Exclusive (33 page)

EXCLUSIVE 293

locked the folder in his safe. When he turned back around, he laughed at George's expression. "Relax. You're the only one making a federal case out of this. Patients die in the emergency room all the time. I promise you, no one will investigate it too closely."

"What about his mother?"

"She probably expected him to drop dead suddenly. She'll figure it had to happen sooner or later, and she'll trust that you did everything you could to save him."

George gnawed on his lower lip. "Because he died in the ER of obvious causes, there probably won't be an autopsy."

David clapped him on the back. "So stop sweating it."

As David predicted, no one questioned the cause of death that George signed off on. After the funeral home claimed the boy's body, the mother was never heard from again.

Their guilty secret strengthened their bond. David introduced George to his congressional colleagues and other influential people. He touted him as the finest medical man in Washington, and since he did it in the same earnest, persuasive manner in which he introduced bills to the House of Representatives, people believed him.

By the time George entered private practice, he was well established with the movers and shakers in Washington. Years later, when he was appointed the official White House physician, he sold his lucrative practice for an incredible sum and bought a house around the corner from the residence of the vice president.

Things couldn't have been better.

Then he was called to the White House in the middle of the night to pronounce three-month-old Robert Rushton Merritt dead, and Dr. George Allan's charmed life began its descent.

294 Sandra Brown

David had called in the favor granted years earlier. George had never asked, but he'd assumed that David still had the boy's medical history in his possession. Misdiagnosing the boy's ailment had been an honest mistake, and a deadly one, but George could have survived it if he'd only owned up to it at the time. It was the coverup, the lie, that the medical community would be hard-pressed to forgive at this late date. David's solution, which had seemed George's salvation, had actually been his undoing.

Because of his present celebrity, an investigation into that long-forgotten episode in the ER would make headlines. It wouldn't matter how many patients died because of doctors' mistakes. Everyone's attention would be focused on that boy, his hapless mother, and the doctor who'd committed the fatal screw-up.

He had to protect his family against a scandal like that. The nest egg from the sale of his practice would support Amanda and the boys for the rest of their lives. She wouldn't be left with a paltry life insurance policy or an enormous debt to pay.

Left?

It suddenly occurred to George that he was thinking of his life in the past tense. Which was just as well. If he carried out David's latest edict, he was as good as dead.

You think he's lying?" Barrie asked, a distinct edge to her voice.

"Dalton Neely is the White House press secretary," Gray said. "Lying is his stock in trade."

"This time I don't think so."

They were having pie and coffee in the kitchen. It had been almost a week since Neely had announced that once again, the First Lady was withdrawing from public life for an unspecified period of time. The details of her condition were sketchy, and her whereabouts were not disclosed.

They no longer needed a radio to cover their conversations. Gray had installed an acoustic noise generator, placing several transducers throughout the house. The high-tech gizmo produced unfilterable sound that cut the effectiveness of listening devices.

"I believe Dalton when he says Vanessa isn't well," Barrie stated.

"Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not defending him, I'm defending my point. Vanessa is ill. Period.

Her child's death exacerbated her

296 Sandra Brown

manic-depression. Consequently, her medication needs some readjustment.

Until she's stabilized, she has to be monitored. She's in seclusion so she can get well, and that's all there is to it. That's all there ever was to it. I'd stake my career on that."

"You don't have a career," Daily observed.

"Thank you for reminding me of that. Thank you for reminding me of that about every five minutes."

"What bug got up your ass?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know," she said irritably. "I take that back. I do know what's bugging me. I miss the life I had before it got so screwed up."

"More to the point, before you screwed it up," Daily said. "No one ordered you to go off half-cocked about SIDS, or the President's baby, or the First Lady's mental and emotional health. You drummed that up all by your sweet lonesome."

"Well, who taught me the tricks of the trade, huh? You."

"I taught you to build news stories on fact, not conjecture. That's what I taught. That isn't what you learned." He labored to regain his breath.

