The Night Stalkers White House - Books 4-6

Chapter 2-1

Chapter TwoAfter their meeting was done, Zack Thomas swung through his office to gather his coat. He took the stairs down to the West Wing lobby. Clutters of rushing staffers dodged aside to open a passage for him. Heading up the stairs, the Communications Director passed him, in a deep debate with one of the speechwriters, offering a quick nod without breaking stride.

It was decorating day and while the West Wing didn’t get the level of treatment accorded to the Residence, a stream of volunteers did what they could to remain out of the way while totting mantel swags, holly boughs, and curiously two of them carrying a child mannequin in a Victorian-era Christmas outfit.

“Please tell me that isn’t headed for my office.”

The young woman holding the mannequin’s shoulders mumbled something about that being up to the West Wing Director of Decorations and moved on without recognizing him.

Zack seriously hoped that the Victorian motif was whimsical or even ironic rather than thematic to this year’s decoration plan.

He finally reached the lobby, which the decorators had yet to reach and the congestion eased to normal levels of West Wing mayhem. With her impeccable timing, that he could only credit to her having him wired with a geo-locator when he wasn’t watching, his assistant appeared from the opposite side of the lobby. She was dressed in one of her understated wool knee-length designer coats that looked so good on her tall, slender frame; the red wool a tasteful contrast to the dark brunette swing of hair that brushed her collar. She moved like an elegant VP-seeking missile through the heart of the crowd and they all stepped aside for her.

Cornelia Day held his coat’s collar for him as he shrugged into it.

“What else do I have today? Anything pressing?”

She retained his entire schedule in her head, just one of her many daunting skills. “Surround yourself with people smarter than you,” was the one rare piece of advice from his father-the-two-star-General. Cornelia was definitely one of those people. She’d served him since she’d interned for him as the Governor of Colorado, straight out of Claremont McKenna College—graduated at nineteen with full honors. He’d moved her to his full-time assistant four weeks later and six months after that he wondered how he’d ever survived without her.

“End of day wrap up with me. Not even a dinner meeting,” she buttoned her coat as if the EEOB offices were far more than a hundred feet from the West Wing. Cornelia often complained about having to move from Southern California to Colorado to work for him. But her time there had prepared her wardrobe for the current Washington, DC cold snap. She added thin, black leather gloves and a cashmere scarf.

She indeed looked ready for a polar expedition—DC style. It would be hard to find a person more the opposite of Anne Darlington. Anne had looked storm-tossed when she’d retreated from Daniel’s office wrapped deep in her massive parka. She’d frankly looked…miserable.

“Hit me with the short version.”

“Seven a.m. breakfast with the present governor of Colorado. You asked me to specifically remind you not to call him an idiot.”

But the man was.

“Simply because he doesn’t agree with your prior policies,” she read his expression easily of course, “does not necessarily reflect on his mental capacity.”

“And yet he is.”

She sighed and then nodded, her shoulder-length hair slid forward and back in a sharp slicing motion that emphasized her narrow face and dark eyes, “And yet he is. But your life at next month’s fundraiser in Denver will be easier if you don’t remind him of that.”

“Got it. I’m going to make a call.”

“Should I wait?” She already had her tablet out to make any notes he side-spoke to her.

“No. Go home for a change. Have some eggnog,” and he briefly wondered what Cornelia Day did in her time off. Did she even have a life outside the office? “We’re done for today.”

She squinted at him momentarily. He could feel her attempting to peer inside his head and read his thoughts. He barely had a clear idea of them himself, so he wished her luck.

“Tomorrow morning,” the slightly worried look didn’t clear. “At the Hay-Adams, seven a.m.”

At his nod, she moved off.

He crossed to one of the guard’s desks. “Could you call the Residence for me? Third floor.”

Anne wished Daniel would show up and answer his own damned phone; it had rung until she thought it might be a new and effective form of t*****e. She’d been on the verge of snatching it off the cradle anyway, her hand mere inches away when it had finally stopped.

She held her breath.

It didn’t restart.

Counted to ten.

Still nothing.

She retreated to a seat in the Music Room at the top of the White House Residence and stared eastward. In the distance, a peek-a-boo view of the Capitol Building’s dome was etched in yellow light against the darkening sky. The bronze Statue of Freedom atop the dome stood with her butt facing Anne; a fact she knew from past curiosity. Though the distance made it impossible to actually see the butt from here, she could feel it. Why wasn’t this a surprise?

Tennessee. She’d just escaped Tennessee, but it was still awfully tempting to call the family plane to come right back and pick her up. Why did she think DC was going to be any better? Because it rhymed with Tennessee? Maybe she should try Gay Paree next—at least the number of syllables would match properly. All she needed was a time machine to take her back to 1920s Paris.

If she—

There was a discreet knock on the open Music Room door.

She glanced over her shoulder and then spun to her feet in surprise, almost catapulting herself to the floor. “Mr. Vice President.”

“Team leaders are supposed to call me Zack. I’m fairly sure that was in the ship’s articles.”

“Typical Air Force, didn’t read before signing. Why are you here, sir?” Not that she was complaining; she was inordinately pleased to see him. He was handsome, but not in the way of the President or her brother. There was a quietness to his face and a calmness in his bearing that the other two men lacked. He had thick hair, not long, but thick and nearly black. His light brown eyes were kind on an open face that reflected every emotion.

