Eye Of The Storm - DK3 (77 page)

They started giggling, the long days tension dissolving in absurdity.

“Lemme guess. It’s the tail, right?” Dar replied.

“Nah, that six inch long to—”

“Hey, girls?”

The inner door started to swing open and Kerry’s eyes almost turned the size of baseballs. “Oh shit!”

Dar kicked her brain into gear and quickly wrapped her arms around Kerry, neatly covering both of them as her father poked his head in. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey list—” Andrew’s face turned an odd shade of coral. “Good Lord, ah beg your pardon.”

“No problem, Dad,” Dar reassured him, bolstered by years of boardroom experience in poker faces. “I was just helping Kerry get undressed.”

Andrew scratched his jaw. “Done a right professional job at it, looks like.”

Kerry laughed, her breath tickling Dar right between the breasts.

“I always try to do things right.” Dar managed to keep a straight face. “Did you need something?”

Andrew found something interesting on the opposite wall to examine. “We were gonna order us up some ice cream. Thought you might be 424
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interested.”

“Sure.” Dar smiled. “Great nightcap.”

“With lots of syrup.” Kerry’s muffled voice rose up from the depths.

“All right,” Andrew agreed seriously.

“And cherries.” Another half heard request.

“You can have mine,” Dar remarked dryly. “Make sure there’s nuts, though.”

“Now. Ah’d have thought them would be—oh. You mean the eat’n kind,” her father drawled back. “All right.”

“Dad!” Kerry squealed, turning her head and peeking at him.

Andrew gave her a rakish grin and disappeared.

“I can’t believe he said that,” Kerry spluttered.

“Why?” Dar released her and continued removing her clothing. “He knows the difference between boys and girls, Ker. And despite rumors to the contrary he knows I don’t have anf…ffof.” She peered at her friend over a hand clamped firmly across her mouth.

“Thank you so much for the biology lesson,” Kerry muttered. “I’m just not really used to parents making comments like that. Mine never did.” She paused. “It would have been like the statue of George Washington cracking an X-rated joke.”

Dar nibbled Kerry’s palm, exploring the soft skin, which shifted and was removed. “You know what they always said about George, right?”

she teased, then inclined her head and found Kerry’s lips about to make a protest. Then she circled Kerry with her arms again and drew her closer as they kissed, reveling in the solid reality she’d almost lost the day before. One hand slid up and cupped Kerry’s neck, her fingers tangling in the pale hair as she allowed the intensity to build, blocking out everything but the emotion of the moment.

They paused to breathe and swayed together, moving to inaudible music they both heard, eyes locked, souls bound.

Finally Kerry smiled. “Guess I’d better get my jammies on before the ice cream gets here,” she commented, still almost lost in Dar’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Dar agreed amiably, not moving an inch.

A silence fell again for a while.

“We’re going to really embarrass Dad if he comes back in here.”

“Yeah.” Dar sighed. “I’ll have to start teaching him all the ‘how many lesbians does it take to change a light bulb’ jokes.” But she finally shifted, and unhooked Kerry’s bra, then retrieved both of their sleeping outfits from the suitcase.

Kerry settled on the bed in her Tweety shirt and cradled her arm.

“So,” she watched Dar as she folded everything and put it away, “how many does it take?”

“What?”

“Lesbians. To change a light bulb?”

“Well.” Dar came over to the bed and laying on her side carefully, stretching long, mostly bare legs out. “There’s the two with the wood—”

“Wood?”

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“They have to build the ladder first.”

“Why?”

“Power tools. Anyway, the two with the wood, then four to plan the strategy—”

“Four?”

“Yeah. A representative sample—one butch, one fem, and two that self identify as androgynous.”

Kerry giggled.

“Then you need six more to research where to buy the bulb—”

“Six?”

“Gotta make sure those dyke dollars go to supportive stores, hon,”

Dar drawled. “And we can’t forget the dozen academics to analyze the process, and determine if changing a bulb could be considered the subject of a ‘Changing Role Relationships in the American Workplace’ seminar.”

Kerry giggled harder. “And that’s how you’d change a bulb?” she asked, skeptically.

“Nah.” Dar shook her head, as she heard sounds in the next room.

“I’d hire someone else to do it.” She leaned over and stole another kiss. “I hate stereotypes.”

