Love Story (19 page)

Elizabeita presented challenges that her sisters didn’t. I chose her for last because I wanted to see her character develop through the other books. Still, she was a mystery to me. So I did what I always do when this happens: I gave her free reign. Elizabeita basically told her own story. Revelations come to her just as they do to the reader. I rejoiced every time she had an insight
into her psyche, from the small to the big: how content she is working with kids, why she’s such a risk taker, and finally the knowledge that she can let go of the past and be with Nick. Of all the sisters, she is the most complicated, so her story was, too. I hope you liked seeing her grow and change into the woman she was meant to be.

I always fall in love with my heroes and Nick Casella
was no different. I have no idea why he came out so cranky in the beginning. He just did. But to see him in his home environment made me like him right away. To see him soften and become more open and emotional with Elizabeita stole my heart. One of my favorite scenes is when he goes to the Museum of Modern Art to be surrounded by what Lizzie loves.

The art content in this series was a joy
to write. I’ve taught art history in the high school and I truly love experiencing the great paintings and sculpture in the world. I’ve traveled to many famous museums and cried when I got to see the real things! And I had a great time having Nick ask questions about the validity of modern art that my students posed to me. I remember standing with them in front of that Mondrian painting in that book
as the little boy makes the same points my kids did.

The Ludzecky Sisters was a labor of love for me, and I hope you enjoyed this very dear family and seeing the O’Neils again. It’s nice to know all the characters in both series are living happily-ever-after, but somehow I still see Elizabeita giving Nick a run for his money.

Kathy

Copyright 2015 Kathryn Shay

Cover art by Rogenna, http://sweettoheat.blogspot.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased
for your use only, then please return to the online bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

THE National Threat Assessment Center, or NTAC, was located right around the corner from Ford’s Theatre in D.C. Joe Stonehouse passed the famous landmark, remembering when he’d taken Josie there. Because the memory pricked, he shoved it away. He reached the Secret Service building and headed inside. Though it was Sunday night, they had business to take
care of.

The route to the conference room was familiar, and the smell of lemon wax, cleaning fluid, and leather accompanied him. He’d worked at NTAC, a division of the Secret Service that analyzed potential assassins in order to preclude their attacks, for five years before Josie’s death. Afterward, he became part of the Safe School Initiative, which addressed school shooters. Then, at his
instigation, and with him at the helm, the School Threat Assessment Team, or STAT, was formed. They collected information about past school shootings and the shooters themselves for the purpose of preventing targeted school violence; they also monitored developing situations in high schools across the country. Then, too, since the World Trade Center attacks, school kids were even more messed up and
needed help from adults.

And, in the event of a serious potential risk, they went undercover in the buildings. Which was why he was here tonight. He pushed open the conference room door.

“You’re late,” a voice from the other side of the room said.

The remark came from his sulking colleague, who still looked like one of America’s Most Wanted in his torn jeans, flannel shirt, and unkempt
hair. Joe refrained from snarling. Once again, he cursed his luck that Ludzecky was the only agent available to go into Fairholm High School with him on such short notice.

“Traffic on Dupont Circle,” Joe said tightly. Shrugging out of the jacket of his pinstripe suit, he sat down on a table and picked up the remote to view a Power Point presentation the government had prepared for them over
the weekend. “All right, Suzie Q, let’s see what makes you tick.”

“How come we didn’t have all this information before we went up to New York on Friday?” Ludzecky wanted to know.

“We had to move in fast, given what we found last week.” Joe clicked on the appropriate icon to get into the program. “The data wasn’t ready.”

They’d been collecting information on Fairholm High School for
months as part of STAT’s program to keep tabs on high-risk situations in the nation’s secondary schools. But two recent developments had propelled them to target Fairholm for immediate intervention.

Mrs. Suzanna Quinn’s picture appeared on the big screen. He studied the blond hair, pulled back in a knot like she’d worn it two days ago, revealing gold hoops at her ears. Her light brown eyes
were smiling. “This is Suzanna Quinn’s professional photo.” He noted she wore the same kind of suit she had on when they’d met. Tailored. Professional.

“Buttoned up like a four-star general,” Ludzecky commented.

“At least she sets a good example for her troops.”

He clicked on
background information
; the screen split, and statistics came up next to her picture.

“She doesn’t look
forty-three.”

Joe thought she did. A good forty-three, though. Smooth skin. Only a few laugh lines around her eyes. Sculpted chin.

Married. Widowed. She’d been climbing the academic ladder, on her way to a college administration position, when her husband had died from a heart attack. She’d shied away from working at the local college where he’d taught the ethics of law. Instead, when
she’d finished her doctorate in education, she called on her initial experience as a high school social studies teacher, then school counselor, and finally assistant principal; she’d applied for and received the principalship at Fairholm High five years ago. She had one son, Josh, a senior at the school. He scanned the rest of the general information. “This isn’t what I need to know about her.”

