Authors: Fern Michaels
Charles licked his lips, crossed his fingers for luck, and started to prepare his homecoming dinner.
DEADLY DEALS
I
t looked like a cozy building, and it was…in the spring and summer. Ivy covered the brick walls, and flower beds abounded, all tended by the new manager of the Quinn Law Firm, a twelve-member, all-female firm, as everyone was quick to point out. In whispered tones, of course. Previously owned by one Nikki Quinn, one of the infamous Vigilantes.
In the fall and winter, the three-story brick building in Georgetown took on another appearance. Usually smoke could be seen wafting up through the chimney from the fireplace in the spacious lobby. A wreath of colorful leaves adorned the stark white door.
The Monday after Thanksgiving, the building underwent another transformation. A fragrant evergreen wreath with a huge red satin bow almost as wide as the door arrived from a grateful client in Oregon. Inside, the fire blazed; the birch logs, from another grateful client somewhere in the state of Washington, arrived like clockwork the day before Thanksgiving.
It was a low-key firm. All the lawyers were friends, each of them helping the others. There was no shortage of clients, but that hadn’t always been the case. At one point the firm had struggled to keep its head above water, but that all changed when the Vigilantes were captured and then escaped. The media had a field day as they splashed the news that the Quinn Law Firm’s owner was one of the notorious women. Within twenty-four hours, there were waiting lines of women—some men, too—forming up outside to be represented by the now-prestigious, outrageous, famous law firm.
Nancy Barnes, the firm’s business manager, was new to the firm but not that new. She’d replaced her aunt Maddy, who had retired to stop and smell the roses a year after the Vigilantes had gone on the run. She knew the firm inside and out, having worked there summers and holidays for as long as she could remember. She herself was a paralegal but had found out that management was more to her liking. She had a wonderful rapport with the lawyers and clients. At Christmas time alone she had to have a friend come by with a pickup truck to take all her presents home: gifts from the lawyers, gifts from all the grateful clients.
Nancy Barnes loved her job.
On the first day of October, Nancy was huffing and puffing as she struggled with an oversize pumpkin that she somehow managed to get into the lobby after she opened the door and turned off the alarm without dropping the pumpkin. She knew by the end of the week there would be about twenty more pumpkins around her scarecrow-and-hay arrangement, all brought in by the lawyers themselves, along with the paralegals and the secretaries.
Cozy. A feel-good place to come to when in trouble.
Nancy looked up to see a young woman coming through the door. Her first thought was that she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Fragile. Scared. But there was a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Yet.
Nancy Barnes was a chunky young woman who wore sensible shoes. She had curly hair,
unruly
curly hair, and a bridge of freckles danced across her nose and rosy cheeks. She wore granny glasses and always had two or three pencils stuck behind her ears or in her hair. It was her smile that put new clients at ease, or maybe it was her first words of greeting, no one was ever quite sure. “Good morning. What can I do to help you?”
“I’m Rachel Dawson, and I need to talk to a lawyer as soon as possible. I don’t have an appointment. I’m sorry. I just…What I did was…My husband doesn’t know I’m here. I can’t afford to be here.” The woman flapped her arms and then said, “But here I am.”
“I’ll tell you what, walk around here to where I am, and then I’ll get us both some coffee, and you and I can talk. What that means is after you tell me your problem, I’ll decide who it is that would work best with you. We have donuts, too.”
Rachel Dawson tried her best to smile but couldn’t bring it off. Nancy could see she was fighting back her tears.
Settled at her desk with coffee Rachel Dawson wasn’t going to drink, she said gently, “Tell me what you’re comfortable telling me so all of us here can help you. I want you to think of this firm as your extended family. Everyone here works for the client, and it doesn’t matter which attorney is assigned to you. Do you understand that?”
“I can’t afford to be here. My husband is going to be upset when he finds out I…”
“Let’s not talk about payment right now. But for the record, we do quite a bit of pro bono work. I’m usually the one who makes that particular decision, so we aren’t going to worry about whether you qualify or not right now. Tell me how we can help you.”
Rachel Dawson fooled Nancy. Before she spoke she gulped at her coffee and drained the cup. “I can’t have children. It’s me, not my husband. I had every test in the book. I’m thirty-seven. My husband is thirty-eight. We both have very good jobs, but right now I’m on a leave of absence. We were so desperate to have a child, but the wait was so long, and going outside the country didn’t work for us. A friend of a friend told us about a lawyer who arranged adoptions. We went to see him a year or so ago, and in the end what we did…what my husband did was donate his sperm to a surrogate. It was all legal. We paid the lawyer one hundred thousand dollars. I don’t know how much of that went to the surrogate. We paid all of her medical expenses. I even drove her to the doctors when she had to go. She was a student at George Washington University. We bought her clothes, food, paid her rent. She gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. We were overjoyed. I can’t tell you how giddy we were. We went into panic mode the day we found out. We had to redo the house—you know, make room for two babies instead of one.