“Well, I tried calling, but you didn’t answer the phone. Never going to get your expedition team put together if you don’t pick up the phone when they call.” He was leaning against the doorjamb in a comfortable slouch that not only made him look entirely pleasant, but also made her feel a little more relaxed.

“Not my phone. Though if I’d known it was you come a-calling, Mr. Vice President…” She would have…what?

“Well, it seems that we’re stuck with the formality, doesn’t it? Therefore I must ask myself what would cause Leader Darlington to relax?” He moseyed into the room; he really was from Colorado. Since when did a man mosey? When did it ever look so good?

Her pulse picked up a notch with each step he took toward her which was a completely ridiculous thing to happen.

He stopped a step away and looked down at her. “It seems that you have a problem, Ms. Darlington.”

“I do?” Only a few thousand of them, but they were difficult to recall with him standing so close. Zachary Thomas was often listed atop those most-eligible-bachelor lists, not that she ever noticed such things. He was one of those rare men who had built a political career without being married or being eviscerated in the press when he did date.

“Yes,” Zachary nodded to himself with a firm surety that didn’t quite tip over into arrogance though it certainly was thinking about doing just that. “And I have the cure. Get your coat.”

“I find that order a little preemptory for my taste, Assistant Expedition Leader Thomas. If you’re taking me somewhere cold, you can find another victim.”

“Somewhere warm, but you’ll want the coat to get there. Besides, there’s no point wearing such nice boots and not using them. They really are great boots.”

She looked down at her cowboy boots. Classic Lucchese, understated dark-brown leather with elegant hand tooling and stitching. She used them hard, so they were a little battered, but soft as slippers on her feet. She’d mainly worn them to the White House to tease Daniel who had once lectured her for not wearing a nice dress and high heels when she visited. She hadn’t worn high heels since her senior prom—when you were five-six, all heels did was make tall people think of you as a pretender. Of course tall women only wore them so that they could brag; Anne had banned them from her closet years ago.

She inspected Zack again. Maybe she’d just pretend to enjoy herself. If she did it long enough, it might catch on. But the military man needed to be taken down at least one peg.

“And the order to march?”

“Old captainly habits that will probably never change.” At least he was honest about that.

She hooked her arm through his—a little alarmed at her own presumption, but not willing to look foolish by letting go immediately—and led him out into the Center Hall that stretched the length of the third floor.

“I’ll need to fetch my coat. So, Air Force Captain?” she asked to cover her sudden nerves. “Is that good?”

Zack looked down at her in surprise. He always forgot how little civilians knew about the military. It almost made him regret this visit. But he remembered that lonely look as she’d left her brother’s office and couldn’t bear the thought of her sitting up here alone. Especially as Peter and Daniel still had a long list to cover before their day would be over.

“It’s better than lieutenant, less than major.”

“And nowhere near general. Too bad. I was hoping for a general.”

“You wouldn’t like it. Their star insignias are sharp and prickly.”

“Whereas captain’s bars aren’t nearly as problematic? Which only matters if someone gets up close and personal,” she let out a great mock sigh. “I was so hoping for a general.”

He almost kept walking straight down the hall when she turned for a bedroom halfway down the north side. If she knew that a captain wore bars, she certainly knew where his former rank fell in the hierarchy of military officers. Zack made a mental note never again to underestimate Anne Darlington. And he had the sneaking suspicion that he would, many more times before he finally learned that lesson.

On the bed, an explosion had happened with only a small corner of a large knapsack protruding. She didn’t travel with a fleet of suitcases and cosmetic bags and who knew what all women traveled with. By what was showing from the confused pile, she might have been heading out for the back country just as likely as visiting DC. He had the distinct impression that with Anne Darlington a man simply got what he saw without any games.

And once out of her parka, there was a great deal to like about what he saw. He’d watched her for a long moment before he’d knocked at the open Music Room door where she’d sat so still and at peace. She was neither some sleek urbanite like Cornelia nor a solid girl. Her cobalt turtleneck clung tightly to a balance of strength and femininity that he rather liked and he’d never quite seen so wonderfully melded before. When she’d spun to her feet in the Music Room and faced him, he’d been hard pressed not to do more than glance at her fine figure. Again neither sleek nor voluptuous, merely designed to rivet a man’s attention if he had a single ounce of taste.

She gathered her parka and, turning, caught him staring at places he shouldn’t be.

Mind out of the gutter, Zack. Daniel’s sister. Yet he’d been the one to flirt with her, prickly general’s stars indeed.

They picked up Harvey at the elevator—ex-football running back turned head of the Vice Presidential Protection Detail.

Impressively, Anne didn’t flinch away. She must have become used to the tight security with her brother’s escort.

As he and Harvey had ridden up to the third floor earlier, he’d warned Harvey that they might be going to the concert at the US Botanic Garden. It was perhaps the shortest notice he’d ever given to his security detail and he felt bad about that. But Zack wanted to surprise Anne Darlington. Wanted to see if he could erase that sadness. It didn’t fit her well, like a bad choice in clothes. He still wasn’t sure of the impulse that made him think he was the Santa who could wave his hand and suddenly she’d be cheerful once more, but he was here nonetheless.