Senator DeMouy entered his office with a big smile on his face. He’d had his doubts when the president wanted to make Kincaid his Democratic point man for the amendment drive, and he hadn’t hesitated to express his misgivings, either. Oh, Kincaid seemed amiable enough, but he was a novice, had no power coalition, had no one who owed him favors, and seemed…a bit on the weak side. Not the charged particle you need to ram something like this through Congress quickly. Admittedly, the list of Democrats who might be persuaded to take the job was slim-but surely they could do better than Kincaid?
The president had assured him that he had given the matter careful consideration and dismissed DeMouy’s concerns with a blithe nonchalance that he found baffling at the time. Now he had a little more perspective on the matter. The president evidently knew something he did not-that Kincaid had a powerhouse chief of staff. She was a novice, too, but it didn’t matter. She was everything that Kincaid was not. Where he was merely smart, she was savvy. Where he was prudent, she was bold. Where he was gentle, she was pushy. And where he was…well, perhaps the kindest way to put it would be…undistinguished in appearance-she was a firecracker.
The reporter at the Post was naturally refusing to identify his source, but DeMouy had a few sources of his own, and all the evidence was pointing toward Kincaid’s little firecracker. The plan he had outlined over gumbo had worked-and then some. Good grief-in all the years he’d had to put up with legislative holds, why hadn’t anyone thought of this before? Of course he knew the answer. Even if the thought had occurred, no senator would do it or authorize their staff to do it. It would be considered an unpardonable breach of congressional ethics. But Christina McCall was not a senator, and DeMouy rather suspected she had not asked for permission before she acted. She saw a solution to the problem and she went for it. In this case, her newcomer status could aid her immeasurably. He could already hear her voice: Oh my goodness-you can’t do that? I had no idea…
Life was good, at least on the professional level, with the promise of great things to come. Back home…well, he preferred not to think about it. This dinner tonight had just confirmed for him what a farce his marriage had become. Did Belinda seriously think he didn’t know? Not that he really cared that much what she did, but his constituents would, and he was up for reelection soon. He couldn’t take risks of that magnitude.
As he entered his office he saw a stack of mail on his desk. That was unusual: Effie usually opened it all. But Jason had suggested he let her go home and he’d agreed. Well, it could probably wait A long, cream-colored envelope with blue lettering caught his eye.
PHOTOS, it said in block lettering across the front. There were no stamps.
Who would be sending him photographs? He couldn’t think of anything he was expecting, any recent photo shoots or campaign pics or Wait, what was he thinking? This could be from the Cajun Cooking Fest last month in New Orleans. He’d only taken second place with his gumbo-the gold was taken by a jambalaya that he thought was markedly undistinguished-but that was just as well. It was probably best for publicity purposes if he appeared competent and versatile, and female constituents would love the fact that he could cook, but if he actually won, that might create resentment. Perhaps even the suggestion of a fix. No, second place was best, and if they got a pic of him in a messy apron tasting the gumbo, that would be great for a campaign ad to run in a daytime TV spot. Maybe during Oprah.
Still, it would be smarter to wait for Effie to come in. She knew about the rubber gloves and all the other stuff you were supposed to do these days when you opened the mail. It seemed stupid, but it wouldn’t hurt him to wait just a His cell phone rang. Those things were such damned annoyances.
He glanced at the cover and saw that it was his wife, Belinda, calling. That was unusual. “Belinda?”
A female voice crackled on the other end of the line. “Thanks for dinner, lover boy.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“I’ve been hoping we could become…closer. I’d like to think this is perhaps the beginning of a new era for us.”
“You would? Well, maybe it could be.”
“I sent you a gift. In an envelope. On Effie’s desk.” She was breathing heavily, practically purring into the receiver. “Photos.”
“Oh, that was you.”
“They’re photos of me.”
“Of you? Doing what?”
She giggled, the naughtiest laugh he ever recalled hearing in his life. “See for yourself. I think you’ll like them.”
“Give me a hint.”
She laughed again, a deep, lusty laugh. “Let’s just say that once you see those photos, I think you’ll be able to throw away those little blue pills that don’t seem to work well anyway. But this will. Ciao, baby.”
