Section 3: The Plan of Action: Modern...school...typical problems...High school principal Suzanna Quinn...

Joe said, “Goddamned son of a bitch.” He reached up and covered Suzanna’s hand with his.

She froze as she read on.

Carson’s victimization. His disgrace. His suicide.

It couldn’t be. Suzanna didn’t believe what was before her in black and white.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Joe had risen and circled his arm around her.

“I never told her any of this. How does she know?” She grabbed onto Joe. “What is she going to do with this?”

He drew her close. “Use it for an article.”

Luke had taken Joe’s place at the computer. “More like a book,” he said scrolling though. “We’re in here, Joe.”

They turned back to the screen. Section 4: Enter Starsky and Hutch. “Who the hell are they?” Luke asked, and on the heels of that, “Jesus Christ! She got my transcript and file from high school? And...” This time Luke stilled, his hands hovering above the keyboard.

Joe bent over for a closer look. “What the hell...your father...”

Suzanna read, too.

“I let him down,” Luke said, clearing his throat. “How could she know about that? What I felt about him?”

Placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder this time, Joe squeezed tightly, then moved away and began to pace. Suzanna turned and watched him. His agent mask was in place, but his body vibrated with anger. She was about to speak when Luke said, “Holy Mother of God.”

“What now?” Joe whirled around.

“You’d better come and read this.” Luke’s voice was strangely gentle.

“I don’t want to read any more.”

“You have to see this, Joe.”

Joe crossed to him. Luke got up. “Sit down.”

At the ominous tone, Joe sat. Luke stood behind him with Suzanna, and they all focused on the screen.

It read, Section 5: The Juicy Details: All four adults—paired up. “Sex and the Secret Service”...the pièce de résistance: the commune where little Joe and Ruthie were brought up.

The letters began to squirm as Suzanna read further. Commune...parents...sex at an early age...rites of passage...escaped when fourteen...does Al Callahan know? She remembered Joe’s words when she saw Webster’s website.

Horrible things happen to young boys.

Suzanna’s stomach turned sour. She couldn’t begin to fathom what the story before her meant in real terms, the horror the man she loved had gone through. “Joe,” she said simply, and her hand joined Luke’s on his shoulder. They flanked him, as if to protect him somehow from this obscenity.

He was deathly still, staring at the screen. Then he threw back his chair, stood, and, in one violent motion, swept the monitor and computer off Brenda’s desk. The equipment crashed to the floor. The sound of glass shattering was deafening. Electrical sparks sizzled out.

From the couch, Suzanna heard a slurred, “What the hell?”

Brenda had roused at the noise.

Joe whirled around and stalked to her. “Do you have any idea what revealing this information would do to my sister? To her kids and husband?”

Sitting now, Brenda just stared up at him, bleary-eyed.

He bent over and grabbed her shoulders. “And to Suzanna? Nobody knows about her father. She doesn’t want anybody to know about him.” He shook her hard. “And what gives you the right to toy with Luke’s psyche?”

Luke flew across the room and grabbed Joe’s arm. “Joe, don’t. She’s not worth it.”

Joe’s fingers bit into Brenda so that she cried out. “What kind of a fucking monster are you?”

“Joe,” Luke said harshly, “this isn’t you. Let her go.”

Finally Joe stepped back. Suzanna saw that his face was pale and he was shaking. He stared at Luke as if he didn’t recognize him. Luke didn’t release his arm. After a moment, Joe shrugged him off, turned, and strode out of the room.

Suzanna said, “Go after him, Luke. I have some business to take care of here.”

When Luke left, too, Suzanna crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at the woman who had been her best friend for more than twenty years. “You’ll have to explain this to me, Brenda. You’ll have to tell me how you could even consider using that man’s horrific suffering, Luke’s insecurities, and my father’s godforsaken life to promote your career.” She gave her a scathing look. “Have you really turned into Benedict Arnold?”

o0o

Brenda stared at the carnage before her—the computer in a broken heap on the floor, the desk chair upended, the empty vodka bottle. The stench of stale tobacco stung her nostrils; worse was the look of disappointment on Suzanna’s face. Brenda remembered a statement one of the counselors in rehab had made: You’ll know when you’ve hit bottom.