"You want your life back? Fine. You can leave my house anytime, missy."

"Maybe I will. I'm sick of camping out in that tacky guest room of yours.

I'm sick of sharing a bathroom with two sloppy men who never hang up wet towels or put the seat down." Her chair made a noisy screech on the kitchen linoleum as she pushed it back and stood up.

"I'm sick of the two of you and this game we've been playing," she continued heatedly. "It's stupid and dangerous and a total waste of time.

In fact, I just this second made a profound decision. I'm going to get my life back. You two can do whatever the hell you like."

She stomped across the floor and slammed the kitchen door.

EXCLUSIVE 297

After a moment of taut silence, Gray said, "You really pissed her off."

Daily's sigh rattled deep in his chest. "Yeah, I was pretty hard on her.

After all she's been through lately, I should've cut her some slack, I guess. I'd better go and talk to her."

"Don't bother. Let her sulk. Chalk it up to PMS. She'll cool off after a while. I'll talk her down."

"You're fucking her, aren't you?"

"Once."

"That's it?"

"You keeping records?"

"What're your plans for her?"

"I don't make plans with women."

Daily didn't let Gray's intimidating blue gaze deter him from speaking his mind. "Sometimes I could choke her, but I love that girl like she was my own blood. I don't want her to get hurt. Not by you and not by this. Maybe it's time we cut bait and stop this nonsense."

"You didn't think it was nonsense a week ago."

"I've got the right to change my mind. This all started with Barrie's thirst for a hot story. I'm beginning to think her ambition was contagious. It rubbed off on me, and I should have known better.

"Then she went to Wyoming and got you riled up too. And it didn't take much, did it, Bondurant? One whiff of Vanessa-in-trouble, and her hero comes running. Hell, you get right down to it, the three of us are pathetic."

"You okay, Daily?"

"Do I sound okay?" he gasped. "I'm too old and sick for this shit. I'd like my declining days to be a little more peaceful. I don't particularly want the word traitor engraved on my tombstone, either. It takes a strong person to admit when he's been wrong. I'd like to think 1 -have that much strength of character left."

298 Sandra Brown

He came to his feet and shuffled toward the door, dragging his squeaky oxygen trolley after him. "Don't forget to turn out the light. You two aren't paying rent and electricity's not free, you know."

Gray rinsed their coffee cups in the sink, went to the door, and switched off the kitchen light. Then he, Barrie, and Daily huddled there in the darkness for several minutes.

Barrie pinched Gray's earlobe and pulled his head down so it was level with hers. "What was that crack about PMS?" she whispered directly into his ear.

"Sorry," he mouthed.

Daily was doing his best to breathe silently. "Are you sure this is going to work?"

"No," Gray whispered with sobering honesty. "You're clear on how to use that?" Earlier, he'd given Daily a crash course on how to read the infrared detector.

"Sweep the area," Daily said, his voice barely audible. "If there's somebody lurking in the dark watching the house, this LED will let me know."

"Good," Gray said. "If you see something, whisper to me. I'll hear you."

He put the wireless earphone into his ear. It worked with the portable two-way radio in the pocket of his jacket.

"These're neat toys." Even in the darkness Barrie could see the sparkle in Daily's eyes.

"Only problem is," Gray said, "the pros have neater ones. Okay, let's go."

When Daily gave them the thumbs-up, they slipped out through the back door. There was no moon, so it would be difficult for the surveillance team to see them, unless nightvision binoculars and infrared detectors were being used. As Gray had said, the pros had neat toys too. He'd marked the surveillance vehicles-a van today, a service truck yesterday, an RV

the day before-parked on Daily's street one

EXCLUSIVE 299

block away. Although a week had passed without any overt activity, Spence's secret police force was living up to his standards, even in his absence.

