The Face of Deception (14 page)

She was silent again and then she said, “No, not nightmares.” She swung her legs out of the water and onto the pier. “I'm going inside.” She picked up her sandals and rose to her feet. “If your curiosity is satisfied, Logan.”

“Not entirely. But you're evidently not going to confide anything else to me.”

“You've got that right.” She looked down at him. “And don't think you've made any headway with this cozy chat. I haven't told you anything I wouldn't tell anyone else. Joe and I agreed that it was healthiest for me to talk about Bonnie.”

“We need to talk about Chadbourne.”

“No, we don't. Not tonight.”

She walked away from him.

Tough lady. Exceptional lady.

He watched her start up the steps of the beach house. The light pouring through the windows shimmered on her red-brown hair and silhouetted her slim, strong body.

Strong but vulnerable. That body could be hurt and broken and destroyed.

And he could very well be responsible for just that happening.

Maybe trying to reconnect with her hadn't been such a good idea. She had walked away as strong and independent as ever, and he was the one feeling uncertain.

And, yes, perhaps even a little vulnerable.

“I've been thinking, Lisa,” Kevin murmured in her ear. “Maybe we should— What do you think about—a baby.”

Oh, good God. “A child?”

He got up on one elbow and gazed down at her. “A child would be very popular. Everyone loves kids. If we started now, it would be born right after my next term starts.” He hesitated. “And I'd . . . like it.”

She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Do you think I wouldn't?” she asked softly. “Nothing would please me more. I've always wanted a child. But it's not possible.”

“Why? You said Chadbourne couldn't have children, but we can take care of that now.”

“I'm forty-five years old, Kevin.”

“But there are all those fertility drugs now.”

For a moment she was actually tempted. She had spoken the truth; she had always wanted a child. She and Ben had tried so hard to conceive. She remembered him joking and saying what an advantage kids were to any politician, but that was one time she hadn't cared about political advantage. She'd wanted someone of her own, someone to belong to her.

Forget it. Impossible. The tears that filled her eyes weren't totally for Kevin's benefit. “Don't talk about it. It hurts me that we can't do it.”

“Why can't we?”

“It would be too difficult. There could be all kinds of problems for a woman my age. What if the doctor decided I had to have complete bed rest for the last months of pregnancy? That happens sometimes, and I wouldn't be able to travel with you during the campaign. That could be dangerous for us.”

“But you're so strong and healthy, Lisa.”

He must have been brooding about this for a long time to be this persistent. “It would be a risk we shouldn't take.” She pushed the one button she knew would stop him cold. “Of course, we could give up our plans for another term. But you're such a wonderful president, everyone admires and respects you. Do you want to give all that up?”

He was silent. “You're sure it would be that risky?”

He was already relinquishing the idea, as she'd known he would. No way would he go back to anonymity after the power and respect he'd become accustomed to. “Right now is just the wrong time. I'm not saying we couldn't consider it later.” She stroked his lower lip with a forefinger. “But do you know how touched I am that you think so much of me? I'd love nothing better than to—”

The phone on the bedside table rang, and she reached over to pick it up.

“The body's arrived at Bethesda,” Timwick said.

The body. Cold. Impersonal. That's how she should view it too. That's how she had to view it. “Excellent.”

“Have you managed to contact Maren?”

“He's somewhere out in the desert. I'll have to try again.”

“We don't have much time.”

“I said I'll take care of it.”

“The media is crawling all over the hospital. Should we start it in motion?”

“No, let them speculate and then pop the story on them in the morning. We want them hungry enough to jump on any tidbit of information.” She hung up.

“Timwick?” Kevin asked.

She nodded absently, her mind still on Bethesda.

“I don't like the bastard. Do we still need him?”

“Be a little grateful,” she said teasingly. “He's the one who discovered you.”

“He always treats me like a stupid ass.”

“Not in public?”

He shook his head.

“Well, maybe you won't have to see much of him. I've been thinking you should give him an ambassador's post. Maybe in Zaire. After all, you are the president.”