DeMouy suddenly realized he was breathing deep and fast. My God, maybe she’s right.
He couldn’t restrain himself. He picked up the envelope, slid his finger under the flap, and ripped it open.
A cloud of white powder rose into the air and swirled around his face. Senator DeMouy immediately knew he had made a horrible mistake.
He dropped the envelope as if it were on fire, but it was too late. He ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face and into his nostrils. He snorted it in and down his throat. What had Jimmy Claire told him to do during the security briefing? He could hardly remember. Oh, yes-don’t open the mail. Not much help now. Or if you do, use protection. He had to get to the infirmary. Maybe there was an antidote or some kind of treatment.
He whirled around much too quickly. All at once he realized that he was dizzy, that the bathroom was swirling up and down like a roller coaster, which was really inconvenient because he was having a hard enough time concentrating without having the room gyrate.
His eyes began to bleed.
He tried to brace himself against the white porcelain sink, but his hand slipped and he went tumbling downward.
His chin bashed into the hard rim of the sink, jarring him into near insensibility. His mouth began to bleed. He felt chilled; then all his muscles started to spasm uncontrollably.
The poison had taken its hold. He couldn’t move. There was no one else in the office. And he knew ricin killed very quickly. There was no hope…
Wait! He heard footsteps out in the corridor. He knew those footsteps. Spike heels moving with determination and alacrity. That was his Belinda.
Through blurred vision, he saw his wife’s face appear in the haze above him. “Belinda,” he said, barely whispering. “Is it you?”
“Oh yeah. It’s me all right.”
“Help…me.”
“I’ll be happy to help.” He didn’t see her leg move, but a moment later he felt the impact of the toe of her pump driving itself between his legs. “Help you into oblivion.”
The pain was excruciating. Unconsciousness was creeping upon him. He couldn’t stop shaking. But he knew if he closed his eyes now, he would never open them again.
“But-how-?”
“That’s easy to explain.” Another face appeared in the haze above him. It was Jason! Jason Simic, his chief of staff. “She did it with my help.” His voice descended into a snarl. “You didn’t appreciate what you had, you ancient asshole. So now you’re going to lose her. And everything else. Putz.”
Belinda started to kick him again, but Simic stopped her. “Cool it, sweetheart. Fun as it might be-we don’t want to leave a mark. This has to look like an anonymous, long-distance ricin poisoning.”
A wave of darkness crested before his eyes, and hard as he tried to fight it, his eyes fluttered closed, just as he had predicted, never to open again.
“Is he dead?” Belinda asked.
Jason used the time-honored two-fingers-against-the-carotid for confirmation. “Very.”
“Shouldn’t we leave?”
“For now. You can discover the body, but not till I’m long gone. Give it at least half an hour. It will seem more credible if you don’t find him immediately.”
“We did it,” she whispered, staring down at the motionless body of her husband. “We really did it.”
“You had doubts?”
“I don’t know. Somehow, it didn’t seem real-until now. Watching him die. That was…”
“Disturbing? Traumatic?”
She placed her hands behind his neck and curled herself up against him. “Hot.”
He jabbed his hand between her legs. “Oh yeah?”
“Ohhhhh yeahhhhh.”
“Enjoy it, Danger Girl. This is one experience you won’t be having again any time soon.”
“God, I want you. I want you inside me.”
“That can be arranged. Just stay clear of the poison.” Less than a minute later, their clothes were in a heap on the floor and Jason was on top of her, caressing her breasts and licking the side of her face.
“Oh my God, Jason. Oh my God. I’m going to come.”
“Wait for me, darling.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I-” She looked to the side and saw her husband’s dead face, his eyes open and staring at her lifelessly, uncomprehendingly.
“I had fantasies about you being forced to watch,” she said breathlessly, as if her husband could actually hear. “I only hope that you’re somewhere in hell now, seeing the show.”
“I’m ready,” Jason whispered, pounding furiously.
“Oh, God, Jason. Oh yes. Oh, Godddddd…”
In the aftermath, an intern at the other end of the corridor would remember hearing her scream and the police would assume it was triggered by the shock of discovering her husband’s dead body. