Poisoned Politics (17 page)

“Well, at least you weren't dodging bullets or some such,” I joked as Danny closed the mansion front door behind us.

I didn't get to say anything else, because Danny pulled me close, his mouth on mine before I could say more. The heat of his kiss took my breath away.
Hungry
. I must have dropped my purse because my arms went around him before I knew it, melding my body to his.

Slowly, Danny raised his mouth from mine and whispered. “We'd better get to the car before we're arrested.” Releasing me, he snatched up my purse and hurried me down the front steps.

To hell with dinner. I was ready for dessert. Ravenous, in fact.

sixteen

Saturday

Traffic noise. A truck
rattling down the street. Car horns. Light slowly filtered through my eyelashes. Morning light.
Was it morning?
I wasn't sure. Enclosed in the cocoon of Danny's embrace, I wasn't sure of anything else. Just us. Curved against each other, a perfect fit. Somehow I always knew it would be.

Skin against skin. Warmer than warm. And something else, something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Safe
. I didn't recognize it at first. Such a strange feeling. After all this time.

I felt Danny's breathing change, as if he'd sensed my awakening. I moved against him, just enough to get his attention.

“Good morning,” his husky voice whispered against the back of my neck.

“Saturday or Sunday? I can't remember.” My movements deliberate until I felt the heat of his response.

His hand found my breasts. “Saturday, all day.”

I molded myself against him, and his very warm thigh slid between mine. I said nothing more.

Sunday afternoon

Raymond blew out a stream of cigarette smoke as he glanced up from the book in his lap to the video monitor screens on the desk. Nothing moving in front of the Malone house. Not even a pedestrian. Wait
…
a guy walking his dog. Raymond took another drag on his cigarette and returned to the novel. Good thing he'd brought something to read.

His cell phone sounded, and he grabbed it along with a throat lozenge. Recognizing Trask's number, he popped the lozenge into his mouth before answering. “You were right. Good thing I brought two books with me.”

Trask laughed. “I told you, she's a workaholic. Nothing exciting.”

“Well, she's got something exciting going on this weekend. She showed up here with a guy on Friday night. They started kissing on the front step, then they went inside, and that's the last I've seen of them.”

Trask snickered. “Well, well, Ms. Malone's got a boyfriend.”

“I'll say. They even had food brought in. A catering truck showed up from some restaurant Friday night, and Malone and her boyfriend haven't come out since.” Raymond inhaled deeply, felt the burn.

“Good. Maybe he can keep her occupied and out of our way.”

“Let's hope so. What's happening with Jorgensen?”

“The same as last weekend. She's out with friends; they're over here near East Potomac Park, watching some rugby teams.”

“No sign of meetings with the Congresswoman or working at the office?”

“No, just normal weekend stuff.”

Raymond glanced at the video monitor and straightened. “Well, I'll be damned. They've come up for air. Tee shirts and shorts, looks like they're going for a run
…
yep, there they go down P Street.”

“I'll let you know if anything unusual shows up over here. Otherwise, I'll check with you tomorrow. Any word from Spencer yet? I see plenty of opportunities to take care of her. Easy.”

“Not yet. You never know with that bunch. They've got a lot of people to answer to. Apparently more have joined on the upper end. No telling what they'll decide.”

Trask snorted. “Translation: No guts for a preemptive action. They'll regret it. In that case, there's no need for me to waste any more summer weekends watching Jorgensen. I could be out on the boat.”

Raymond chuckled. “Don't go too far.”

_____

I looked up at the night sky and spotted the familiar summer constellation—Orion. It was hard to make out the stars with all the city lights around. Back in Colorado, it was far easier to find the perfect spot to stargaze in our mountains, even along the darkened roads at night. Oftentimes, I'd pull my car over to the side of a canyon road, douse the headlights, and stare into the black skies above. We saw the same constellations out West that the Easterners did, but from a slightly different angle. And there was another important difference: in Colorado, the stars appeared larger. Being thousands of feet
higher in altitude allowed Coloradans to witness a vast canvas of
stars, sparkling in the night skies. Far easier to stargaze there than it was here in the midst of a big city surrounded by streetlights, headlights, and miles of suburban sprawl.

Danny shifted beside me on the chaise lounge, and I nestled closer, my face resting on his bare chest. There in the darkened privacy of my small enclosed backyard, we relaxed in one another's embrace. Our long-overdue weekend of exploring our passions and each other was winding to a blissful close. Tomorrow was Monday and the regular world awaited. But there was still tonight. And tomorrow, and the day after. And next weekend beckoned in the distance.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“How good this feels.”

“Ohhhh, yeah.” He picked up my hand, kissed it, then placed it on his chest again, covering my hand with his.

