At the Pleasure of the President Page 3

  God, that sounded sweet.

  He hit the button that connected him to the driver.

  “You can pull out, Bill. Let’s head home.” He wouldn’t sleep. He’d probably call Gus and pray she wasn’t on a date with some skanky too-young dude with abs of steel because he wanted to go over tomorrow night’s plan again. Everything had to be perfect.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Crawford.” Bill’s voice shook over the intercom. “I didn’t want to do this, but I, um…owe some people. You’re actually a pretty nice boss, and I’m…I’m sorry.”

  The comm went dead, and the door suddenly opened. What the hell?

  Then Mad found himself looking up into dark eyes that held the promise of violence.

  “Mr. Crawford, my name is Ivan Krylov.” The big man shoved his way into his limo and sat squarely across from him.

  A chill dashed through Mad. He forced himself to sit back since he had the definite feeling that if he tried to escape, he wouldn’t be allowed.

  This had to be about the investigation into the foundation. He’d discovered a connection between Tavia, the head of his charitable foundation, and the Russian mob. It was obvious he was going to get a stern talking to about looking into things he shouldn’t.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be firing Tavia after all. Maybe he would be bringing in the police instead.

  For now, he swallowed and tried to play cool. “I’m afraid I don’t do business anymore by partying with perspective clients, Mr. Krylov. If you have a proposal, schedule a meeting with my assistant. I’ll get back to you.”

  When he risked reaching for the door on his left, it opened. Another large man blocked his exit, slid in, and shut it solidly behind him.

  Bill was so fired. And he, unfortunately, was trapped.

  “I will be giving you my proposal in person now, Mr. Crawford,” Krylov said, his Russian accent thick. “Because I cannot wait. I must return to my friends in Moscow, you see.”

  “You need a ride?” He reached for the bottle of Scotch he kept in the limo as his heart raced. But he couldn’t let these men see him sweat or smell his fear. “I’ll be happy to drop you off. I’m friendly that way.”

  Thank god Sara was up in her apartment.

  “We are here to…talk. Let’s go somewhere quiet so I can discuss a situation with you. I think you have some misconceptions about one of your employees. I will fix this now. Unless you think it’s better for us to go upstairs to your girlfriend’s home. We could speak there.”

  His heart threatened to stop. “Girlfriend? Are you talking about Sara? She’s my best friend’s sister. I did her brother a favor by letting her intern at my company. I was just giving her a ride home from work.” Thank god he and Sara had been beyond circumspect. For months, she’d insisted he keep her out of the tabloids, so no one had seen them together. “Trust me. She’s not my type. I’m into one-night stands. That one is practically a virgin, and I don’t have any use for a woman like that. The only one in my life right now is my housekeeper, and she’s gone home for the day.”

  “This is good for her,” Krylov said. “Unfortunate for you, though. Since no one is at your home, we will go there and have a nice, long chat.”

  He put on his best devil-may-care grin and held up his Scotch glass. “Whatever you say, buddy. I like an adventure.”

  He forced himself not to fight as the limo rolled away. He focused on finding some way out of this mess. There had to be one, right? He just had to find it.

  But nothing mattered as long as Sara and the baby were safe.

  Nothing.

  * * * *

  Three hours later, Mad clutched his stomach as he rolled to his side and spit blood. Every muscle in his body ached. He thought he’d known pain, but what Krylov and his associate had given him was next level. The men had laid into him with a long, agonizing “speech” about how Mad should stay out of their business. Every word had been punctuated by violence.

  Then, finally, the mobsters had left, certain they’d made their point. Mad had to admit Krylov’s message was crystal clear. Butt out of the Crawford Foundation’s irregularities.

  God, he wanted Sara. He wished like hell he could call her and beg her to come over and hold him. She would take him to the hospital and baby him. For a few hours, the world might feel safe again.

  Except he knew it wasn’t. And it might never be again.

