countless times in the papers. Her features were distinctive. A long,
aquiline nose set between high cheekbones, the gift from a Cherokee
ancestor. The hair was raven black and hung straight, stopping at her
shoulders. The eyes were big and so dark a blue that they resembled the
deepest of ocean water, twin pools of danger for the careless and
unwary.
Luther carefully maneuvered in the chair. Watching the woman in front of
a stately fireplace inside the White House pontificating on the latest
political concerns was one thing.
Watching her move through a room containing a corpse and examining a
drunk, naked man who was the leader of the Free World was an entirely
different matter. It was a spectacle Luther did not want to watch
anymore but he could not pull his eyes away.
Russell glanced at the door, walked quickly across the room, took out
her handkerchief, and closed and locked it.
She swiftly returned to again stare down at the President. Her hand went
out and for a moment Luther cringed in anticipation, but she simply
stroked the President’s face. Luther relaxed, but then stiffened again
as her hand moved down to his chest, lingering momentarily on the thick
hair, and then dropped still lower to his flat stomach, which rose and
fell evenly in his deep sleep.
Then her hand moved lower and she slowly pulled the sheet away and let
it drop to the floor. Her hand reached down to his crotch and held
there. Then she glanced at the door again and knelt down in front of the
President. Now Luther had to close his eyes. He did not share the
peculiar spectator interests of the house’s owner.
Several long minutes passed, and then Luther opened his eyes. Gloria
Russell was now shedding her pantyhose, laying them neatly on a chair.
Then she carefully climbed on top of the slumbering President.
Luther closed his eyes again. He wondered if they could hear the bed
squeak downstairs. Probably not, as it was a very large house. And even
if they did, what could they do?
Ten minutes later Luther heard a small, involuntary gasp from the man,
and a low moan from the woman. But Luther kept his eyes closed. He
wasn’t sure why. It seemed to be from a combination of raw fear and
disgust at the disrespect shown to the dead woman.
When Luther finally opened his eyes, Russell was staring directly at
him. His heart stopped for a moment until his brain told him it was
okay. She quickly slipped on her pantyhose. Then, in confident, even
strokes, she reapplied her lipstick in the looking glass.
A smile clung to her face; the cheeks were flushed. She looked younger.
Luther glanced at the President. He had returned to a deep sleep, the
last twenty minutes probably filed away by his mind as an especially
realistic and pleasant dream. Luther looked back at Russell.
It was unnerving to see this woman smile directly at him, in this room
of death, without knowing he was there. There was power in that woman’s
face. And a look Luther had already seen once in this room. This woman,
too, was dangerous.
“I WANT THIS ENTIRE PLACE SANITIZED, EXCEPT FOR THAT.”
Russell pointed to the late Mrs. Sullivan. “Wait a minute. He was
probably all over her. Burton, I want you to check every inch of her
body, and anything that looks remotely like it doesn’t belong there I
want you to make disappear. Then put her clothes on.”
Hands gloved, Burton moved forward to carry out this order.
Collin sat next to the President, forcing another cup of coffee down the
man’s throat. The caffeine would help clear away the grogginess, but
only the passage of time would clean the slate completely. Russell sat
down next to him. She took the President’s hand in hers. He was fully
clothed now although his hair was in disarray. His arm hurt, but they
had bandaged it as best they could. He was in excellent health; it would
heal quickly.
“Mr. President? Alan? Alan?” Russell gripped his face and pointed it
toward her.
Had he sensed what she had done to him? She doubted it He had so