“I'm just glad we found each other again. Thanks to the sleaze rag.” I laughed softly against his skin.

“I always had a feeling we would.”

“Danny, the odds of that happening were impossibly low. With all the millions of people in this area? Crazy.”

“I know. But I still had a feeling we were meant to be together.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Plus, I still remembered that first kiss all those years ago.”

I smiled. “So did I.”

I felt his soft laughter beneath his skin. “I could tell. And believe me,
that
memory kept me warm through a whole lot of cold nights in God-forsaken hellholes.”

I pictured Danny huddled in some jungle, rain pouring down, afraid to close his eyes and give in to sleep. His stories from last May still haunted me. Treacherous jungles and deserts. Killers hiding in both.

“I'm just glad you survived all that, and we found each other again.” I slid my hand over his warm flesh. The mosquitoes might be eating us alive, but we were oblivious.

Danny stroked the back of my hand. “I have to admit, I've often wondered what would have happened if we'd gotten together after high school. You know, run away and gotten married.”

“You mean, after my father had you arrested? He'd have gone ballistic, trust me. It would not have been a storybook ending.”

Danny laughed. “Yeah, you're probably right. But what if we'd met in college? You know
…
after I got back from Nam and you were going to grad school like you said you wanted to do. History, right?”

Brother, this man's memory amazed me
. “God, Danny, I can't believe you remember all that.”

“I remember everything. Plus, I've got a good imagination.” He laughed. “Still, it could have been good. Providing you hadn't met Dave in college, that is.”

“Boy, you do have a good imagination. You forget what it was like when we were that young. We would have fought like cats and dogs. Dave and I did. I'll bet you and your wife did too. Admit it.”

“Ohhhhh, yeah.”

“You remember what we were like in our twenties and thirties, don't you? Convinced we were right about everything?”

“Don't remind me.”

“I mean
…
Dave was mellow, and yet we still fought. You and me? We would have torn each apart.”

I felt Danny's laughter ripple beneath my fingers on his chest. “Yeah, you're right,” he said after a moment. “But the make-up sex would have been glorious.”

We both laughed so hard, the next door neighbor's dog began to bark.

seventeen

Monday

“Here, Molly, let me
empty this pot, so I can start another,” Luisa said as she bustled into my office, coffee carafe in hand.

“You're making me an offer I can't refuse, Luisa, especially on a Monday morning,” I replied, extending my oversized ceramic mug.

“Peter came in at six thirty this morning, and he and the Senator started working in the library. Casey and Albert just about finished off the pot.” She shook the last drop into my mug. “There you go. Now you can return to those spreadsheets while I get back to the kitchen. Caterers are coming at two o'clock.”

“Oh, yes, the last summer reception tonight. I'll be ready,” I said as she hurried from my office. I suddenly realized I'd forgotten to check Peter's updated list for Senator Russell's schedule. Usually I would check first thing Monday morning when Peter posted it. But considering this past weekend, I figured I was lucky to remember my name.

I clicked back to recent messages this morning and found Peter's list. Tonight would be a reception for various Colorado manufacturers and energy producers. And the last scheduled entertaining before he left for the rest of the August recess. I scanned through tonight's guest list, noticing there were several names I was unfamiliar with. Businessmen and women, entrepreneurs, university researchers. Russell was known to invite a varying guest list to some receptions. Stirring the pot. “Cross-pollinating for ideas,” he called it.

Returning to the spreadsheet, I tabbed through the columns and rows, entering the figures on another of Peter's rental properties. It was a newer townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. The high cost of Metro Washington–area real estate still amazed me. I remembered years ago when that area of Alexandria was first developed.

The familiar strains of “Hotel California” sounded beside my coffee mug. Classic Eagles. Loretta Wade's name flashed on my phone screen.

“Hi, Loretta. What's up?”

“Hey, Molly. I know you're as busy as I am right now, but I wanted to tell you that I had a few minutes before I left Friday night and did another scan. I was curious. This time I looked for who else had requested searches similar to Quentin Wilson's. And I think you'll be interested in the answer.”

“Okay, I'll bite. Who?” I took a big drink of coffee while I waited.

“Larry Fillmore.”

I gulped down the coffee quickly. Images of Larry Fillmore's smirking face appeared in my mind. “Fillmore, huh? Congressman Jackson is on the House Financial Services Subcommittee on International Monetary Policy and Trade. So maybe he wants them for the congressman. Strange that Fillmore would do the search himself. I've heard he's really full of himself now that he's Jackson's chief of staff. Usually he'd use one of his—”

“Research grunts,” Loretta finished for me, her voice sarcastic. “Yeah, I wondered why he was doing it himself. So I did another scan, which I can do because I know the system, and I found Fillmore had first looked at research requests and who made them. In effect, he was searching the searchers. That's how he found out what files they were looking for.”

