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He stopped to talk to a security guard who checked his credentials. Then a man in scrubs came down the stairs and shook Paul’s hand. Together, they walked back up.
Liz eased into the hall. “Hey, Jim. Is Paul Harding going to see Ambassador Hayes?”
“Yes. He’s right on time,” the sentry said, gesturing to the schedule on his laptop. “It’s nice of him to visit since, according to the nurses, he’s the only one besides the president who can get the ambassador to talk for any length of time. They have pleasant chats.”
Paul visiting Frank Hayes was a fairly recent development. He’d been active in the campaign, but after Joy’s death, he’d retreated to his California estate for a couple of years. Not too long ago he’d moved back to the DC area, saying it felt more like home.
“I’m glad to hear that.” She forced a smile. “It’s nice that someone can calm him down. I need to go up and grab a few things I left up there. I won’t be long.”
Jim’s grin told her he wasn’t unaware of where she’d been sleeping lately. “Of course, Ms. Matthews.”
“Liz, please.” She didn’t love the formality so many longtimers clung to.
“I don’t think it will be Liz for long.” He leaned over, his voice conspiratorially low. “You know we’re not allowed to call the First Lady by her first name.”
“That is not happening any time soon.” She didn’t even try to deny it. They couldn’t exactly hide the fact that she had practically moved in. And then she winced as she remembered another tradition. “Tell me the staff hasn’t started a betting pool.”
His laugh let her know they had. “I’ve got my money on under six weeks because I know President Hayes and when he decides he wants something, he goes after it and gets it very quickly. Work fast, future FLOTUS, because my daughter starts college soon and I need cash.”
“You’re all horrible,” she admonished with a smile. His gentle teasing was a balm to the hurt she’d felt after her run-in with Vanessa.
At least it seemed as if the general staff wasn’t bothered at the thought of her having a relationship with their commander and chief. She winked his way and climbed the stairs.
How close could she get to Frank’s room without anyone noticing? Heck, why was she bothering? Paul was just pissed off and looking for someone to take his frustration out on. She’d been convenient. Unless he’d come to see if Frank could tell him who the president slept with these days—good luck with Frank remembering anything beyond his own name—she didn’t see how Paul’s visit could be anything except their regularly scheduled get-together.
On the other hand, she didn’t trust Paul in this mood and she didn’t need him stirring the pot. Best to make sure he wasn’t agitating the ailing man.
Liz turned down the hallway that led to Frank’s rooms. If anyone asked, she would say she was checking on him. She did it from time to time because it was hard for Zack to break free and see the older man…and because Zack and his father had a complicated relationship. Still, they both felt better knowing he was well taken care of.
She turned again, just in time to see the nurse walk across the hall and into the space he used for his breakroom, a soft drink in hand. He hummed as he opened the door and entered.
So the nurses left Paul alone with Frank. That was interesting. She crept further along the hallway. Frank had a suite of rooms, a bedroom, sitting room, small dining area, and a bathroom they’d converted to make it easy for him to shower. If the older men were back in his bedroom, she would have to sneak into the unit to hear them.
Liz took two steps in that direction, then noticed the nurse hadn’t closed the breakroom door. She stopped herself inches shy of the nurse being able to spot her if he looked across the hall. Then she frowned, feeling foolish.
What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t sneaky. She definitely wasn’t a spy. If Paul caught her, god only knew what excuse she could give. Probably not a good one, and in his mood she didn’t think it was smart to piss him off more.
Liz shook her head. She couldn’t do this. So Paul was grief-ridden and bitter—who could blame him—and he might fire back at Zack in the press? It was nothing she couldn’t handle. She had no right or reason to listen in on this conversation.
She turned around to head back down the hall—and ran smack into a wall of muscle.
“Elizabeth?” Zack cupped her arms, balancing her so she didn’t stumble over.
Why did she feel like she’d been caught doing something wrong? “Sorry, I was…this is going to sound crazy, but Paul Harding showed up in my office. He was very upset about the Capitol Scandals story. He made some threats and stormed out, so I followed him.”
“He’s here, visiting my father?” Zack looked toward Frank’s door. When she nodded, Zack frowned. “And you wanted to listen in to find out what they discussed?”
