At the Pleasure of the President Page 4

  Fucking bastard.

  Why did she miss him with every ounce of her soul? She’d hated him in those last weeks when she’d been forced to watch him date other women and hear all the juicy gossip about him and Everly heating up the chairman’s desk. But not once had she contemplated a world without him.

  Some foolish part of her had hoped Mad would eventually miss her and come back groveling. At the very least, she’d thought he would change his mind about the baby once she or he was born. Now any chance of Mad returning to her life in any way was gone forever.

  Gus stared at her. “Are you joining Holland in the mulish brigade?”

  Sara sent her a cutting glare. “Or maybe I don’t want to spend the week listening to Mad’s old mistress tell me why I should forgive him.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to call them back. She reached for Gus. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean old in terms of age. I meant former. But you weren’t his mistress, really. And I never meant to imply that he owned or possessed you in any patriarchal way. I’m trying to say I can’t handle much of anything right now.”

  Gus chuckled as she cupped Sara’s shoulders. “I understand. What if I promise I won’t mention his name unless you want to talk about him?”

  But Sara always wanted to talk about him. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to ask him why. God, she’d do almost anything for one more moment with him.

  She’d always thought she was strong, but in the wake of Hurricane Mad, she felt like nothing more than a pathetic girl in love. It was time to grow up and give her love to someone worthy: her baby.

  “I need to be alone, Gus. I’m sorry I snapped.”

  “I suspect you’ll snap a lot, and that’s okay,” Gus replied. “You’ve been through some serious emotional turmoil. Besides, you know I’ve got thick skin. I can handle whatever you dish out. And if you need a friend, call me. I’m going to poke my nose into a few things that aren’t adding up. I won’t involve you except to promise it will be okay.” She withdrew her hands. “I’ll let Gabe know you’ll be ready to go in a few minutes. Oh, and don’t think I’m letting the stubborn-bitch thing go for too long.”

  Sara knew better. Gus would be on her doorstep long before she was ready.

  For now, she took a deep breath, staring at the picture of Mad they’d placed by his empty urn. Even now, Mad was smirking, but she’d seen his real smile. She’d seen his whole face light up like it was Christmas morning.

  “I can’t believe she showed up,” a voice whispered behind her. “Do you think the boss left her a little something?”

  “You mean, like, in his will? If anyone would leave his mistress a really lavish final parting gift, it would be Mad Crawford,” another voice said.

  “Yeah,” quipped another. “I’ll bet Everly gets paid after all. I never bought that innocent act. I live not far from her, so I know he spent tons of time at her place.”

  Sara didn’t look back at the gossipers, merely turned and walked down the aisle. She wouldn’t look at Mad’s picture again. She would try her best not to think of him at all.

  “It’s you and me, baby,” she said quietly.

  It would have to be enough.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Washington, DC

  Zack Hayes stared, utterly shocked, at the dead man sitting across from him.

  Minutes ago, he’d slid into the presidential limo for a short ride to Marine One so he could chopper over to Camp David for the weekend. Thanks to the guy across from him, he put that plan on hold.

  “For someone dearly departed, you don’t look any worse for the wear. Did you use a parachute?” It was the wrong thing to ask first, but Zack had so many questions, he hardly knew where to start.

  What he really wanted to do was throttle the man who’d once been among his very best friends.

  Maddox Crawford, as impeccably groomed and urbane as ever, sat back and crossed one leg over the opposite knee as he knocked back a glass of expensive Scotch. Apparently perishing tragically in a plane crash hadn’t been too rough on the guy.

  “Of course. It wasn’t easy. After I discovered the bomb on board, I had to time my jump just right. I needed to reach a location where cameras wouldn’t catch me bailing out. My escape would have gone off so much easier if I’d flown west. The east coast is awfully crowded these days. Ever thought of moving the White House to Wyoming?”

  Death hadn’t changed Mad’s personality one bit. He was still an irreverent ass. “I take it you weren’t actually coming to see me then. That was all part of whatever ploy you’d cooked up?”

