THE PRESIDENT 2 (23 page)

Victoria, however, ushered Caroline away from the doors and the listening ears of the guards.
 
She was so embarrassed by that hideous son of hers that she could hardly bear it.
 

But Caroline was more than embarrassed.
 
She was fuming.
 
Who in the hell did he think he was playing with?
 
That wife of his wasn’t hurt in that attack, she was no longer in any danger.
 
So why couldn’t he stop for two seconds and say something?
 
Even an
I’ll talk to you later
, or even a nod of the head, would have been preferable to
nothing
.
 

But nothing was exactly what they received.
 
Because, in truth, Dutch wasn’t thinking about either one of them.
 
Gina was all he was concerned about right here and right now.
 
Even that hostage rescue couldn’t get his attention right now.
 
Because Gina was back.
 
And his singular focus was to get her to their bedroom so that he could attempt to make her as comfortable, and as safe, as he possibly could.

She was with him now.
 
That was all that mattered to him.

TWELVE

Not a word was spoken when they entered the master bathroom.
 
Dutch had already ordered that a bath be drawn and ready for the First Lady, and it was.
 
And as they stood in the middle of that bathroom and he undressed her, Gina seemed unable to take her hands off of him.
 
If she had to move a hand so that he could unzip this, or untie that, she would put her other hand somewhere on his person.
 
It was as if she felt almost helpless, and she hated it.
 
But the memories were still there. The sight of that massive SUV lifting into the air before her very eyes, like a toy car in a movie, kept replaying itself in her head.
 
She even thought she saw one of the agents fly through the windshield when the SUV slammed back down and began to roll, but no, they said, it was a trick of the eye.
 
They all had on seatbelts.
 
No one flew out.
 

But no-one survived, either.

She dismissed the thought as her husband lifted her into the warm water and her body relaxed to the feel.
 
As she began to bathe herself, he seemed to be well aware of her nervousness.
 
That was why he didn’t leave her, but sat on the vanity chair inside of the bathroom and made his phone calls right where he sat.
 

His most contentious tongue-lashing came during a conference call with the DNI, his Director of National Intelligence, and his Secretary of Homeland Security.
 
Dutch wanted to know how in the world could rocket-propelled grenades get anywhere near the First Lady’s convoy.
 
Somebody had dropped the ball, Dutch made clear, and he wanted names.
 
Both department heads, sufficiently humbled, swore to get to the bottom of it, promising that heads would roll.
 
Dutch hung up.
 
Once the dust cleared heads would roll all right, and it would begin with theirs.

As he sat there, his own head in his hands, his body so drained he could barely sit in that chair, he heard a muffled sound.
 
When he looked up and realized Gina was just sitting there, in the tub, covered in suds and crying, his heart dropped.

“Oh,
darling
,” he said and hurried to her, ready to step into that tub fully clothe if he had to, but realized he didn’t and removed them.
 

He sat in behind her, wrapping her into his arms, and she leaned back against his hard frame and let it all out.
 
She sobbed.
 
She couldn’t stop crying.
 
People died today, men and women who were just doing their jobs, and there was no easy way to get over that.
 
She leaned against her husband and held nothing back.

Dutch took her weight and allowed her the catharsis she needed.
 
But it would be some time later, after he had finished bathing her himself, dried her off, put her in their bed, and after he had dried off too and got in bed with her, snuggling her closely to his chest, did his own emotions begin to release.
 

And when the tears came, they came as inwardly wrenching and outwardly silent as Dutch had always allowed his emotions to display.
 
But as Gina lay against him, unaware of his catharsis, now so peaceful herself, he couldn’t hold back.
 
So many contradictory feelings warred against each other in his mind, including that ever-lurking possibility of resigning.
 
That thought never left.
 
Take his wife and get the hell out of this fishbowl forever.

But what terrified him was the truth of their dilemma.
 
Because resigning wouldn’t change a damn thing.
 
Because even after he would no longer be president, even after they were as far away from Washington politics as they could get, he would still forever be the former President of the United States, and she would forever be its former First Lady.
 
There would still be a target on her back.
 
