Authors: Kelly Abell
The Emperor went to his desk and turned to his computer. He tapped a few keys and the grisly images filled the screen. Cortez’s body slumped over that nice desk of his, brains spattered all over the wall behind him; Larson blown completely backward in the chair, blood seeping around the fabric. Why had Larson felt it necessary to kill Cortez? You don’t just whip your gun out, he thought, and kill the man you need to help you. You’ve got to have a reason. The Emperor tapped his fingers lightly on the keys, staring at the pictures. There was something he was missing, something that didn’t quite make sense.
The Emperor sat up suddenly. He leaned closer into the monitor and blinked twice. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He clicked his mouse repeatedly, flipping from one picture to another. Yes, there it was. A bullet hole in the side of Cortez’s splattered head. He had almost missed it. There was so much blood. He used his special photo enhancing software to blow up the area in question. A small entry wound was clearly visible on Cortez’s right temple. He adjusted the picture by zooming out and reviewed the blood spatter on the desk and the window. It was the wrong angle to have come from across the desk. The shot that killed Cortez had come from the other side of the room, not directly in front of him.
It would take those security idiots Weaver had hired weeks to figure out what the Emperor had just discovered. Larson hadn’t killed Cortez. Suddenly he sat the tumbler down on the desk with a leaden clunk. That was it! He could let the cartel gang take care of Jack Weaver for him. At the Emperor’s suggestion, Cortez and his family had hired ex-spies and agents from all over the world and paid them well. They could find a needle in a haystack if given the right motivation. Once they knew Jack was the one who killed Cortez, they would stop at nothing to see him dead.
The Emperor smiled. In a way, he was relieved Cortez was dead. Once Cortez told him everything he kept on that computer, the Emperor could have killed Cortez himself. The fact that Weaver did it for him just saved him a trip. Now, he had a loose end to clean up. He picked up the phone. The crack in the receiver pinched the palm of his hand and he cursed violently heaving the thing against the wall. Shaking his head at the pieces of electronic debris, he pulled out his cell phone.
“
This is the Emperor. Let me speak to Juan Cortez.”
Chapter 3
Caroline looked at her reflection in the mirror. Leaning into the glass, she took her tweezers and plucked a stray brow hair. It stung slightly and she winced. She had always hated plucking her brows, ever since she was a teenager in her first Junior Miss pageant. They were beautiful brows though, a soft chestnut brown matching the thick crown of hair that was neatly wound into a tight French twist. She swiped a few strokes of mascara over the long lashes that softly shadowed her emerald eyes. A quick glance at her watch told her she still had time before she had to meet Warren and be driven to yet another celebratory dinner.
She had grown to hate these parties. Tonight, her husband, Senator Warren Walters and Presidential Elect Michael Hardy would accept congratulations from their multitude of followers for winning the Presidential Election. There would be much hand shaking and well wishing and it made Caroline’s facial muscles hurt in anticipation.
When she and Warren had first gotten married, Caroline loved the public life they led. The fact that he was an up and coming Politician in the Republican Party had only added to the excitement. She had loved the Washington D. C. lifestyle and then it all changed. Now it was exhausting. She didn’t know how those movie actors did it. How do you pretend to be someone you’re not for hours at a time, and put on a happy face when all you felt was loneliness and desperation?
Caroline placed her mascara wand back into its container. She laid both hands palm down onto the cool marble counter. She stared at her reflection. For all the emotions swirling around inside her, it certainly didn’t show in her face. She was stunning. Her makeup was artfully applied and her hair looked as if she had spent hours in an expensive salon. With her position in society, she certainly could afford to have someone do her makeup and hair, but she preferred to do it herself. It gave her the chance to be alone and prepare for her upcoming performance.
She looked down at her hands and her flawless nails. The 3-carat diamond wedding ring on her left hand winked mockingly at her. It was a travesty. The ring was a symbol of what a joke her marriage had become. Thank God her parents had died in that plane crash five years ago. She wouldn’t be able to hide her misery from them. They could always see straight through her. She was grateful they had died thinking she was safe and happily married.
Caroline sat down slowly on the cushioned stool in front of the mirror. She looked at the reflection of the large master bathroom that somehow managed to dwarf her five foot seven frame. It was too sterile in its whiteness. The monogrammed royal blue towels provided the only splash of color along with the matching throw rugs scattered on the white tile floor. If she were allowed to make the decorating decisions, the walls would be a bold hunter green instead of pale eggshell. Alternating colored tiles would be added to the pristine whiteness around the shower and tub. Silk flower arrangements would be on the plant ledge and strategically placed on the long double-sink counter. It would be warm and friendly, not cold and sterile.
Caroline Boulet Walters had always led a privileged life. Growing up the daughter a heart surgeon and the heir to old Georgian money had seen to that. She was given every advantage. She went to the best private schools, belonged to the most prominent Georgian clubs, and her debut in society was a resounding success. Her mother, Evelyn Boulet, had always wanted her to be a model, but Caroline had wanted a college education. She wanted to be a lawyer. The only compromise she made for her mother was to play the part of Georgian Beauty Queen. She knew how much her mother loved the pageant circuit because she was involved in them as a young girl herself, so Caroline had not challenged her mother when she entered her into her first Junior Miss Pageant in high school. She had won, hands down, and then moved on to win the Miss Georgia Beauty Pageant when she was twenty years old, a little old by pageant standards, but she was determined to finish her college education and had not entered at her first opportunity.
That was how she had met Warren. She was in D.C. for the Miss America Pageant and the First Lady had invited all the contestants to a White House dinner. Caroline was in awe that evening. Even with her upbringing and all the famous people she had met in her lifetime, nothing compared to the White House. This was where it all happened; it was where executive decisions were made that changed people’s lives. The power of it overwhelmed her, that and a dashing Republican Congressman named Warren Walters.
