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“Then what made this woman’s death—”
“What do you want from me?” he bellowed. “You asked what was bothering me, and I told you. Now get the fuck out of here and leave me the fuck alone!”
He’d never used that kind of vituperative language with her. He couldn’t believe he had now, although the words seemed to reverberate off the paneled walls, echoing their vulgarity. Had he stooped so low as to verbally abuse his wife? The thought was like an anchor that dragged him deeper into an abyss of depression and self-disgust. He downed his drink quickly.
Amanda, her own disgust apparent, walked away from him. At the door, she turned around. “Yell and curse at me, George, if it makes you feel any better. I’m tough. I can take it.”
She raised her left fist so he’d be certain to see her wedding ring. “David Merritt took an oath of office, but so did I, at the altar on our wedding day. I pledged that nothing short of death would part us, and I meant it. You’re my husband, and I love you. I’m not going to surrender you without a fight. I’ll do everything within my power to prevent this man from destroying you, even if he happens to be the President of the United States.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Not that again,” Daily groused.
Barrie had tuned his television to VH-1 and set the volume at a deafening level. “Gray thinks your house is under surveillance.”
“Bugged, too?”
“They don’t need to bug it to eavesdrop,” Gray told him. “The equipment is so sophisticated, they can listen to conversations from blocks away.”
“ ‘They’?”
“Spence’s men.”
“Bastards,” Daily muttered. Then he nodded toward Gray and said to Barrie, “I thought he split.”
“So did I. He, uh, surprised me last night.”
“I got home from the Bardot film festival late,” he said. “You weren’t here. I worried all night.”
Meekly, she said, “I forgot to call.”
Daily indicated that they should take their usual seats on the sofa. “Am I to assume that the story’s not over yet? You still think the baby’s death was no accident?”
“I think that’s a given,” Gray replied. “This whole thing started with that, and now it’s escalated into something even bigger. David’s trying to keep a cap on it, but he’s having a hard time of it. Spence failed to take me out. Things at George Allan’s lake house went awry when the nurse died.
“Her death left Dr. Allan exposed at a time when neither he nor David wanted exposure,” he conjectured. “It brought a halt to whatever witch-doctoring he was practicing on Vanessa.”
Barrie picked it up from there. “Because the nurse’s death would eventually come to light and focus attention on Vanessa’s health, he had to… revive her, for lack of a better word, and hustle her back to Washington.”
“On the morning of the press conference they made her visible to the whole world,” Gray said. “To anyone who doesn’t know her well, she appeared normal. I think she’s still in danger.”
“What makes you think so?” Daily asked. “It all seemed very pat to me. Neely read the First Lady’s eulogy to the nurse. The Merritts’ thoughts and prayers are with her family. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Vanessa was sending a distress signal,” Gray said. “She wasn’t wearing her mother’s wedding ring,” he explained. “It’s been on the ring finger of her right hand since Clete placed it there the day her mother died. That morning, it was notably absent. She kept bringing her hand into view, especially when she knew the cameras were on her. I think she wanted someone to notice that she wasn’t wearing it.”
Daily said, “You really think she was signaling for help?”
“Yes.”
“The ring could have been misplaced,” Barrie argued. “Maybe it wouldn’t stay on because of all the weight she lost. Or she might simply have grown tired of it. It could have been at the jeweler’s being resized or cleaned. There are dozens of plausible reasons for her not wearing it.”
“That’s right, there are,” Gray said. “If I were back in Wyoming watching her on TV and saw that she wasn’t wearing it, I might be mildly curious, but not necessarily alarmed.
“However,” he continued, coming to his feet, “since Spence was sent to ice me, since I witnessed your house being vaporized, and since I know that surveillance teams are following you, I’m inclined to be more than mildly curious.”
“And I think you’re right,” Barrie admitted grudgingly. “That press conference was Vanessa’s only public appearance since her ‘seclusion.’ If she’s as healthy as the White House claims, she would have launched back into her schedule, right?” On impulse, she picked up Daily’s phone and dialed a number she had committed to memory.
“Who’re you calling?” Gray asked.
