Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
New York City, New York
The world was changing rapidly, and politics was changing with it.
Candace Fletcher wondered how long it would take for most of her colleagues to realize this.
Live internet video, social networking sites, blogs, and clipped statements stripped of context and shared from screen to screen before a campaign could respond would change the kind of candidate who could survive.
Adaptability was not every politician's strong suit.
Neither was restraint.
"You look tired," she said.
John Merrow turned and smiled. "That's better than I feel."
"John, you're about to become a presidential nominee."
"Mm. And I don't look very excited."
"No," Candace said. "You look like someone searching for the exit."
His smile thinned, and he gently took her elbow, guiding her away from the edge of the reception. "Maybe I am."
Candace studied him. Around them, the room swelled with laughter, money, and ambition. Donors clustered near the bar, bartering with staffers. Reporters lingered, pretending not to listen while noting every word spoken that might grab a headline.
John's gaze drifted across the room and settled on a familiar face.
Cassidy O'Brien stood near a tall window, one hand resting lightly on her son's shoulder, while Christopher O'Brien spoke animatedly with two men Candace recognized from the House leadership.
Dylan looked bored in the way only small children could at adult events: utterly, honestly, and without concern for anyone's schedule.
Candace followed John's gaze and let the moment pass without comment.
He looked back at her. "What am I doing, Candy?"
"Having second thoughts?"
"Yes."
She laughed softly. "You'll be a fabulous president, Senator."
"I'd be better with you at my side."
Candace's expression shifted.
"Candy—"
"It's a mistake," she said.
"For you or for me?"
"Both."
"You are?—"
"It's not the right time, John. And before you say anything, I don't mean only for me." She glanced toward the room. "I mean for the country."
Merrow shook his head. "I disagree."
"I know."
"No one cares about?—"
"John," she said gently.
He stopped.
"Yes, they do," Candace said. "Too many people care about who I go home to."
His jaw tightened. "Not as many as you think."
"More than you want to believe."
"Does Jessica want you to?—"
"Jessica would love the spotlight." Candace smiled faintly. "She would not enjoy the power bill."
That finally earned a laugh from him.
But his gaze drifted again.
This time, Candace did not let it pass.
"Worried about Congressman O'Brien?"
Merrow remained still for a beat too long.
"John?"
He turned back. "What do you think about the congressman?"
"He has talent."
"That isn't what I asked."
Candace sighed. "He's overly ambitious."
John nodded once. "And?"
"And ambition isn't disqualifying. If it were, this room would be empty."
He nodded.
"Cassidy is probably his best asset," Candace added. "Cassidy and Dylan. I'm not sure he knows that."
John looked toward them again.
The congressman had moved on to another conversation.
Cassidy crouched in front of Dylan now, fixing something near the collar of his little jacket.
The boy said something that made her laugh, and for one brief second, his face lit with a familiarity Candace had never allowed herself to examine too closely.
Some suspicions did not become safer because they were unspoken.
"Cassidy is kind," John said.
"She is."
"She seems lonely."
Candace glanced at him. "That's an interesting observation."
"It's an honest one."
"Those aren't always the same thing in this business."
John huffed a small laugh. "You prove my point."
"What point?"
"That I need you."
"You need someone who wants this."
"No," he said. "I need someone who understands it. Those are different things."
Candace folded her arms. "If you want me to consider joining your administration, ask me plainly."
"Vice President."
"No."
"Secretary of State."
"No."
"Attorney General."
"John."
"I would settle for you telling me why not."
"You wouldn't settle for anything except a yes."
"No," he admitted. "Probably not."
Candace looked out over the room. She understood politics.
Not just because she loved the game, though she enjoyed parts of it more than she liked to admit.
She understood it because she understood people: their fears, their hungers, their vanities, and their small calculations.
A noble idea could become a weapon in the wrong hands, and personal ambition could disguise itself as service until even the ambitious person believed it.
John wasn’t built that way.
That was part of the problem.
"You're not political by nature," she said.
He laughed. "That sounds like an insult."
"It isn't."
"No?"
"No. It's one of the reasons people trust you."
"And one of the reasons my detractors think I'm about to be devoured."
Candace smiled. "Something like that."
John looked down.
