The Night Stalkers White House - Books 4-6

Chapter 4-1

Chapter FourWhy are you wearing a tie?”

“Oh,” Anne brushed her hand down the smooth silvery silk of it. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Daniel looked at her strangely, blinked twice, and then his face froze and she couldn’t read his expression. That was unusual; she could always read what her brother was thinking. Or rather had been able to. He rose from his desk and closed the door to his office before returning. He sat beside her rather than circling back to his own side of the paper mountain.

“Don’t start, little brother. I’m feeling too good for one of your lectures.”

“That’s Zack Thomas’ tie.”

“Vice President Zachary Thomas’,” she corrected and Daniel blanched at his slip into inappropriate familiarity. “He gave it to me and I find myself unwilling to return it yet.”

“Melanie Anne…”

“Daniel Drake Darlington the Third…” she could match his threatening tone any day.

“I don’t care if you’re screwing Vice President Thomas—”

“You don’t?” That stopped them both for a long moment, but he was the first one to recover.

“Okay, I do. But that’s not the point. How many people have seen you while wearing that tie? I’m not the only one who would recognize it; that’s one of his favorites.”

She hadn’t thought about that. She had worn it all through their long night together—wrestling in bed, eating ice cream and watching the football game while curled together on the Library couch at three in the morning. It had been the only clothing either of them had worn through the long night. And when they’d only made it back up to the second landing in the stairs where, with no protection close to hand, they’d had to improvise, she had found a few interesting uses for it. And this morning she’d slipped the neck loop under the fold of her denim collar and snugged it up properly. She’d never worn a man’s tie before but it was far better than nylons on any day of the year.

“Maybe nobody else noticed?”

“Shall we find out, big sister?” Daniel almost sounded nasty. It wasn’t really in him to succeed at such an endeavor, but he tried. He picked up a remote control and turned on one of the several televisions he had in his office.

And there was her picture. It was a long shot, through a major telephoto with all of its blurriness and foreshortening effects. But it was unmistakably her, in her big parka with the front still open because she was still near heat stroke from the thoroughness of Zachary’s parting caresses. And, as the commentator was helpfully indicating with circles and arrows and a scrolling line below, there was the same tie that the Vice President had been wearing the prior day.

Next were side-by-side photos of Zack yesterday and of her coming in through White House security not twenty minutes ago. Again the same tie.

Well, the hog was in the waller now. No easy way to get it back out.

“Top item on the seven a.m. news,” Daniel complained. “Ahead of Russia, ahead of the Japanese yen. Do you have any idea what trouble this is going to cause him? I don’t even know where to begin to—”

She was trying to cut him off when the door to Daniel’s office swung open and the President strode in already in mid-sentence, “Is that really Zack’s tie on—”

He stopped. Frozen still when he spotted her.

Anne flapped the tie at him.

“Huh,” the President grunted in a way that he’d never have done on national TV. “I guess it is.”

He inspected her for a long moment, “How are you feeling, Anne?”

“You mean other than my little brother throwing a Southern-fried hissy fit?”

“Yes,” he smiled down at her. “Other than that.”

That’s when she belatedly realized she was still sitting and scrambled to her feet along with Daniel. “My body is, well, Mr. President, rather pleased with the situation. My brain is as confused as—” she re-chose her words in mid-sentence, “—a chicken at a hog-calling contest.”

Oddly enough that seemed to tickle him immensely as he smiled at some grand joke that only he was in on. “That’s normal, then. Okay.”

He considered a moment longer as he inspected her through narrowed eyes, then he clapped his hands together with some clear decision. “You all are having dinner in the Residence tonight. Daniel, would you let Zack and our wives know?” And he was gone.

Anne looked at the now empty doorway then back to her brother, “I thought I was confused before he walked in. What is he so all fired pleased about?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel settled slowly back into his seat. “But what it does mean, big sister, is that we’re having dinner with the President and First Lady tonight. Please wear a dress.”

“I didn’t bring one.” Had never needed one because she’d never had dinner with the President before, nor slept with the Vice President—two firsts in less than twenty-four hours. She was on a roll.

Daniel narrowed his eyes at her, then called out toward his still open office door, “Janet, I need someone to take my sister out clothes shopping. Then get a message to the Vice President and the First Lady about dinner.”

Anne was going to offer to tell Zachary; it would also give her a chance to apologize for any trouble this was causing. Then she realized that she had no idea how to get in touch with the Vice President.

She headed for the door.

“Would you please take that damn tie off?”

She thought about it, then nodded toward the television. “I think that dog has already slipped the leash, don’t you?”

Zack had been in meetings all day. The peremptory invitation to dine at the White House arrived in the same sixty-second break in which Cornelia filled him in on “Tie Gate.” There were times he hated President Nixon and then there were times he just pitied the man. Every DC disaster for the last forty years had been tied back to his screw-ups at Watergate. Zack wondered if he himself should feel honored that his private life had been added to the legacy.

As his day progressed, he caught up with more photos of Anne Darlington as she traveled about DC. He had to give the woman points, she’d worn his tie proudly every step of the way. It looked damn good on her.

