“That’s the man who was with Cordelia at Dahlia’s,” he says, leaning in for a closer look. “He’s got more gray in his temples now, but those spooky ass green eyes are the same.”
“No wonder Aubrey was so scared when he showed up.”
Cal snorts a laugh, returning to his spot on the couch. We’ve been up since five this morning, and now, nearly twelve hours later, neither one of us is showing any signs of slowing down. Selene and Monique were up with us, but they left the living room within minutes of each other, both yawning and mumbling about naps. After the early dinner Cal put together—a mushroom pasta reminiscent of the one he made when we were in Texas with Selene—I was ready to succumb to a post-meal nap as well, but I decided to work instead.
Now, I’m extremely glad that I did.
We’ve been at this for days with nothing to really show for it. Every moment that passed with Leland still on the loose and no tangible proof that the third man existed felt like the tightening of a noose around my neck. With Cal’s confident identification of Gambit, I can feel the rope slackening just a little.
“What do we know about him?” Cal asks just as I’m clicking the link to the man’s biography on what I’m sure is one of the many company websites he’s featured on. I scroll past another picture of him, scanning the paragraphs underneath that lay out what I’m sure Gambit believes is a pick-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps origin story but in reality is nothing more than a tale of a boy who grew up rich and got a loan from his daddy that he used to become even more rich by starting a slew of businesses that are all linked below the last paragraph.
“Gambit Construction,” Cal says the company name just as I click the link, opening the web page in a new tab.
I guide the mouse across the screen, scanning for any pertinent information. What jumps out at me is the section near the center of the page. I highlight the section, making sure Cal sees where I am when I start reading. “Gambit’s Federal Division has worked on many government contracts for projects such asdams, wind farms, transit systems. We also providemilitary construction services…”
Cal grins. “We got him.”
Disbelief bubbles in my chest, and I shake my head, wondering how such a complex web of events could come down to something as simple as a fucking government contract. Granted, due to the scope of the proposed project, we’re talking about a multi-billion dollar contract, but still. It feels ridiculous to know that a woman has lost her life all because Phineas Gambit wanted a job he probably could have gotten anyway if he had just thrown his hat in the ring.
That probably hadn’t even occurred to him though, to earn something based on merit alone. I’m sure in his warped mind it was faster and easier to put a man you owned in the most powerful office in the land and force your lackey to look after him and make sure that he did your bidding.
It’s certainly more lucrative.
Whatever he spent getting Aubrey into the Oval and keeping his hold on him, he’ll make back tenfold over the course of his term or terms. Because of course it won’t stop at the Qatari military base. There will always be something else. A waste treatment plant to build in Idaho. An oil field to restore in Kuwait. A reactor that needs to be enclosed in the Ukraine.
An endless stream of money all flowing in Gambit’s direction.
Disgusted, I close the computer. “We need to tell Selene.”
Cal follows me up the stairs to the room we’ve been sharing. The curtains are drawn, and the TV is on, the volume low but not inaudible. My intention is to head straight for the bed and scoop her up in my arms, but I stop short when I see Jordan’s face. She’s behind the podium I’ve seen her stand at so many times before. The Presidential seal hovering above her head and a slew of reporters and cameras at her feet. She should look at home upthere, but she seems nervous. She has a white-knuckled grip on the edges of the stand that matches the pale skin of her face and shadows underneath her sunken eyes.
I glance at Cal, who’s closest to the nightstand where the remote is. “Turn it up.”
He ups the volume just a bit, so as not to wake Selene, and I inch closer to the TV to make sure I’m hearing everything. The press corps is relentless today, hounding her with question after question about Leland Marsh and the approval of Qatar’s military plans, and despite looking ready to go home and crawl into bed, Jordan fields each one with ease.
She doesn’t stumble until they start to ask about Selene.
“It’s been days since First Lady Taylor has been seen in public,” one reporter says. “Is she sick?”
“No, Mrs. Taylor is not sick. Next ques?—”
“Then has she gone into hiding, perhaps been placed on lockdown due to fear of Leland Marsh targeting her?”
Jordan’s eye twitches. “As I’ve stated before, we have no reason to believe Mr. Marsh is a threat to Mrs. Taylor, and we have every faith in the U.S. Marshall’s ability to capture him before he can harm anyone. Next question.” Hands fly up, and she points to someone on her left. “You.”
“It’s been reported several times that Mrs. Taylor has moved out of the White House and her marriage to President Taylor is once again on shaky ground. Can you speak to the validity of that?”
“There is no validity to those reports,” Jordan replies, forcing a brittle smile as she selects another reporter from the center, clearly hoping someone will throw her a bone and ask a question she won’t have to lie to answer. A spark illuminates her eye when she makes her next choice. “How can I help you, Mr. Landry?”
“Fucking Landry,” I mutter under my breath, remembering the one time I met the man speaking on the television in person.He’d crashed the last real date Aubrey had taken Selene on and been bribed by Jordan to kill a story about Sutton still working for the campaign after she was reportedly fired. I guess his reward is the occasional spot in the White House press corps.
“Is President Taylor looking forward to his golfing trip this weekend?” Landry asks, a smile evident in his voice even though I can’t see his face. He must be proud of himself for offering Jordan a reprieve in the midst of the frenzy.
Her appreciation is evident in the sinking of her shoulders. “Yes, he is ready for a much needed break. I hear the weather in Florida is going to be lovely as well.”
Unfortunately for Jordan and Landry, the reporter who asked about Selene going into hiding is starved, and she came here ready to make anything, including Landry’s marshmallow of a question, into a meal.
“Will the First Lady be joining President Taylor on his trip?”