He laughed delightedly. “Zaire.”

She got up and slipped on her robe. “Or Moscow. It's supposed to be very uncomfortable in Moscow.”

“But you promised him the vice presidency next term. We'll have to name him as my running mate at the convention.” He grimaced. “He's not going to give that up.”

No, the vice presidency was the only carrot that had drawn Timwick into the plan. He'd been bitterly disappointed that Ben had not given him a cabinet post, and Lisa had never seen a more ambitious man. A hunger that intense could pose future problems for her, but she couldn't worry about Timwick now. “Maybe we can think of a way of getting around it.”

“It would really be better if we can keep Chet Mobry as vice president. He hasn't caused us any trouble.”

“He could have caused us big trouble if we hadn't kept him on the road with nonstop goodwill missions. He never agreed with our policies. We could do the same with Timwick.”

“I guess so, but he's been— Where are you going?”

“I have a little work to take care of. Go to sleep.”

“Is that why Timwick called you?” He frowned. “You never tell me what you're doing.”

“Because it's only small, unimportant details. You take care of the big picture, I do the little stuff.”

His frown disappeared. “You'll come back when you're finished?”

She nodded. “I'm only going into the next room to look at a dossier. I want to be prepared for your next meeting with Tony Blair.”

He lay back down on the pillows. “He'll be a piece of cake after the Japanese.”

He was getting cocky. But it was better than the intimidation he'd shown when he'd first slipped into Ben's place. “We'll see.” She blew him a kiss. “Go to sleep. I'll wake you when I come back.”

She closed the door and walked to the desk across the room. It took her ten minutes to get through to Scott Maren and another five to explain the situation and its urgency.

“Christ, Lisa, it's not that easy. What excuse am I going to give for cutting my stay here short?”

“You're clever. You'll come up with something.” She added quietly, “I need you, Scott.”

Silence. “It will be all right. Hang tough, Lisa. I'll call the hospital and tell them to hold off the autopsy. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up the phone. God, she was lucky to have Scott. He was going to be essential with damage control.

She turned on the computer, entered her password, and opened the file on Eve Duncan. Everything was moving smoothly toward a salvage of the situation, and yet she was uneasy.

Eve Duncan's image on the screen stared back at her. Kinky tousled curls, only a minimum of makeup, large brown eyes behind round wire-rimmed glasses. There was a world of character in that face, more than enough to make her fascinating-looking instead of just attractive. But the woman ignored the basic rules of power; she didn't use the assets she was given. She reminded Lisa of herself during her first few years of college, when she'd thought brains and determination would do it all. God, that seemed a long time ago. She'd probably had the same intensity she saw in Eve's expression. It hadn't taken her long to learn that intensity scared people. It was better to hide your passions behind a sweet smile.

Yet Eve's background showed she was a survivor, and Lisa respected survivors. She was one herself, or she would never have been able to make it through these last years. Smiling sadly, she gently touched Eve's image.

Sisters. Opposite sides of the same coin. Survivors.

Too bad.

She started reading Eve's dossier, looking for a weakness, a way to topple her.

She was only two-thirds through the report when she found it.

Gil and Logan were sitting in front of the television set when Eve came into the living room the next morning.

“Shit,” Gil murmured. “They really gutted it. I liked that old house.”

“What happened?” she asked. “Barrett House?”

Gil nodded. “It seems John got cheap on the wiring.”

The picture on the screen showed a smoking ruin with only two chimneys still intact.

Gil added, “But you'll be glad to know he was punished for his miserliness. John died in the fire.”

“What?”

“Burned beyond recognition. But they're comparing dental and DNA records now. Such a fine man. Detwil just issued a statement about how John was loved and respected by everyone in both parties. He even said John had invited him to Barrett House for the weekend to talk about their policies.”

“Why would he say that?”

“How do I know? I thought it was overkill myself.” He switched off the television set. “I can't bear any more. John and I were so close. Practically brothers.” He went over to the kitchen bar. “Anyone for breakfast?”

