Unfinished Business (31 page)

“I had to know what kind of woman she was. After all, she's more than a candidate for ‘wife,' Mark. She's a candidate for First Lady of the United States.”

“So.” Mark leaned forward, pinioning her with his gaze. “Are you telling me the pictures were some kind of test?”

Bitsi nodded. “I had to know what kind of woman she was. I had to see if she'd sell them, try to exploit them…try to exploit you. I had to know how she dealt with the press. I had to know whether she could be discreet and keep your counsel. I had to see what kind of judgment she had, and how she behaved under stress.” Her eyes found his again. “In short, I had to know if she was worthy of you, Mark. And I suppose she is. My only wish is that she were a Re
publican, but hey, I guess you can't have everything, right?”

The joke fell sour and flat. Mark frowned at her, shaking his head. “Aw, come off it, Bitsi. You're trying to make this sound all grand and important, when the truth is, you just didn't like her. You were jealous and you wanted her gone, plain and simple.”

Bitsi flushed pink, an odd expression of pride and pleading on her face, but when she spoke, her voice stayed even and relaxed. “You're right. That, too. So. Do you accept my resignation, or my apology?”

Mark considered the woman, his emotions churning inside him. What she'd done was awful. Underhanded. Potentially harmful and extremely hurtful. It showed a nasty side that Mark didn't want to have a thing to do with.

But on the other hand, she was a longtime friend, a woman who believed in him more than any other. And she'd been the first to know that something was more than a little off about Mary. Bitsi's instincts had sent the girl packing, sent her back home. Too bad that once she'd gotten there, she'd spent her energy on a twisted kind of revenge.

He didn't know what to do, and, it wasn't just his decision, he realized. Erica had a right to weigh in on Bitsi's fate.

“I don't know yet,” Mark announced, grabbing his cane, pulling himself to his feet and stumping toward the window. “Where the hell is she?” he asked the night sky. “She should have been here
before
me, not after.”

Bitsi frowned. “They didn't tell you?” she asked.

Mark froze. He turned away from the window slowly, every nerve in his body strained and taut.

“Tell me what?”

“She's gone,” Bitsi said. “She caught a plane back
to Washington, right after the debate. I thought you knew.”

“Hell no, I didn't know!” Mark shouted, pushing past her out of the room and through the kitchen toward the front door. “What time was the flight? What time is it now?” he demanded, snatching his keys up off the counter. “Is she still in the airport or is she already in the air?”

“I—I don't know,” Bitsi stammered. “It must be the last flight out…”

Mark whirled on her. “You're going to have to do better than that, Bitsi. If you want to stay on the team.”

It took her a second to fully appreciate his meaning. For an instant he thought she was going to jump on him, swing her arms around her neck. But instead, she whipped out her cell phone and cigarette and dialed.

“This is Bitsi Barr, calling for Senator Mark Newman. What's the last flight to Washington, D.C.?” She cut a glance at Mark. “Boarding now.”

“Stop her from getting on it,” he said already moving for the front porch. The two security guards that McAfee had now assigned to him full-time moved into place beside him and he almost barked at them. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. They were soldiers: They had their orders. They'd do their duty whether Mark Newman liked it or not. It was just going to take some getting used to.

“Stop her!” Mark repeated.

“How?” Bitsi called after him.

He tossed her a grin. “You've got a devious mind. Think of something.” He gestured to his security team. “Come on, boys, you're with me.”

 

“Ms. Johnson?” The man had a dark uniform with a badge that read Airport Security, and was accompa
nied by two other uniformed men with grim looks on their faces.

“Yes?” Erica replied. She'd just taken her seat, fastened the seat belt securely around her midsection and locked herself into the upright position. She'd just looked out of the window at the tarmac and seen the cornfields swaying under the night sky and felt the first pinch of longing for things that might have been.

You've changed my life. You've changed the way I see the world
,
Mark Newman
, she thought blinking away a tear.
Damn you
.