“I guess I should tell you we had to borrow forty thousand dollars from our parents. Call us foolish, but we’ve been saving for a college fund even though we had no children. We hoped that we would eventually be blessed. We’re savers, Miss Barnes.”
Nancy watched Rachel peer into her cup. She seemed surprised that it was empty. Without thinking, Nancy reached for the cup and went to the kitchen for a refill.
“We were so happy. It was like suddenly our life was now complete. We didn’t sleep. We sat up and watched the twins sleep. I guess all new parents do that. My husband took leave, too, for a month, so I could get things working. We couldn’t afford a nanny, and our parents helped out. We literally thought we’d died and gone to heaven.”
Rachel reached for the coffee and again drained the full cup. She set it down precisely in the spot it had been in. Nancy waited, knowing the worst was about to be revealed. She wasn’t wrong.
“Then our world turned upside down. A letter came in the mail from a lawyer saying his client, the surrogate mother, wanted the twins back. We thought about fighting it, but we had seen cases like this played out in the media, and the birth mother always got the children. Our parents offered to mortgage their houses. We were going to cash in our retirement funds and the college fund but were advised not to do that. My husband talked to several lawyers, and they basically told us to move on and put it behind us. I went to the lawyer we used to arrange the adoption. I called and called, and he didn’t call back. I went to his office, and they wouldn’t let me see him. I thought about going to the newspaper, but the truth was, I wasn’t strong enough mentally or physically for that kind of onslaught. You’ll find out sooner or later that I had a minibreak-down. That’s what they called it, anyway.”
Nancy looked down at the small recording machine she’d decided to use at the last second. As usual, she’d forgotten to mention it to this frail woman sitting in front of her. “Mrs. Dawson, I’m recording this conversation. I hope that’s okay. I should have told you that before I turned it on.”
“That’s okay. Is there anything you can do for me and Tom?”
Nancy’s mind raced. Was there? “I’m going to turn this off for a few moments. Then I’m going to get you some more coffee. I have to make a few phone calls. Will that be okay? I think I know just the person to help you.”
“Truly? You do? Oh my God, I’ll do anything. Anything at all if you help me.”
“Which lawyer did you go to to arrange the adoption?”
“Baron Bell.”
“Baron Bell?” The name shot out of Nancy’s mouth like a bullet. “Baron Bell refused to see and talk to you after…after…?”
“Yes, Baron Bell. He seemed like such a nice man. He’s always in the papers, and he’s an advocate of everything. Everyone Tom talked to backed away when he told them it was Mr. Bell who arranged the adoption.”
“Who was the surrogate mother?”
“Her name was Donna Davis.”
Nancy ran to the kitchen, refilled Rachel’s coffee cup, and then walked down the hall to an empty office and called her aunt Maddy. “I don’t know what to do with her, Maddy. Nothing like this has ever come up before. I’ll be honest, I don’t think any of our lawyers here at the firm will agree to go up against someone like Baron Bell on what could become a high-profile case like this one. Talk to me, Maddy.”
Nancy listened. She reached for a pad and pencil and scribbled furiously. “Maddy, are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”
“Can you think of anyone better?”
Nancy smiled. “Actually, I can’t. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if…Rachel could get her babies back for Christmas?”
“It’s the time for miracles. I’ll do what I can. Keep me in the loop, honey.”
“Will do, Maddy.”
Back in the office, Nancy sat down and reached for a small pad. As she wrote down Lizzie Fox’s name, address, and phone number on a slip of paper, Rachel Dawson kept on talking. “I think this is some kind of baby ring. Tom says I’m out of my mind, but on my really bad days I would go to the park and just sit. I talked to a lot of nannies and young mothers. One of the mothers looked at me when I told her what had happened and told me about someone else the same thing happened to. I have her name right here in my purse. I even went to talk to the adoptive parents, and they’re in the same position Tom and I are in. They used Baron Bell, too. Their surrogate is a student at Georgetown. Is there any way, any way at all, that we could get our babies back for Christmas? We had such plans. Our first family Christmas.” Rachel burst into tears.
“Rachel, I can’t answer that, but the person I want you to go see is just the right lawyer for you. Trust me when I tell you she could take on Baron Bell with her hands tied behind her back and blindfolded. If anyone can help you, it’s Lizzie Fox.”