I pondered that for a few seconds, my brain cells slowly coming back online from a weekend of blissful sexual indulgence, thanks to strong coffee and even stronger memories of that bastard Larry Fillmore. I still held him responsible for driving Celeste Allard out of her D.C. apartment, forcing her to escape to a house on the Eastern Shore—only to die in a freakish accident.

“You know
…
anytime I see Larry Fillmore interested in something, it gets my attention. I can't help it. It's a knee jerk response.”

“I figured. That's why I wanted to point it out. And you mentioned your niece Karen was researching the same topics. I wondered if maybe Jackson had assigned Karen a special project or something. Maybe Fillmore is following up on it for the congressman.”

Everything Loretta said made sense. Logical. Yet, it didn't resonate. “Funny, Karen never said Jackson asked her to research anything special, and she would have mentioned it. I recall her saying she was following her instincts and her late father's personal notes. Her father, Eric Grayson, took over my husband's seat in the House after his death in 1983, remember? Eric moved Karen and his wife, Cheryl, to Washington that same year.” Remnants of old memories crept to the edges of my mind, waiting to escape. I shifted the subject, and they slunk back to the bushes. “You may remember Eric Grayson.”

“Yes, I do. He was a fine legislator and extremely thorough. I know because I remember him coming to the Library of Congress. I was researching there, and I remember seeing him sitting at the tables later at night, reading and making notes. Very studious.”

That caught my attention. “Now you've made me curious. Karen said her dad's notebooks had entries that indicated he was interested in that organization, the Epsilon Group. She checked into them and found they're a think tank of sorts and seem to specialize in international financial policy and banking issues. That's why I asked Celeste to check into them after Karen's death.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I learned about them.”

“Is there any way you could find out what other topics Eric Grayson was researching? I know it was years ago, and your records may have been purged of anything like research requests.”

“True, but there may still be a way. Thank you, Molly. You've given me a puzzle to solve, and I dearly love puzzles,” Loretta said, amusement in her voice.

“Happy to oblige. And thanks in advance. You may not find anything. I'm simply following my instincts like Karen was.”

“That's good enough for me. Our instincts always know something we don't.” She paused. “Speaking of instincts, you remember hearing about that staffer who was found dead in Texas? The one who was providing those damn drugs to Congressman Wilson.”

“I sure do. The news said he worked for the Congressional Research Service. Did you know him?”

“Ohhhh, yeah. Gary Levitz was his name. I was his supervisor, and my instincts told me he was involved in something on the side. Had to be. His car was way too expensive for a staffer's salary. Plus, I'd see him outside talking on his cell phone several times a day.” She gave a disgusted sniff. “I took Gary aside a few months ago and told him he'd better think twice about whatever he was doing in his spare time because it was affecting his job here. He didn't pay attention, unfortunately.”

I debated exactly what to say. “That was good of you to try and help him, Loretta. But it sounds like that guy was on his own path, and it led only one way—down.”

“That's the truth. I even saw him talking to Larry Fillmore last week. I was crossing the street and saw them outside the building. That's when I knew Gary was headed for a bad end. Anyone who gets close to that cretin Fillmore regrets it. And sure enough, Gary went missing a few days later.”

That
got my attention, and my instincts gave a little buzz. “I wonder if Gary was supplying Fillmore with drugs.”

“No, I don't think so. Fillmore may be a manipulative bastard, but he's not stupid. He'd never jeopardize his chief staffer position by getting involved in something like that.”

“You're right. Listen, my other phone is ringing. Call me if you find anything interesting.”

“Don't worry, I will. Talk to you later.”

Her phone clicked off as I clicked on my office line. Samantha's name and number were flashing. “I figured you'd be calling me this morning,” I said as I grabbed my coffee and leaned back in the desk chair.

“Of course, sugar. I tried your personal line, but it was busy, so I thought I'd leave a message. Now that I've entered Mother Superior's order, I'll have to live vicariously through the sexual adventures of others.” Samantha's drawl infused her words with a wickedly suggestive tone.

I snickered. “Well, I won't give you a detailed rundown.”

“Sugar, I would never be so rude as to ask. Just tell me if it lived up to your expectations?”

I laughed out loud, then took a sip of coffee before answering. “You mean was it good? As in scream-out-loud, best-sex-I've-ever-had good?
Ohhhhh, yeah
.”

“Thank
gawd!
” she exhaled. “I didn't think your Double D, Danny Dangerous, would disappoint. Tell me, where did you two go for dinner? You said he had plans.”

“That, he did. A catering truck arrived at the same time we got to my house from Senator Russell's. They brought all sorts of delicious food in covered pans and set up everything before they departed. Danny and I never left the house all weekend. Except late Sunday afternoon, when we went out for a run.” I sipped my coffee and listened to Samantha laugh.