“YOU ABOUT PACKED?” Kerry came out to find Dar busy at her laptop. “Dar?”

“Mmm?” Dar looked up. “Oh, yeah, almost.” She nodded.

A knock rattled on the door in a familiar rhythm. “That’s Dad.” Dar chuckled, going over and opening the door, and stepping back to allow her parents to enter. “Just about ready to leave?”

Andy carried both their bags and now he ambled over and took possession of Dar and Kerry’s as well.

“Hey!” Dar put her hands on her hips. “I’m capable of carrying a couple of bags.”

“Don’t bother.” Her mother waved her off. “I’ve tried that. He’s just in a feisty mood today or something.”

Dar shook her head and finished packing up her computer. “Fine, fine. Let’s just get the hell out of here. I hear a conch fritter calling my name.”

“Wait.” Kerry smiled, pulling out her camera. “I want a picture.” She waved them together. “C’mon.” She waited for Andrew to shed his burden, then join his wife and daughter in front of the window. Light poured in the other side of the room, and Kerry smiled as she focused her shot, shifting the lens slightly to frame her subjects. Andrew had taken the center and put an arm around the women on either side of him. Ceci, of course, was almost dwarfed by his height, but she leaned against him with a warm sense of familiarity. Dar had amiably wrapped her arm around her father’s back and looked at the camera with her usual air of wry self deprecation. “Perfect.” She snapped the shot, then lowered the camera. “Thanks.” She grinned at Ceci.

“Just you wait until you see what I have in mind for revenge,” the older woman warned, smiling back. They gathered their things, slipped out the door, and managed to achieve the freight elevator without much trouble. They got to the bottom floor and were about the leave, when Dar heard her name called. “Damn.” She turned. “Yes, Hamilton?”

The tall, urbane lawyer caught them up, and ushered them into a small antechamber, out of sight of the press. “Where do you all think you are going?”

“Home,” Dar replied. “Why?”

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“Not yet you can’t,” Hamilton told her blithely. “This afternoon you have to be here so the mayor, bless his heart, can give you both a pair of shiny little old medals.” He waggled two fingers at Dar and Andy. “Now Dar, don’t give me a hard time with this, it’s great PR for the company and ah’ve got two choice interviews set up, not long ones, with some very top news personalities.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dar reacted.

“Now, now. Flattery will get you nowhere, Paladar,” Hamilton informed her. “Just sit your butt down and make us look good, and it’ll be over sooner than you think.” He patted her shoulder. “Ah’ve been working real hard to get us some very positive press and have painted you as just below an archangel, so don’t mess my garden up, hear?”

“Hamilton, I am going to kill you,” Dar told him, seriously. “I have tickets on the one p.m. flight out of here.”

“Phone call will take care of that for you, so just you relax.” The lawyer chuckled. “C’mon now. How often do you get to get up on TV and get a medal pinned on you?” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s duck into the Batmobile. We’ve got an hour or two before the first TV spot. Wait here.

I’ll find a good way out.” He ducked out the door, leaving them staring at each other.

“I am not going to stand here for—” Dar started in, her voice rising, as Kerry put a hand on her arm.

“Dar,” Andrew spoke very quietly, making his daughter fall silent,

“ah have a box of medals for killing folks. Ah think I’d like just one for saving ’em.”

You could have heard a pin drop easily in the silence that followed, Kerry mused,
just like that old cliché.

“Okay,” Dar replied in a subdued voice. She walked over to a bench near the door and sat down to wait, letting her briefcase rest on the floor.

Ceci walked over and sat down next to her, but didn’t speak. Kerry just stood next to Andrew, cradling her arm, unable to come up with a thing to say.

DAR SQUINTED, SHADING her eyes as the bright lights invaded what Hamilton had insisted on dubbing the Batmobile. Technicians bustled around, moving cables and arranging cameras, and the interviewer was off to one side, going over some notes with two assistants. It was cramped inside the bus, but it was private, and the news people appreciated the closed environment and ready access to phones, power, and a fax machine.

Kerry was curled up in one of the leather chairs nearby just watching and Dar’s parents had taken over the long couch, also reviewing the chaos with interested eyes as though it had been arranged for their benefit.