  Now that he knew Mad was alive, Zack saw clearly that the last several months had been a carefully crafted drama. But why? Sure, Mad had once been all about grabbing the headlines, but even he wouldn’t go so far as to fake his own death simply for a media splash.

  “When you wouldn’t talk to me before my plane took off, I realized I had to find another way to get your attention.”

  Zack remembered that fateful day well. It had been one of the worst of his life. Mad had called that afternoon, wanting a meeting. Zack had dodged him. A few hours later, Mad had been “dead.” Since then, Zack had wondered what his friend intended to say.

  “When you called I’d just gotten off the phone with Gabe. He’d asked for advice on how to deal with you. I was angry. I didn’t have anything civil to say so I didn’t want to talk.”

  “That day, Gabe wouldn’t listen to me either. We met for lunch at Cipriani’s. I looked across the table at my best friend in the world, who was beyond pissed at me for the way I treated Sara, and I almost told him everything. Then I realized someone was filming our exchange—and not because he was interested in gossip. The Russians had already paid me a visit once, and they were following me. Probably had been for a while.”

  “The Russians?” Zack frowned because nothing made sense. “But why you? You’ve never been interested in politics.”

  “Politics, no. A money trail, yes. Long story. But after that aborted lunch with Gabe, I knew I had to do something radical. Thanks to my prior run-in with some Russian mob heavies, I started working with Matthew Kemp. He was actually the one who found the bomb on the plane, since he routinely checked all my vehicles. When he found the explosive device a few hours before I took off that day, I knew what I had to do.”

  “Pretend you were coming to DC to patch things up with me while faking your own death? That’s crazy, even for you, Mad.”

  He shrugged. “Everyone believed it. And I needed them to.”

  “Even your best fucking friends? Do you understand the hell you put everyone through? The crushing guilt I’ve lived with because I believed that if I’d simply answered your call that day, you’d still be alive?”

  “You’re my friend—and the president—not an actor. The grief, the funeral—all of it had to look real. It was Matt’s idea, but we all went along with it. And the plan served its purpose. It got you all thinking in a way nothing else would have.”

  For a time, Matthew Kemp, one of his Secret Service agents, had seemingly betrayed Zack. Or that’s what he’d believed. But the man had died protecting Augustine Spencer and Roman Calder from a rogue MI6 agent working for the Russians.

  “How did you start working with Kemp, of all people?” Zack was curious. Of course at this point, he was curious about pretty much everything.

  Mad frowned, clearly choosing his words. That worried Zack because he hadn’t been aware Mad thought at much beyond where to put the fiver in a stripper’s G-string. “I don’t know how much I should tell you, Zack.”

  That made him sit up straighter. Fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this. Every time he considered the possibility that his mother might have accidentally smothered the real Zack Hayes in infancy, and he might be a Russian-born imposter, it made him physically ill. And ever since Mad’s “death,” Zack had become very aware that he was the focus of a global conspiracy. He’d spent his whole life striving to be presiden
t of the United States. Apparently, the Russians had been playing a long game with the same intended outcome for reasons Zack still didn’t know. But he had some ugly guesses.

  “You think I’m Sergei.” He dropped the code name for a Russian agent at the center of this vast conspiracy they’d all been trying to unravel.

  Mad raised a brow. But why mince words or draw this out? Mad was back from the dead for a reason, and he obviously knew far more than Zack would have believed a billionaire manwhore perpetually in search of a party would. Clearly, Mad had been investigating, too.

  Zack was still pissed…but he was also kind of proud.

  More importantly, the time had come to figure out if he was the real problem—the ultimate sleeper.

  With a sigh, Mad poured himself another Scotch. “Maybe. We should have a meeting.”

  Though there was nothing humorous about the situation, Zack threw back his head and laughed. Of all the things he’d expected Mad to say, he hadn’t imagined the man would want to gather the Perfect Gentlemen.

