Charity's Secrets (5 page)

"I
love it!" My voice relays my excitement.

"I
thought you would. Tony will be picking us up in—" He pauses and stretches
his neck to see the time. "An hour."

"Good
to know," I laugh, not at all surprised by his assumption that I would
want to go, or that I would be able to get ready so quickly.

THE DRIVE TO WASHINGTONVILLE
was wonderful, so much of it reminds
me of my favorite places back home. There are more trees and lakes up here than
I had imagined; small, quiet towns nestled into the hills, and the old wooden
structures and the hand dug cellar the Brotherhood Winery is still using are
beautiful. Justin insisted we take the tour so I could hear how it is one of
the oldest in the country, surviving prohibition by making sacramental wine for
the churches.

It is
easy to see why he likes the place so much. I fell in love with it myself
within minutes, and that's before a flight of reds.

We are
driving to a second place now, listening to Macklemore & Ryan Lewis sing
"Thrift Shop" while we tip a bottle of Carpe Diem from Brotherhood.
Justin suddenly begins to belt out the hook of the song, "I'm gonna pop
some tags—"

I
didn't even hear the rest of his rapping behind my laughter. He is so
unexpected sometimes. At the office, he's a wall of no emotion that commands
absolute respect. With his team, he strikes domination and fear into anyone
that opposes him. With our friends, he is a sexy, normal guy. And finally,
there is the loving man with me now that would do almost anything for my smile.
The privacy screen is up, so Tony cannot hear a thing happening back here. I'm
sure that if he did, the confusion would give him a heart attack.

Justin
pours each of us another glass, proud at the damage we've done to the bottle so
quickly, when his attention is stolen by a turn Tony steered us into. There is
nothing out of the ordinary with it to me, but in an instant, Justin is gone
and JP is here.

At first
he does nothing, just watches through the back window. Tony takes a second
right, then a third.

He's
circling around. Justin knew the directions well and knew that something was up
the second we turned where we shouldn't have.

We came
back to the main road. Tony stopped for the sign, but held us there, waiting.

Justin
hit the call button. "What is it?" he demands.

Tony
seems to stutter nervously. I don't know if it's because I'm here, or if he's
just scared shitless of Justin.

Justin
turns and looks at me. His face does not change at all, but somehow his eyes
reassure me.

"It's
okay," he barks at Tony. "She can handle it."

"It’s
probably nothing Sir, but we had a tail. They came in right after us at
Brotherhood, left at the same time, and they were taking the same path we were
on—keeping themselves back in the distance."

Justin
doesn't say a word, his mind working on the information and the possibilities. Once
again, I find myself wondering how the hell I got into this.

"They're
not there now Sir. A lot of people travel between Warwick and Brotherhood. I've
done it myself, Sir, every time I've come up here. They're both nice places,
not too far apart, and this is the best route between them."

Justin
was calm and quiet a moment longer. "So you think it was nothing?"

"Yes,
Sir. I just didn't want to take any chances."

His
face is firm, teeth clenched. "Do we still go?"

"I
believe its safe, Sir. I wouldn't let my paranoia ruin your day."

I see
in Justin's eyes that he wasn't asking Tony. He's waiting for me to call it. I
don't know if it was Tony's words, or my own
warrior
defiance at not
wanting to stop such a perfect day, but I hear myself answer, "We go. Even
if it was a tail, it was over the second they saw us going around the
block."

Do I
even believe this myself?

Justin
relaxes. "You heard that?" he asks Tony.

"Yes
sir."

The car
lurches forward just after Justin releases the call button, tilting us to the
left as Tony makes a right back onto the main road. The road is quiet and
friendly now, there's no one else around at the moment.

Fifteen
minutes later, we are leaning on the copper bar top at the Warwick Winery and
waiting for our glasses. The length of the bar is elbow-to-elbow busy with
voices loud and cheerful with the hosts trying to shout over everyone. Tin dumping
buckets line up with about every four people, and everyone has a copy of the
selection list and a three inch pencil. I'm most grateful for the crackers; I
know they're for resetting our palates, but I really need to get something in
my stomach. I’m still dizzy from Brotherhood.

Our
host is a heavy-set man about our age with jet black hair and matching
fingernails. He has an unexpected amount of knowledge about the wines, much
more than his normal bartender looks suggest. He provides more detail than our
slightly drunk minds could really remember, and in the end we buy a bottle of
Cabernet Sauvignon and take it into the back where they have tables, food, and
live music. We enjoy the rest of our time here, but it never once leaves my mind
what had happened. What I want to know is that if we are being watched, is it
primarily Justin—or do I have to watch my back too?

Lena
had been right to open my eyes to the possibilities, and I have made my
decision to keep going. It was time to grow a pair, this was not going to
change my mind.

Fuck
being scared!

There
are two options for me; I could be scared and hide or I could fight.

I
popped a piece of cheese into my mouth and took a swig from my glass. "You
have a training compound of some kind, a firing range, something like
that?"

"Yes,"
Justin answers full of uncertainty, wondering why I was asking.

The
next thing out of my mouth was in no way, shape, or form a question. It was a
demand. "Tomorrow—you're taking me!"

S
enator Scott Lewis is visibly overwhelmed. He keeps
catching himself ringing his fingers together nervously, and to stop himself he
runs his hands toward his knees to straighten his pants out over and over until
he forgets and goes back to the ringing. It's a terrible thing to realize your
entire life is a trap that you've asked for yourself.