Eve turned to Logan. “This is crazy. You're not exactly unknown. Do they think they can get away with this?”

“For a while. They'll see that the DNA and dental records will match. They've taken the body to Bethesda.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means they can control things at Bethesda. They have an inside man there. He'll see that everything is handled to their liking. It will buy them time.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I'm not going to show myself and try to prove they're wrong. I'd find myself in a maximum security cell as an impostor and suffer an unfortunate accident.” He stood up. “Besides, I have things to do.”

“Who do you suppose— Who was that man who died?”

Logan shrugged.

She shivered. It had started. A man had died, a life thrown away.

“Coffee?” Gil asked. “There's danish.”

She shook her head.

“Can we talk about Chadbourne now?” Logan asked politely. “I believe the situation is escalating.”

“You're damn right we'll talk,” she answered. “I want my mother safe. I don't want my house going up in flames with her in it.”

“I'll call Margaret, tell her I'm still of this world, and to find a hiding place for your mother.”

“Now.”

“She's being very well guarded. Can I finish my coffee first?” He gazed at her over the rim of the cup. “Are you going to help me, Eve?”

“Maybe. If I don't think you're keeping me wandering around blind.” She turned to Gil. “I want to know about this Timwick you think is pulling the strings. You worked under him?”

Gil nodded. “Not close. As a humble Secret Service man, I was not privy to the great man's confidence.”

“What's he like? You have to have made judgments.”

“He's smart, ambitious, and knows how to pull strings to get what he wants. Personally, I wouldn't have wanted him to back me up in a tight situation. I've seen him explode too often. I don't think he reacts well under pressure.” He paused. “Is he dangerous? Hell, yes. Volatility translates too often to unreasonable violence.”

“What about Fiske?”

“He's only a hired man. Calculated, efficient, and likes what he does. Anyone else?”

“You tell me. There could be a dozen people lurking in the wings you haven't told me about.”

“As I mentioned before, they would need to keep down the number of people involved,” Logan said. “And we'd be stupid to try to keep you in the dark now. You know what we know. Everything is out on the table. Will you help us?”

“If my mother is safe.” She stared directly into his eyes. “And I'm going to help myself, not you. I'd be an idiot not to know what a target you've made me. And the only way I can help myself is to prove Ben Chadbourne is really dead. DNA and dental records are the only legally acceptable proof. So we have to go after them.”

“And your suggestion?”

“I'm not a DNA expert or a forensic anthropologist with the additional qualifications necessary to do the extraction. So we take the skull to one of the most respected anthropologists in the profession, see if he can get enough DNA to make a match.”

“The skull went through a fire.”

“It's still a possibility.” She added deliberately, “As I think you know. I was just the first shot in your arsenal. I'll bet you've even chosen the forensic anthropologist to do the work.”

“Dr. Ralph Crawford. Duke University. He has the qualifications we need.”

She shook her head. “Gary Kessler. Emory.”

“He's better?”

“At least as good and I know him.”

“Another Quincy?” Gil asked.

“That TV show drives Gary crazy. Besides the fact that it's inaccurate, people are always confusing pathologists with forensic anthropologists.”

“Well, what is the difference?”

“Pathologists have medical degrees and residence training in pathology. Anthropologists don't have medical degrees, they have doctorates in anthropology and some of them specialize in the human skeletal system and its changes during a lifetime. Like Gary Kessler. He's worked with several Atlanta pathologists and is well respected. Besides, since you were researching Crawford, it's very likely that they won't think we'd go to anyone else.”

“They've probably been looking at your background with a magnifying glass too.”

“And they'll find out I've worked with ten to twelve anthropologists in L.A., New York, and New Orleans and that I've been bombarded with requests since that
60 Minutes
story. It will take time for them to check out everyone's specialty and they would consider Gary a long shot since I haven't worked with him in over two years.”

Logan slowly nodded. “You're making sense. And, under the circumstances, it may be easier to convince someone you know to help.”