“We are going to look to the future, gentlemen. We are going to attack it. We are going to reshape the laws of the land to respond to a world of threats our ancestors could have never imagined.
“You’ve heard the debate about the Constitution, about an amendment intended to remove us. The truth is, these people are partially right. The Constitution must be readdressed, but not to kick our sorry asses out the door. No, we must be better prepared to provide governance and continuity, no matter what surprises our enemies have in mind.”
The president hadn’t intended on turning the briefing into a full-scale study. It all came spontaneously, driven by Evans’s revelation about Haddad. Bernsie took mental notes. Everything Taylor said was on point. The president would need research to sell the idea. He’d need a special, independent White House counsel to vet the options. Someone Taylor could trust. Someone prepared to take the worst that
Supreme Court Chief Justice Leopold Browning would inevitably dispense. Someone with no bias. He smiled to himself. He had the perfect person in mind.
“Are you up for it, Katie?” Roarke asked.
“Oh, am I ever,” she said.
“It’s going to take a little finessing, but I think it’ll have the desired effect.”
“When?”
“In the morning. Witherspoon is running around in circles. He’s worried. Tomorrow we surprise him. You and me.”
“And the rest of tonight?” Katie asked.
“What do mean?”
Katie took his hand and led him to their bedroom in the safe house. Shop talk was over. “I want to see what you’re up for.” Once the door was closed, she unzipped him. “What’s this?” she asked, kneeling down.
Roarke had become a very giving lover. This seemed too selfish. “No, no, no. Up, let me….”
Her lips closed around him tighter, but her tongue gave away her full intentions. She wanted all of him, and this was only the beginning.
Roarke sighed. He stood for awhile, but when she realized his legs were getting wobbly, she carefully walked him backward to the chair. Katie’s hands cupped him as he arched up into her mouth. He moved with her now, matching her actions in an equal and opposite way, slowly, gently, until he couldn’t hold it any longer. Then, sensing the moment, Katie was there for him.
He relaxed back into the chair. Katie stood, then slowly and sensually undressed. She took five minutes. The lights in the room were off, but her body was backlit by the moon. She looked so sensual, so appealing, so inviting, that he began to respond.
Katie stepped closer. Roarke reached for her hips. He wanted to pull Katie onto his lap.
“Not yet,” she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed him gently, sharing the tastes. “That’s us.”
“I love us,” Roarke sighed. “Good,” she whispered. “Now me.”
Roarke stood up. He took her into his arms, continued the kiss, and gingerly walked her backward to the bed. He would gladly return the wonderful pleasure she’d given him…and more.
Chapter 40
“Damn!” Donald Witherspoon shouted. He nicked himself shaving. Blood oozed down his cheek. He dug through a drawer for a styptic pencil. He dabbed the medicine on his cut and cursed Katie Kessler again. He hated her when she was alive, and she was still able to torment him even though she was dead.
Witherspoon believed his benefactor would be proud. But the man who had paid him to watch Heywood Marcus also paid someone else to watch Witherspoon.
Roarke’s target was sufficiently rattled now. He might expect to meet Roarke again, even FBI investigators. But the way they played it so far, no one came by to Freelander, Connors & Wrather. Until today. Roarke reasoned that the sight of a very-much-alive Katie Kessler would put him over the edge.
Katie and Roarke drove into Boston from Lexington. They parked his rented car in the lot beneath her downtown law offices, and started toward the elevator. “Hey, let’s get a coffee first. We’re way early.” Roarke looked at his watch. 6:35. “Okay.” They didn’t expect Witherspoon for more than an hour. Katie reported that he always made it in at 7:45. Not before. Not after. Like his wardrobe, which was always the same, Witherspoon was a creature of habit.
They took the elevator to the ground floor, walked half a block, and cut across the street.
6:40 A.M. There were just a few people in line at Starbucks. They fell in behind a pair of women, both talking on their cell phones. Roarke automatically scanned the room: three commuters sat on stools at the window reading. Two had The Boston Globe. One read The Herald. A couple seated at a table held hands. A budding office romance? he thought. Satisfied that everything was okay, he picked up the first section of The Globe. There was an account in the right column about some sort of protest march schedule for D.C. He made a mental note to find out more later. He unconsciously heard the women in front order their drinks. “Grande Chai latte with extra foam and a tall skim latte.”
“Anything else?” a perky young woman clerk at the register asked.
“Sure, a pumpkin scone and a cinnamon twist.”
The next thing Roarke caught was the barista repeat the order. “Got it. Grande Chai latte with extra foam and a tall non-fat latte.”
Roarke looked up, not really knowing why. He put the paper back on the newsstand. The aroma of the coffee brought him back to his senses, and he sidled next to Katie. They were next. He kissed the back of her neck.
“Mmmm,” she whispered. The woman at the counter smiled. She thought the same thing Roarke had before. An office romance.
Katie chuckled when she asked, “Do you know what you’d like?” Roarke was still kissing her.
Katie nodded. “Ah, yes.” She realized she answered the question in her head, not the one asked. Kate moved her neck forward and ordered for the two of them. “One tall regular black, one tall skim latte.” She turned around, and into Roarke’s eyes she added, “Nothing else…now.”
The clerk smiled again. “Names?” With a number of cups lined up, Starbucks employees usually relied on customers’ names to get the orders into the right hands.
“The skim — Katie. The tall black is for Scott.”
The man making the coffee repeated the order. He was just a few feet to her right. “Tall black and one tall non-fat latte.”
Roarke reached into his pocket for a ten. He paid and they moved behind the people ahead of them to wait for their drinks.
Kate cuddled up to Roarke, cocked her head to the side, and smiled. “I love your eyes.”
“You do?”
“Yes, because they’re windows into who you are. I think I see further than anyone ever has.”
“I take it you like what you see?”
She patted down Roarke’s black T-shirt under his light summer sports coat. “Yes, I do.” She leaned into his ear, kissed it, and whispered, “And don’t worry. I’ll do exactly as you told me. When he opens the door, he’ll see you sitting at the desk. I’ll be behind the door. He’ll step forward, start talking, then on your cue I’ll say, ‘Hello, Donald.’ That’s all.”