Ludzecky sighed dramatically. The kid should be on stage. “I don’t understand why we didn’t just tell her we were comin’ in undercover. She’s the principal, for Christ’s sake.”

That got Joe’s back up. Superintendent Maloney had had doubts about Quinn accepting the undercover work without a fuss, and after Joe had read her files, he’d made the decision to keep her in the dark. Maloney hadn’t
been comfortable with that, and Joe himself had had second thoughts about it. But his instinct had told him to wait, and on more than one occasion, those instincts had saved his life.

“You read her mission statement for the school and her own personal essay on management style; she’d balk at covert actions. She’s preached democracy and openness and flexibility with evangelistic zeal.” He glanced
at the screen. “What I want to know is why.”

“Afraid she’ll interfere with your commando tactics?”

“No, I was afraid her objections would make it harder for us to get into the school. You know time is of the essence, after the latest developments. I decided to go under covertly; when everything’s set up, I’ll let her in on the plan. By then, it’ll be too late for her to do too much damage.”

Ludzecky scowled. “Don’t you get tired of playin’ God all the time?”

Joe ignored the sarcasm which came in a steady stream from the young agent’s mouth. He continued to flick through the files. Pictures came up of her son—he resembled his mother, with blonder hair but those same eyes. Her husband was next. Joe clicked on an icon labeled Lawrence Quinn. Fifteen years her senior. Second marriage.
First wife deceased. Professor at NYU in legal ethics. Ah, maybe this was the source of her rabid belief in honesty at all costs. They moved to Fairholm when their son was born; her husband taught at a local college, and she took a teaching job at the high school. Assessment by team: good marriage, low-key, no known separations, seemed to love their kid.

“Geez, look at that,” Ludzecky said.

“What?”

“The guy died on their fifteenth wedding anniversary.”

“Yeah?”

The younger man snorted. “Not surprised
you
didn’t notice,” he grumbled.

Joe knew Luke’s, and others’, attitude toward him. They called him Iron Man, Stone Man, the Ice King. Not that he cared. His restrained personality was a hell of a lot better than mimicking his parents. Besides, he hadn’t always been
like this.

Joe nodded to the section on Quinn’s husband. “It could be just her husband’s views that’s got her so jagged on honesty. Your typical liberal couple.” He tried to hide the disdain in his voice, caused by the memory of the liberal couple who raised him. Clicking the remote, he brought up the section labeled
parents
.

Her family grew up right here in D.C. Mother, Joanna Carson.
Schoolteacher. Raised four children on her own after father died in 1960—two months before Suzanna was born. Father’s career path...bingo!

Even Ludzecky leaned forward and read with interest. “Holy shit.”

“Nathan Carson was brought down by good old Senator McCarthy,” Joe said, finding the last piece of the puzzle.

They read the report together. Nathan W. Carson was a captain in the
army when McCarthy’s Communist-seeking bullets had hit him. He’d been one of the several U.S. Army officers brutally questioned in the infamous thirty-six hours of televised hearings.

“I wonder if the superintendent knew about Carson and that’s why he thought she’d balk,” Joe commented, almost to himself. “Those investigations included undercover work, phone tapping, infiltrations.”

“Not
to mention that he was found innocent.” Ludzecky’s tone was grave.

“There was almost no proof against anybody McCarthy accused. Didn’t matter, though, the damage had been done.”

“Click again, see what happened to Carson.” Ludzecky straightened and peered intently at the screen.

Joe brought up the next slide. “Damn.”

Luke sighed again, this time sympathetically. He had yet to develop
a hard veneer, which was one of the things that got him in so much trouble. That and his lack of plain common sense.

Suzanna Quinn’s father had committed suicide two months before she was born. He’d “involuntarily resigned” from the army and never bounced back.

“Well, I’m sure she can be managed effectively,” Joe commented.

“Goddamn it, Stonehouse, don’t you feel any sympathy for the
poor woman?”

Sick of the kid’s needling, he snapped back. “Sympathy gets in the way, Agent Ludzecky. It’s what keeps getting you in all that hot water.” He fiddled with the computer. “Let’s look at the other school personnel.”

SECRET SERVICE AGENT C.J. (Caterina) Ludzecky and her three colleagues hustled into New York City’s Memorial Hospital on the heels of the Second Lady and the vice president of the United States. Though she kept her emotions at bay when she was on the job, C.J. couldn’t help but empathize with Bailey O’Neil, the vice president’s wife of two years. She remembered
well the night her own father had died in an institution far too similar to this one. She’d been fifteen, and she and her brother, Lukasz, had taken it the hardest, probably because they were the oldest of his eight children. Briefly, C.J. wondered how Bailey’s brothers were faring. Embedded in her memory was the image of holding a weeping Luke in her arms. His vulnerability had crushed her.
She considered saying a prayer for this family, but dismissed the notion; she didn’t believe in that anymore.