But before the full force of her sadness could sweep her away, these uniformed and unsmiling men had surrounded her.

“Will you come with us, please?”

Will you come with us, please?
The words were ominous, commanding and more than a little creepy. Erica had a flash of a movie she'd seen once—a political thriller—where people had been captured, brainwashed and reprogrammed by dark uniformed, unsmiling men.

“I—is there a problem?” she asked, trying not to sound nervous. She glanced around her, looking for a friendly face, or at least someone who might remember seeing her if she were suddenly to vanish from the face of the earth. If only she'd been able to persuade Angelique to leave tonight! But no, her best girl, her wingman, her backup, had turned her down to fly back to D.C. tomorrow with her new man, Chase. “What is it? What's wrong?”

All the passengers nearby were looking at her as though she were some kind of criminal.

And of course the T-shirt didn't help.

“Come with us, please, ma'am,” was the only reply she got.

“Should I get my—”

There was no need to finish. One of the unsmiling uniforms had already retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment.

She followed the dude in the security uniform up the aisle and off the plane, while the two others followed behind.

“This way,” he said when they'd ascended the jetway, nodding her toward one of those doors labeled Access Only. He swiped a card key, typed in some numbers and then yanked on the handle.

Warily, Erica stepped inside. It was a small room that had the look of an interrogation cell, with its long bunk of a seat, a small table, and bright fluorescent lights. But instead of a police questioner, Mark Newman sat on the bench, his hands folded over the crook of his cane, looking as sweaty and irritable as if he'd been the one yanked off a hot airplane for no good reason.

“I should have known you were behind this,” she snapped at him as soon as the officers closed the door, leaving the two of them alone in the little room. “This time, Mark, you've gone too far.”

“It was Bitsi's idea.”

“Don't blame her. I know Bitsi Barr would have been only too happy to see me get on a plane and get away from you forever.”

“That's very true,” he said and for the first time in a long time, that corn-pone grin stretched across his face. “She's still very much in love with me, you know. Probably always will be. Maybe we should try to set her up with somebody. You got a couple of friends you think she'd like?”

Erica stared at him, too stunned to speak. The man had just had her removed from an airplane under heavy police escort…and for what? To talk about Bitsi Barr's love life?

It was outrageous, obnoxious, irresponsible and annoying.

Classic Mark Newman.

“You pulled me off an airplane to get me to help you find Bitsi a date? You really are too much, Mark,” Erica chuckled in spite of herself. “Thanks for that. I needed a good laugh. I hope the taxpayer's find it as funny.”

Mock confusion crinkled his brow. “What? I think you'd want to help me find Bitsi a steady fella. If she's got someone of her own, she'll leave us alone.” He hesitated, frowning. “It's gonna be hard, though. Finding her a man who can measure up to me.”

“You're unbelievable, you know that?” Erica shook her head. “I just have to know one thing, Senator. How do you get your head through the door, as big as it is?”

Irritation ignited in his eyes, found fuel and started to burn.

“But it's true,” he asserted.

“You're unbelievable,” she repeated. “A legend in your own shower.” She glanced back at the door. “I suppose I'm locked in here?”

He shook his head. “You can go. Anytime you want.”

“Good,” she said. “Maybe I can still catch the plane.”

“I doubt it. I just barely caught you as it is. Had them race one of them little motorized cars down to the gate so I could pull you off there before pushback.” He shrugged. “They're in the air by now.”

Erica sighed, turning away from him. This is what she'd wanted to avoid. This scene. These words. But she should have known he would insist on hearing it. He didn't like unfinished business.

“Okay, Mark,” she said, turning back to him and
squaring her shoulders in determination. “You want to hear it, I'll say it. It's been…” She paused, struggling for the right words. “Frustrating and fascinating. It's been scary and exciting and passionate and painful…and…” She swallowed down the emotions rising in her throat. “Unforgettable,” she said softly, knowing that of all the words, that one was the most true. “But it's over now. It's time for us to go back to our lives.” She shook her head. “I'm not going to bother to tell you I'm not attracted to you. Or that I don't care for you.” Her voice shook a little and she had to struggle to keep it even, composed. “But this can't work for the long haul. And we both know it.”

