“WE HAVE A PROBLEM.” Emily’s voice shot through the receiver like a bolt of lightning, jangling Kate’s nerves.
“Most people say hello first. What problem?”
“Maia’s dead.”
“I know.”
“You knew?” Disbelief faded to indignation. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Perhaps it was because Kate had been awoken from a dead sleep and her usual filters weren’t up. Or maybe she’d developed a new attitude to go with her new position. “You didn’t have a need to know at the moment.” She realized how harsh that sounded and softened it slightly by adding, “There was nothing you could do anyway. The Secret Service contacted me, and since it seemed likely it was an accident, I decided that you could wait until morning to hear about it.” Kate squinted at her bedside clock. “Later in the morning.”
“C’mon, M. Don’t start looking for conspiracies where there are none. You have to be in office for at least a month before you’re allowed to do that.” She stifled a yawn. “Of course it was an accident. A stupid mixture of alcohol-impaired judgment and high speeds. When I got the briefing, the victim’s families hadn’t even been notified yet. So I made a judgment call. As sad and as unfortunate as the news was, I didn’t need to interrupt your evening with it. There simply wasn’t anything you could do at the moment.”
There was a long moment where Emily didn’t speak.
Finally she sighed. “And I guess that’s your job, right?” There wasn’t a single drop of sarcasm in her voice.
“Yep. It is. Now go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” The clock numbers swam in her vision. “Today.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kate hung up, rolled over, and buried her face in the pillow. I think I’m going to like the job. But maybe not the hours.
By noon that day, Kate felt as if she’d already put in an eight-hour day. A breakfast meeting with the senior staff led to separate meetings with each to clarify ongoing and new departmental policies and programs. In the midst of that, Kate’s office received 146 requests from various government officials, business leaders, and congressional members, all wanting to speak with the president about a subject of utmost importance.
The trouble was everything was of utmost importance. Everybody had a reason, almost all of them good, to want Emily’s ear. However, only a handful of those many requests would be granted.
Kate didn’t see it as playing bad guy, per se. The twenty-four hours of Emily’s day had to be carefully proportioned to get the maximum amount of work done —people seen, policies discussed, information received, information imparted. Plus, there had to be a little Emily time embedded in there as well. All work and no play would dull her razor-sharp mind.
After what seemed a lifetime on the Benton campaign trail, Kate knew better than anyone how to broker Emily’s time and therefore her attention. Although, unlike many chiefs of staff before her, Kate would step away from actual policy making, she would, nonetheless, have a front-row seat for all policy meetings —domestic and foreign —tempering Emily’s decisions with guidance and advice and, once those decisions or policies were made, charting a course to market those ideas to Congress and the public.
In some ways, it was just another campaign —to stay in office rather than attain it.
By Friday, Kate had settled into a basic pattern of meetings and schedule reviews. Even then, she realized how rare this would likely be —having a discernible pattern from one week to the next. It was as if the world were holding its breath until Emily got comfortably into office before exploding with a new earth-shattering event.
So far, Kate’s lunches had all been working ones with Emily, but today, she had the opportunity to eat in the peace and quiet of her own office. It was a nice office, suitably designed for the needs of her position —a conference table that could seat eight, a sitting area for more intimate conversations, and a desk that blended fashion and function nicely. She’d already tested the leather couch and determined that it would make a suitable place for a purloined nap or an overnight stay, if world events made either a necessity.
But instead of world events intruding, it was a local call that interrupted Kate halfway through her salad.
She glared at her insistent cell phone, then succumbed to the need to answer it.
A pleasant voice hit her ear. “So how’s the first almost week in office?”
Nick. She smiled, then flushed, surprised by her own reaction. “Pretty good. How’s the lobbying business?”
“You know the drill. A lot of schmoozing. Curiosity is opening a lot of doors.”
“Curiosity?”
