The Dirty Secret (43 page)

“So what happened to bring you guys back together?” Dave asked.

“Well, I’m many things, but
stupid
isn’t one of them. Usually, that is. So it didn’t take me long to realize I’d made a terrible mistake. I mean, I missed your mom so much I
ached
to be with her. The problem was, by the time I figured it out, she was already dating someone else.”

“No way. Who was it?”

Dave’s dad frowned. “That’s not germane to the point of this story, which is to address your question about whether I’ve ever done anything ‘boneheaded.’”

“Point taken,” Dave conceded. “Please continue.”

“So I was feeling sorry for myself, wishing I hadn’t acted so hastily. I hoped she would forgive me and take me back, but I was terrified that if I asked, she might say
no
.”

“That would have sucked. There would have been no Dave running around!”

“That’s right,” his dad noted dryly. “Everything always revolves around you, huh?”

“Forgive me for viewing this story through the prism of my own self-existence.”

His father rolled his eyes. “Eventually, I mustered up the nerve to walk that plank because I realized I’d look back and regret it if I didn’t have the guts to
try
.”

“Way to go, Dad!”

“I convinced her to meet me after school one day, and I begged her to take me back. And after letting me twist in the wind a few seconds while she glared at me, your mom busted out laughing and said, ‘I
wondered
when you’d finally realize what a good thing you had.’

“And the rest is history.”

Dave leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. “That was a great story, Dad. Thanks for sharing it with me.”

His father grinned, slid his black queen forward diagonally and declared, “Checkmate.”

Dave’s eyes frenetically dashed back and forth across the chessboard, seeking an escape from the trap his dad had laid with the knight and rook.

Well, shit. The old man outsmarted me again!

CHAPTER 96

CHARLESTON CENTRAL BAPTIST CHURCH
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 11:30 A.M.

Luke Vincent sat on the front pew with his left arm comfortably draped around his wife’s shoulders when a deacon stepped to the pulpit.

“Reverend Hall is on our mission trip to Peru, and our guest speaker today is Reverend Dennis Mincer. I’ve heard him preach many times, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy his sermon today.”

A short man with a bad comb-over and a brown moustache stepped forward, shook the deacon’s hand and then stood behind the pulpit.

“Friends,” he began with a heavy drawl, “I want you to know how blessed I feel to be sharing the Word of God with you today.”

Vincent eyed the pastor suspiciously, trying to figure out if he had seen the man before.
Something about this guy seems familiar.

“As you know,” the preacher continued, “Williamson’s much smaller than Charleston. When I was growing up in the hollers of Mingo County, I’d always get excited when my parents would take us to Charleston. It was
The Big City
for us, and as far as we were concerned, we might as well have been going to New York City.”

The preacher smiled warmly and a few people chuckled. “And when I was a seminary student, I wanted to preach in a big church after graduation. I was
good
at preaching. Soon enough, I figured I’d have my own TV show, spreading the Gospel around the world. I convinced myself any congregation would be lucky to have me as a preacher.”

A-ha!
Vincent realized.
This guy looks like Tim Conway’s character, Dorf!

The preacher smirked and shook his head. “Of course, that was
my
opinion. My daddy used to say: ‘Dennis, if I could buy ya for what you’re worth and sell ya for what ya
think
you’re worth, I’d be a rich man.’”

A wave of laughter swept through the congregation. Looking around, Vincent saw people smiling, paying close attention.

Wow. This guy might be nerdy-looking, but he really
is
good at what he does.

“My biggest problem,” the pastor confessed. “Was I wasn’t a good listener. I was
awfully
good at listening to myself, but not so good listening to what
God
was trying to tell me.” The preacher paused, allowing that notion to sink in. “Ever since The Fall, people have been weak and frail. Prone to selfishness, stubbornly clinging to our prejudices and scornful of God’s discipline; to watch us in action is to
marvel
at God’s patience and unconditional love.” He lightly gripped the lectern with both hands. “In his first letter to Timothy, Saint Paul opined that the love of money is the root of all evil. And while I’m not smart enough or godly enough to quibble with Saint Paul, I think we bring many of our problems upon ourselves by thinking we know best instead of submitting our will to the Lord’s.”

“Amen,” Donna Vincent whispered, nodding her head and smiling.

“The way I look at it, our persistent desire to chart our course, to do what
we
want instead of what
God
wants, is an example of Satan using our flawed nature to subject us to temptation.”

The pastor smoothly swept his gaze toward Vincent. The governor was startled by the weighty presence of the man’s eyes, and the sermon’s seemingly personal turn.

“Temptation comes in many forms,” the preacher said, his eyes fixed on Vincent. “When we should be exercising, we’re tempted to be lazy. When we should be sharing our good fortune with others, we’re tempted to keep it for ourselves. When we should be faithful to our spouses, we’re tempted to pursue illicit trysts and satisfy our carnal urges. And when we should accept responsibility for injuring those we love most, we want to shift the blame elsewhere.”

The preacher inhaled. To Vincent, it seemed he was focusing his energies squarely on him.

“Examine this list and ask yourself this,” he thunderously challenged. “When confronted by such temptations, can you identify even
one
instance where man’s shortcoming is not based on a desire to nurture his own selfishness instead of heeding the will of God?”

Silence permeated the sanctuary. Standing before the congregation, the preacher slowly scanned the room before smiling wanly. “I didn’t think so.”

Vincent felt his wife gently place her hand on his thigh. Glancing over, he was struck by how Donna glowed with a peaceful sort of beauty.

From my first campaign when I had to sit down at a spaghetti dinner with the Knights of Columbus, she was right there with me.

When I had to climb into a dunking booth for a school fair on a cold afternoon in November, she was right there with me.

When I ran for State Senate the first time and
lost
, she was right there with me.

