AllFreeNovel
Share Us
HEATHROW AIRPORT WAS a zoo—wall-to-wall travelers all scrambling to get to and from their destinations.
Lane Montgomery just wanted to get home.
He shifted in his seat, glancing at his watch to see how much longer it would be before boarding time. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t be soon enough. Talk about jet lag. He’d been to Beirut, Istanbul, Athens, Madrid, and now London, all in ten days. He was cranky, bone-weary, and overtired. All he wanted was an hour in his Jacuzzi, and eight more between his sheets.
He leaned back, shut his eyes. He loved his work. But this part of it was starting to get to him. The life of a paparazzo had been exciting as hell at twenty. At thirty-three, covert photo ops that felt all too similar to his tabloid days in strategy and execution—despite the fact that they were CIA-sanctioned, being done for an entirely different, noble cause—were getting old. The crazy schedule, the requisite secrecy, and the subsequent isolation—all of that was eroding the thrills and excitement and replacing them with a new kind of restlessness.
Life on the edge was great. But a little more n
ormalcy would be a welcome relief.
His cell phone rang just as the overhead voice announced that his flight was starting to board—finally, after an hour plus of delays.
He stood up, slung his camera bag over his shoulder, and dug his cell out of the pocket of his leather bomber jacket. He was already walking toward the boarding line as he glanced at the caller ID.
It was Hank Reynolds, the editor he worked with at Time.
He punched on the phone. “Hey, Hank.”
“Hey. Where are you?”
“About to hop on a plane at Heathrow.”
“Heading away or home?”
“Home. And not a minute too soon. The flight’s already been pushed back twice. I’ve worked twenty hours a day for the past week and a half. I’m wiped. I plan on sleeping the entire way to Kennedy. I’ll wake up just long enough to get through customs, get home, and get from my bath to my bed.”
Hank chuckled. “Understood. Tell you what. Give me a call tomorrow. I’ve got an assignment for you.”
Lane groaned. “Where and when?”
“Next week. That gives you plenty of time to rest up. And it’s right here on your home turf—New York. No travel. No time change. No long days without food or sleep.”
And no dicey undercover work, Lane added silently. Just a nice, normal photojournalist assignment. “You sold me. What’s the subject?”
“Congressman Arthur Shore. You’ve worked with him before, right?”
“Yup. During his last reelection campaign, I did a photo essay on him and his hobbies—rock climbing and bungee jumping—for Sports Illustrated. What’s he up to that would interest Time?”
“Obviously, you haven’t had a chance to pick up a newspaper this week. Shore’s fighting to push through some pretty cutting-edge legislation. He’s also still living the daredevil life of Indiana Jones. Skydiving and zooming down the Rockies’ most treacherous ski slopes are his newest things.” A pause. “Plus there’s another high-profile aspect of his personal life that just exploded onto the scene. I’ll get into details tomorrow. The bottom line is, I want a comprehensive photo essay on the personal, professional, and recreational risk-taking, boundary-pushing daredevil congressman. You’re the perfect guy to give it to me.”
“Yeah, okay. Count me in.” Lane was only half absorbing Hank’s words. “I’ve gotta sign off now. The plane’s boarding and I’m really out of it.”
“You sound it. Go home and get some sleep. The last thing you want is to burn out.”
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”
FIVE
Dinner at the Shores’ Upper East Side apartment was Chinese. It was quick, it was easy, and it caused no interruption to the heavy discussion taking place in the living room.
Seated on the sofa, Morgan filled Arthur in on the day’s events. He grew more furious by the minute, pacing around the room, brows drawn together as he processed the information. Nothing unusual there. Arthur never sat still. And when he had a problem to mull over, he paced. Jill never left her post by the floor-to-ceiling windows—where she’d been scowling at the cluster of reporters still camped outside the building, hoping for a personal reaction from the congressman.
When the food arrived, she and her father joined her mother in the kitchen. Elyse had already set the table and made a pot of green tea, although she had one ear cocked toward the living room, listening to what was going on. She wanted to gauge her husband’s reaction, see how much he could do to bring closure to this nightmare, keep it from wreaking havoc on their lives again.
No one felt like eating. Still, for the sake of sustenance and a shred of normalcy they sat around the kitchen table, going through the motions. Conversation ceased, the only sounds in the room those of rustling cardboard and clinking silverware as portions were doled out. The silence continued as they picked at their food, sipped at their tea.
“I still don’t believe a screwup like this went through the whole criminal justice system unnoticed,” Arthur muttered at last, pushing back his chair and giving up on his meal. He rose, a tall, handsome, charismatic man who exuded energy and passion in everything he did. “Such gross incompetence is inexcusable.”