Sitting
in the room with him is most of the group responsible for getting him elected,
temporarily and then permanently just a few weeks ago. There's a few more, but
they will never come to a meeting like this, money guys and an ex-president
from the opposite party.

A
tangled web woven.

Some of
the men sitting in Lewis' own study are his friends and political allies. Some
of them, like Justin, he has no idea who they are or why they came. Those that
know him are the ones that asked him for this meeting, setting him up. They
told him, now that he was a Senator there was some business to take care of. He
didn't exactly know what they had meant about that, but he invited them over as
they requested.

No one
talked for the first twenty minutes while they waited for everyone to arrive.
Lewis tried making small talk, but his guests were all acting a little too
serious. That's when he began getting nervous.

I saw
it happening and so did Lena as we watch the surveillance cameras from the
safety of Justin's office. All the bugs we put in when we were selecting him were
going to stay now, maybe forever. We wanted Lewis a little scared, especially
for this meeting. Fear is good for control, so it is a welcome sight. It has to
be limited, though, so that Lewis is still concentrating more on what is being
said and less on not throwing up and shitting his pants.

Justin
looks uninterested and unimportant, hanging in the background exactly where he
wants to be. His insignificance masks the fact that he is in complete control
of this meeting. Everything about to be said, and who will say it, has been
scripted by him. Even some of them arriving late is according to his plan.

It
freaks me out, more than a little bit, to witness his accuracy, to know that he
can play anyone like a puppet—including maybe even me and I would never know
it.

Justin
wanted the first person to speak to be someone Lewis knows, someone he trusts.
That fell to Austin Hill, the Administrative Press Aid for the last two
presidents and friend of Lewis' since college.

"Scott,
obviously we're here for something important; something that concerns you
directly even though you have no idea what it is, but I want you to do your
best to relax and listen to everything we say. You've known me for years. You
know I don't want anything but good things for you, so trust me when I tell you—do
not get upset, do not get defensive. Just listen and pay attention. If you
listen to the positive in this, you'll see that everyone here is going to help
you, that we already have helped you, and that was just the beginning."

Austin
held his eye contact the entire time, just as he was told to. He's a good
looking guy; nice body, pretty blue eyes, cleft chin, more rugged than you
would expect in a political jockey. He had sat himself right in front of Lewis,
leaning in toward him the way Justin wanted.

"What
did you help me with?" Lewis asks even though his tone suggests that he
suspects what Austin is referring to.

"Scott,
you know no one gets to where you are without certain backing. It's just not
possible to go up against fortified politicians, without being fortified
yourself," Austin said.

"You
got me the Senator position, is that what you're telling me?" Everyone can
hear the defensiveness and subtle posturing in his voice.

"Not
us entirely. You earned it, we're not taking that away from you. We would have
been ineffective and powerless if you weren't worthy," Austin replied.
That was honest and true.

The hint
of insult Lewis displayed quickly settled, trying to check his emotions as his
friend had asked him to do. "But you helped?"

"We
cleared the path," Austin said. "We made you the only reliable,
believable candidate, so the choice was easy. We wanted you in as much as you
wanted to be in."

He'll
ask what they want, according to Justin's script. Not why. He will know the
"why" is because they want him to do things for them, so he'll want
to know
what
. And it shouldn't be Austin to answer. They need to keep
Austin pure to Lewis.

"What
is it you want me to do?"

Right
on fucking cue!

Lena
sees me smile.

John
Roberts, an older, leathery, "oil" man sits right behind Austin.
Lewis doesn't know him, but knows exactly who he is. "It's nothing so
particular, Mr. Lewis. We want you in and we'll keep you in. That favor, and
the others we've done for you, it's only right you be willing to do the same
for us."

"So
you want me in your pocket?"

"Yes,"
John says. "No reason to lie, that's exactly what we want, but you will have
us in your pocket as well. We fix things for you, you fix things for us. It's
fair."

Lewis
is still ringing his hands, but they have his attention.

"What
do I need fixed," Lewis started, "now that I'm already Senator?"

Now it
was time for someone Lewis doesn't know at all, because what had to be said
next is going to unnerve him. It needs to be someone Lewis won’t know how to
read, someone he might be a little afraid of.

"We
know about the gambling."

That
was Franco Cecere, a gigantic Italian man whose voice rolls like deep thunder
over a calm lake. His hands look like massive sausages clad in diamond rings.
Not only does Lewis not know who he is at all, but Franco is so imposing
looking that Lewis is too scared to reply.

"We
know where you've been getting the money for your habit," he adds.

Lewis
is silent.

"We've
taken care of that, though, every bit of it. Everything missing from your
political funds, your personal accounts, it's all back again—erased," Cattie
Atwood, a popular PR specialist, reassures him. He knows her; not well, but
they've spoken on several occasions, sat together at several functions with
their spouses.

Mixing
with Lewis' frustration, there's hope. It blows into his eyes like smoke. It's
an answer to a problem he had no way to solve himself, one that was going to
take away everything he'd worked for. "It c-can't be," he stutters.

I know
what he’s thinking, that it was too much money, too big a debt years in the
making to be gone so quickly.

"It
is," she promises. "It's all gone. And if you can work with us, it
will stay that way."