"You don't want the spectacle," she said. "You don't want the performance. You want the office because you think there are things you can reach from inside it that you can't reach from the Senate."
His gaze returned to hers.
Candace saw enough in his eyes to know she had stepped closer to something unsaid.
Too close, perhaps.
"There are things that need to change," he said.
"There always are."
"Not like this."
The words were quiet. Too quiet for the room they were standing in.
Candace's attention sharpened. "John."
He shook his head slightly.
"What aren't you telling me?"
A smile touched his mouth, but it carried no humor. "That’s a dangerous question to ask a man running for president."
"It's a more dangerous question not to ask."
He studied her for a moment. "You always did know how to cut through the pageantry."
"And you always did know how to hide sincerity inside a joke."
"I'm not joking now."
"I know."
Around them, the room shifted. Applause rose near the far end as someone introduced a governor Candace had never trusted and John had never liked. Neither of them turned.
"Whatever you think the presidency will let you fix," Candace said carefully, "it will also expose things you may not be ready to have exposed."
His gaze moved, almost involuntarily, toward Cassidy and Dylan. Candace noticed.
Of course she noticed.
John looked back at her. "Everyone has secrets."
"Yes," she said. "But not everyone steps beneath the brightest light on earth."
He nodded once. "Is that why you won't stand beside me?"
"Partly."
"And the rest?"
"The rest is that I don't know what shadow you're trying to outrun."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Candace felt the affection between them. John Merrow was one of the few people in Washington she truly liked. One of the few she trusted. Not completely, since no one in their world deserved that, but deeply enough that his silence troubled her more than another man's confession might have.
"I would never ask you to protect something that could hurt you," he said.
"You might not know what can hurt me."
His expression tightened.
"Or whom," she added softly.
John closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, the candidate had returned, but Candace could still see the man beneath him. The friend. The person who looked tired and unsure and far less interested in power than in what power might allow him to alter before it altered him.
"If I win," he said, "I will ask again."
"I know."
"And you'll say no?"
"Probably."
"That's not no."
"It's close."
"I can work with close."
Candace laughed despite herself. "That is why you're dangerous."
"I thought I wasn't political by nature."
"You learn quickly."
His smile faded as he looked toward Cassidy and Dylan again.
Candace followed his gaze.
"Listen to me," she said. "If there is anything in your life that might not survive daylight, decide now whether the office is worth that risk."
The words landed.
She saw it.
John nodded slowly, but he did not answer.
A staffer approached him from behind, careful and apologetic. "Senator Merrow? They're ready for you."
John looked at Candace.
"Go," she said. "Look excited."
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Stay close, Candy."
"I am close."
"No," he said softly. "Closer."
Before she could respond, he turned and followed the staffer toward the stage.
The room began to applaud before he reached it.
Candace remained where she was, watching him move into the light.
"Senator?"
Candace turned. "Larry."
Governor Lawrence Strickland smiled. "How are you?"
"I can't complain. You?"
"I could complain. No one cares."
Candace chuckled. It wasn't the kind of laugh friends earned. It sounded genuine only because she had practiced it for years.
"I thought I'd size up the competition," he said.
Candace looked around her, then glanced at the glass of wine in her hand. "Need help finding the bar?"
His smile widened. Practiced, like hers.
"He may want you," Strickland said. "The party?—"
Candace took a small sip from her glass, then smiled. "Be careful, Larry."
His brow lifted.
"Not everything turns out the way we hope."
He let out a chuckle that was more breath than amusement.
"No," he said. "But some things do."
Candace held his gaze.
"And a little surprise never hurt anyone," he added.
She raised her glass slightly and turned toward the stage.
"Good evening," Merrow said, stepping to the microphone as the applause swelled around him. "Are you ready to win an election?"
Candace sipped her wine again.
Her gaze drifted to Cassidy and Dylan, then back to John beneath the lights.
If only winning were the point.
There were many things that made the world of espionage difficult to maneuver, not the least of which was learning how to place trust in someone who lacked transparency.
Alex still struggled with Jim McCollum. She trusted his motives and his intentions.
Navigating conversations with someone who gave only what he deemed necessary or safe remained problematic.
She watched silently as Jim sipped his coffee.
He set aside the mug and took a breath. "Alexis?"