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The Speaker nodded and motioned. “Let’s step outside.”
They exited through the doorway and turned left.
The protection detail started to follow.
“You don’t want them hearing what we’re about to say,” he whispered as they walked.
“Maybe I do.”
He shrugged. “Your call. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Vance stopped and stared at him, as though trying to read something, anything. But a lifetime of hardball politics had taught Danny the value of a poker face.
Vance turned to the agents. “Wait back at the Willard Room. We’ll be right here, at the end of the hall, in sight.”
The agents nodded and retreated.
Vance faced him. “What’s this about?”
“It’s not going to work.”
A curious look came to the younger man’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“What you’re planning. It’s not going to work.”
He was running a huge bluff. On the Sherwood deck Diane had told Vance that, from now on, she thought they should keep their relationship proper. “Especially with what’s about to happen.” Then she’d made clear, “You’re about to become the most powerful man in this country, and powerful men need wives and children. Not mistresses.”
“I have not the slightest inkling what you are talking about.”
“‘Changing history can be quite an aphrodisiac.’”
Exactly what Vance had said to Diane on the deck. He’d decided a quote, one only Vance would know he’d uttered, would be the quickest, clearest and most decisive way to start a fire.
And it worked.
“You can’t stop me,” Vance whispered.
“Want to bet?”
“You couldn’t as president, and you sure as hell won’t from the Senate.”
God, he felt alive. To be back in the saddle, engaged in a meaningful fight, with a worthy adversary, the stakes surely high—there was nothing better. His whole psyche seemed geared for just this. Was it a sickness? An addiction? Probably. But it was a malady that he had no intention of ever being rid of. He was definitely born to a storm.
“How did it feel when your own party shunned you for the presidential nomination,” he asked Vance.
“There are many ways to achieve power. Being president is but one.”
A hint. Whatever it was would affect the White House.
“The people said no to you.”
Vance chuckled. “The people have no idea what they want. They just want.”
“Spoken like a true opportunist.”
“I do appreciate the warning, though,” Vance said. “I know now who to watch carefully.”
“And you’re going to have to ask yourself, why would I give you a heads-up? Why not just keep what I know to myself until I was ready to strike? Believe me, you’re going to love the answer to both questions.”
“Is that why you asked your pal in the governor’s mansion to give you the appointment?”
“That, and other reasons. You better hope to God you had nothing to do with Alex Sherwood’s death. The governor of Tennessee was a friend of Alex’s, too.”
The solemnity in Danny’s voice seemed to give Vance pause and he watched for a reaction. Anything. But none came.
Which told him something.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught the agents keeping a close eye on them.
Vance noticed their interest, too. “Threatening the Speaker of the House is a dangerous thing.”
“Screwin’ with this country, and my friends, is even worse.”
“I had nothing to do with Alex Sherwood’s death. Which I understand was an accident. But this country needs changing. The time has come. And I plan to do it.”
“One congressman from a small district in the middle of nowhere. You’re going to be our savior?”
“Something like that.”
He’d pushed this as a far as he could.
One last jab.
“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”
Lincoln’s words, as quoted by Diane right before she and Vance had kissed. One thought had to be shooting through Vance’s brain.
How could he possibly know that?
“You have a good lunch, Mr. Speaker.”
He walked away. No need to look back.
The fire in the bushes had started.
And the snakes would scurry soon.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Cassiopeia assessed the situation. She had a gun nestled to Proctor’s knee. Though he was surely armed, both of his hands were visible on the table. The diner was crowded, and the last thing she wanted was a shoot-out, but she was puzzled by Proctor’s confidence.
He settled back in the booth. “Let me put this in perspective for you. You’re here and, yes, you can make me a cripple. But I have men all around you.”
She knew of only four, including Proctor, one of whom was dead, another incapacitated. The waitress sauntered over and asked if they wanted anything else.
“I’m good,” Proctor said. “How about you?”
“He’ll take the check,” she said.
And she noticed when Proctor gave the woman a playful wink before she walked away.
“Are you always a flirt?” she asked.
“Only when I think I have a chance.”
“And what made you think you had one with me?”
He shrugged. “Women have been known to offer things—when backed into a corner.”
“Not the women I know.”
A chuckle slipped from his thin lips. There it was again. That deception.
“That wasn’t a flirt to that woman,” he said. “She’s the daughter of the owner of this place. And you’re about to have a whole lot of trouble.”
Her gaze darted right as a man in a white body apron emerged through a swinging door, shotgun in hand. She swung her gun out from beneath the table and fired
one shot into the ceiling, which had the desired effect. People panicked, rushing from their chairs and booths, heading for the door. The confusion stopped the owner’s approach, and she doubted he was going to fire into the crowd. She slid from the booth and decided to join the mass exodus. But before leaving, she swiped the butt of her pistol hard into Proctor’s right temple, which send the bastard’s head down to the tabletop.
The owner was trying to get to her, but she managed to fall in with the patrons, jamming the gun into the waistband beneath her shirttail and emerging into the late-morning sun. Morse’s truck was parked fifty meters away. Most of the people who’d fled the diner had run across the street to the opposite sidewalk. She joined them, keeping quiet and trying to blend in. Hopefully no one would identify her as the person who’d fired the shot.
The man in the apron appeared from the diner, without his shotgun. She hid herself behind a wooden column that held up a canvas awning. The people around her were all talking with excitement. A police car sped down the street and stopped at the diner. A uniformed officer emerged and talked with the café owner. She could imagine what was being said. A woman fired into the ceiling. Dark hair. Spanish looking. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved shirt. Not too many of those around. No mention would be made of the shotgun appearing first. No reference to a man named Jim Proctor.
The uniformed officer and the owner disappeared inside the diner.
That was her cue to leave.
She hustled down the street toward the truck. The other men who’d come from the mine in the Toyota were nowhere to be seen. She needed to find out where that gold had been taken. The quickest way would be to follow Proctor. Right now, though, she had to get out of town. All the excitement had attracted a crowd, people streaming out of the shops and other eateries onto the sidewalk.
Her cell phone vibrated.
She checked the display. Lea.
They’d exchanged numbers back at the mine to be able to communicate.
She answered.
“Some men just came,” the young girl quickly said. “Grandpa told me to hide when they drove up. They took him with them. At gunpoint.”
“Where are you?”