Rachel Dawson bolted upright. Her tears stopped in midflow. “She’s the lawyer that…She was…the Vigilantes’ attorney.”
Nancy stared across the table, her gaze steady and direct. “Yes,” she said softly.
“Oh! Oh! When should I go to see her?”
Nancy’s phone rang. She picked it up and listened. All she said was, “Thanks, Maddy.”
Nancy looked at Rachel. “Right now. You can walk to Lizzie’s office from here.” Nancy was out of her chair and around the desk. She put her arms around the woman’s thin shoulders. “Just tell Lizzie everything you told me. Be sure to give her the other surrogate’s name. By the way, is your surrogate still living wherever she was living before the birth of the twins?”
“She is. I…I would park down the street hoping to get a glimpse of the twins. They never seem to leave the apartment. I guess she has a babysitter while she goes to class. I was so obsessed. I don’t know how to thank you. Will Ms. Fox work on a payment plan for us? Do you know?”
“You’ll work something out. I wouldn’t worry about that right now. Just go and talk to her, and I wish you all the luck in the world.”
Nancy waited until Rachel Dawson was through the door and out of sight before she walked back to her office. She called her aunt, and they talked for ten long minutes. Nancy was smiling when she hung up the phone. Then she laughed out loud. “Rachel, honey, you are in such good hands,” she murmured under her breath.
1
600 Pennyslvania Avenue. The most famous address in the world.
Lizzie tried her best not to gawk like a starstruck tourist at the magnificent Christmas decorations as she trailed behind the Secret Service agent escorting her to President Connor’s private quarters. She was here for lunch and so much more.
President Connor herself opened the door and literally dragged Lizzie inside with a whispered, “I’ll take it from here, Agent Goodwin.”
As soon as the door was closed, she turned to her friend and burst out, “God, Lizzie, I am so glad to see you! I mean I’m
really
glad!”
“Me, too, Madam President.” And she
was
glad; she and President Connor had a history. Then they wrapped their arms around each other in a bone-crushing hug, strange for two such elegant women.
President Connor laughed. “Stop with that president stuff. In here we’re Lizzie and Marti. I
need
you to call me by name, Lizzie. I don’t want to forget who I really am. Can we do that?” She sounded so anxious, Lizzie nodded.
Lizzie looked around. “Pretty fancy digs, Marti. This is my first time in the White House. I’m impressed. The Christmas decorations are beautiful.”
“If you have the time, I’ll give you the tour after lunch. Right now I want you all to myself. I can’t thank you enough for accepting my invitation. You look so happy, Lizzie.”
Lizzie smiled as she was shown to a deep off-white chair that would have held her and Cosmo. She watched as the president sat down across from her and then kicked off her shoes. Lizzie did the same thing, and then they giggled like two schoolgirls. “There are no words to tell you how happy I am, Marti. I wish I could say the same for you. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Martine Connor forced a smile she was far from feeling. “I
do
have the weight of the world on my shoulders. See how bowed they are? And before you can ask, the world slowed down for some reason this week to allow me time for this luncheon.”
“You want to talk about it, or is it all NTK? Your approval ratings are in the 70 percent area, so you must be doing something right.”
Martine shrugged. “I had a hard time getting used to every second of my time being budgeted. Sometimes bathroom breaks are a luxury. There’s always a crisis brewing somewhere that has to be dealt with. You know me, I’m cool under fire. It’s when I get up here that I lose it.”
Lizzie blinked. “This was what you wanted, Marti.”
Martine brushed at the soft bangs falling over her forehead. “Yes, and if it wasn’t for you…and…your friends, I wouldn’t be here. I know that, Lizzie. It’s with me every second of every day. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s why you accepted my job offer, right? You’re here to spell it out to me. Again.”
Lizzie stared at her old friend. She gave a slight nod. “Six months. Pro bono. I walk away unless the job proves to be something beyond my expectations. I have to admit I was surprised you agreed to my terms.”
Martine burst out laughing. “Oh, Lizzie, I wish you could have seen the expressions on all
their
faces when I listed your demands. I thought the lot of them would choke to death. Nine to five! Every weekend off. Pro bono. I realize one hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars is a lot of money, and yet it isn’t much money to live on here in the District, what with rent, travel back to one’s home state, taxes, everyday expenses, and the maintenance of two residences. It’s hard to raise a family and keep up two residences all for the sake of doing one’s duty. When I told them you weren’t interested in adding the White House to your resume, because yours was impressive enough without it, several of them had to be resuscitated. It’s safe to say your fame has preceded you. Actually, Lizzie, you’re a legend in your own time, and I for one am honored to be called your friend. How does your new husband feel about you taking on the job?”