She gave birth to our children. She comforted them when they scraped their knees. When they needed help with homework, she gave it because I was usually politicking somewhere.

When I’ve needed help, love, encouragement or support, she has always given it to me. If I lived a thousand lifetimes, I could never find another woman so giving and selfless, and I have repaid her kindness and love by lying down with another man’s wife whose body is beautiful but whose soul is dark, calloused and empty.

I am a fool.

Vincent looked up. The preacher smiled at him and nodded.

“Though we’re stubborn and self-destructive, we still have hope. In First Corinthians, Chapter Ten, Verse 13, Saint Paul wrote, ‘No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.’” Reverend Mincer paused. “We’re all children of the flesh, subject to temptation. But we can resist temptation if we ignore that selfish voice in our heads and seek God’s assistance. We must recognize the people and situations that cause us to falter and avoid them. Because no temptation, however seductive, is worth the pain it causes or the risk it poses to our souls.”

Luke Vincent closed his eyes, hoping no one would see them watering. As the preacher closed out the service, Vincent knew what he had to do.

It will probably cost me the vice presidency, but it’s the right thing to do. For once, I’m going to do what’s
right
. I can only pray God will help me live with the consequences.

CHAPTER 97

PLEASANTS COUNTY PARK
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1:40 P.M.

The sun shined through the empty trees overlooking the small park positioned on the edge of St. Marys. The temperature was up in the fifties, as Dave and Rikki began their hike.

“So what job will you get if Governor Royal ends up winning?” Rikki asked.

Dave shrugged. “Possibly chief of staff, but more likely a ‘counselor to the president’ position like Karl Rove had.”

Rikki’s face turned sour. “Don’t end up like
that
dirtbag, plotting and scheming behind the scenes like Rasputin.”

He rolled his eyes. “The man was a genius. The press and the Dems hated him because he was
effective
. Don’t believe everything CNN spits out.”

Rikki playfully pushed him. “I don’t. But you could use a little less Fox News, yourself.”

“Touché.”

They slowly ascended the path, snaking through the woods in a direction running parallel with the Ohio River, walking past a few picnic shelters. “So why not attorney general?” she asked, her voice rising above the sound of their footsteps hitting gravel.

“I’ve never really practiced law on a full-time basis. Jonathan needs an AG with hard-core, real world legal experience. He can find somewhere else to stick a political hack like me.”

Rikki’s phone rang, and she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon,” Sheriff Vaughn said. “I have big news for you.”

“Ooooh! I like the sound of big news.”

“My buddy ran Beria’s picture through the biometrics database. We got a match.”

“Fantastic! What do we know?”

“His real name is Yuri Petrenko,” Vaughn replied.

“Yuri Petrenko,” Rikki repeated, staring at Dave.

“He came here five years ago, obtaining permanent resident status after his employer sponsored his immigration application,” the sheriff said. “The company was Assurant Information Systems.”

Rikki nodded and relayed the information to Dave.

Dave’s lips tightened. “Yet another Mazniashvili outfit. Credit reports, data mining, even the voting machines used in Mingo County.”

“Prior to coming to the Land of Freedom and Opportunity,” Vaughn continued, “Comrade Petrenko served with distinction in the Motherland’s military. The Spetsnaz, actually, where the most ass-kicking Rooskies end up. No humanitarian missions to Somalia for him! I’d bet he had at least a little sniper training, too.”

Rikki’s eyes widened. “You’re probably right. Thanks for the update. I’ll re-examine things in light of this information and call you later.”

“That’s fine. I’m at home watching the Steelers game and eating a couple dozen of the chocolate chip cookies my wife is baking for her book club meeting tomorrow.” He barked a quick laugh, and Rikki thought she heard his wife nagging in the background. “Call me.” Then he hung up.

“So what do you think?” Dave asked.

“We need to do some more research if we want to get that search warrant.”

Dave nodded. “Let’s get a move on then. We’ll just walk straight through the graveyard and down Barkwill Street to the courthouse. Five minutes, tops.”

Rikki punched him lightly in the arm. “You act like I didn’t grow up here!”

“Sorry. I’m still not used to being around you without flinching. My bad.”

376 MAPLETREE LANE
MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2:35 P.M.

“Just who do you think you are, buddy?” the man asked. “I’m watching the game!” He stood on the front porch in a Washington Redskins sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

Tyson Vasquez did not blink. “I have evidence of a crime and time is of the essence. I won’t entrust it with anyone but the elected Sheriff of Berkeley County, and that means
you
.”

The man eyed Vasquez suspiciously. The former congressman was holding a DVD.

“Suit yourself,” Vasquez said. “But when this disc hits CNN tomorrow, you’ll be the national laughingstock, not me.”

The sheriff snatched the disc. “Fine,” he growled. “But you’re staying right here while I watch this thing, and unless there’s something
earth-shattering
on it, I’m hauling your ass to jail even if I have to make up something.”

Vasquez calmly smiled. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

CHAPTER 98

BERRY HILLS COUNTRY CLUB
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 3:00 P.M.

Vincent grabbed his putter and stepped up to the ball. Gently rocking his arms backwards, he softly swung through the ball, but it hooked slightly, missing the hole. Shaking his head, he ambled toward the ball.

“That’s a gimme,” Bowen yelled from the cart. He was sprawled across the seat with a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other.

Vincent scooped his ball from the green, and then trudged to the cart like a death row inmate heading to the electric chair. Secret Service agents trailed nearby.

Bowen took a drag from his cigar. “You’re playing like shit today, Luke. Something on your mind?”

Vincent stepped on the cart’s parking brake and drove forward. “You could say that. I have to deal with Tabatha tonight, and I’m dreading it. It won’t be pretty.”

“Why tonight? And why won’t it be pretty?”