  Over the decades, the six of them convened whenever they’d found themselves in trouble more serious than tossing back a drink or punching someone in the face could solve. They’d called their first meeting in eighth grade to handle the bully fucking with Connor in Spanish class. Two days later, Harold Tally hadn’t bugged anyone again, and they’d set a pattern.

  Was Mad trying to circle the wagons now?

  “This isn’t some problem with grades or a girl, man. We’re talking about treason. If you know something, tell me now so I can get this over with.”

  Mad regarded him wearing his signature smirk. “I should have known you’d play the martyr.”

  Savage anger hit Zack. He leaned forward, looking one of his best friends straight in the eyes. “This isn’t one of your games, Mad. It’s not some prank we’ll all laugh about later. People have gotten hurt. For fuck’s sake, people have died.”

  Elizabeth had gotten hurt. And now she loathed him.

  God, had Elizabeth betrayed him, too?

  Mad leaned in, his stare unwavering. “The mother of my unborn child hates my guts, so don’t act like I don’t know people have gotten hurt. I lost everything. I gave it all up to protect her and my family.”

  “You don’t have a damn family, Mad. And you’re right. Sara won’t speak to you again.”

  Mad paled, then whipped his gaze around to stare out the window of the limo. He took another drink, his hand clearly shaking. “I kind of thought you guys were my family.”

  All of Zack’s rage dissipated. They’d been together for decades. Mad, Gabe, Dax, Connor, and Roman were his family. Always. They’d gotten him through everything from physics to his presidential campaign. He had to have some faith in them.

  It hit him suddenly that Mad wasn’t actually dead. Zack didn’t have to mourn anymore. Maddox Crawford was sitting here in all his audacious, Scotch-drinking glory. Emotion rose hard and fast as he looked at the man who’d been a brother to him for decades.

  Mad looked his way again, his eyes appearing to mist over. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I know how hard it must have been on all of you. I love you guys. You might be pissed with me, but I’m going to explain everything. And I’m going to get us out of this shit storm—as soon as I figure out what’s truly going on. That’s why I’m here. It’s gotten too big, and I need help.”

  Zack mulled that over. In the past, they’d stuck together and always come out on top. Granted, comparing calculus grades to international espionage was a stretch…but none of them had managed to solve this yet. Why not try together?

  Zack couldn’t take Marine One to Camp David since there was the obvious issue of having a dead man on board with him. At this point, Zack wouldn’t be surprised if all his current Secret Service agents, not just Thomas, were in on whatever scheme Mad had going. But the press might have a collective heart attack at the sight of Maddox Crawford’s return from the dead.

  Good thing Zack had other means of reaching his destination.

  “Who else was in on your plan? You didn’t trust any of us enough to reach out, but you’ve been saying ‘we.’ Who did you trust enough to help you deceive us?”

  “It wasn’t lack of trust or a deception,” Mad argued. “I was trying to save you. Do you honestly think I’ve been sleeping in shitholes for months, flying in cargo planes, and eating fast food for some kind of practical joke? In case it’s not clear yet, you’re in trouble, Zack. The entire damn country is, and it all comes down to you and your family.” He pressed his lips together for a somber moment. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you were in on it.”

  His gut twisted because he knew exactly what Mad meant. “Do you mean my mother’s murder? Or my wife’s?”

  “Any of it. There’s a string of bodies that stretches all the way back to Moscow, Zack. This conspiracy goes deeper than you realize.”

  “Or maybe I know everything. Mozhet byt, ya syn russkikh roditeley, kak ty eto dumayesh.” Zack knew well his Russian accent was so perfect, he could fool even a linguist.

  You have to speak their language, son. This is important. You have to make them believe you’re one of them. That’s the key to life. Let them think you’re one of them until you no longer need them.

  His father’s voice rumbled through his head often. The man had dementia now, but he’d fed such nuggets of wisdom to Zack from infancy to adulthood because his father had groomed him to be president. So while some kids were taught to share their toys, Zack had learned Russian and the art of manipulation.