She winced. “Maybe it sounds crazy, but I wanted to make sure Paul wasn’t stirring up trouble by either planting suggestions in your dad’s head or trying to ask Frank for dirt about our relationship. But the nurse didn’t close the breakroom door and he would have seen me walking by. I couldn’t think of a good excuse for being up here, so I turned to leave. I wouldn’t have followed him at all…except he said some things that worried me.”
“Which means he was angry about the Joy and Roman story and threatened to expose you and me, right? We’ll talk about it this evening.” Zack started leading her away.
She nodded, following. “Paul was really furious that we’re allowing Joy’s good name to be smeared. As much as I hate to ask…I wonder if Freddy can find out if there’s any surveillance equipment inside your father’s suite. Just in case. I’d rather not be blindsided if Paul decides to spread gossip.”
He kissed her and promised to look into it before sending her down the stairs that led to the first floor.
It wasn’t until she’d gone that she realized she forgot to ask him why he’d been there himself.
* * * *
Mad stared down at row after row of photos displayed on the computer screen in front of him. He wasn’t sure why Sara was scanning the pictures they’d found on Joy’s laptop. Well, he understood the purpose. Maybe Joy had captured something—unwitting or not—that might help them end the Russian syndicate’s blackmail threat. But he didn’t think that was Sara’s current focus as she stared at endless pictures of Zack and Joy’s wedding.
Row after row of Zack in his tuxedo looking young and ready to take on the world, yet still oddly remote. He and Joy smiled gamely for the photographer, but Mad saw the disconnect between them, as if they’d been puppets, their strings being pulled by others.
Or maybe he thought that because he knew it was the truth.
“I remember that day well,” he murmured.
Sara started and turned on him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He set the mug of tea he’d made in front of her. “I didn’t. First, I asked if you wanted sugar. Then I cursed as I tripped over the extension cord and nearly dropped the mug. Next, I kicked the coffee table because I was frustrated that it was in my way. Baby, a bull charging through a china shop would have been more subtle.”
She sent him a sheepish glance as she picked up the mug. “Oh. I was lost in thought. I came across these pictures and couldn’t forget how I felt that day.”
He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, glancing at the image on the large monitor, one of him and Gabe. They each had a champagne glass in hand as they peered at the happy couple. “I hated that tuxedo. Uncomfortable as hell.”
“You looked nice in it.”
Mad turned to her, brow raised. “Did I?”
“All of you did,” she clarified quickly. “Why didn’t you like it?”
“It wasn’t just the penguin suit. Zack’s wedding was a big event, which would have been all right…except I didn’t feel a lot of happiness from either the bride or groom. It was more like a show than a celebration of two lovers choosing to sp
end their lives together. And then Roman killed what little fun we had planned. You have no idea what he threatened to do to us if we, say, tied twenty-five of the largest neon-colored dildos to the back of the getaway limo.”
She turned to him with an impish grin on her face. “Is that where those came from? Later that year, Mom asked me to go to Gabe’s old room and grab a coat or something out of his closet. When I opened the door, they all fell on me.”
Oh, Mad wished he’d seen that. “Well, we needed a place to stash those, and Gabe didn’t trust me. I have no idea why.”
He glanced back at the monitor, then took command of the mouse, scrolling up to what he liked to think of as the “before” shots. Photographers had been in both the groom’s and bride’s rooms, snapping photos of them getting ready and speaking tenderly to their friends and family. He pointed to a picture in the groom’s room with all of them sitting around, Scotch glasses in hand. Frank Hayes glowered at them all as if they were ill-bred mongrels, not yet house trained, that his son had dragged home.
“The pictures don’t show it, but Zack was miserable that day. Not because of Joy but because her parents ruled that wedding with an iron fist. He literally had no say in anything. They picked the cake, Joy’s gown, and those horrifically uncomfortable tuxedoes. The wedding planner was some distant family member who yelled a lot and harped about how important the seating arrangement was. She was one bitter woman, let me tell you. But some of her assistants were, um…nice young ladies.”
She rolled her eyes. “How many of them did you sleep with?”