“Sure. The president’s ex-husband? Everyone’s expecting a bit of gossip. Or at least the inside scoop. We’ll see if it’s a lot harder to get a second meeting after they’ve learned a smart divorced man tells no tales.”
“You’re definitely smart.”
“And divorced. Listen, I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you long. I was just wondering if, in light of the impending announcement of the oil independence program, I could get a few minutes of her nibs’s time next week. Under the guise of ex-family, of course.”
Kate hesitated. Lobbyists met with presidents all the time, but for propriety’s sake, they didn’t meet as lobbyists, per se. Nick had essentially given her the right official reason, but would Emily agree? Kate had never questioned Emily as to the reason behind his invitation to the inaugural ball. Maybe this was a good time to broach the subject. If nothing else, Kate needed to know if Nick was slowly becoming part of the picture again.
“Great.”
“I’ll call back later after I’ve had a chance to talk to her about it.”
“Thanks.” A brief moment passed before he added, “Later, then.”
After she hung up, Kate pushed back in her chair. That was awkward, she thought.
However, things grew more awkward only a few hours later when Emily called her into the office for an unexpected meeting.
When Kate entered, Emily was standing near the fireplace. A man sat with his back toward the door, and it wasn’t until he stood and turned that Kate recognized who he was.
George Richfield, the director of the FBI, held out his hand as she approached. “Ms. Rosen, good to see you again.” They’d met at least two times before in social situations. But this time, social didn’t seem the right word to describe what was unfolding in front of her.
She accepted his handshake, trying not to appear too hesitant. “Director. Likewise. To what honor do we owe your unexpected visit, sir?” Her initial salvo had to be polite, but if she was going to protect her own position within the administration, she knew she had to play the control card immediately. It was a lesson she’d learned as a female carving out a position in a more male-dominated business. “I wasn’t aware we had any meetings scheduled with you.” Her tone said what she couldn’t —And I should have known.
He shared a sidelong glance at Emily. “We have a possible issue, and I wanted to brief the president first.”
Kate sat down without invitation. In the British monarchy, it would be considered the height of insult to sit prior to the queen taking her own seat. However, Kate did it for no other reason than to remind the FBI director and Emily that there was no royalty present. “Then please . . . sit. Tell me what’s going on.”
Emily smothered a small grin in response to the deliberate break in protocol. But any sense of veiled amusement vanished when she and Director Richfield sat on the opposite couch in a classic us-versus-you seating position. The director laced his fingers, propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward to lessen the harshness of their almost confrontational arrangement.
“No doubt you remember the tragic accident that occurred the night of the inauguration.” He managed to rip all sense of emotion from the word tragic. “Timothy Colton and Maia Bari were killed in a one-car accident on Rock Creek Parkway.”
How could I forget? “Yes, I was the one who decided not to interrupt the president’s evening with the unfortunate details.”
Emily shifted slightly. “I called Kate later that evening —actually in the wee hours of the morning —complaining about her decision, but what I should have done instead was thank her.” She turned to Kate. “You were right, as always. Had you told me, it would have put an unnecessary damper on the evening. And like you said, there was nothing I could do until morning, anyway.”
Kate acknowledged Emily’s belated thanks with a quick nod and turned her attention back to the director. “So what seems to be the problem? The FBI isn’t usually called in for traffic accidents.”
“True. But in light of Ms. Bari’s connection to the president and Mr. Colton’s connection to Governor Talbot, the Park Police requested our assistance when they uncovered some signs of . . . tampering.”
“Tampering? As in evidence tampering?”
Richfield shook his head. “No, as in evidence that the car had been tampered with prior to the accident.”
“Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?” Emily asked.
Something’s all wrong about this, Kate thought. Here was the director of the FBI, involving himself in a case. Wouldn’t he leave that up to someone with real investigative experience? Even given the high profile of the people involved?
Kate reached down deep into her reservoir of courage to find the right nonconfrontational tack to take. “Sir, before we go on, may I ask why you’re handling this instead of a field agent?”
