Jack was curious where TQ’s men would take her. She didn’t know what the woman had planned for her, but immediate death clearly wasn’t it. She had mentioned working for her. Jack figured if she got close enough to the Broker to discuss a deal, she’d find a way to either kill or bargain herself out of it. She just hoped the miserable bitch would keep her word and leave Cass alone.
She placed the Glock gingerly on the ground in front of her, kicked it a few feet away, and handcuffed herself to the chair like they expected her to. “Let’s get on with the show.”
Moments later, a small man or woman—Jack couldn’t tell which in the fading light because he / she was wearing black clothes and a black plastic mask—approached from the front. Without saying a word, the stranger stopped before her and lifted one gloved hand to expose a syringe.
“I guess it’s good night, motherfucker,” Jack said.
*
The White House
Next evening, March 3
Ryden stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, unable to believe it was really her staring back in bewilderment. Never had she been this beautiful—the stunning dress and hair, the jewelry, the shoes. She looked like a princess. What would Kennedy think of her tonight, especially in light of her not-so-spontaneous admission?
Ryden knew she would regret saying what she had, but at that moment, the closeness, the feel of Kennedy had overpowered her, and she was helpless to deny or dismiss the attraction. Yes, Kennedy was a woman, but Ryden hadn’t cared and still didn’t.
If Kennedy wanted to, she could get her in serious trouble, but Ryden somehow knew she wouldn’t. For some inexplicable reason, she trusted Kennedy. Or at least she wanted to, just as much as she wanted to kiss her.
She touched her lips; it had been years since she’d used them for that purpose. “What if I forgot how to kiss?” she said to her image. “What if I never knew how?” She shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s not like it’s ever going to happen.”
The knock at the door meant it was time to exit her dream world and enter the nightmare with Ratman at its center. It was time for their meeting.
She opened the door for him and then immediately went and sat at her vanity table.
“Are you adequately prepared for this evening?” Ratman asked as he entered. He stopped in the middle of the room.
Ryden picked up the guest list and scanned it for the hundredth time. Anything to look busy and get him away from her as quickly as possible. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She’d created her own memory game for matching faces with names and titles.
“Most of these people are new to you, so you need to be absolutely clear on who’s who.”
“Unless someone has recently had a major face job, I can handle it.” Now get your ugly self out of my room.
“Kennedy tells me your dance lesson went very well.”
“Did she?” Ryden asked, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.
“Yes. She said you were ready to teach Carlos a thing or two.”
Ryden’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know about that, but I’m glad she thinks I did well.” She smiled.
“You seem to enjoy her company.”
“I guess.”
“Strange,” Ratman said. “Not too long ago you described her as a boring mute.”
“I never said I didn’t like her. Maybe I prefer boring mutes.”
“Did you know she’s a dyke?”
“It came up,” Ryden said nonchalantly. “How is that relevant?”
“We don’t want people thinking your new best bud is queer.”
“I’m a Democrat and supportive of same-sex marriage, remember?”
“You, Madam President…” his tone oozed sarcasm as he took a few steps closer, “are whatever I say you are.” She looked up at him in the mirror and he smiled, exposing his little rat teeth.
“How much does she know?”
“Kennedy?”
Ryden nodded.
“Has she said anything to you?” Suddenly his smirk was gone and his tone worried.
“Why are you so concerned about what Kennedy has to say?”
“Because she suspects inside help and involvement concerning the attack.”
“You mean…” So Kennedy had no idea. Ryden didn’t know if she should be happy or upset. Of course she was thrilled to learn that Kennedy wasn’t Moore’s lackey and in on the conspiracy. But if Kennedy had known she was a fake, at least her attraction to Ryden would have been sincere—directed at the blackmailed frumpy florist. But this…this meant the bodyguard was attracted to Elizabeth Thomas, the Harvard-educated, eloquent president of the United States. Everything she was not. “You mean she doesn’t know?”
“And for you and your buddy’s sake,” he warned, “it had better stay that way.”
Ryden nodded but her mind was a million galaxies away.
“So, you’re all ready for tonight?” Ratman asked cheerily.
“Everything is under control.”
“I must admit, I never expected you to be this competent. Your learning and memorizing abilities would put many a scholar to shame.”
“A matter of life or death can do that to you,” she replied dryly.
He laughed. “Then again, she wouldn’t have settled for anything or anyone less than ideal.”
Ratman was talking about the woman behind this whole orchestration, the one responsible for ruining her life. Ryden had never met her in person but had had the displeasure of listening to that cold, menacing voice on the speaker during her training, when she would call for updates or, more often than not, with threats to her life if she failed. What she wouldn’t give for a baseball bat and a few undisturbed minutes with that arctic bitch.
“She’s a regular talent spotter,” Ryden said. “She should consider American Idol.”
He walked to her side and lifted her face to him by her chin. “Watch how you speak of her.”
Ryden nodded and he let go.
She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure this time of seeing how much he unnerved her, so she turned to the vanity table for something to busy her hands with before they started to shake. She picked up the hairbrush and busily pulled the loose hair from it.
“You’ve become a remarkably beautiful woman.” He stood behind her and started to massage her shoulders.
Ryden tried to get up, but he held her down firmly. Then when he was sure she wouldn’t move, he slid his hands downward to the front of her décolleté, stopping just above her breasts. She suppressed the urge to bolt. She really wanted to get up and stab him in the eye with the brush handle, but instead she sat very still as she watched his moist hands through the mirror reach even lower. It was like she was having an out-of-body experience; she refused to believe this beast was touching her.
“Maybe, we can…” Ratman sounded hoarse. “We can work out an arrangement for the duration of your stay.” He bent over and licked her neck. “What do you say, Madam President?”
“Please.” Ryden looked at him in the mirror. “Please, stop before I lose control.”
“Oh? And do what, beautiful?” He kissed her shoulder.
Ryden started taking shallow breaths as her insides churned. Her stomach couldn’t take any more of this—the disgusting saliva and breath on her neck and his hands on her. Her eyes started to tear up from the sudden need to empty her stomach. “I’m…I’m going to be sick,” she managed to say.
Ratman must have seen it in her face because he pulled back immediately, allowing her to run to the bathroom.
“Disgusting,” Ryden heard him say before she shut the door. “Get yourself cleaned up and ready,” he called out. “The guests arrive in an hour.”