Chapter 10
Eliza could feel the flames of frustration burning bright in her cheeks when Fisher pulled back and said, “Ya need to get that?”
“No?”
One corner of his decadent mouth—a mouth she’d been millimeters away from kissing?—
quirked. “Was that a statement or a question?”
“Damnit!” She reluctantly pulled out of his arms, threw off the duvet cover, and sat on the edge of the bed. She’d slipped her phone into the drawer of her nightstand after her father’s call. And she seriously considered smashing the device to bits instead of answering it when she pulled it out.
Of course, the instant she saw the name on the screen, all her ire was replaced by curiosity. And a hint of alarm.
Fisher, who was looking over her shoulder, made a sound of disbelief. “You have Senator Chastain’s number?”
“Mmm,” she hummed distractedly. Why in the world would she be calling me? “She gave it to me at the inaugural ball. She said since she represented my district here in Chicago that I should feel free to call her with any policy concerns.” She glanced over her shoulder to find one eyebrow arched high on his tanned forehead.
“Yeah.” She made a face. “I know. Nepotism. But blame the game not the player.”
He sucked on his teeth but didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he asked, “What do ya think she wants?”
She shook her head as she stared down at her screen. “I have no idea.”
“Only one way to find out then.” He hitched his chin toward the phone and she hastily thumbed on the device before it could send the call to voicemail.
“Senator Chastain?” She hoped her tone sounded cool and professional and not like she’d been seconds away from finally, finally kissing Fisher Wakefield. Seconds away from having his perfect lips moving over hers. Seconds away from tasting the sweetness of his breath on her tongue.
And sure, asking him to kiss her had probably been a foolhardy request. Kissing him would only make her want to do more than kiss him. And doing more than kissing him would ultimately end in him leaving her like he left every other woman who warmed his bed. Which would absolutely demolish her already bruised and battered heart.
But she figured that was a problem for Future Eliza to deal with. Current Eliza just wanted to feel something other than guilt and horror and sorrow. Current Eliza was determined to experience one small intimacy with him so she could take it out and relive it on all those cold, lonely nights that stretched out as far as her eye could see. Current Eliza…didn’t give a damn about the regrets or recriminations come the light of day, because if this night had taught her anything, it was that she wasn’t assured a tomorrow.
“Have you spoken with the FBI?” Bethany Chastain’s voice rang with the same authoritative tone she used when she badgered witnesses at senate inquests.
Eliza was instantly on guard. And now that she wasn’t distracted by Fisher, her face reminded her that it had its own heartbeat, and her head reminded her that it was concussed. “Yes. Why?” She rubbed two fingers against the ache centered behind her browbone.
“What did you tell them?”
“The…the truth,” she answered hesitantly, wincing and gingerly touching the knot near her temple when it suddenly felt like someone had shoved a knife through the side of her skull. The swelling seemed to be going down some. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. “What else would I tell them?”
There was a brief pause from the other end of the call. Then, “And what is the truth, Eliza?”
“I’m sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder to find Fisher frowning fiercely. His expression said he could hear everything the senator was saying, and the look in his eyes asked what the fuck? All she could do was shrug, because…what the fuck, indeed. “I don’t know what you mean, Senator,” she said into the phone.
“Why did John invite you tonight?”
She was beginning to feel a bit like an interrogee. “I don’t think Senator McClean did invite me. I think he invited his son and I happened to be Charlie’s plus-one.”
Again, a pause. And then, “How odd.”
The sounds of distant voices and an announcement over an intercom system echoed through the phone. Eliza recognized the cacophony of a hospital. “Senator, are you okay? How’s Professor Chastain?”
“Out of surgery but still hasn’t regained consciousness.” It was the first time in the conversation the woman’s iron-lady mask slipped. A tremor entered her voice. Eliza could hear her sniffle before the sound of rustling tissue paper rasped over the connection.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through, Senator,” she said sincerely. “I can’t imagine how?—”
“I don’t have time for your sympathies.” Bethany Chastain cut her off, and Eliza lifted an eyebrow. She should be used to arrogant, high-handed politicians by now. After all, she’d been raised by one. But sometimes their pompous attitudes still caught her off guard. “I called to tell you to be careful of who you trust. Careful of who you talk to.”
Eliza was growing more alarmed by the minute. “I don’t know what you mean, Senator.”
“It’s good you don’t. Stay not knowing.”
“Senator—”
“I have to go. I just came down to get a coffee that doesn’t come from a vending machine, and to take the opportunity to call you. But I see now I needn’t have bothered about that second thing. So I’ll get upstairs to be with Bill. Take care.”
“Senator, I—” Before Eliza could say more than that, the line went dead.
Was it all politicians who cut off calls without so much as a goodbye? Or was it only politicians of a certain age who felt their advanced years gave them the freedom to be rude?
She’d have to ask her father the next time she spoke with him.
“What was that about?” Fisher asked.
She blinked and shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea.”
A muscle twitched in Fisher’s cheek. “Should you call the feds or…” He grimaced like his next suggestion rubbed him the wrong way. “Or your dad?”
Fisher was like the rest of the Knights. They admired and respected her father for the work he did. But they didn’t really like him.
In point of fact, Eliza wasn’t sure anyone actually liked her father. He was too hard, too cold, too…ruthless when it came to trying to push through policy.
Except for maybe President Stevens.
Yes, Sandra J. Stevens seemed to get along with the mighty Leonard Meadows just fine. Which was a good thing since the chief of staff was the second most powerful person in Washington and it behooved him to be well-liked by the first most powerful person.
Lots of folks thought it was the VP or even the majority leader of the senate who ran the race with the commander in chief. But nope. It was the chief of staff.
“Eliza?” Fisher pulled her away from her thoughts. “Do ya need to inform someone of the senator’s call?”
Maybe? But she was so tired. And her head was back to throbbing dully. And no doubt everything, all these problems and questions, would be waiting for her in the morning.
“Does it make me a terrible person to want a few hours where I don’t have to think about what happened tonight? To want a few hours to forget?”
“Yup,” he answered unhesitatingly. “You’re definitely a terrible person.”
She blinked and then realized he was teasing her.
“You’re an ass.” She smiled and shook her head.
“Oh, for sure.” He was quick to agree. “But I made ya smile. And tonight that’s my one true ambition.”
“Your one true ambition, huh?” She side-eyed him. “You, sir, need loftier goals.”
“No I don’t.”
She chuckled and he shot a fist in the air. “And now I’ve gone and made ya laugh! I just keep on winnin’!”
“But I want to be the winner,” she said with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows. “Weren’t we doing something important before we were interrupted?”
“Were we?” He feigned ignorance. “I can’t remember.”
She grabbed her chest as if he’d stabbed her in the heart. “Ouch. Way to wound a woman’s pride.”
His hair was longing for a cut and curled invitingly around his ears. When he grinned that Fisher grin of his, the one that was all charm and teeth, she couldn’t help grinning back.
Of course, in the next moment, she remembered the sound of gunfire, remembered the state of Charlie’s body, and her expression crumbled.
“Ah, hell.” He pulled her close and she burrowed into his chest, taking comfort in the warm, delicious smell of his fabric softener, in the reassuring feel of his heart setting a strong, steady beat against her cheek.
“It’ll be like this for a while,” he whispered as he smoothed a hand over her hair.
“What will?”
“The grief. It’ll come in waves. Tsunamis to start. And then breakers. And finally, after a while, they’ll just be little swells. And all ya can do is ride ’em out. Each and every one of ’em until eventually ya won’t even notice that they rock your boat.”