Lizzie leaned forward. “You know what, Marti? My husband is that rare breed of man who only wants to see me happy. If all it takes is his approval, he’s all for it. We take turns traveling on the weekends. You need to give him a huge slice of credit for helping get you to where you’re sitting right now.” Lizzie looked around and then lowered her voice. “Is this place bugged? Are you recording me?”
“Lizzie!”
The president’s outrage was so total, Lizzie relaxed. “What I was going to say was my husband numbers among his friends some of the most powerful, some of the most respected, some of the richest people in the world, and those he doesn’t know personally, he has access to via those same friends that are in his Rolodex. You should see his Rolodex, Marti. I think it’s safe to say your own cannot compare.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Lizzie?” There was an edge to the president’s voice that did not go unnoticed by Lizzie.
“Nothing, Marti. I was simply commenting on your question about my husband.”
“Point taken. Oh, look, our lunch is ready. It’s one of the perks here. I hope you enjoy it.” The president nodded to the waiter to show he could leave. “I know you don’t like to eat heavy at lunch, and most days I don’t have time for lunch. We’re having sesame-crusted salmon, grilled asparagus, and a garden salad.”
It looked delicious, but Lizzie wasn’t hungry. She lifted her glass of ice tea and clinked it against Martine’s. “Here’s to a thankful Thanksgiving and a Merry Christmas, Madam President.”
“And the same to you, Lizzie.” The bite was still in Martine’s voice, Lizzie noticed. Well, she hadn’t invited herself here. She was the invitee. She smiled as she mashed the salmon on her plate. Martine was cutting her asparagus into tiny pieces. Lizzie couldn’t help but wonder if the president was going to eat it or was just playing with her food the same way she was.
“Does my office have a window, Marti?”
Marti offered up a genuine smile this time. “It was one of your requirements, so, yes, your office has a window. You did say you would be willing to negotiate the second half of the year. Is that still on the table?”
Lizzie mashed the salmon some more. “Yes, but no promises. So, tell me now, who do I have to watch out for?”
“Everyone, would be my guess. You’ve been Googled so much since we made the announcement I’m surprised the site didn’t shut down. You’re the next thing to Public Enemy Number One at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. My chief of staff understands that you are to have direct access to me 24/7. Of course he went ballistic, but we’re on the same page now. Everyone is replaceable. He understands that, too.”
“Guess you aren’t going to eat that asparagus. You must have a hundred little pieces on your plate.”
“You always were perceptive, Lizzie. I’m listening when you’re ready to talk.”
“My friends are very unhappy, Marti. I thought you would have gotten the message when your Secret Service agents were thrown into a Dumpster, and then their weapons and badges were sent back to you.”
Martine started to mash at her salmon the way Lizzie had. “We’re going to have to put all this food in the disposal so the kitchen doesn’t get their knickers in a knot. I did get the message. I wasn’t amused. We had to do some fancy dancing to explain all of that.”
“I bet you did. My friends weren’t amused, either. You have six months to keep your promise.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving the president of this country an ultimatum! And if for some reason I can’t deliver on the promise in the allotted time, then what?” the president asked in the same frosty tone.
Lizzie smiled. “Marti, I might be many things, but I’m not clairvoyant.”
“What? Are you seriously warning me that the Vigilantes can penetrate the White House? Is that what you’re telling me? Are you telling me they’re smart enough to outwit the best of the best? It’s simply not possible. What are they going to do, hold a gun to my head and make me sign a pardon, and then we’re all going to disappear in a puff of smoke?” Lizzie was pleased at the look of pure horror on the president’s face.
Lizzie continued to smile. “I said no such thing. That’s your interpretation. Although the ladies did take on the Secret Service and came out on top. And if I remember correctly, that little neighborhood White House luncheon you sponsored didn’t go over so well, either. Your guests were more impressed with their ride home compliments of the Vigilantes than they were with your luncheon, the photo op, and their souvenirs.”
Martine Connor got up and carried the two luncheon plates to the sink. She scraped the plates and turned on the garbage disposal. Lizzie listened to the loud clunking noise and then a shrieking, grinding sound. “The plumbing leaves a lot to be desired,” Martine said.
“You could call a plumber,” Lizzie volunteered.
“It doesn’t work that way here. In the real world, yes. I can’t even describe to you what it’s like living here. I can’t step out and go to the drugstore to get shampoo. If I want to do that I have to notify the Service a month in advance. Then they have to empty out the store so I can shop. I can’t go to a bookstore. I can’t drive a car. I can’t use my credit cards or carry money. If they ever found out or find out I have that phone, they’ll probably pack me off to Outer Mongolia.