He stared at her a long time, long enough for her heart to start beating in that wild nervous thump. Long enough for her to start remembering what it felt like to be in his arms. Long enough for her to want to feel his lips on hers.

Finally, when she thought she'd die of anticipation, he stood up slowly, unfolding every long, lean, handsome inch of himself and limped over to her.

“Really?” he murmured, coming close enough for her to smell him, close enough for an embrace.

“R—really,” Erica stammered, fighting the impulse to back away from him. Instead, she raised her face to his and put on her biggest, baddest, I'm-not-afraid-of-you-mask.

But being close to him like this crumbled her resolve, like kryptonite weakens Superman.

He knew it, too, the big, arrogant so-and-so.

“You sure?” he asked again. “Because, here I was,” he sputtered in a tight voice, “thinking you ought to marry me. For real.”

Down, fool
, Erica told her heart, when it had the nerve to start jumping for joy in her chest. “No,” she
said, finding the strength to shake her head. “I think that's a really bad idea.”

He didn't like that answer much. She could tell by the irritation that flashed in his eyes. “What's the matter with you, woman? Do you have any idea how many women want to hear those words from me?”

There it was again: that absolutely shocking sense of himself. Erica couldn't help but laugh, which annoyed him that much more.

“All the more reason to turn your ass down,” she said lightly. “If Bitsi's jealous enough to start snapping pictures of you doing the do with another woman, another one of your femmes might just be jealous enough to try to kill your sorry behind. Then where would I be? A good-looking widow, 'tis true, but a widow all the same.” The thought of how close he'd come to death already drained the humor from the words. “That was a bad joke,” she muttered. “But you get what I mean.”

“I'm not joking. I'm serious.”

“So am I!” Erica snapped. “Mark, someone
poisoned
you! Yeah, I know, I know, you're fine,” Erica said quickly waving away the objections and insistences. “The point is, someone tried to do it, and what sane woman would buy into
that
? Just for the joy of being a senator's wife? For the hope of being the first black First Lady? Don't think so, buddy. Not on your life.”

“A woman who loves me like I love her would buy into it,” he grumbled, putting on a petulant expression. “But I guess…”

“Oh, I love you just fine,” Erica replied. “I just don't want to die.”

“Aha!” he roared, suddenly jubilant, and immediately began wheezing with the effort of the sudden shout. He paused a moment to take a deep breath, a happy expression in his eyes. “I got you to say it,”
he murmured. “I got you to say it. You
do
love me. I knew it.”

Crap.
Fate had stepped in and tipped her hand, and once again, he was in the driver's seat.

“Okay,” she said, at last. “Let's take your premise and say I
do
love you.”

“You do,” he insisted. “You do.”

“Okay, I do,” Erica agreed, seeing victory dance in his eyes. “So I love you. So what? In the words of that song Tina Turner sang, ‘What's love got to do with it?' Any of it.”

“It's like Angelique was saying in the car. It's time to accept the long-term possibilities.”

“Mark—”

“Erica. Good, we remember each other's names.”

“Mark—”

“Again? They didn't tell me
you
had a medical attack, too. Sounds like it was something with memory. Well,” he drawled, watching her face, “I'll save you the trouble of saying whatever you're trying to say by telling you this: I don't care. Yes, I'm a public servant. Yes, I've got a public life. But my private life is for me to conduct as I see fit.”

She frowned. “That's not true, and you know it. First of all, you're running for office. Your life is an open book. Second of all, since you're a public servant, everyone in the world seems to feel like they can weigh in on how you conduct your private life. And”—Erica rolled her eyes—“in case you've forgotten, I'm black.”