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Stansfield gave her a look of admonishment. Kennedy had very limited field experience.
Kennedy read her boss’s expression and said defensively, “This is my mess, and I’ll be the one to clean it up. Besides, the fewer people we get involved, the better.”
Stansfield shook his head. “The last thing you need right now is to leave town and draw attention to yourself. Besides, contract agents like the Hoffmans tend to get a little jumpy when an operation goes badly. I will send some people to take care of it.”
Kennedy conceded the point. “What would you like me to do?”
Stansfield thought about it for a moment. “Hope that the Hoffmans are wrong and Mitch is alive.” Stansfield saw by Kennedy’s expression that his words didn’t have their intended effect. “Don’t w
orry about Mitch. This is what he’s best at. He’ll find his way back to us all by himself.” The director of Central Intelligence inched forward in his chair, and his gray eyes peered into Kennedy’s. “I want you to find out where Secretary Midleton is getting his information, and I want you to do it as quickly and quietly as possible.”
RAYS OF SUNLIGHT floated through the kitchen window of Liz and Michael O’Rourke’s Georgetown brownstone. Liz O’Rourke pecked away at her laptop. A glass of cranapple juice sat on her left, and on her right was a structurally unsound stack of documents and files that looked as if they might plummet to the floor any minute. Her yellow Lab, Duke, was lying in front of the patio door, napping in the warm sunlight. The former newspaper reporter was at peace. Everything about the setting was perfect except the absence of coffee. And considering the fact that she was five months pregnant, it was a happy trade.
Liz was working on her first book. It was titled America’s Most Corrupt Politicians. Since her husband of less than a year was a U.S. congressman, she was using her maiden name, Scarlatti, not that Michael would have objected to using O’Rourke. She just thought it was the prudent thing to do. With the help of a friend who was a literary agent, she had inked a deal with a New York publisher based on a ten-page book proposal. The side job, as she referred to it, made quitting the newspaper an easy decision. Her husband came from some fairly big money. Liz didn’t need to work, but she wanted to. At thirty-one, she knew if she stopped cold turkey, she’d go nuts.
She was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a small blue New York Yankees T-shirt that barely covered her belly button. The little baby-T drove Michael nuts. He loved it when she wore it around the house, but if she so much as stepped out to get the newspaper in it, he gave her a concerned fatherly look. Liz was just finishing a paragraph when she heard the jingle of Duke’s dog tags. Peeking over the top of the laptop, she saw her husband’s best friend staring at the front door. The sound of keys in the lock caused him to yelp and jump to his feet. Down the hall he went. The dog was named after John Wayne, and now there was talk of another. She feared that the next one would be called Vince after the legendary Packers coach. Liz’s big problem with this was that her father was named Vince, and she really didn’t think he’d take well to sharing his name with the family dog.
The clock on the kitchen wall read 12:32. With a raised eyebrow, Liz noted that her husband was only thirty-two minutes late. He was getting better. While she counted how many pages she had written, she listened to the boys express their love and mutual admiration for each other. If it wasn’t for the fact that Michael was very good at showering her with affection, too, she would be really jealous.
A moment later, her thirty-three-year-old husband appeared in the kitchen with the grin of a five-year-old on his face. O’Rourke had been a U.S. Marine and captain of his hockey team at the University of Minnesota. Despite his stern appearance, he was a real softy. He slid around the back of Liz’s chair and brushed her hair over to one side. He kissed her cheek just once and then moved on to her neck while his hands found her exposed and bulging belly. Duke came down the hall to watch and wait his turn. Liz reached back and ran her hands through Michael’s hair, kissing him on the cheek and moaning in his ear. His hands slid up, and he gently cupped his wife’s breasts.
“Lunch or sex?” he whispered in her ear.
“Both.”
“Which one first?” He kissed her neck some more.
“I don’t care…mm…you decide.”
Michael did not expect Liz’s sex drive to increase with her pregnancy, but it was nonetheless a pleasant surprise. “If we don’t leave now, my bet is we won’t leave for the rest of the day.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“We don’t have any food.”
“Is that my fault?” Liz said a little defensively.
“Noooooo.” Michael smiled as he drew out the word. “Not you, Princess.” He had taken to calling her by her royal moniker when he wanted to tease her. That’s what Big Vince liked to call his daughter. “We only live six blocks from a grocery store, and you quit your job a month ago.”
Liz withdrew her arms. “How many grocery stores do you pass on your way to and from work every day?”
“Nope. I’m not going to let you do it.” He stood and walked around to one of the other chairs. Shaking his head and grinning, he said, “We already talked about this. You said you’d do it. You said it would give you an excuse to get out from behind that computer.”
“But I’m pregnant.” Liz put on her best pouty look.
“Nice try…I’m not falling for it. Come on. Let’s go down to Einstein’s. I’m dying for a tuna melt and a big cup of java.”
“What about the sex?”
“Later. I need a little sustenance. You’ve been wearing me out lately.”
“Poor baby.”
Duke edged his snout under his owner’s hand, and Michael started petting him. “Are you going to take off our son’s T-shirt and put on some adult clothes so we can get going? I’m really hungry.”
“Son’s T-shirt.” Liz nodded while she thought of a retort. “That’s a really funny one, Michael. Have you been working on it all morning?”
“Nope.” He grinned. “I thought of it right here on the spot. Completely impromptu.”