  Mad scowled. “You are not a Russian son. I won’t believe that. I’m sorry if it seemed like I doubted you earlier. It’s been a tense few months.”

  Zack blinked at his old friend. “Since when do you speak Russian?”

  “Since the day one nearly killed me and destroyed my life as I knew it.” Mad sat back, his lips forming a mulish line. “I want a meeting. I don’t want to tell this story five times.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. The guys are on their way to meet me at Camp David. We can shelve this discussion until then.” He let his driver know to change course and take him directly to the secluded retreat. “We should be there in half an hour.”

  Mad nodded and fell silent.

  Zack did the same, oddly at a loss for words.

  The guys would get to Camp David roughly thirty minutes after he and Mad did. Then they could start fixing this clusterfuck. That thought cheered him.

  But he had to make some decisions first. Hell, he should probably start by firing his entire detail and finding another since Mad had infiltrated them all.

  Others would tell him to have Mad arrested and renditioned somewhere where they could torture the fuck out of him and get the answers they needed. But all those years of shared friendship sat between them. Mad had protected him from bullies’ fists and shown him an entirely different way to look at life. Mad had given him a group of friends who’d become so much closer than family. Mad had brought them all together.

  Zack refused to turn his back on his old friend now.

  He reached for the Scotch. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

  Mad sent him something that looked too pensive to be a smile. “Me, too.”

  “Though I should warn you that Gabe will probably kill you.”

  Mad grimaced. “I think he’ll understand once I explain.”

  “Nope. He’s going to be so pissed. I think your sister will be, too. Thanks for the heads-up on that, by the way. Everly is good with a gun, you know.”

  “Come on, Zack. They’ll be happy I’m alive. And it wasn’t like I totally left you.”

  “No, you sent an army of Deep Throats after us.”

  Mad snorted. “I thought it was clever.”

  “You know that has a historical reference, right? Not a pornographic one.”

  Mad tried not to, but he still giggled like they were twelve again and someone said “boobs.”

  “Who were all tho
se informants?”

  “Just actors taking their cue from me through their ear piece. I hired a different one every time. I didn’t want any of them getting too involved with the investigation or trying to figure anything out, so I told them all I was playing an elaborate prank on friends.”

  “The fact that the fate of the American people is even slightly in your hands makes me want to drink more.” Zack took a long swallow, the alcohol burning a familiar path down his throat.

  “That makes two of us, brother. Shocked the fuck out of me.”

  They fell silent again. Zack didn’t pry. He’d hear Mad’s story with the rest of their gang since they’d been in this together from the beginning. If he was being used as some pawn in a Russian game, he didn’t want to hear that news without his brothers around him.

  But Zack had one question he couldn’t keep silent about a minute longer.

  “Elizabeth…is she a part of this?” Elizabeth Matthews, with her long blonde hair, intelligent blue eyes, and seemingly innocent heart-shaped face. Had she been sent to ensnare him? Was she another string his enemies wouldn’t hesitate to pull until he danced to their tune?

  Mad’s face went solemn. “I don’t know. I hope not, but there’s something happening at the White House. They have someone on the inside. Or at least someone wants us to think so.”

  That was all he would get for now. Zack eased back, his thoughts on the woman he couldn’t seem to stop wanting…no matter what she might be guilty of.

  * * * *

  From his position by the fireplace at the back of the room, Maddox Crawford heard the door open. The raucous sounds of his friends greeting each other drifted his way. Excitement and anxiety each grabbed half his guts and squeezed until he felt wrung tight.

  He heard Dax first since the naval officer was the loudest, bitching about the car trip then inquiring about a cold one. Connor didn’t say a word, but there was no way Sparks hadn’t come.

  “I’m ready for some quiet time,” Roman said. “We’ve got Gus moved in, which is great. But now I have to deal with bridezilla Gus. Work Gus was already a handful, but bridezilla Gus makes her look like a kitten.”