Hamilton had wanted Dar to dress up, but she had put her foot down, refusing to force her still tired and aching body into a wool skirt 428
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and blazer, not to mention heels. She stubbornly insisted on her faded jeans and sneakers and had grudgingly agreed to wear her gunmetal gray jacket over her plain white T-shirt as her only concession.

A makeup person approached, carrying a case. Dar glared at her until she slowed down, pausing hesitantly outside her reach and giving her an overly bright smile. “Hi.” The woman was of middling height and athletic build, with wavy blonde hair not very different from Kerry’s.

Dar strategically lifted an eyebrow. “Got a problem?”

“Well, I thought you might like some powder…or…something…eye shadow?”

“No thanks,” Dar replied. “I’m allergic.”

“Oh.” The makeup woman smiled easily. “It’s hypoallergenic. It’s safe, really. I mean, you don’t need any blush or anything, maybe just a little color…fluff your hair?”

Dar’s nostrils twitched and she rotated an eyeball over to where Kerry was biting her knuckle to keep from laughing. “Can you make my hair look like hers?” She indicated her lover’s wavy locks.

“Um, no. I don’t think so.” The woman eyed Kerry apologetically.

“Then forget it.” Dar settled back, sipping her root beer. “I’m just fine as is, thanks.” She glanced up as the interviewer came over and settled down in the chair next to her.

Cheryl Abramson was tall, almost as tall as Dar herself, and slender, with exotic, high cheekbones and rich chestnut hair. She had a tiny spattering of freckles and intense hazel eyes, which she turned on Dar along with a dazzling smile. She wore a meticulously tailored navy blue suit, with a pale blue silk shirt, and the effect was clean and sophisticated and quite attractive.

“Ms. Roberts? Let’s go over a few things before we start.” Abramson spoke in a low, melodious voice. “I have most of the details I need on you, but I want to just check a few things.”

Dar leaned on the chair arm and sucked at her straw. “Sure.” She deliberately injected a touch of the South into her speech. “What would you like to know?” The other woman glanced up at her and unconsciously straightened, a hand going up to touch her hair in an instinctive gesture Dar well understood.
Interesting.

“Well, we’ve got your professional details—ILS provided them to us.

You’ve been with them for fifteen years?” Her voice lifted in question and she peered over her papers at Dar’s youthful appearance.

“That’s right.” Dar didn’t see any reason to relieve her confusion.

“Okay.” Abramson went back to her checklist. “You’ve been the CIO

of the company for…six months? And before that you were the VP of Operations for three years, is that right?”

“Yep,” Dar agreed readily.

“Right. You normally work in Miami, correct?”

Dar nodded.

“And you were in Washington for…” She looked up in question.

Why indeed?
Kerry and Dar had discussed what they were going to
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tell the press, who had been sniffing interestedly around Kerry as well, and now Dar stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles before she answered. “My co-worker, and friend, Ms. Stuart, was called to testify in her father’s hearings. I was just here for moral support.”
Strict,
absolute truth.

Abramson glanced at Kerry who had slumped in her chair, curling a leg over one arm of it and dozing off. “I see.” She scribbled a note.

“You’re headed back to Miami now, I take it, after the ceremony?”

Dar nodded.

“Okay.” Cheryl scribbled more notes. “Let me make sure I’ve got this down. You arrived. You were involved in the ATM shutdown, you were interviewed by one of my colleagues, you went to the hospital to visit Ms.

Stuart’s sister, the explosion happened, you dug out some survivors, you directed the escape and rescue of the people you found, then you got out…are those the high points of your week?” Her tone was dryly humorous.

“Essentially.” Dar chuckled, finding herself liking the woman. “We were hoping for a short investigation, a few days sightseeing, and maybe a tour of the White House, but you take what you can get.” Her face relaxed into an easy grin.

Cheryl looked up and met her eyes, then went back to her writing, the edges of her own lips twitching a little. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

“No,” Dar answered. “I leave that to the police.”

“Do you think the senator was the target?”

Dar shook her head. “Again, that’s not something I want to speculate on.”

“Okay.” Abramson nodded at the cameraman. “We’re ready. Do you have a good angle?” She shifted in her chair and motioned the makeup woman over, checking herself in the hastily provided hand held mirror.