Chapter 35 #2
One of the men turned his head toward us, and I acted quickly, pulling Fields in by the tie. For a split second, he hesitated, almost asking the question, and when I nodded infinitesimally, he pressed his lips to mine.
I had been kissed before. But not well. A couple boys in high school. Another few in college. Those had felt sloppy, invasive, and more annoying than desirable.
This was nothing like those.
I pulled him closer as his lips explored mine, forgetting—
No, I thought suddenly, opening my right eye just enough to see down the hall.
The blonde was gone, but a man was leaning out of the doorway, talking to the Secret Service agents.
He laughed, then turned to shut the door, and I caught a glimpse of a face that I had seen on my living room television screen and in newspapers and magazines.
Then the door shut, and the two suited men moved their bodies in front of it.
Fields twisted the knob behind us, having found the key at some point, and the two of us fell inside, Fields catching me before I could tumble down, then shutting the door firmly behind us.
We were both out of breath. “Jack—that was him,” I panted.
“I know. I saw him too.”
For a few seconds neither of us did anything.
And then—
I didn’t know how it happened. All I knew was we had come together again, his mouth on mine, my arms around his neck, his hands in my hair.
I felt something behind my knees and barely even registered that we had made it to the bed.
One of his hands was at my back, and I felt the zipper of my dress move down a fraction of an inch when I came to my senses.
“We can’t,” I said, pulling away. We were both out of breath again.
He swore. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I—”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t know if it was or wasn’t.
And a part of me, seeing how quickly he had jumped away from me and apologized, wanted to pull him back.
I didn’t know what to do with that feeling though.
We had a job to do. Letting anything else get in the way of that would cloud our judgment.
“We just—got a little too into the roles we were playing. That’s all. ”
For a second, he looked like he was going to argue.
But whatever crossed his face left swiftly, and he nodded.
Then he sat on the chair, away from the bed, heavily.
“I have a confession,” he said, and my body tensed.
If this was going to be some declaration of love, the story wasn’t happening. “I didn’t think you were right.”
“What?”
“About a Cuban woman and the vice president. It felt like a reach. I—I agreed the message meant something, but I didn’t think we’d actually find anything.”
Then why are you here? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. And he kept talking anyway. I sat on the bed as he did.
“If it was someone like Maricela—someone who had clearly escaped Castro, even with a fake name—I wouldn’t give it a second thought. But that’s her in the room with him. The woman from the picture. And no accent . . .” He looked back at me in wonder.
“We still don’t know what she wants or what the ‘mass goal’ is though.”
“No.”
I looked out the window; the White House was visible across Lafayette Square, lit from outside.
“Jack,” I said, an idea forming, “does the vice president send someone down to find girls too? Not like tonight to someone he knows—like the president does.” He nodded. “Then I need to be one of the girls he picks.”
“No.” Jack stood up and started pacing in front of the window. “What would that even accomplish?”
I looked at the White House behind him again. “I don’t know exactly. But we need a feel for what happens in that room.”
He stopped pacing, shaking his head violently. “I know what happens in that room. I’m not letting you do that.”
I studied him for a few seconds and then laughed. “Jack Fields—are you jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“Well I assumed of him, but maybe you’re the one who wants to go into that room?”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am, actually.” He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “I won’t do anything. I’ll ‘get cold feet’ and leave. But it’s the only way to get any kind of information.”
“He’s the vice president. What kind of information do you think he’s going to give you?”
“I don’t know. But that’s why I have to get into the room with him. Don’t you see? We don’t have anything if we don’t figure out what she wants. And maybe we don’t get anything out of this, but what are our options?”
He shook his head. “I say we corner the blonde and talk to her.”
“She won’t give anything up. She barely gave me the time of day.”
“Then I try with her.”
I suppressed a smile.
“What? I can be charming.”
“You can,” I reassured him. “But she’s a professional who is involved with the vice president. As charming as you are, she’s not going to jeopardize whatever she’s planning just because you flirted with her. We have to try my way first.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll do it without you.”
“Dammit, Judy, you don’t understand what these men are like—”
“I can take care of myself.”
We stared at each other, neither speaking. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I don’t like it. But I’d like it less if I wasn’t involved.”
Another silence. “I guess I should be getting home.”
Jack looked at his watch. “Not yet. Secret Service needs to see we’re in here longer than this. Or it’ll look suspicious.”
“Oh,” I said, color flooding my cheeks. I hadn’t considered . . . that.
“I—uh—came prepared,” he said, reaching into his pocket. My eyes widened, worried he was about to pull out a prophylactic, when he offered me a worn deck of playing cards, held together by a rubber band.
I started to laugh. He looked at me quizzically, but I shook my head. There were a lot of things I could say about him, but he wasn’t a cad.
Even if he did prove to be no match for me in gin rummy.