Brenda knew.

Not letting her shrink from it, Suzanna crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I asked you a question, Brenda. I’d like an answer.” The anger and confusion in Suzanna’s tone, Brenda could deal with. The hurt and betrayal on her face were harder to take. Was Brenda being a Benedict Arnold?

“I have reasons.” Though right now, the liquor’s haze made her thoughts fuzzy. She could see the rationale, like the snowy picture on a TV screen, but it wouldn’t come into focus. “I need some coffee. And a cigarette.”

Bending over, Suzanna scooped up the bottle and held it out. “You’re an alcoholic.”

She thought of a thousand excuses—the ones she’d been giving herself since she came back to Fairholm and started drinking again. “I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you. I would have stood by you when you got help from professionals.”

“I went to rehab. After I lost the Times job.”

Suzanna cocked her head. “You said you were on a cross-country trip. I thought it was odd. You were gone for what...two months?”

“Sixty-five days.” Brenda stood, and the world wavered. Suzanna became a blur of green and yellow. “I need some coffee.”

Her friend didn’t offer to fix it for her. Mother hen was mad at her little chick.

“Fuck it,” Brenda said, and headed to the kitchen.

Suzanna followed her. At least she let Brenda get the coffee on, though it took several tries; grounds spilled from the tablespoon every time she transferred them to the pot.

Then Suzanna asked, “Do you have any idea how many lives you’ll endanger, how many teenagers will die, if you stop the Secret Service’s operation?”

Turning around, Brenda anchored her hands on the edge of the counter. Her slacks and sweater were wrinkled, and her mouth felt like day-old fuzz. She studied Suzanna; even overwrought, the woman was fresh as a spring flower. “Joe Stonehouse has gotten to you, Suzanna. What you’re saying is pretty melodramatic.”

“Is it? Do you know what they’ve accomplished already, not just in my school, but in the others they’ve targeted?”

“No, they wouldn’t share that with me,” she said bitterly.

“Couldn’t find it in your research? Along with what happened to Josie, and how Joe and Ruth were raised? With Luke’s problems with his father? Weren’t there any juicy details like the two agents sleeping with the women of Fairholm—which, by the way, isn’t true about Kelsey and Luke.” Suzanna’s color heightened. “In addition to the danger you’ll put schoolchildren in, do you have any idea how many other lives you’ll ruin by this tawdry exposé?”

Brenda turned back to the coffee, mostly to avoid Suzanna’s blistering gaze. “Stop overdramatizing this.” Jittery, she poured coffee; it sloshed over her hand, and she winced. Then she turned around. She took several sips of the hot brew, and it began to clear the fog in her brain.

Suzanna said, “I don’t believe you can do this.”

“You don’t know me, Suzanna.”

“How can you say that? I’ve been your best friend since we were twenty years old.”

Feeling even more shaky, Brenda crossed to the table and sat down. “But you don’t know the real me. Who I am now, at least.”

Suzanna poured coffee for herself; when she faced Brenda, her expression was anguished. “I know you well enough to believe you can’t live with the knowledge that you prevented Joe and his agency from stopping kids who bring guns to school.” Her voice cracked. “Brend, Josh could have been a victim if Joe and Luke weren’t here. You love him like a son.”

“I don’t believe they’re doing that much good.”

“You don’t want to believe it. But, in any case, think about the other lives you’ll ruin. The story of Joe and Ruth’s upbringing made public could destroy his sister and her two kids. And Kelsey will never teach again if it becomes public knowledge in a national best-selling book that she was involved with a boy she thought was a student. Luke’s career and Joe’s could be over if their undercover operation is exposed. That job is Joe’s life.”

“What about my life? This story is my way back to the top of journalism. With a book like this published, I could work at any newspaper in the country.”

“At what cost?”

“Conrad always said that freedom of the press often hurts people,” Brenda tossed back angrily.

“Would Conrad agree with your plans?”

“Of course.”

“That’s a lie. If you do this obscene thing, at least admit that you’re sacrificing your integrity. Conrad was for freedom of speech, not destroying people. He loved you like a daughter and taught you better than this. If he was alive, he’d be ashamed of you.”

“That’s cruel.”