However, he was not ready for how it looked when he stepped off the elevator onto the Second Floor of the Residence. He and Harvey followed the sound of laughter from the elevator to the President’s private Living Room.

As there were guests, two Secret Service agents flanked the door. Frank Adams was a massive man and the head of the President’s Protection Detail. Beatrice Ann Belfour, commonly known as Beat, was a powerfully curved, much smaller, and supposedly even more dangerous version of her husband—though that was hard to imagine. It was generally agreed that the Presidential couple had the most dangerous team in or out of the military guarding them. Harvey joined them out in the Central Hall and Zack continued into the Living Room.

He nodded to the President and First Lady; nodded to Daniel and Alice as well before he caught sight of her.

Zack had expected Anne to still be wearing the silvered tie, which she was with the knot loose down to just above her breasts, but that was about all he recognized. Sometimes a man was lucky. He’d thought that many times since meeting Anne Darlington. And he’d thought it continuously as they’d romped back and forth through his hundred-and-twenty year old home. Still, it hadn’t prepared him for this.

“Holy cow, Queen Anne. You’re radiant.”

“They did things to me,” Anne flapped her hands helplessly. “I tried to stop them, but they overpowered me. Who knew that there were gangs of toughs inside dress shops and salons.”

“Be quiet and just let me look,” he knew she’d ignore his command. Except she did remain quiet. She also blushed and glared at him—both fiercely.

Her hair, that thick bounty of long hair he’d so enjoyed toying with last night, now shone as it spread over her shoulders. She had bought a dress, the kind that might have killed a lesser man. It wasn’t sheer but it clung in amazing ways. Last night he’d seen the incredible conditioning of a life spent on a farm and riding horses. Tonight, her dress revealed it in whole new ways. He’d always thought himself unreasonably fortunate in the women he’d dated, but Anne Darlington was cut from a whole different cloth—in this case one of sky blue silk that complimented her dark blue eyes.

She’d retained her cowboy boots, though someone—he was sure it wasn’t her—had thought to polish them to a brilliant mahogany shine. The skirt bloomed just above her knees, like she was ready for a country dance. A silver belt at her slim waist matched the tie, which was tucked under an over-wide starched collar that would have looked wrong on a woman with less strength of shoulder. The dress offered no cleavage, but instead was downright sinful in its accent of her shape.

“I want a picture of you in that for my shelf.”

“I want a picture of your jaw hanging open,” but she said it softly and offered him a smile of understanding. It was the same smile she’d offered as they stood before his photograph of the train set; one of deep sympathy and infinite understanding. Of course she’d understood the importance of his statement even if he hadn’t when he’d said it. No one except his family and his trains appeared on that shelf. Yet still he wanted her there.

He moved over to hold her for just a moment. As he pulled her into his arms, Zack knew for certain that this wasn’t going to be some typical DC affair, here and gone almost as fast as the news cycle. This was a woman he was going to hold onto for as long as possible.

Anne tried several times that evening to shoo Zack away, but wasn’t having much luck with it. And the others weren’t helping.

In the President’s personal Living Room, she had ended up on one Chesterfield sofa with Zack while the President and First Lady Geneviève Matthews took the one opposite. Both couches were done in liquid brown leather. Daniel and Alice occupied a pair of wing-back armchairs. It was clear that the First Lady had made this room very masculine for her husband’s sake. Anne wondered if he noticed quite how comfortable he was here.

The hand of the Christmas spirit had touched lightly here even though the family Christmas tree dominated one corner. Presents were already accumulating under the pine branches which were covered in homey ornaments that could only have been gathered over decades of time. The glasses they used for eggnog had a holly pattern and the appetizer plates had that same pattern painted on the white china. But little else existed to mitigate the sheer maleness of the room.

They’d chatted about world events at a level that Anne was fairly sure she wasn’t cleared for. Every now and then Daniel would start to raise some objection about her clearance level, and the President simply ran right over him. Geneviève, who Anne was still having problems with calling by her first name, didn’t even bat an eye. After the second time, Alice nodded as if the President’s choice made perfect sense. Zack had eyed her a time or two, so it wasn’t just her imagination. Eventually only she and Daniel were twitching at the frankness and details revealed on certain topics. The President was welcoming her to a whole new level. On previous visits, the few times she saw Peter Matthews, conversations had turned instantly mundane in her presence. Not pointless or dumbed down, merely of no great import. Not so tonight.

The eggnog was spiked, which had gone straight to her head, but she managed not to wobble as they had adjourned to the Dining Room. She congratulated herself on making the transition comfortably as they crossed the Central Hall. Walking beside Alice and chatting about CIA analytical methods and how Alice had applied them to understanding why in the world Daniel had fallen for her, they approached the three agents who had moved down to the West Sitting Hall.

The Christmas elves had been here as well, with a much heavier hand. Great wreaths the size of a horse blanket hung along the walls. Woven streamers of red and green velvet draped the columns. It was elegant, tasteful, and decidedly merry.

The agents looked both in and out of place in the fine hall dressed in its Christmas attire. The three of them wore good quality dark suits and sat comfortably in nice period furniture.