“Mercy, I'm all aglow just hearing about it,” she said in an outrageous Southern Belle voice. “I simply love it. Shacked up all weekend. You're a woman after my own heart, Molly. Fine food, fine wines, and fine loving. Oh, you did have wine, didn't you? I hope Danny relaxed the ‘no wine' rule for this weekend.”

“Yes, he did. We had an unbelievable reserve Cabernet. I don't want to know what it cost.”

“Stop being an accountant. It's about time you were properly taken care of, sugar. Your dear Dave and that politico Frank just weren't up to the task.”

I snickered. “You make me sound like an urban renewal project.”

“You're a project, all right. And you're definitely difficult. Few men would even bid on it.”

This time, I nearly choked on my coffee.

“It's the truth, sugar. I was about to give up on you until Danny showed up. You two have a connection so strong it gives off sparks. I can feel it. Clearly, you two are destined to be together.”

“You're such a romantic. You know I don't believe in destiny. Danny and I were just lucky to find each other after all these years. I suppose I have the
D.C. Dirt
to thank for that. Maybe I'll buy a subscription and stop mooching Casey's.”

“Make fun all you want, Molly. But you know I'm right. I know you, girl. There's a romantic inside you, and you're just afraid to let it out. Now you can. Don't argue with me.”

“What?
Me
, argue with the all-wise, omniscient Miss Thing?
Never!
”

“I certainly hope Danny plans to stay in town for a while. Now that he's got added incentive to do so.”

“I think so, but I never really asked. It must have slipped my mind. Funny how sex clouds the brain.”

“Amen to that. Well, I think I've had as much vicarious stimulation as I can handle right now, given that I need to meet Eleanor and her friends for another charity luncheon. This time in that patio off the Smithsonian's Sculpture Garden.”

I checked my watch. After eleven already. “Thanks, I needed the reminder. I'm meeting Natasha Jorgensen for lunch near the Capitol. We're having burgers or hot dogs from a truck. The girl is a workaholic, but I convinced her she needed to take a break.”

“That's like the pot calling the kettle black. Say hi to Natasha for me, please. I've got to go put on the habit before I leave.”

“Give Mother Superior my best,” I said with a smile as I clicked off the phone, closed out of the spreadsheet, and reached for my purse.

_____

It was well past noon and the August sun was beating down, relentless, reflecting off the asphalt of Pennsylvania Avenue as Natasha and I walked away from the food vendor cart. Dog Days of August. The sun glare was so intense, even my sunglasses couldn't filter it all. My clothes were drenched already. No wonder my dry cleaning bills were so high.

“There're some benches over there under the trees,” Natasha said, pointing across the street.

I took a bite of my New York–style hot dog with all the trimmings as I walked. Couldn't resist. “Yummmmm,” I said, savoring. “I forgot how good these are.”

“Yeah, it's delicious, but I'll probably regret it by late afternoon,” Natasha joked, licking mustard off the edge of the long bun.

The traffic light changed just as we approached, so we scurried across the intersection as the mechanical birdy chirped its warning to the vision-impaired. Trees and shade beckoned ahead. Natasha and I fairly raced down the sidewalk and escaped into the welcoming shade.

“Just in time. My scalp was getting sunburned,” I said as we walked toward an unoccupied bench. Two women had just vacated it.

Others had sought the shade, too, sitting on benches reading, eating lunch, talking on cell phones. Several yards away I spotted a group of elementary-age children sprawled on the grass as two women passed out soda cans. It was too early for most schools to be in session, so I figured it was a church- or civic association-sponsored tour. The kids had the telltale uniform-color tourist bandanas.

Tourists were everywhere. Piling off tour buses parked along Pennsylvania Avenue and adjoining streets, walking behind tour guides who managed to cross streets backwards while giving verbal instructions to their groups at the same time—in English and in multiple foreign languages. Tourists rolled by on large-wheeled touring vehicles, paraded in quiet disciplined lines and in unruly noisy bunches. Climbing the Capitol steps, posing for pictures around the fountains, traipsing along the avenues, and perched on the stone borders edging the National Gallery licking ice cream cones and popsicles.

Two men passed us, both carrying what looked like iced coffees. “Whose idea was it to have lunch outside today?” I joked.

Natasha swallowed her last bite of hot dog then grinned at me. “That's okay. Even though the heat's brutal, it still feels good to get away from the office and into fresh air. Even with the humidity.”

I polished off the last of my hot dog as we claimed the bench. Opening the cap of my icy diet cola, I gulped down the cold liquid. Cold had never felt so good. “Ahhh, now I feel better.”