“No. It’s what you need to hear.” Suzanna strode to her, sat down at the table, and took her hand. “I’m not going to stand by and let you make this mistake, hurt all these people, without fighting to stop you.” She squeezed Brenda’s fingers. “I know you, Brend. I know the real you. Inside, you’ll never be able to handle this. It will eat at you. You’ll spend your life drinking and smoking and partying to forget.”

“You’re just saying that to convince me not to hurt Joe.”

“I love Joe. But I love you, too. I’d do anything to protect both of you.” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Please don’t do this to yourself. To Joe and his family. To Luke and Kelsey. To all those kids the Secret Service can help.”

“What about you? What about the stuff on your father?”

Suzanna swallowed hard. “I don’t care if you use that. I’ll give you all the details—an insider’s story. Maybe you can write an article or something without including the Secret Service project. But please don’t shut down STAT.” Her voice broke off. “You’re better than this, Brenda. I know you are.”

Brenda just shook her head.

Suzanna stood then. “I’m leaving. For what it’s worth, I have faith in you. I don’t think you’ll go through with this.”

Brenda heard Suzanna in the foyer, heard the door open and close. Tapping out a cigarette from the pack on the table, she brought it to her lips. It took three tries to get the lighter to work, two more to get the cigarette lit. As she inhaled the smoke, her nerves began to soothe. Several streams curled in the air like a lazy fog.

Suzanna was wrong about her.

But for one brief minute, she wished like hell she was the woman Suzanna thought she was.

o0o

Joe’s house on Milburn Avenue was dark when Suzanna pulled up to it; she’d driven over in her own car after she’d called Luke from outside of Brenda’s to come and get her.

Luke had been like a panther ready to spring when he’d picked her up; Kelsey said he’d been prowling the house, not talking to her or Elizabeita, who was waiting for one of her sisters come out and take her back to Queens. Joe had called in, said he was at home, and asked not to be disturbed unless they needed him.

Afraid Joe might refuse to answer the door, she’d gotten Luke’s keys and let herself into their house. The formerly cozy rooms were cold and lifeless. She made her way back to Joe’s den. She’d just approached the doorway, and was able to make out his silhouette, when he leaped off the chair and crouched before her. He held his gun trained on her.

“Joe, it’s me, Suzanna.”

His body sagged. He sank back into the chair and said, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to creep up on a government agent?”

Determined, she stepped farther into the room and switched on a small light. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

His laugh was brittle. “I’ve done nothing but hurt you, Suzanna, since I came to Fairholm.”

Edging toward him, taking in the manhattan next to the gun he’d laid on the table, she reached the chair and dropped onto the floor at his feet. He stared past her shoulder. She picked up his hand. “Joe.”

He swallowed hard. Cast in shadows, his face was blank. A bristly growth of beard covered his jaw, and his blue striped shirt and jeans were rumpled. But she could tell by the stiffness in his body that the agent was back. “It’s my fault,” he told her in a gravelly voice.

“What is?”

“That Brenda Way got as far as she did with her deception. If I hadn’t been so caught up in you, I might have seen this coming. I knew I couldn’t trust Brenda. But she was your friend. You trusted her. And I didn’t want to believe she’d do anything harmful.” After a moment, he added, “But there were signs.”

“What signs?”

“Her asking to sit in on meetings. Her constant questions.” He looked at Suzanna for the first time. His green eyes were like ice. “She pumped you, didn’t she?”

“I guess.” Suzanna ran a hand through her hair, sat back on her legs, and peered up at him. “I thought she was concerned for my welfare.” Suzanna hesitated. “If anything, it’s my fault, Joe. I let it slip about your niece. She must have found out you took me to Connecticut; then she went to find Ruth. I don’t know how she got the rest.”

“A private investigator. I saw his name in the information on her desk.” He drew in a deep breath. “When she first recognized who I was, I should have aborted the operation at Fairholm.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Pride. Ego, maybe. Fairholm High School had been targeted and needed us. Oh, I told myself I could control her. But I didn’t. She got the juicy details on all of us.” He shook his head. “Poor Luke. And Kelsey. They’re just kids, really. This will hurt both their careers.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“And you, sweetheart.” Against his will—she could tell—he lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “She’ll use the information on your father. I know how you hate that being out in the open.”