  Tonight had changed everything.

  Mad closed his eyes, hissing as he rolled to his back again. The marble felt cold as fuck against his clammy skin. He didn’t usually spend much time in his kitchen, but Krylov was a thoughtful torturer. Just before he’d taken the first punch, he explained that he’d chosen this room because blood could be mopped up more easily here.

  Wincing, he tried—and failed—to get up. In a weird way, his pain was good news. If he could feel it, that meant he was still alive.

  “They got you good, huh?”

  Panic flaring, Mad opened his eyes and tried to inch away from the red-haired intruder. “Who are you?”

  Shit, had Krylov changed his mind and sent someone to finish him off after all? Maybe, but this guy didn’t sound Russian.

  “Hey, I’m not here to hurt you. I hoped I could stay underground a little longer, but things are moving now, so I can’t wait.” He sighed. “God, I never expected you would be the one out of the bunch I’d have to work with. I’m not even sure this is a good idea.” The lanky man paced the floor, stepping around the blood. “You could be in on it, after all.”

  Mad shoved himself up, managing to sit, despite the agony screaming through his system. Grimacing, he forced his back to the ridiculously expensive gray cabinets a designer had told him Sara would love. He’d remodeled his place to trick her into thinking he was a good catch.

  If Krylov had any idea how much he loved her, that she was having their child, or the lengths he would go to keep them safe, the Russian would have far better methods of controlling him than mere pain.

  Of course if what he’d said was true….

  “In on what?” Righteous anger was rapidly replacing his fear. Did everyone think they could waltz in and out of his fucking house tonight?

  The intruder glowered. Despite his russet hair swept around his ears haphazardly and his Howdy Doody face, the tall man managed to convey a very real sense of danger, especially when he propped his hands on his hips, revealing his lean strength—and the holster at his shoulder.

  “The conspiracy.” His hands twitched slightly as he stared down at Mad.

  Krylov hadn’t used that word, but the big Russian’s mission had been to give him fear, not information. Even so, Mad had grasped enough to understand.

  “Zack Hayes isn’t a Russian plant.”

  He couldn’t be. Mad had known Zack for the vast majority of his life. Zack was an all-American hero. Krylov had only suggested otherwise to keep him from calling in the biggest gun he could.

  “Which is exactly what you would say if you were in on it.”

  Mad did not appreciate the irony. “Look, asshole, I don’t get—or believe—half what that Russian fucker said to me, and I have no idea who you are but I need to get to a hospital.”

  The man shook his head and dropped to one knee to more closely inspect the damage. “You can’t, but you’ll be fine. I’ve got a friend who can help you.”

  “A friend? I could be bleeding internally. What the—”

  “They’re too careful for that. You’re more useful to them alive than dead or you’d already be fish bait. Besides, I want you to think about what happens if Maddox Crawford goes to a hospital and the press finds out.”

  Then Sara rushes to his side, and their relationship is outed. And that wasn’t all. “The police get involved.”

  “Yep, and once the police get involved, everything gets exposed. That’s something they want to avoid at all costs. But if that happens, they’ll be looking for a scapegoat…and they won’t care about collateral damage.”

  The str
anger was right. As much as it burned him, he had to stop looking into what was going on at the Crawford Foundation. But once he did, Krylov would know he had a weak spot, a button that could be pushed again and again to make him do whatever the syndicate wanted. Mad wasn’t foolish enough to think this mess was over simply because he’d promised to stop his investigation.

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly. So as much as that sucks, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, they’ll have no choice but to get rid of you, like they got rid of Constance Hayes.”

  “What?” They’d offed Zack’s mother? Sure, she’d died suddenly and under somewhat mysterious circumstances, but… “How do you know?”

  The stranger rolled his eyes. “Pull your head out of your party-boy ass and follow the trail of bodies. Who else shoved his nose in, got too close, and paid the ultimate price? Admiral Spencer.”