He managed a tight grin. “It’s not a question I haven’t asked myself. But considering the potentially sensitive nature of the situation, I decided to break procedure.” Richfield continued as if his vague response were a real answer. “I was told that you received news of the wreck from one of the Secret Service agents working the command post at the ball, correct?”
Kate hesitated, then finally decided to play it his way. “Yes. An Agent Brown found me in the crowd. Evidently the command post had been monitoring all the various law enforcement frequencies, and someone recognized Maia’s name as being associated with the campaign staff. After he briefed me, I made the decision to hold off informing the president until that next morning after the ball.”
“I understand you weren’t alone when you were briefed. Correct?”
Kate hadn’t spent a huge amount of time in the courtroom but enough so that she knew how to maintain her facial expression and control her body language. “No, as it happens, I was talking with Nicholas Beaudry when the agent approached —” she glanced at Emily —“in the company of Chip McWilliamson, who was also aware of the situation. I believe he’d been instrumental in locating me in the middle of the crowd. He remained there and overheard the resulting conversation.”
“McWilliamson.” The slightest hint of distaste crossed the director’s face. “That’s right. The . . . blogger.” He said the word with the same enthusiasm as one might say, “The mosquito.”
The man regrouped and continued. “So in addition to Mr. McWilliamson, Mr. Beaudry also overheard the news of the accident and what few details you had at the moment.”
“Correct.”
“And he said nothing?”
“Who? Nick? No. I’m sure he knew it wasn’t appropriate to enter into the conversation.”
The director crossed his arms as if having uncovered a Scooby-Doo–size clue. “But he didn’t step away and give you any privacy.”
“No, but then again, I didn’t find that odd. It was obvious that it wasn’t a security matter where he might need a specific clearance. If it had been, the agent would have never tried to conduct a secure brief in the middle of a ballroom full of partygoers. Anyone could have overheard.”
“So when Mr. Beaudry overheard the discussion, he didn’t say anything about knowing Timothy Colton?”
“Not at that time. Once the agent stepped away, he brought the subject up. It wasn’t like it was a secret. He knew I was aware of the hierarchy of Talbot’s staff, including his own former position in that structure. With that in mind, it didn’t take any great leaps in logic to presume he knew Colton, probably fairly well. They had to have worked together at some point on the campaign. As I recall, we exchanged sympathies since we’d both lost a —” she stumbled over the word —“colleague. He knew who Maia was and that I’d worked with her.” Kate hesitated, then added, “She is —was the sort of woman that men always noticed.”
“Indeed. She was quite a beautiful woman.” The director nodded. “So, during your conversation with Mr. Beaudry, did he mention any animosity he might have had against Colton?”
Kate shifted, signaling an end to her willingness to be grilled. “Director, you’re asking some very pointed questions that lead me to believe you have some suspicions about Mr. Beaudry’s involvement in this terrible situation. Certainly you’re not accusing him of having anything to do with the accident? Or tampering with the vehicle?”
Richfield shifted on the couch, sitting up a bit straighter. “We’re making no accusations. It’s simply come to our attention that Mr. Beaudry and Mr. Colton were not friendly coworkers —more like bitter adversaries, according to Governor Talbot.”
Now things were starting to make more sense. If Talbot had weighed in on the situation, no doubt he’d worked hard to cast Nick in the worst possible light. Their opponent had been none too thrilled to learn his plan to use Emily’s ex-husband against her had backfired.
Kate folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Beaudry said nothing to me to substantiate that.” She worked very hard to keep I already knew it was fact from showing in her expression.
Richfield dug a little deeper. “So he had never mentioned to you that on the day he resigned from Governor Talbot’s staff, he was attacked?”
Although this was no court of law and she’d taken no oath, Kate realized the truth was the only avenue she could follow at the moment. “Actually I knew about that incident shortly after it occurred.”
Emily quirked an eyebrow. “You talked that often with him?”
