“So Mike should have seen her leave.”
There was a prolonged pause on the other end. “He didn’t.”
“Pray tell.”
“He fell asleep.”
“Where is he?”
“Next to me.”
“I don’t like disappointments.”
“I know, ma’am.”
She couldn’t abide incompetence. Everyone who worked for her was aware of the penalty for failing to deliver. “Then you know what you have to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Once you’re done with him, I want you to spend all eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds of every day looking for her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The White House
Ryden spent an hour that morning and nearly two more that night with Ratman, preparing for the big announcement on the illegal-weapons plan that she would deliver the next day. Rehearsing her scripted statement took no time at all—she had Thomas’s accent and mannerisms well in hand by now. But she would face some tough grilling from the White House Press Corps, and Ratman wanted to be sure she was well versed on how to respond to any question that might come up.
Since there was a protocol for White House briefings—a clear pecking order regarding who in the press pool got called upon, and when—she also had to memorize the names and faces of the key reporters who would be present.
Only after they’d covered every eventuality thoroughly did Ratman agree to call it a night. As they emerged from the Oval Office, Kennedy, standing outside, turned and looked at Ratman in pure distaste.
Part of Ryden was glad Kennedy felt the same way as she about the miserable excuse for a human, but Kennedy was oblivious to the fact that she was pressing her luck.
Ratman had made it very clear that he would not hesitate to kill Kennedy if Ryden ever confided in her or turned to her for help. And Ryden certainly believed he and that cold bitch Rothschild were capable of cold-blooded murder. She had witnessed firsthand how they had set her up by orchestrating the murder of an innocent couple, plus they’d taken out five Secret Service agents. Kennedy either had no idea just how dangerous Rothschild and her people were, or she was just plain crazy in thinking she could uncover and stop this political game.
Ryden had expected Ratman to say something about the tennis game she’d promised Kennedy, and the fact that he didn’t disconcerted her. He knew she couldn’t play, let alone to the president’s standards, so he must have known either she or Kennedy was lying. Why hadn’t he said something? Where were the usual threats? He wasn’t one to ignore or let any comment go unnoticed.
She had to get Kennedy off her back and away from interfering with Moore before it was too late for both of them.
“We need to talk,” she said to Kennedy in a low voice when they reached her bedroom. Jason, the night shift bodyguard, was positioned farther down the hall at the top of the stairs.
“That’s why I came up with a game of tennis.”
“We can’t be seen together.”
Kennedy looked confused. “It’s my job to be with you at all times.”
“I mean we can’t be seen talking anymore.”
Kennedy opened the door for her and stood aside. “Let me know if you need anything, Madam President,” she said, loud enough for the other guard to overhear.
Ryden nodded and went inside.
Seconds later, a knock came from the adjoining door. Ryden threw off her suit jacket before she opened it, and when she did, she put her finger on her mouth. Kennedy started over the threshold, but Ryden pushed her back into her own room and followed, shutting the door behind them.
“What happened?” Kennedy asked after she’d unclipped her communications device and set it on her dresser.
“My room could be bugged.”
“It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s my job to check.”
“Either way, I don’t trust anyone.”
Kennedy settled into one of the armchairs near the window. “What happened in there?”
“No questions, Kennedy. I will be the one asking.” Ryden remained where she was, too restless to sit.
“Very well.”
“What did you mean by, ‘if he killed once, he can kill twice’?”
“Did that get your attention because it shocked you or because I know about it?”
Ryden clasped her hands together behind her back to keep them from shaking. “I said, no questions.”
“I don’t know what Moore wants,” Kennedy said, meeting her eyes, “but I do know he wants it bad enough to have killed your husband.”
Ryden didn’t believe she’d heard right. “My…what are you talking about?”
“Mr. Thomas was killed at the country club. Some waiter served him poisoned coffee to made it look like a heart attack. They played on the fact that your husband had heart problems to avoid an autopsy.”
“Oh, my…” They’d certainly proved they were capable of doing virtually anything to get what they wanted, from killing the Laudens to set her up to kidnapping the president of the United States and killing five Secret Service agents. But knowing they had the power to murder Thomas’s husband and get away with it, completely undetected, was a whole different kind of scary. “How do you know Moore was behind it?”
“I don’t have proof yet, but my instincts are never wrong.”
“And why are you trusting me with this information?” Ryden asked. “How do you know I wasn’t involved?”
“Maybe you were. I don’t know. All I know is that you’re terrified of him and there’s got to be a good reason.” Kennedy was spot-on, on both accounts, but if Ryden admitted it, they were both as good as dead.
“First of all, my husband died of natural causes. Secondly, I’m not afraid of Moore. My only issue with him is that he’s pushing me to act like the president this country elected at a time when I feel my world has fallen apart. My husband’s death has taken a heavy toll, evident from the fact that I even tried to kiss you. I’m tired, confused, and lonely. Frankly, I don’t know where I find the energy to get up in the morning.”
“And Moore is pushing you to perform?” Kennedy eyed her suspiciously. “Nothing but a friend with your best interest in mind.”
“Indeed. I’ve told you all this before. So I’m asking you to stop making up stories, looking for what isn’t there, and sticking your nose in government issues.”
“What you told me about Moore the other day doesn’t fit your story. When I asked you about him, you practically gagged, and I’m sure it wasn’t the wine.”
Ryden sighed for effect. “He tires me and at times aggravates me because he pushes too hard. That’s all I meant.”
Kennedy stood up. “You’re lying.”
“Excuse me?” she replied, sounding appropriately offended.
“You have the power to fire his ass, but for some reason you insist on protecting him.”
“Fire him?” Ryden practically shouted at the absurdity of the idea.
“The man tried to molest you, and all you did was walk away. Why is that, Elizabeth?”
How could Kennedy possibly know that? Ratman was nothing but decent in public. “Have you gone insane? He’s never touched me.”
“Really. Because it sure sounded like it when he came to your room the night before last.”
“What—”
“As you know, I’m responsible for checking your room for listening devices, which means I can place them at will because no one else checks.” Kennedy looked down at her, her arms folded across her chest. “I heard what he tried to do, and I also heard your disgusted reaction to it. He talks to you like he owns you.”
Ryden’s face burned and her hands tingled. Breathe, she told herself. “I can have you fired right now.”