Warren was seated at her table looking like a G. Q. fashion plate. He was blond and his face looked like the gods themselves had carved it. When he stood to kiss her hand, he towered over her. She was not short by any means but she found her eyes to be level with his chin when he pulled her chair out for her. Caroline tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. He was gorgeous. His lean muscular body still reflected the military conditioning that he was accustomed to as a U. S. Navy SEAL.
“
Once a SEAL, always a SEAL,” he told her, giving her a heart stopping smile. She was instantly swept away by his charms, and the powerful seduction she saw in those sharp blue eyes. If only she had looked deeper then, beyond the crystal blue to the deep dark pit that was his soul.
Caroline shivered and then blinked. Hastily she glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch on her left hand. How long was she woolgathering? She had only a few minutes left to finish getting ready. She stood quickly and reached for her lipstick case. She applied a soft pink tint to her lips and stepped back from the mirror.
She surveyed herself from top to bottom. The silver lam
é
dress she wore should please Warren. He bought it for her the last time he was in Paris on State business. It clung to her curves in all the right places without looking tight or vulgar. The plunging neckline stopped just short of her breastbone, giving just a hint of the secrets within. The shimmering folds of the material draped over her shoulders and swept down her back in a graceful half moon. The gown lightly touched the top of her flat sandals, which were the same silver color as the dress. Looking down at her feet, she sighed. She looked so dowdy in flats, but if she wore too much heel she would be taller than Warren, a rule she never broke.
She turned around to look at the back of the dress in the mirror. “Shit,” she said out loud. She thought the fold of the fabric had covered it but she could clearly see that was not the case. On the top of her left shoulder blade a nasty purple bruise stood out like a neon sign. It was in an awkward spot and she couldn’t reach it herself to apply makeup and cover it up. She couldn’t go downstairs like this. She looked at her watch again and panicked. Warren was expecting her downstairs any minute and she didn’t have time to change into another dress and search her vast closet for matching shoes. She tried adjusting the gown but she couldn’t get the material to cover the entire bruise. She was out of time. Warren was going to be furious.
She ran from the bathroom into the bedroom and wrenched open her closet door. “Please, please,” she mumbled softly in prayer. Then Caroline spotted it. Looking reverently upward, she whispered, “Thank you.”
As if it were the most valued item in the Smithsonian, she reached for the shawl. It was a delicately beaded garment, port wine in color, and would be dark enough to cover the bruise. It was hand made for her in India and given to her by a former ambassador. It was perfect. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and let the ends fall gracefully across her forearms. She scuttled back into the bathroom to see the full effect. It wasn’t perfect but she could make it work. It was a tad lumpy in the back where the shawl hung over the folds in the dress, but the colors went well together. It set off the shimmering silver of the gown and Caroline wasn’t sure if the flush in her cheeks was due to her haste, or if the shawl actually reflected a nice rosy glow. Regardless, it worked.
She reached for her tiny silver handbag just as his knock sounded at the bedroom door.
“
Caroline,” Warren called, his voice cold and hard. “We are going to be late. I certainly hope you are ready.”
Caroline’s stomach knotted at the sound of his disapproving voice. She really didn’t want to disappoint him. It never meant good things for her. She forced herself to smile and opened the door. He stood on the threshold looking sternly at her.
“
I was just on my way down, Darling.” She twirled around in front of him. “What do you think? Do you like the dress?”
He inspected her from head to toe as if she were an army private’s footlocker. Apparently she passed, because he smiled slowly in approval. He fingered the beaded material of the shawl and looked her directly in the eye. “The shawl is a nice touch. It brings out the color in your cheeks. You look beautiful, Caroline.” He turned abruptly and preceded her down the hall to the small elevator that would take them downstairs.
“
Thanks,” she muttered, hanging her head and following him. She felt so trapped and alone.
Chapter 4
Warren was quiet and pensive on the drive over to the Westfield’s Conference Center where the dinner party was being held. Caroline didn’t like to bother him when he was like this so she sat staring out the tinted window of the limousine.
Her thoughts wandered back to her first meeting with Warren. He monopolized her time that night and for the rest of her time in Washington. Every free moment she was given she spent with him and he was the most gracious of hosts. He took her to the Smithsonian, the Capital Building, and even gave her a private tour of Congress. She remembered giggling like a schoolgirl when she sat in the Speaker’s chair, something that would never be allowed in the post 9/11 world.
Her parents were thrilled when they announced their engagement six months later. Looking back on it now, Caroline couldn’t even remember how it happened so fast. She went back to Georgia after the pageant, but Warren continued to see her. He flew down on his private jet and courted both her and her parents. Evelyn and Robert Boulet were excited that their only daughter had chosen such a suitable mate.
Caroline was thrilled too, at first. She felt like she had waltzed into the perfect fairy tale. Warren finished his term as Congressman of Virginia and then began his bid for the Senate. His family, with their own generations of old money, saw to it that his campaign was well funded. He won by a landslide and quickly rose in rank and respect in Washington. Shortly after being elected, Warren was chosen to serve on the committee that oversaw Homeland Security. His experience in the military made him an ideal choice. A responsibility that not only appealed to his colossal ego, but brought him a great deal of recognition and power.
Caroline sighed. Now they were on the fast track to the White House. How ironic to end up where they, as a couple, began. With this election win, Warren would be Vice President of the United States. It would not be long and he would have the Presidency. He would see to it. Some how he would get what he most desired. He always did. The only question was how much suffering she would have to endure for his gain.