The single look Kate shot her friend carried at least three messages —the most important of which was You don’t want me to go into this, not with the FBI or anyone else for that matter.
She turned back to Richfield. “I spoke with him a few times, mostly coordinating issues common to both campaigns.” She chose her words carefully. “I believe toward the end of the campaign, he’d gotten disillusioned with Governor Talbot, and that was why he called me —to inform me that he was resigning from his position.”
“He didn’t offer to sell or otherwise give you any secrets about the Talbot campaign?”
Kate couldn’t help one gibe. “I didn’t realize you also sat on the Federal Election Commission as well.” She dismissed the supposed absurdity of her own statement with a wave of her hand. “No, he didn’t. In any case, I doubt there was anything he could tell us that we didn’t already know.” She raised a finger. “Wait. I take that back. I remember that in the conversation we had about his resignation, he mentioned in passing that Talbot was planning to have a press conference the next day. However, I guess that shows you how out of the loop he truly was. As I recall, Talbot had no press conference that next day.”
“Interesting. And you remember this . . . why?”
“Because, besides being proactive, part of my job was reactive, and I always monitored the actions of the other side.” Kate sighed. “Director, I’m finding your questions to be . . . rather disturbing. Normally I would ask if I needed to have a lawyer present.” She glanced at Emily. “But she’s here already. So I’ll continue to answer your questions. For now.”
Richfield caught himself just short of issuing a harrumph. “I’m sorry, Ms. Rosen. I’m just trying to get the background on Beaudry. I only have a few more questions.” He pressed on without pausing. “The night of the inauguration, had you made arrangements to meet Beaudry at the ball?”
Kate didn’t have to look at Emily to know that she had turned her face away from the conversation, fearing her expressions might be telling.
“Absolutely not. I didn’t even know he’d been invited. It seems someone from the White House made sure he was sent a ticket.”
After a moment of silence, Emily raised her hand lazily in the air. “That would be me.” She turned to face them and offered a shrug with her explanation. “What can I say? It seemed like a decent gesture. Goodwill and all that.” She managed a small crooked smile. “Me burying the hatchet somewhere other than his skull.”
The director spared Emily a quick glance as if mandated by law to pay attention to anyone talking about hatchets and skulls. He turned back to Kate. “Do you recall what time you first saw Mr. Beaudry at the ball?”
Although she’d already mentally taken the pieces and assembled them into an uncomfortable conclusion, Kate decided to voice her observation. “Before I answer that, let me ask you a question. Are you accusing the president’s former husband of having something to do with the accident?”
He stiffened. “I’m merely trying to establish a timeline to aid in the investigation.” He pressed on without even taking a breath. “When did you first see him that night?”
Kate knew who Nick had been in the past and who he’d become in the intervening years. She couldn’t imagine either version of Nick being involved in something like this, not even during his worst drinking days. As her father always said, “Booze doesn’t turn a good man into a mean drunk. It simply removes all the filters and self-controls he uses every day to control his temper and his tongue.” Even fully intoxicated, Nick Beaudry had never been a mean drunk.
She faced the director. “I’m unsure of the exact time —I wasn’t wearing a watch. But the first time we spoke was during Emily’s first dance with Richard. I’m sure there are media files that will give you the exact time frame of the dance.”
“No point prior to that?”
“No. That was the first time I saw him that night.”
“And his demeanor at that time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he excited? relieved? distracted? Had he had anything to drink? Was he intoxicated?”
The last question got under Kate’s skin, and she couldn’t stop herself from firing back. “Next you’ll ask me if I noticed the telltale sign of oil stains on his hands or some vital piece of a braking system in the pocket of his tuxedo.”
The director shot Emily a glance as if the two of them were sharing some great revelation.
Kate closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to regain her composure, then stood, hoping it would get the message across that her patience had been stretched to its end. “Nick Beaudry was pleasant and even-keeled that evening, even when he encountered a less than polite member of our staff who wanted to throw him bodily out of the hotel. And he was stone-cold sober when I spoke to him and remained sober all night.”