Time may blur its clarity and value, but it would still be there.
 
Like a bell that had already rung.
 
Like a symphony that had already played that song.
 
They could never undo the fact that she had once been the First Lady of the United States of America.
 
Never. And it was all because of his decision to marry her right away, while he was still president, while he was in a tough reelection fight that he refused to quit.
 

Now the love of his life had an eternal target on her back.
 
And it was all because of him, he thought bitterly, as he stared at her beautiful ebony face.
 
As he kissed her on the nose, snuggled her naked body closer against his naked frame, and laid his head on top of hers.

The next morning, to Dutch’s surprise, his penis had found its way deep inside of Gina.
 
It was, in fact, that feeling of sensual tightness that had awakened both of them from what had been an incredibly relaxing sleep.
 
And as Gina began to rub her naked ass against his stomach, as she moved to the feel of his penis inside of her, Dutch began to gyrate too.
 
They did nothing else but lay there and moved in a slow, relaxing, simple rhythm.
 
They didn’t talk; they didn’t try to make it anything but what it was.
 
A joining.
 
A two-as-one coming together.
  
The rocking of the bed they could hear.
 
The sound of saturation they could hear.
 
And it those sounds more than the lovemaking itself that did it, the sounds of his wetness mating with hers as they continually released, as they continually gyrated, as they continually moved physically and metaphysically closer and closer until both their bodies strained into a spiral of orgasm.
 
Gina closed her eyes and cried.
 
Dutch closed his eyes and cried too.
 
Because it felt, not like a climax, but an affirmation.

They affirmed to live the rest of their lives as a twosome, no matter what missiles the world tossed at them.
 
They affirmed to never again let there be any daylight between them no matter how many reasons there was to go their separate ways.
 
And, most importantly of all, if it was the two of them against the world, then the world be damned.
 
It was going to be the two of them.

It was an affirmation fraught with the pain of trauma, of Dutch almost losing the most important person in his life, and they understood that.
 
But they affirmed it anyway.

And after that climax, after their affirmation, they lay on their backs in silence.
 
It would be another long, drawn out period of time, minutes that felt like hours, before they would speak.
 

Gina turned to face him, her eyes narrowing in that sincere but disconcerting look of hers that always got his attention.
 
And when she said, “good morning,” and smiled that beautiful, bright white smile of hers, he relaxed too.

“Good morning.”

“You realize it’s after eight o clock?”

“I realize that.”

“I’m surprised one of your aides hasn’t come for you.
 
You aren’t usually anywhere near a bed by eight am.”

You aren’t usually under attack the day before
, he wanted to say, but it was still too raw for him to make light of it.
 
“How about that?” he said, instead.

“What’s on tap today?” she asked, and he realized right away that she was trying to reclaim some normalcy.
 
“Meetings and more meetings?”

“You know it.
 
But we do have good news on the hostage front.”

This piqued her interest.
 
“What’s happened?”

“Eyes only,” he said, which she knew meant that the information he was giving her required clearance of the highest order.
 
What the world didn’t realize was that it was Gina, not his cabinet, not Max or Allison, who was his closest advisor.
 
He told her everything that happened in his administration.
 
Above all the king’s men, he trusted her.
 
“We know where the hostages are being held.”

This was surprising indeed.
 
“That’s great news, Dutch,” she said.
  
“That’s wonderful news.”

“And,” he added, “we’re finalizing plans to secure their release.”

Gina’s heart pounded.
 
“An inside source I take it?”

“You take it correctly.”

“That’s great, Dutch.
 
Is an Al-Qaeda affiliate?”

“An even looser affiliate than we had initially thought, but yes.”

Gina wanted to ask if that same organization was responsible for the attack on her convoy, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it.
 
Dutch, however, who was staring at her, whose hand was rubbing her braids, answered her unasked question anyway.

“No,” he said, “it wasn’t the same group that attacked your convoy, darling.
 
They wanted us to believe it was, to maximize their publicity no doubt, but no.
 
My Intel people believe it was a copycat pure and simple, a homegrown terror group masquerading as an Al-Qaeda affiliate.
 
They believe they know whom, also, but we’ll see.”