  Holy shit, they’d killed Dax’s father, too? “No. He committed suicide.”

  “Don’t be naïve. They faked his fall from grace. And when that didn’t get him out of the way, they faked his self-inflicted death.”

  These suggestions were so next level, they were blowing Mad’s mind. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “This shit is too significant for me to joke about. Come on. Keep thinking. Who else’s death was suspicious. Whose was the most shocking of all?”

  It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. But the name still slipped out. “Joy Hayes?”

  “Someone get the guy a prize.” The stranger smiled acidly.

  “Joy would never have investigated the death of a fly, much less a Russian infiltration.”

  He shook his head. “You’re right. She had a bigger purpose to serve. What would have happened without her death?”

  Mad’s thoughts were racing. This guy had to be a loon…but what he said was starting to make a weird sort of sense. “Zack wouldn’t have become president.”

  “Bingo.”

  And the Russians had wanted Zack to be elected? Why?

  Oh, fuck. This conspiracy was a rabbit hole, bigger and deeper than he could have possibly imagined. He didn’t know what his friend and his president had to do with the Crawford Foundation, but they both had shady Russians pulling the strings.

  No, this was just a nightmare. A bad dream. That must be what was happening. He would wake up any second now. Sara would be in bed beside him. He would stop worrying about finesse and he would propose. Then he would tell her about Everly. She would help him figure out how to handle her. He would wake up. They would laugh about this stupid dream and they would…they would make plans to become a family.

  “The Russians have been planning this for a very long time. Sergei is not only on US soil, he’s in the White House. I need to figure out what Zack Hayes knows about him. Or…if Zack Hayes is him.”

  “No.” Mad refused to believe that one of his best friends was a traitor.

  “Take off your rose-colored glasses. It’s possible the president of the United States is actually a Russian citizen, and that he’s working for Russian interests.”

  Stunned, Mad laughed, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do. For once, he had nothing to say, not even a smartass comeback.

  The grave face of the man looking down at him didn’t appear amused. “It’s time to get serious, Crawford. I need your help.”

  “Why me?” Mad shook his head. “And who the hell are you?”

  “You can call me Freddy.” The stranger stood and offered him a hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and talk about what happens next. I’ve been trying to unravel this mess by myself for years. It might be nice to have a partner.”

  Seeing that he had very little choice, Mad reached out a hand. Freddy hauled him up. His entire body protested.

  And he realized he wasn’t going to wake up soon. He was going to dive headfirst into the nightmare of this Russian conspiracy mess because he didn’t have a choice. He had to get smart, think fast, protect the people he loved…by giving them all up.

  As much as he hated it, this was now his life.

  * * * *

  Two Months Later

  Sara sat inside the Church of St. Ignatius of Loyola, facing the urn. Fury and heartbreak churned inside her. How had she gotten here?

  Around her, people rose from their pews and began shuffling down the aisles. Some approached the urn, quietly paying their respects to a man who hadn’t respected much of anything.

  Maddox Crawford certainly hadn’t respected her or he wouldn’t have broken her heart.

  Augustine stood and touched a bracing hand to her shoulder. “Sweetie, Gabe said the car is coming around.”

  Sara had tried to sit through the service alone, but Gus had slid beside her at the last minute, holding her hand during the long, sometimes ridiculous funeral that Mad had apparently arranged himself.

  Had he planned his own death? Her mother had always wondered if Mad was unstable.

  “All right.” She still didn’t move. It would be a few moments before the car got through the dense Manhattan traffic. If she stood, people might see her and try to talk to her. As it was, Sara was barely holding herself together. Or worse, she might catch sight of the woman Mad had left her for.

  Was Everly Parker mourning her lover, too?

  Gus frowned. “Gabe and the guys are going to go to a nearby pub to drink and reminisce. I suspect you’re headed home?”