“For as long as you were there,” the director corrected.
“True. And long after, I suspect. I don’t know if you’ve spoken with him, but he appears to be very serious about and very dedicated to maintaining his sobriety.” She met the director eye to eye. “Are there any other questions? I still have many meetings on my docket today.” Her use of the legalistic term was deliberate.
“No, ma’am.” Richfield stood as well. “I’m sorry to have had to ask them at all. But this way, I can spare you any other inquiries from agents assigned to investigate this.”
“Then let me state that I sincerely doubt Nick Beaudry had anything to do with the deaths of Timothy and Maia.”
He didn’t offer his hand, and Kate wasn’t sure she’d have accepted it had he made the gesture.
“I’m sure you’re correct. Thank you so much.” He turned to Emily. “Madam President? Thank you for your valuable time.” With a nod of salutation, he headed for the door.
Kate waited until the panel closed behind him before speaking. She pivoted sharply and glared at Emily. “What in the world has gotten into you?”
“Into me?” Emily wrapped herself in an air of innocence that smelled dank. “I should be asking you that question.” A look of virtue transformed effortlessly to sadness on her face. “You and Nick? My ex-husband?”
Kate crossed over to the fireplace, hoping the dancing flames might chase away the sudden chill that settled on her. “Get real, Emily. There is no Nick and me. You’re the one who sent him a ticket. Goodwill gesture? Like I believe that.” She turned away from the fire. “Chip had it right. All you wanted was a chance to twist the knife a little in public. You dragged him there just to remind him of what he lost, to tell him, ‘You could have been up here as First Gentleman if you hadn’t been such a louse.’”
“That’s not the way I meant it.”
To anyone else, Emily’s look appeared to be one of genuine confusion, but Kate saw something far less appealing in the shadows behind her eyes.
Emily continued, her words sounding theatrical at best. “I thought you believed in forgiveness. In letting bygones be bygones.”
“I do. But the trouble is —I know you don’t. Can the act, M. I know exactly what sort of trick you’re trying to pull. And while we’re at it, why did you give me no warning that the director of the FBI wanted to grill me?”
Emily dropped all pretense of confused innocence. “Trust me.” She stood, walked over to her desk, and perched on the corner of it. “I was doing you a favor.”
“A favor . . .”
“Sure. One of George’s minions could have called on you, raised a stink, asked you to make a formal statement. Formal statements mean public records. But instead, you simply told him the facts in an informal setting.”
“The Oval Office is not an informal setting.”
“More so than his office. Still, it’s over. He’ll pass the data along to a subordinate and that’ll be that. He’s not going to bother you again because he got everything he needed from your unprepared, off-the-cuff answers.”
“And what is he going to do with my answers? Pursue Nick as a possible suspect in the deaths of two people?” Kate paused and raised one finger to make a point. “Wait, if it’s sabotage, then it’d be considered premeditated murder.” Indignation began to bubble up inside of her. “C’mon, Emily, you know he’s not capable of that.”
Emily crossed her arms, and a look of belligerence filled her face and her stance. “That’s what we thought about Charles Talbot. When you started rooting around in his past, I bet you expected to find a few relatively harmless skeletons in his closet —not a dead girlfriend.”
Kate said nothing. The rules of politics were similar to those of fight club —never talk about fight club or dirty politics. If you’re overheard, you have to explain yourself. And neither she nor Emily wanted anyone wondering why they knew so much dirt about Charles Talbot but had never released their findings to the public.
If any media type caught wind of the stalemate between the erstwhile candidates, two sets of dirty secrets might still be pinned to the clothesline for everyone to see. And something told her that whatever Maia and Colton were talking about in that car, it wasn’t likely to be good for Emily. But Emily didn’t seem upset.
“Don’t worry,” Emily said, almost bragging. “I have everything covered. . . .”
Now Kate was really worried.