EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder (10 page)

Wanting to keep things that way, I dialed
911.

* * *

Two days later, Gabriella was arrested and
tried to sweet talk her way out of the hole she'd dug for
herself.

Her husband survived his brush with death,
while I recovered from my injury with little more than an
occasional throbbing to remind me not to play with fire.

We both testified against Gabriella, helping
to send her up the river long enough so that her days of tempting
men were over.

Life for me has since drifted back to
normal, whatever that is. Not sure I've ever figured it out.

Now I think twice whenever a sexy babe comes
my way, thanks to one such lady with a killer attitude that I won't
forget anytime soon.

# # #

DINNER CRASHERS

In the wee hours of the morning, FBI agents
raided the house in the Virginia suburb seeking to arrest the
couple suspected of domestic terrorism. Special Agent Alan Sadler
headed the charge with his firearm drawn and ready while they went
directly to the upstairs master suite. The expectation was that the
suspects would be sound asleep or otherwise preoccupied in bed.
Instead the room was empty, though the bed had clearly been used
recently.

"Check every room," Sadler ordered, figuring
they had to be hiding somewhere. Or so their intelligence would
suggest.

After a thorough search, the place was found
to be empty. The suspects, a married American couple named Harold
and Elizabeth Lombard, had apparently left in a hurry, somehow
managing to give authorities the slip.

"We have to find them," Sadler said,
suspecting that heads would roll if they did not, starting with
his. "And quickly. There's no telling what they might be planning
while they're on the run."

An APB was issued on the Lombards who were
believed to have several aliases and described as armed, dangerous,
and desperate while possibly being in the company of a male
associate named Wilson Jaboo.

* * *

Harold Lombard drove the stolen car coolly,
resisting the urge to go beyond the speed limit and attract
potentially unwanted attention. Beside him was his loyal wife,
Lizzie. He glanced in the rear view mirror at Wilson Jaboo, his
best friend since college and an ardent supporter. Together they
had let the world know just what they thought of America and its
insistence on sticking its nose into the business and pocketbooks
of hard working individuals. They had been tipped off that the FBI
planned to arrest them and possibly silence them forever. He wasn't
about to let that happen, at least not till they made their
ultimate statement. They planned to kill the President of the
United States, bringing the utmost attention to their cause. It
occurred to Harold that they probably would not make it out of this
alive. If that were the case, so be it. Martyrdom was preferable to
living with freedoms impaired by a corrupt and greedy
government.

He faced his wife, who was not only still as
beautiful as the day they met, but understood what they were all
about and actually often took the lead in getting their message out
to those who wanted to hear it. "Do you have everything we need?"
he asked.

She smiled. "Right here."

Harold eyed Wilson. "How about you?"

"Yeah, I'm set."

"Then we're going to do this and the world
will change forever."

"I'm with you," Wilson said.

"Me, too," Lizzie told him sweetly.

"We're all on the same page." Harold
couldn't help but smile as he pulled up outside the hotel. "What
could be better?"

He watched as Wilson got out quickly, gave
him an understanding nod, and headed toward the lobby.

Harold drove off, realizing time was of the
essence if they were to pull this off successfully.

* * *

Secret Service Agents Genevieve Campbell and
Grant McKeen were stationed at the White House for the president's
first state dinner. The guest of honor was the president of
Cameroon, Peter Matlala. Other guests included a contingent from
neighboring Gabon, along with political allies, Cabinet members,
and Hollywood and musical celebrities. The event took place under a
tent on the White House South Lawn as dignitaries and others with
some pull continued to stream in.

Going undercover as a couple, Genevieve and
Grant got to dress the part wearing a gown and tuxedo. It didn't
bother Genevieve that her wardrobe, including shoes, were all
borrowed by the Secret Service to be returned once the occasion was
over. She felt beautiful anyway, just as she found Grant
resplendent in his attire and sexy, too. She resisted conveying
that last part to him, as if he didn't already know just how sexy
he was with or without the black tux.

They were holding hands and ogling each
other appropriately, wanting to give every indication that they
were a loving couple and not there to act as the last line of
defense in case someone managed to get past the outer barriers of
security and placed the president or first lady's life in
danger.

"How are you doing?" Grant whispered in her
ear, his warm breath tickling Genevieve's cheek.

"Probably about as well as you are," she
told him. "Whatever it takes to get the job done, right?"

"Absolutely." He grinned, squeezing her
hand. "By the way, if I didn't tell you before, you look absolutely
stunning in that gown."

Genevieve colored, noting that his eyes had
wandered down to a hint of cleavage. In fact, he had complimented
her—twice. And she him. "Thank you," she said softly. "I could say
the same about you in that tux."

Grant seemed to take it in stride, flexing
his collar. "Comes with the territory."

"If you say so."

She wondered if he would actually kiss her,
as their mouths were scant inches apart. It certainly wasn't called
for in the make-believe couple manual, but they had some latitude
in making it seem as real as possible without losing site of their
responsibilities at the end of the day.

Grant stepped back when he received a
message through his earpiece. "Oh really?" he said. "All right,
we'll be extra diligent."

"What is it?" she asked.

"The FBI believes that a credible threat has
been made against the president. They're still retrieving
information from a computer they confiscated from some terrorist
suspects."

Genevieve's heart skipped a beat. "Who are
we looking for?"

"A couple named Harold and Elizabeth Lombard
and a friend of theirs, Wilson Jaboo. The FBI will be sending us
their pictures and list of aliases shortly." Grant put his arm
around her. "In the meantime, I suggest we mingle and continue to
keep our eyes open without alarming the president or his guest of
honor. At least not until we have more to go on and reason to
believe the Lombards and Jaboo would actually dare try to get in
here."