  The last thing she wanted to do was hang out with her brother and his friends. She’d been around them all her life and she’d been smart enough not to get tangled up with their antics and dramas. They were Gabe’s friends, not hers. Sure, she’d gotten to know a couple of them, and she’d certainly developed close relationships to some of the women in their circle, but she’d been smart enough not to fall for one of the men the world called the Perfect Gentlemen.

  At least until she had.

  “Do you want me to tell Gabe to hold the car?” Gus asked.

  “I’ll leave when the crowd clears out a bit.” Sara fell quiet again, but the question she hadn’t stopped asking herself gnawed again. “Do you think she was here?”

  She shouldn’t care. Mad had treated her more like a hundred-dollar hooker at the end of the night than the woman he’d professed to love. Even telling herself that she was better off didn’t help. There was still a horrible, gaping ache in her heart where Mad used to be and she didn’t know how to fill it. On the one hand, she wanted to weep and wail and beg for someone to send Mad back to her. On the other hand, she hoped he was rotting in hell.

  Gus sighed. “I don’t know what Everly Parker looks like. Besides, it doesn’t matter if she was here because Mad wasn’t having an affair with her.”

  So Gus kept insisting. Sara wasn’t convinced. She’d heard the rumors over the water coolers at Crawford Industries. She’d been a massive idiot to think Mad would ever settle down.

  Then why had he told her he loved her?

  Because it’s what I do, sweetness. And I totally loved you. Long and hard and well. Now it’s time for me to love someone else. I’m not dad material. Find yourself some boring, stable IT tycoon. There have to be a few hanging around. I’ve got to go. My date is waiting.

  Sara had their whole breakup on her phone because he’d done it via text.

  She’d been dressed and ready for the gala at the Met. She’d spent all day plucking, waxing, painting, and grooming to make sure she looked her best. Then she’d spent the evening staring at the wall of her bedroom trying to figure out what had gone wrong and who the hell he’d left her for. She’d called and texted, tried to reason with Mad.

  He’d never spoken to her again.

  The headlines of the tabloids the next day had spoken volumes though. No, he hadn’t taken Everly to the Met that night, but it hadn’t taken long for him to start having a lot of closed-door meetings with her at the office.

  “Sara, you have to believe me,” Gus insisted, sitting beside her again.

  All around them, people f
rom Mad’s life mingled as they slowly filed out of the church to get on with the rest of the day. The rest of their life. Mad had touched each of them, many of them intimately and in ways that would make most blush.

  She’d known he was a manwhore. She’d known it before she knew the word. Even when they’d been kids, she’d been sure she shouldn’t lose her heart to him. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does matter.” Gus put a hand on her shoulder. “Sara, something is incredibly off with all of this. He loved you. He was going to ask you to marry him.”

  Maybe it had crossed his mind for a moment or two. Maybe he’d even believed it. Mad had been impulsive and mercurial. The night she’d told him she was pregnant, he’d seemed excited. Two days later, he’d completely washed his hands of her and the baby. That was Mad.

  “He changed his mind.”

  “Or something happened.”

  She couldn’t waste the energy to unravel Mad’s “logic” now. She had to think about her baby. “I’m going home.”

  “All right. I’ll take care of my one task and come by your place. Then we can go out to the Hamptons. You can unwind, and we can talk there,” Gus offered. “I can call Liz. We’ll make it a girls’ trip. I would contact Holland but she’s being a stubborn butt.”

  Sara shook her head. “I want to be alone.”

  Standing, she carefully smoothed out the Prada sheath she wouldn’t be able to fit into after another week or two. Or maybe she would be able to wear it a bit longer. She hadn’t felt much like eating lately. The doctor said the calorie deficit wasn’t a big deal yet, but soon she needed to stop being furious and grief-stricken and start taking care of her baby.

  Yes, it was her baby. Not his. He hadn’t wanted their child. He’d made that perfectly clear. He’d even offered to pay for her abortion in his flurry of breakup texts.