Taking advantage of his action, she grasped his hand. Kissed his palm. “I can survive that. I’m mostly worried about Ruth and you, and the details she uncovered about your background.”

Joe’s jaw hardened like granite. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You know, Ruthie and I never talk about it.”

Suzanna remembered Ruth’s words, We never talk about how we grew up.

“Does Al know, Joe?”

He nodded.

“Thank God.”

“But the kids don’t. Honestly, I’m not sure they can survive this blow. After losing Josie, anything could push them all off the deep end.” His hand gripped hers—unconsciously, she guessed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I tried to talk Brenda out of writing the book.”

“What did she say?”

“Not much. I still can’t believe it all.” Her voice cracked. She put her head down on his knees. “I’m so sorry.”

His hand smoothed her hair. “Shh, it’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. Like you said, if I hadn’t fallen in love with you, maybe I could have seen the signs, too.” She sniffled; she wanted to offer him comfort, not take it. But she felt so bad.

“Come here.” He drew her onto his lap, hugging her close to his chest. The man peeked out of the agent. “It’s not your fault.” He kissed her forehead. “Someone you love tricked you. Like I did, initially.”

She grasped his shirt and burrowed into him. He held on to her. Occasionally he sipped his drink, brushed a hand down her arm, down her back.

After a long time, she asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

His chest heaved with emotion. “Not much to say. I’ve tried to block out those times, suppress them. The details, at least.”

“How old were you?”

“I was ten and Ruthie was six when we went to live there. The sex stuff started soon after.”

Tears seeped from her eyes. “Oh, Joe.”

“It was scary, mostly, foreign and unpleasant.” He cleared his throat. “I vividly remember begging my mother and father to stop the whole thing, at least to leave Ruthie out of it. Other than that, I can’t recall the details. The counselors said that was probably for the best.”

“Counselors?”

“Ruthie and I got away—far away—after four years. When the authorities found us, we were put in foster care. They were good people and got us therapy. When I turned eighteen, I took Ruthie and supported us both. I got us more counseling. I think it helped.”

“How did you go to college? How did you live?”

“We worked jobs, got scholarships. At least we had each other.” He smiled. “I remember when she met Al at college in California. He fell hard for her, and followed her around like a puppy. She rejected him, of course, like she did all men for a long time. But he eventually coaxed her to tell him why, then they got some counseling together on campus; she married him before they graduated.”

“What about you?”

“I was one of the few who went into the Secret Service right out of college. I liked the discipline of it. Especially the undercover work, being somebody I wasn’t.”

“What about women?”

“It was tough at first, but I compartmentalized a lot. I also got more counseling in the agency. The commune thing came up. They helped me.” He smiled against her hair. “Not till you did I realize how much I held back, though.”

“You held back with me?” The thought hurt. She’d had no inhibitions with him.

“No, love, you’re the first woman I didn’t hold back with.”

“Then don’t start now, Joe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t cut me out.”

“We’re almost done here.”

“I know. I don’t care. Let me have what time is left.”

“Ah, Suzie Q.”

She sat up and took his face in her hands. “Please, don’t end it now. Wait till you leave. Let us be together for a little while longer.”

He brushed back her hair. “I can’t deny you. I can’t deny myself.”

Sliding off his lap, she stood and reached out her hand. “Come to bed, Joe. Let me erase the bad memories tonight.”

“All right.” He climbed out of the chair, slid his hand into hers, and let her lead him upstairs.

Where she worshipped him. There was no other word to describe her ministrations. Tenderly, she eased off his shirt, jeans, shoes, and socks. When he tried to undress her, she whispered, “No, just let me.”

He lay down on the bed. She shed her clothes, never unlocking her gaze from his, then joined him on the mattress. Her mouth found him then—his chest, his stomach. When she nuzzled lower, he arched off the bed. “I want you,” she said as she caressed him boldly. “I need you,” she repeated as she loved him with her mouth. “I love you, Joe,” she said as she took him inside her. “I love you.”

Tears clogged her throat and sprang from her eyes as she brought him to a shattering climax. It was only when she sat up and raised her hands to his face, that she realized his cheeks were wet, too.