Something about that set an idea spinning in Tessa’s mind, but it flitted away before she could grab it.
“Wendy Monteith should have her choice of men.” Rodriguez tapped the computer. “Money isn’t everything. Ugly rich girls don’t necessarily get their pick of men, but beautiful rich girls do.”
For a fraction of a second, Tessa caught a glimpse of pain behind the deep brown eyes that until this moment had held nothing but flirtation. The pain disappeared, but the serious tone did not. “She may be here for something other than a night out with dad’s old frat brothers.”
Tessa would probably regret this later, but for now, she couldn’t stay silent. “Being pretty, rich, and single doesn’t set off the same alarm bells for me that it obviously does for you, Rodriguez. Probably because I’m thirty-five, unmarried, successful in my career, and no one has ever called me ugly.”
Rodriguez, to his credit, didn’t jump at that.
“Granted, I’m not an heiress or the daughter of a powerful man, but it’s possible that Wendy Monteith is perfectly happy in her career and never wanted to marry in the first place. There’s no rule that says pretty rich girls have to get married.”
Carver chimed in. “Imagine that, Rodriguez. Wendy Monteith might have character and a spine and know that if she’s going to fall in love, she wants to fall for a decent man who’s attracted to her mind more than to her body.”
Rodriguez rolled his eyes. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But you don’t understand this world the way I do. You’re right. Money isn’t an issue, and she wouldn’t have been compelled to bother with men she deemed not worth her time. But I’m telling you, in this world, there’s still a lot of pressure to marry well. And that goes for the men and the women. Something about this smells off. I’m going to do a little bit of digging.”
With that, he took the laptop and found a spot at a table. Tessa turned back to Carver. “Did he just make a valid point?”
Carver looked as befuddled as she felt. “I think he did.” Someone called to Carver. “Excuse me.”
Tessa half expected to have to dodge Rodriguez now that shewas alone, but he was bent over the laptop and, for once, paying her no attention whatsoever.
That was weirdly good. She wouldn’t be sad to see the back of Rodriguez when this visit was over, but Benjamin had said he was a good agent with good instincts. Having him keep an eye on Wendy Monteith wouldn’t hurt anything. And it might even help.
ZANE WAS FOCUSEDon the president, but part of that focus meant being aware of everyone in the room with him. He’d memorized the guest list over the past few days and knew which of tonight’s attendees were more likely to monopolize the president’s time than others.
The fact that three of those people were on his short list of suspects in Tessa’s abduction was a bonus.
He’d joined the president at the airport, and the trip to the Carmichael estate had been without incident. Not one drop of red rain.
Now they were inside, and Zane caught himself checking every set of cuff links he could get a look at. It was unlikely that any member of the Janus society, as he and Tessa had taken to calling the shadowy group that might or might not exist, was a threat to the president.
But any man who would drug a woman and take her to a sketchy motel—
Zane cut off that line of thought before he lost his mind in a haze of fury. Tonight he had no room for anything but cool rationality.
“Mr. President!” The booming voice belonged to a man who had spent a few years too long in a tanning bed. Yancy McCloud was being trailed after by his wife, Daisy, a woman who was youngerthan McCloud’s youngest son by three years. The profile they had on her indicated that while she appeared to be a gold digger on the surface, she was in fact a sharply intelligent woman who continued to manage an entire branch of McCloud’s retail empire.
And they had a prenup that would leave McCloud a pauper should he ever do the same thing to Daisy that he had done to his previous wife. Of the threeM’s, McCloud was number three on Zane’s “most likely to have drugged Tessa” list. He didn’t see the motive. But while he was the last one on the list when it came to Tessa, he was the first on Zane’s list of men who shouldn’t have easy access to the president. Something was very off about him. Zane couldn’t prove it. On paper, McCloud was clean. But there was an edge to the man that didn’t sit well.
The McClouds spoke to the president for five minutes before they merged into the crowd. Thirty minutes later, Wheeler Meadows and his wife, Laura, got their five minutes of face time. Laura Meadows was in her sixties, and her skin was flawless—if you didn’t consider it a flaw that neither her forehead nor her upper lip ever moved. Zane found it disconcerting to watch her speak.
“She should fire her plastic surgeon,” Ledbetter said as he watched them.
Zane didn’t disagree, but the Meadowses interacted in a way that gave Zane the sense that they were very much in sync. It was possible that Meadows had gotten drunk and done something stupid with Tessa, but the longer Zane watched the man, the less he found that scenario to be likely. Meadows was largely unknown. He generally kept a low profile, but since the president had come into office, he’d become a huge financial supporter.
The Meadowses moved on, and the evening progressed. The meal was eaten. The president mingled inside and outside andposed for pictures with everyone there. Zane caught a few glimpses of Tessa, but always from a distance.
Carmichael was a charming host and had an easy way with the president that was rare to see. If he wanted something specific from the president tonight, he had yet to show his cards. So far, all he’d done was ensure the president had an enjoyable evening, including taking it upon himself to gently extricate the president from guests who wanted to monopolize his time.
The evening had hit the point where the guests were still fully engaged, but everyone from the agents to the president himself were running out of steam. This was a rare opportunity for 98 percent of the attendees, and they were making the most of it.
But Zane had lost count of the number of dinners he’d been to, and he’d only been on the PID for seven months. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for career politicians.
Carmichael paused beside Zane. “Special Agent Thacker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have a bit of an unusual request.”