"Mingle, we shall," she said anxiously.
"Wouldn't want to blow our cover, would we? Or take any threat
lightly."

"No, on both counts," he said in earnest
while they moved further inside the tent to near where the
president was exchanging jokes with President Matlala and his
wife.

* * *

In the hotel lobby, Wilson Jaboo shook hands
with his new buddy from Gabon, Erastus Ona. He had carefully
nurtured the relationship with the African over the Internet once
he became aware that Erastus would be part of the Gabon party
attending the president's first state dinner.

"Nice to meet you face to face," Wilson said
convincingly.

"You, too." Erastus gave him a toothy
smile.

"I appreciate that you're letting me attend
the state dinner with you."

"It is my pleasure," Erastus said. "Anything
I can do to help you meet your president, I am happy to do."
Erastus patted him on the back. "Come, let me introduce you to my
associates."

Wilson followed him to a group of people
from Gabon standing in a circle. Things were going according to
plan. Now all he needed to do was get past White House security and
let things progress as intended.

* * *

Uniformed Secret Service Agent Paul Wright
studied the attractive thirty-something couple who identified
themselves as Robert and Kristina Stephens. He was particularly
focused on the wife. She had long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and
a body to die for beneath the gold and purple gown. He could only
imagine what the husband did with her behind closed doors.

Paul looked at her identification. Kristina
Stephens of Fairfax, Virginia. He didn't recognize her or the
husband from the usual celebrities who made it their business to
come to the White House for events. But they obviously knew the
right people to have been invited. He checked the names on his
clipboard just to be sure. Yep, there they were.

"I hope you enjoy the dinner, Mrs.
Stephens," he told her.

She smiled. "I fully intend to."

Paul watched as she passed through the
magnetometers without incident. A moment later, her husband did the
same.

* * *

"We made it," Elizabeth uttered
triumphantly, hooking her arm under Harold's after they passed
through security.

"Yeah, we sure did," he said. "Easy as pie
as Robert and Kristina Stephens."

"Now what do we do?" She tempered her
enthusiasm, realizing that getting to the president would still be
difficult. Or so she presumed.

"Just follow my lead," Harold said
smoothly.

Elizabeth did just that as she smiled
radiantly before the journalists and photographers. She understood
that it was a calculated risk to expose themselves, as the FBI was
on their trail. But it would have aroused more suspicion had it
appeared as though they were ducking the cameras. Besides, if
things went according to plan, they would accomplish their mission
before the Secret Service could put two and two together. If they
failed, Wilson could still go after the president, assuming he got
in. Together they were sure to succeed. If not, they would go out
in grand fashion while keeping their message alive.

The couple moved further inside the tent and
fit right in as guests at the state dinner, even managing to be
photographed with the unsuspecting vice president, while in search
of the host who would soon breathe his last breath.

* * *

Wilson made a concerted effort not to make
eye contact with the Secret Service agent at the checkpoint. All he
had to do was keep cool and everything would be okay. He watched as
Erastus went through successfully. Now it was his turn.

The agent studied him as if he could see
right through him. "Mr. Jaboo, you're with the Gabon
contingent?"

"That's right." Wilson kept his shoulders
straight. "Is there a problem?"

The agent glanced at the clipboard. "I don't
see your name on the list."

Wilson froze for a moment. He couldn't let
that stop him from getting inside. "It should be there," he said,
glancing at Erastus, hoping he would back him up.

Erastus came over. "I can assure you that
Mr. Jaboo is a valued member of our party," he said persuasively.
"If his name was left off the list, it was merely an
oversight."

The agent regarded Wilson thoughtfully.
"Very well. You can go inside."

Wilson gave him a respectful smile. "Thank
you."

* * *

Grant scanned the crowd for anything or
anyone out of the ordinary. Actually, everyone at these affairs was
out of the ordinary compared to his usual duties of protecting the
president and his inner circle. But, in this case, someone who
seemed too down to earth could be cause for concern. They were
still operating on the assumption that those who had threatened the
president were anywhere but at a heavily guarded state dinner. Yet
they couldn't afford to let their guard down for even one
second.

He put on a good front. With Genevieve on
his arm, he almost felt like they were on a real date. The fact
that she looked and smelled so good made it even tougher for him to
ignore the chemistry between them that threatened to ignite had
they been anywhere but at the White House and on duty.

"You see any potential trouble?" he asked
her.

"Maybe, but not amongst the guests," she
said playfully.

He smiled. "We'll have to work on that
later. Let's just get past this dinner first and then—"

"And then there will be other occasions to
work."

Grant agreed. "That doesn't mean we can't
find the time to—"

"To see what might happen if we allow it
to," Genevieve said.

"Exactly."

Just then, Grant was told through his
earpiece that images of Harold and Elizabeth Lombard were being
sent to his cell phone, as well as a picture of Wilson Jaboo, along
with aliases the trio used.

* * *

Wilson stayed with the Gabon group just long
enough to spot Harold and Elizabeth. They made eye contact with him
and then proceeded with the plan. Wilson excused himself to go to
the men's room. Once inside, he went into a stall and waited for
the Secret Service agent who seemed to have taken a special
interest in him. Sure enough, he came in and pretended to be
washing his hands while looking around. Wilson flushed the toilet
and came out, casually moving to the sink. He put on his best Gabon
accent as if striking up a friendly conversation.

"I am delighted to have this great
opportunity to meet your president," he told him.

The man was stone-faced. "Yeah, most people
are."

Wilson, who was at least three inches taller
and bulkier than the man he felt was with the Secret Service, made
his move. After stepping away from the sink, he swiftly wrapped a
muscular arm around the man's neck from behind and, before he could
react, violently twisted, hearing it snap.