Page 212 of Incisive

“So just to confirm, youdoyou have more on them?” she asks.

Leo nods. “Ooohhh, yeah.” He sips his drink. “Alotmore.” He looks at me. “And, yes, a lot more on her associates. Grace’s death was simply karma working in our favor. But it wouldn’t shock me if shewasselling out Stella and Ellis and their murky exploits to others and planning on trying to worm her way into more liberal circles while using the information she held as currency to buy herself a seat at the table.

“Elliot’s absolutely right—Grace Martin was only loyal to herself. Stella was more her willing stooge than her partner. Stella’s not smart enough to do this shit on her own. Grace was always the engine driving what successes Stella achieved. That’s why Stella jumped onto Ellis’ train, because of his money and perceived influence and contacts. But she miscalculated what track he was running on. Instead of a gravy train, it was one filled with radioactive waste heading out to a dump in the hinterlands.”

“So you can’t actually use that info right now without it splashing back on Elliot?” she asks.

“That’s partially accurate. More that I don’t want to empty my clip when it’s not necessary. I don’t know when I’ll need some of that info. It’s not an exaggeration that I could literally change the course of the next entire midterm election cycle with what I know. Maybe even several election cycles after that, depending on who runs and who retires. But it would also trigger too many questions were I to carpet bomb the GOP with it. About where the info came from. I want to use what I have as strategic, surgical drone strikes that can’t be tracked back to any one source. Like what I dropped on them on the night of the proposal. I want to be able to quickly and quietly shut things down as they come, not go on the offensive. Isolated incidents, no one will have a clue where the intel originated. If I dump it all at once, any journalist hungry or smart enough might be able to connect enough dots to start seeing the pattern that puts me right in the center of it, which could expose my sources.”

“Does this involve the Family?” I ask.

“Partially,” he says. “That’s one piece of it. It connects several other pieces. It’s not so much the Family doing things as it is people who are connected by and through the Family using those connections to run their scams and grifts and power grabs.”

“You told me a little about that group,” Kayley says. “Are they really that powerful?”

“They think they are,” Jordan says. “They can be if not kept in check. If the members all partner together, factions of them could potentially do massive political damage to our country at all levels. But almost all of them have something in their closets to help balance our risk. Plus, they don’t usually play well with each other. There’s no loyalty there. They’re all power-hungry, to a certain extent. But they’ll break ranks and scatter if they think they’re in serious jeopardy. They’ll also sell each other out without hesitation.”

Something tickles my brain. I must be wearing a look because both Leo and Jordan notice and at the same time ask, “What is it?”

Kayley snorts. “Stereo. That’s adorable.”

“I need to play twenty questions with you for a moment, Leo,” I say.

After a brief hesitation, he nods.

I focus on Kayley. “This conversation didn’t happen.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “What conversation? I went to bed when we got back. Besides, consider me Jordan’s counsellor and all of this covered by patient privilege. What isn’t covered by executive privilege, that is.”

Jordan chuffs, smiling as he sips.

I shift a little so I don’t dislodge Jordan but I can look Leo in the eyes more easily. I want to see his reaction when I say the name that floated to the surface of my brain. “Pasha Belyaevskin.”

He reflexively blinks before an iron door slams shut over his features. “Who’s that?”

Jordan looks from me to Leo and back again as he scowls. “Yeah, who is that?”

I don’t speak, my President Woodley mode fully engaged in this moment, and I don’t mean the sexyMister Presidenttrigger my guys have mastered wielding against me at their whim.

I mean the Commander and Chief, who even in the pocket of his wedding suit carried a “biscuit,” the plastic card holding electronic codes that means I could easily wipe out a chunk of the planet.

The same biscuit that’s in the back pocket of my jeans right now. One that’s replaced every day.

I stare at Leo, waiting.

The retired Secret Service agent who is now my husband doesn’t break as I watch him mentally weighing all his options, from outright lying to me, to no-commenting me, to slipping into Master mode in an attempt to flip me and bring his dangerously curious and attuned presidential pet to heel…

Then I suspect he remembers his promise to me that he’ll never interfere with my work. He blinks again. That simple gesture tells me he’s unsettled.

And that he’s breaking first. “Where did you hear that name? And when?”

“Two-ish years ago in a PDB. Did we go after FISA warrants yet? They were supposed to read me in and clear it with me.”

His gaze drops to the floor and he buys himself a moment by taking a long swallow of his drink. “No. We haven’t.”

“Wait,” Kayley says, understandably confused. “Who is that, and what’s a FISA warrant?”

I ignore her, my focus completely anchored on studying my husband’s face. “Wehaven’tgot a FISA warrant yet, we can’t get a FISA warrantyet, or wecan’tget a FISA warrant?”