That still worked. Everyone had a cellphone these days…and yet a few still remained, relics of a time gone by.
Harry reached up, the cold air biting into his bare cheeks as he fed quarters into the phone.
He felt nothing — ignoring the wind, the snow falling from the sky above him.
One more quarter, and the phone began to ring. One, two, three…four rings, until he found himself fearing that it wouldn’t be answered.
It was on the fifth ring that a familiar voice came on the line. The voice of a woman.
“Rhoda,” he began slowly, hesitantly even. There was no road back from this. “I need your help.”
Epilogue
“Did you see it coming, Mr. President?” The use of his title was welcome, even if the question was not.
Roger Hancock glanced around at the opulence of the famous Blossom Ballroom, home of the original Academy Awards — taking a sip of his brandy before replying to the New York Times reporter. His first appearance in public society since leaving office…and these were the questions he received?
“No,” he replied, honestly enough. Of course he hadn’t seen Coftey’s betrayal coming — or the reversal from the Chief Justice. “Now get lost.”
You didn’t tell a member of the press to get lost — he knew that from his years in office. But it felt good, the brandy in his hand doing his talking for him. And he no longer really cared.
He spied a young woman through the mingling crowd, auburn hair cascading over her bare shoulders, above the border of her blue gown. Late twenties, maybe? It looked as if she were alone, a glass of punch in her hand as she surveyed the crowd.
Worth cultivating, Hancock thought, beginning to move toward her…his Secret Service detail following him through the crowd — on the alert. All two of them, he thought…the loss of stature befitting an “ex”-President. Young agents.
Alicia Workman could feel his gaze on her even before she turned, his eyes crawling over her skin. Was this the way he had looked at Mary? Her sister had always been aware of the effect she had on men — had been comfortable with it.
Bold and beautiful.
Even getting into this event had been difficult, had taken most of what she had in savings. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t need it again — not after tonight.
She felt her hands moisten with sweat, lifting the cocktail glass to her lips as she turned to face him.
A handsome face greeted her, a smooth, cruel smile tugging at his lips. The smile of a man who didn’t know what it was to be denied. “I hate to see such a beautiful woman standing alone.”
She returned his smile and he put a gentle hand on her waist as the music began to play above them. “May I have this dance?”
“Of course,” she responded, setting her empty glass on the table behind them, smiling up into his eyes as he led her out onto the floor, moving against him.
Knowing even as she did so that it was their last evening on earth. For both of them.
“We can’t let you do this, sir,” the lead agent announced, stepping between Hancock and the door of the hotel room.
“You really should see the view from the window of my room.” His intentions had been obvious, the intoxication visible in his eyes as he had twirled her around on the dance floor of the Roosevelt.
And it had led them up to the penthouse, until finally his Secret Service agents had stopped them.
He lowered his voice as if to spare them both embarrassment, but Alicia heard every word. “Going into a hotel room with a woman you just met…it’s too big of a security risk. At least let us search her.”
The hunting knife taped to her inner thigh felt suddenly cold against her skin, sending a chill through her body. Perhaps she had been a fool for thinking that she could avenge her sister’s death. Perhaps this was where it would all end.
Hancock swore, shooting her a warning look as he moved between her and his detail. “Go on inside, Alicia — and wait for me,” he smiled, handing her his keycard.
“I’m not having this again,” she heard him exclaim as the door closed behind her. “Two women this month you’ve scared off trying to feel them up. Enough. You cleared all the guests, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“There is no but. I’m going to enjoy this evening — and you’re going to stand outside this door. Or I will see that you go back to Chicago or wherever you came from and spend your days ticketing double-parked cars.”
Alicia took a deep breath, struggling to keep her hands from trembling as the conversation continued without. Only moments left now.
She turned on the soft light beside the bed, settling gently on the sheets as she tugged at the hem of her dress. She still didn’t know exactly why she had chosen to leave the Bersa at home — was it some fancy that she would be escaping from this? Or was it just that a knife was so much more personal…for a vengeance that couldn’t have been more so.
The thought struck her that it might be safer to remove the knife — to shove it under the satin pillow at the head of the bed…but before she could move, the door opened, Hancock’s form framed in the doorway.
“Everything’s taken care of, darling,” the former president smiled, hanging his jacket on the back of the doorknob. He moved closer, bending down to kiss her as he unbuttoned his shirt.
His breath smelled of alcohol, his hands working clumsily with the buttons. Had Mary seen him like this…or had she been blinded? Falling headlong in love with a man who cared nothing for her. A man who had caused her death.
He leaned back, easing his arms out of the shirt — a look of arrogance on his face as he gazed down at her. The look of a man who had always gotten what he wanted. Every vote, every deal. Every woman in his bed.
No.
No more. Something snapped within her, something long ago dead. Something that had gone to the grave with her sister. Pain. A blind, unseeing rage. Her hand flickered under the edge of her dress, ripping the tape away from her thigh — the knife coming away. Naked steel glittering in her hand.
The arrogant look in Hancock’s eyes fled, replaced by sudden fear — struggling suddenly to free his arms from the sleeves of his dress shirt.
Too late. A wild, unearthly cry escaped her lips as she stabbed forward, the blade burying itself in his chest, blood blossoming around the hilt.