Another Notch in the Beltway (18 page)

“
A chuisle
,” MP said softly.

She turned and offered him a smile. “Come sit with me,” she said, patting the seat next to her.

He gave her a warm kiss and joined her on the couch.

“That was Nate. He called to invite us on a double date with him and his girlfriend. It appears he's pretty serious about her.”

“How do you feel about that?” asked MP.

“I'm okay with it. I think he's young, but I'm not about to offer advice, seeing as I was already on my way to becoming a parent at his age. Plus, this is only the second girlfriend he's introduced me to, so he doesn't make a habit of falling in and out of love.”

“Practical young man.”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“Still something bothers you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. Several things actually. If he's a donor match, he should know by the end of the week, and he either wants to celebrate the fact that he's not or discuss the fact that he is. That and he hates not being able to tell Kelly. That's the girlfriend. I told him to do what he feels is best in that regard. If he does, I hope she keeps his confidence.”

“He's your son. He'll use good judgment.”

“He's in love. When I was his age and in love, I didn't use any judgment. I was totally ruled by my heart and hormones.”

MP nodded soberly.

“But enough of this. Are you free this coming weekend to double date with my son and his girl in D.C.? We can stay at the Ritz and make a weekend of it.”

“I'll sleep in the car as long as I'm with you,” he teased.

She laughed. “I should warn you that my son will be checking you out.”

“As it should be. He values his mum.” He ran a finger down the side of her face. “He wants to know that I'm worthy of you. Might be that he thinks no one is.”

“No, that's not the case. He's been telling me to find someone.” She took a step out of her comfort zone and offered, “I asked him the other day if he'd like a sibling, and once he assured himself I wasn't already knocked up, he said he'd be okay with it as long as he didn't have to babysit or change diapers.”

MP seemed delighted by her statement. “I'd think he'd be pretty safe from that, at least while he's in law school. But what if he has children? Will you babysit and change their nappies?”

“Most likely I would. But I hope he waits a while. I think I'm too young to be a grandma.”

“Not your typical grandmum, away.”

“I'd like to wait at least ten years or so for that momentous event.”

“But you've given thought to having a baby, I take it?” he asked cautiously.

“I have,” she answered.

“It would be a big change for your life.”

“Having a child is a big change for anyone's life. But if I had another child, I'd hope that I had a willing partner this time around. Barring anything unforeseen, that would make the experience a little easier.” She smiled tentatively.

“If that partner were me, you'd be certain.” He gave her a gentle kiss. “As I said before, I'd like to see you carry my child.”

She flushed.

“I've fallen in love with you, Lenore.” He picked up her hand and kissed the sensitive center.

Tears sprang to her eyes again. “I've fallen for you, too, MP. Not certain when or how but I realized it last week.”

“Were you going to tell me?” He smiled, eyes bright, crinkling at the corners.

“I've been on the verge for days. I love you, Michael Patrick. I've never said those words to anyone, not even my son's father.”

“And I've never been properly in love before I met you,
mo chuisle
. I love you.”

They looked into one another's eyes, wanting to etch this memory into their minds. He pulled her to him and murmured, “My breath, my forever, I'll love you for eternity.” Then Michael Patrick kissed her softly, stealing her heart as he did so.

“His condition is not good. If we can't get the transplant done soon, he might not be strong enough to even have it, if we ever find a match.” Corrine was on a rant to someone on the phone.

Byron walked by her office and stopped to listen to the conversation. No doubt she was talking to one of her tennis or golf buddies. Doing her best to garner sympathy.

“Yes, Byron has been using his position, and a number of people have been tested, but none of them match, not even close enough to try a transplant. He's appealed to the student body at Georgetown but the response hasn't been what he'd hoped.”

That's because most of the campus thinks Jack's a prick, Maxwell thought and continued on to his office. He'd heard enough of his wife's BS, contrived phone conversation. He marveled at the fact that she had never shared their marital discord with anyone. Probably knew if she did, it would be all over Washington.

The results of Nathan Held's test should be in tomorrow afternoon or the next morning.

Byron wanted out from under everything. Maybe he should write a book and become a newscaster like Morris suggested. Shit, if Sarah Palin and Eliot Spitzer could do it, so could he. He laughed to himself.

Maxwell brought up his e-mail. There was one without a subject that contained an attachment. He opened it. It was a picture of Nathan Held. That's all there was. It was sent from zipperdown.com.

“What the hell,” he said louder than he intended.

“Problem?” Corrine asked as she passed his office.

“Uh, no. Don't trouble yourself, dear.”

Fucking bitch, he thought. But he'd made her into one, or at least their life circumstances had. His father, hers, their lifestyle. Guilt—that was the overriding feeling he had toward his wife—guilt mixed with loathing. Guilt edged out the loathing a notch.

Question was whom did the e-mail photo come from? He'd send it to Morris's Seeker computer and see if he could find out. He would have his address deactivated tomorrow, although Gerald might think it better to leave it active.

But he was certainly going to get a new computer and e-mail address, one that no one knew.

He stared at his son's picture a few moments longer, then closed down his computer.

There was no mistaking them for close family members, if not father and son, though that would be anyone's first guess.

What would life have been like if Lenore had been his wife, and he'd been around to help her raise Nathan? Would they have had more children? Lived happily ever after? He'd often wondered.

He'd loved her. Maybe he still did. Her body attracted him, but her youthful enthusiasm and brains, an odd combination, had captivated him. Truth was, he'd been thinking of leaving Corrine behind and losing her family's money. He had wanted to run away with Lenore and may have until Rin turned up pregnant after the night he took her. That night had changed so many futures. It still was, he thought.

