The Long Game
Page 26
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Not so much as one blond hair out of place, I thought. But Georgia Nolan knew. I knew in my gut that the president had told her.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the baby isn’t Walker’s. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing.
“Adam.” The president shook Adam’s hand, then looked just past his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware that Ivy was coming tonight.”
Ivy?
Adam, Keyes, and I turned to see her making her way through the crowd. She was wearing a black dress—fitted, with a high neck. Between elbow-length black gloves and the way her hair looked pinned up in an elaborate twist, she looked like the second coming of Audrey Hepburn.
Or, I thought, taking in the pace of her steps and the tension around her mouth, like hell’s own fury.
“Ivy.” Georgia greeted her just as she’d greeted me. “You look lovely.”
“Is everything all right?” the president asked her, the edges of his smile straining slightly against his face.
“Adam.” Ivy’s voice was perfectly pleasant. “Why don’t you show Tess the sculpture garden?”
In other words: she wanted me out of hearing range. Now.
Adam took my arm again. No sooner had we turned away from the group than I heard the president address Adam’s father.
“A pleasure as always, William.” That was a dismissal. William Keyes was not a man who appreciated being dismissed.
I glanced back over my shoulder. Beside me, Adam spoke. “There’s no love lost between my father and President Nolan.”
I knew Adam was attempting to divert my attention from Ivy and the Nolans, but there was a chance he’d tell me something that was worth a diversion, so I reluctantly turned back around.
“My father and the First Lady knew each other when they were young,” Adam continued. “They grew up in the same town. Georgia left for college and came back engaged.” My uncle had my full attention now. “My father is not, nor has he ever been, a graceful loser.”
My brain whirred, going back over every interaction I’d seen between the president and William Keyes, between Keyes and the First Lady.
Funny, isn’t it, that sometimes the loser matters more than the person who wins?
“Captain Keyes.” A voice jostled me from my thoughts. Its owner stepped in front of us and shook Adam’s hand. “Thank you for your service.”
My gaze went from the man shaking Adam’s hand to the teenage boy standing beside him.
John Thomas Wilcox.
Congressman Wilcox bore little resemblance to his son. He was shorter than John Thomas and broader through the shoulders, a side part covering thinning hair.
“Congressman,” Adam acknowledged. “Thank you for your support.”
“The foundation’s work is a cause worth supporting.” Congressman Wilcox had the ultimate political smile. “One that resonates with both sides of the aisle.”
Those words reminded me that Congressman Wilcox—the minority whip—fell squarely on the other side of the political aisle from the president—and the kingmaker.
“And this must be your niece,” the congressman turned to me. “Theresa, is it?”
“Actually,” John Thomas said, offering me a slick, insidious smile of his own, “it’s Tess.”
“My son,” the congressman told Adam. Then he turned his attention back to me. “I believe you two are in the same grade at Hardwicke.”
“Small world,” I said, the muscles in my jaw tensing.
“John Thomas, perhaps you could take Tess for a little spin around the room while I talk with her uncle?” Congressman Wilcox suggested.
John Thomas did not seem to find that idea any more appealing than I did. His father’s gaze darkened almost imperceptibly.
“I’d love to,” John Thomas said tersely. He reached for my arm. I jerked back.
“Don’t touch me,” I said. My voice was low, but the words cut through the air like a knife.
Adam shifted his weight, shielding my body with his. “Another time,” he told the congressman. Smoothly, he extricated us from the congressman’s grasp. He didn’t speak to me until we’d made it outside to the sculpture garden. A military band played to one side.
“I take it you’re not a fan of the congressman’s son,” Adam said.
John Thomas had sent that picture of Emilia to the entire school. If someone had, as I was beginning to suspect, slipped something into Emilia’s drink that night, John Thomas’s name would be near the top of my suspect list.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the baby isn’t Walker’s. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing.
“Adam.” The president shook Adam’s hand, then looked just past his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware that Ivy was coming tonight.”
Ivy?
Adam, Keyes, and I turned to see her making her way through the crowd. She was wearing a black dress—fitted, with a high neck. Between elbow-length black gloves and the way her hair looked pinned up in an elaborate twist, she looked like the second coming of Audrey Hepburn.
Or, I thought, taking in the pace of her steps and the tension around her mouth, like hell’s own fury.
“Ivy.” Georgia greeted her just as she’d greeted me. “You look lovely.”
“Is everything all right?” the president asked her, the edges of his smile straining slightly against his face.
“Adam.” Ivy’s voice was perfectly pleasant. “Why don’t you show Tess the sculpture garden?”
In other words: she wanted me out of hearing range. Now.
Adam took my arm again. No sooner had we turned away from the group than I heard the president address Adam’s father.
“A pleasure as always, William.” That was a dismissal. William Keyes was not a man who appreciated being dismissed.
I glanced back over my shoulder. Beside me, Adam spoke. “There’s no love lost between my father and President Nolan.”
I knew Adam was attempting to divert my attention from Ivy and the Nolans, but there was a chance he’d tell me something that was worth a diversion, so I reluctantly turned back around.
“My father and the First Lady knew each other when they were young,” Adam continued. “They grew up in the same town. Georgia left for college and came back engaged.” My uncle had my full attention now. “My father is not, nor has he ever been, a graceful loser.”
My brain whirred, going back over every interaction I’d seen between the president and William Keyes, between Keyes and the First Lady.
Funny, isn’t it, that sometimes the loser matters more than the person who wins?
“Captain Keyes.” A voice jostled me from my thoughts. Its owner stepped in front of us and shook Adam’s hand. “Thank you for your service.”
My gaze went from the man shaking Adam’s hand to the teenage boy standing beside him.
John Thomas Wilcox.
Congressman Wilcox bore little resemblance to his son. He was shorter than John Thomas and broader through the shoulders, a side part covering thinning hair.
“Congressman,” Adam acknowledged. “Thank you for your support.”
“The foundation’s work is a cause worth supporting.” Congressman Wilcox had the ultimate political smile. “One that resonates with both sides of the aisle.”
Those words reminded me that Congressman Wilcox—the minority whip—fell squarely on the other side of the political aisle from the president—and the kingmaker.
“And this must be your niece,” the congressman turned to me. “Theresa, is it?”
“Actually,” John Thomas said, offering me a slick, insidious smile of his own, “it’s Tess.”
“My son,” the congressman told Adam. Then he turned his attention back to me. “I believe you two are in the same grade at Hardwicke.”
“Small world,” I said, the muscles in my jaw tensing.
“John Thomas, perhaps you could take Tess for a little spin around the room while I talk with her uncle?” Congressman Wilcox suggested.
John Thomas did not seem to find that idea any more appealing than I did. His father’s gaze darkened almost imperceptibly.
“I’d love to,” John Thomas said tersely. He reached for my arm. I jerked back.
“Don’t touch me,” I said. My voice was low, but the words cut through the air like a knife.
Adam shifted his weight, shielding my body with his. “Another time,” he told the congressman. Smoothly, he extricated us from the congressman’s grasp. He didn’t speak to me until we’d made it outside to the sculpture garden. A military band played to one side.
“I take it you’re not a fan of the congressman’s son,” Adam said.
John Thomas had sent that picture of Emilia to the entire school. If someone had, as I was beginning to suspect, slipped something into Emilia’s drink that night, John Thomas’s name would be near the top of my suspect list.
