most capable men Jack had ever met. Besides, it was no business of his
anymore. The Whitney family were not his concern, father or daughter. In
fact why was he even here? Trying to relive old times? Trying to get
to Kate through her old man? That was the most unlikely scenario one
could imagine.
Jack locked the door on the way out, replaced the key under the planter.
He glanced back at the house and then walked to his car.
GLORIA RUSSELL’S HOME OCCUPIED A CUL-DE-SAC IN A QUIET upper-brackets
Bethesda suburb off River Road. Her consulting work on behalf of many of
the country’s largest corporations coupled with her sizable
professorship, and now Chief of Staff salary and many years of careful
investing, had left her with a deep purse, and she liked to be
surrounded by beautiful things. The entrance was framed by an aged arbor
interlaced with strong, thick ivy. The entire front yard was enclosed by
a waist-high brick and mortar serpentine wall and set up as a private
garden complete with tables and umbrellas. A small fountain bubbled and
hissed in a darkness broken only by the shallow light thrown from the
big bay window in the front of the house.
Gloria Russell was sitting at one of the garden tables when Agent Collin
pulled up in his convertible, back ramrod straight, suit still crisp,
tie knotted rigidly. The Chief of Staff had not changed either. She
smiled at him and they walked up the front walk together and into the
house.
“Drink? You look like a bourbon-and-water person.” Russell looked at
the young man and slowly drained her third glass of white wine. It had
been a long time since she had a young man over. Maybe too long, she was
thinking, although the alcohol guaranteed that she wasn’t thinking that
clearly.
“Beer, if you have it.”
“Coming up.” She stopped to kick off her heels and padded into the
kitchen. Collin looked around the expanse of the living room with its
billowy professionally done- curtains, textured wallpaper and tasteful
antiques and wondered what he was doing here. He hoped she hurried with
the beer. A star athlete, he had been seduced by women before, from high
school on up. But this was not high school and Gloria Russell was no
cheerleader. He decided he would not be able to endure the night without
a heavy buzz. He had wanted to tell Burton about it, but something had
made him keep quiet.
Burton had been acting aloof and moody. What they had done was not
wrong. He knew the circumstances were awkward, and an action that would
ordinarily have brought them praise from the entire country had to be
kept secret. He had regretted killing the woman, but there were no other
options.
Death happened, tragedies occurred all the time. It was her time.
Christine Sullivan’s number had just come up.
A few moments later he was sipping his beer and checking out the Chief
of Staff’s derriere as she fluffed up a pillow on the broad couch before
sitting down. She smiled at him, delicately sipped her w , me.
“How long have you been in the Service, Tim?”
“Almost six years.”
“You’ve risen quickly. The President thinks quite a lot of you. He’s
never forgotten that you saved his life.”
“I appreciate that. I really-do.”
She took another sip of wine and ran her eyes over him.
He sat erect; his obvious nervousness amused her. She finished her
examination and came away very impressed. Her attention had not been
lost on the young agent, who was now hiding his discomfort by examining
the numerous paintings that adorned the walls.
“Nice stuff.” He pointed at the artwork.
She smiled at him, watched him hurriedly gulp his beer.
Nice stuff. She had been thinking the same thing.
“Let’s go sit where it’s more comfortable, Tim.” Russell stood up and
looked down at him. He was led from the living room through a long,
narrow hallway and then through double doors into a large sitting room.
The lights came on by themselves, and Collin noted that through another
set of double doors the Chief of Staff’s bed was clearly visible.