Daily's car and Barrie's were parked in plain sight out front, so Gray hoped that the back of the house wasn't being monitored. He also hoped that their scripted little scenario in the kitchen had worked to delude the surveillance team into believing that there was dissension within the ranks. Gray didn't trust the noise generator to cover their conversations completely, so they had been careful to let their eavesdroppers hear only what they wanted them to hear.

Soundlessly, they left the tiny square of crumbling concrete that served as Daily's rear porch and ran across his patch of backyard at a crouch. As he had on the night her house went up in smoke, Gray led her through several residential blocks via backyards and alleyways. Two dogs barked at them, but nothing else untoward happened, like G-men emerging from the shadows, automatic weapons aimed.

Gray had left a car parked behind a single-story office complex. When they reached it, he said into the radio's tiny microphone, "How's it looking, Daily?"

"Not even a mole fart. Good luck."

"Over and out."

Barrie was out of breath, as much from tension as exertion. They got into the car, but she waited until they were under way before she asked, "Do you think they're on to us?"

"We'll know in a few minutes."

He drove away from Daily's neighborhood, speeding up occasionally, then slowing to a crawl, weaving an intricate pattern through the residential streets. Finally he said, "Unless a helicopter shows up soon, I'd say we're clear." He removed the earpiece and set the two-way radio system on the seat between them.

300 Sandra Brown

"You and Daily were certainly convincing," she said wryly. "To anyone who might've been listening, I came across as an ambitious, seditious, shitty nitwit with PMS."

"That about sums it up."

She shot him a dirty look. "Where'd you get the car?"

"Parking lot of a shopping mall."

"You stole it?"

"No, I identified myself to the owner as someone trying to overthrow the President and asked if he would mind lending me his car."

"Not funny. The car will be reported stolen by now. We could be stopped."

"I switched license plates with a Chevy Blazer. There are thousands of these Tauruses in the metropolitan area. Besides, I'll ditch it tomorrow and get something else."

"You certainly treat crime with a cavalier attitude."

"Compared to the crimes we might have to commit before this is finished, grand theft auto is minor. Now, what's his address?"

Howie Fripp lived alone in a four-room apartment on the third floor of a walk-up. Each year the stairs seemed to get a little creakier, as did his knees. They were aching by the time he unlocked the door and went in. He switched on lights as he made his way into the minuscule kitchen and set the sack of Chinese carryout on the table.

"Hello, Howie."

"Jesus H!" He spun around in time to see Barrie stepping from his dark bedroom into the kitchen.

"Did I startle you, Howie? Gee, I'm sorry. I know how annoying it can be to have someone sneak up on you like that."

"You scared the hell out of me! What are you-"

EXCLUSIVE 301

He saw the tall, slim man standing in the shadows behind Barrie. "Who's that?"

"Gray Bondurant, meet Howie Fripp." She stepped aside to afford Howie a better look at the commando with the fierce blue eyes, graying hair, and mean mouth.

"You're Gray Bondurant?"

"I see you've heard of him," Barrie said.

Howie swallowed a knot of apprehension. "A pleasure, Mr. Bondurant."

"I wish I could say the same."

Even his voice sounded tough. It reminded Howie of the man he'd once played billiards with-the one he had hoped would become his friend. The one who had never returned to the bar.

Howie's eyes darted back and forth between his uninvited guests. He didn't like the expression on Bondurant's face. Not one bit. He wore the confident, fearless air of a predator who'd just spotted his next meal and knew that it was going to be an easy kill. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

"We came for information." With the toe of his bootWhaddaya know? Some guys really do wear cowboy boots-Bondurant dragged a chair from beneath the table. "Sit down, Howie. Don't let us interrupt your supper. We can talk while you eat."

Howie dropped into the chair, but he shook his head when Bondurant pushed the sack of Chinese food across the table toward him. The thought of sweet and sour pork and shrimp chow mein made his stomach heave. His attempts to hide his queasiness failed.

"What's the matter, Howie?" Barrie asked. "You look sort of green. Aren't you glad to see us?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you, Barrie. Not under any circumstances.