“You know what I miss, Lizzie? I miss going out to the mailbox for my mail. I miss all those catalogs I used to get by the pound. I always looked forward to Sunday afternoon, when I’d browse through them and order something. You know what else? I made potato pancakes one day. They came up here on the run and said I was stinking up the White House and not to do it again. They fucking told me I can’t make potato pancakes! It was the onion I put into it. I’m not excusing my language, either.”
For all of a minute, Lizzie almost felt sorry for her old friend. Almost. Then she burst out laughing. “Remember that old saying, be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. You wished for this, we made it happen for you at the eleventh hour, and now you have to live with it. And you have to honor your debt. That’s the bottom line.”
“God, Lizzie, how cold you sound. That’s the real reason you agreed to sign on, isn’t it? You’re here to protect your friends, and if it means taking me down, you’ll help them do it, right?” Lizzie just smiled.
“Goddamnit, Lizzie, say something.”
“Where I come from, Marti, and where you’ve been, a person is only as good as their word. I really should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”
Martine Connor turned to stop her furious pacing. Lizzie thought she looked great in a honey-colored suit with a copper-colored blouse underneath her suit jacket, which was open. Her haircut was stylish, and the feathery bangs falling over her forehead were new, too, since the last time she’d seen her. She looked presidential.
“But we haven’t had dessert, and I was going to give you the tour. Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’ll find a way, I promise you. Please, I need you to believe me.”
“It’s not me you have to convince, Marti. I’ll pass on your message. Six months. Not one day, not one hour, not one second longer. I’ll report in on January second. I hope you have a wonderful holiday. Are you staying here or going somewhere?”
“Camp David. I plan to sleep through the holidays. Do you want to hear something really sad? I don’t have a single soul I can invite to spend the holidays with me. Well, that’s not quite true. I had several people I was going to invite, but the Service said when they vetted them they were unsuitable.
Unsuitable!
That’s what they said. I’m whining, and I didn’t want to do that. I apologize.”
Lizzie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the president. She squeezed hard. “Six months, Marti,” she whispered. “Now, how do I get out of here? Is that guy with the ‘football’ still outside the door? Oh, one last thing—watch out for Baron Bell.”
Martine grimaced. “You mean the marine with the nuclear codes? Yes, he’s out there. You just walk past him, it’s that simple. One of my agents will take you home.”
Lizzie stared at her old friend. She could feel her eyes start to burn at what she was seeing on her old friend’s face. She lowered her voice to a bare whisper and said, “I wouldn’t want to be you for all the gold in Fort Knox.”
Martine Connor shed her personal persona, and in the blink of an eye she was the President of the United States the moment the door opened. “Thank you for that observation, and thank you for coming, Lizzie. I enjoyed our luncheon. I hope we can do it again soon. Happy Holidays to you and
yours.”
“Don’t eat too much turkey, Madam President.” Lizzie flinched at the sound of the door closing behind her. She straightened her shoulders and walked alongside the agent escorting her to a black limousine, where another agent waited to drive her back to her home.
Lizzie kept her eyes closed all the way home, her mind racing as she sifted, collated, and made mental notes.
The moment Lizzie was inside her cozy little home, she shed her lavender suit and donned a pair of jeans and a fleecy, warm shirt. She had the crazy urge all of a sudden to make potato pancakes. But first she had to check things at her office, call her husband, and then call the mountain. Maybe she should call the mountain first. Or maybe she should wait, think about her visit some more, and make the potato pancakes first. Multitasking, so to speak.
Before she did anything, though, she was going to make herself a pot of strong black coffee to get her adrenaline going at full speed. While the coffee was dripping, Lizzie fiddled with her CD player and then slipped in one of Cosmo’s favorite CD’s. Frank Sinatra’s mellow voice filled her kitchen. She immediately felt the tenseness leave her shoulders. Then she made herself a sandwich, the kind of sandwich Cosmo raised his eyebrows over but later admitted was tasty. Swiss cheese, lettuce, fire-roasted peppers, and one slice of salami. That mess she’d mangled back at the White House couldn’t come close to the sandwich she was devouring. There wasn’t a crumb to be seen when she finished.
Lizzie moved then at lightning speed. She called the mountain; then she called Jack Emery and then her office. She had two calls left to make when she poured her coffee. The first call was to Nikki’s old law office, where she asked more questions than she answered. She had one call to go before she could call her husband. With business taken care of she could talk for hours if he had the time. At the crack of dawn she’d be winging her way to Vegas to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the holidays with her husband. A radiant smile lit her features.