The picture of Nathan showing up on his personal computer was a warning, but from whom? His logical choice was Corrine, followed by Jack, then Morris.

Jack had more money than he did and could easily afford to have a PI follow him. The money came from a trust set up by Jack's maternal grandfather, and when Carter died, the money that was in his trust had reverted to Jack as well.

Everyone thought Byron had financed the abortions for Jack's girlfriends but, in actuality, Jack had paid for them himself. Jack perpetuated the story of Maxwell taking care of it. He had never known of the abortions until after the fact.

It had taken some fancy footwork to keep them undercover. Maxwell even believed his son had impregnated the girls in hopes it would go public and come back to haunt his father. Morris had taken steps to make sure it hadn't, paying one young woman off and getting the other a high-paying job. But Jack had made sure the rumor was out there.

Then there was Morris. While a long shot, Gerald could have sent the photo to yank his chain. More than anything, Morris thrived on the power his position gave him. It was that fact that made him discount Morris. Plus, Morris knew all of his dark secrets and did not need to send photos to taunt him.

Not many people had his personal e-mail, so that limited the list of possibilities as well. No, he'd bet it was Rin or Jack who sent the picture, or someone hired by them.

He'd wait to see what Morris turned up on Seeker tomorrow. Meanwhile, Maxwell got up to pour himself a double scotch.

Lenore and MP were finishing breakfast the next morning when Lenore observed, “We have a great job, you and I. Most couples couldn't lounge around like this and enjoy breakfast together on a weekday. Not to mention a romp in bed. Other couples hear the alarm and start the race of the day with barely a peck on the cheek and cold cornflakes.”

“You're right, lass. I'll never take that freedom for granted. Nor will I miss an opportunity to romp with you.” He gave he a wicked smile.

“Do you think the urgency will fade over time?”

“What? Wanting to jump each other's bones?”

“Yes.”

“I don't think so. Will there be times when we have to set the urgency aside? Unfortunately, yes,” he replied.

“To deal with other more pressing things, say, like breakfast?” Her were eyes alight with mischief.

“Yes, pesky things like sustenance tend to get in the way.”

She laughed. “I wish it were never more complicated than that.”

“I propose we do an erotic book filled with nothing but food and sex,” MP said.

“Under our current pen names or new ones?”

“Since it will be more like an autobiography, new names.”

They both laughed and she slid several more pancakes onto his plate.

“Although at the rate we're going with Cass and Amanda's sex life, we might not be able to muster up an erotic novel with or without food.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Come on, MP, your Cass is… I don't know what he is. But I know what he isn't. He's not a motivated lover. Is he afraid of Amanda? Is she too overtly sexual for him all of a sudden?”

“I don't think Cass thinks she's overtly sexual at all. I think he believes her to be a cold bitch.”

“He should try and thaw her out then. She's sending him signals he's not getting.”

“She sends him signals, then backs away with anger or hurt.”

“I don't think so, MP.”

“I do, lass.”

“What would you have her do? Show up at his office in nothing but a trench coat and high heels?”

“That's a bit predictable, don't you think?”

“How about commando to a business meeting. Where she looks perfectly demure but places herself where only Cass can see her attributes?”

They laughed again.

“Would Cass know what to do with her, MP?”

“I'd know what to do with you if you pulled a stunt like that,” he said, eyes darkening.

“Do tell,” she said, popping the last of her breakfast in her mouth.

“I'll do you one better.” He took her from the stool and kissed her simple, then turned her to the heavy oak kitchen table and leaned her over it so her back was to him.

Knowing she was commando under the long shirt, he plunged one hand between her legs and used the other to push down his sweatpants and briefs.

She was wet for him, and he was more than ready for her. He entered her from behind hard and fast. She rocked back into him, anchoring her arms on either side of the table for purchase.

Panting, she said, “Please, MP, now.”

He didn't argue or slow her down. He was as desperate as she was.

“
A chuisle
,” he cried as he began to come, pumping into her harder and faster until all conscious thought was centered on their connected bodies.

Spent, he lay on top of her for a moment. Michael Patrick kissed the side of her face and murmured Irish endearments.

“I don't think Cass could do the scene justice,” Lenore finally managed, voice still husky.

“What about your Amanda?”

“I don't give a shit about her at present.”

MP let loose a deep rich laugh. “You are irrepressible, lass.” He kissed the back of her head and lifted himself off of her. Then he helped her right herself from the table. Turning her, he kissed her soundly and ran his hands under her shirt to touch her breasts.

“While I enjoyed this very much, I missed the rest of you.”

A slow smile touched her lips. “The rest of me agrees, but the other part felt marvelous in its own right.”

“It did.” He nipped her nose.

“And I hate to disrupt the urgency of this creative research, but the cleaning lady will be here any moment, so we should take a shower. In the interest of saving time, I suggest we do it together.”

****

For a midwinter's day, it was warm and sunny. Lenore and MP decided to take advantage of the good weather, visit the Mercer Museum in Doylestown, and have lunch at one of the quaint restaurants in town.

“This place is like a hoarder's paradise.” Michael Patrick looked up at the ceiling in the museum atrium to see a whaleboat, a stagecoach, and a Conestoga wagon suspended from the ceiling.

“I've often thought the same thing. There are over 30,000 items on display here.”

“Amazing,” he said, looking about the six-story concrete structure, which was designed to look like a castle.

“You have real castles in the UK,” Lenore observed.

“None like this and chock full of stuff.”

“You're right, I suppose. Henry Mercer was a historian and archeologist. He built this place in 1916 to showcase his many collections.”

MP nodded and took her hand, pulling her farther into the museum.

“It's cold in here,
mo chuisle
. Are you warm enough?”

“Concrete keeps it this way year round.”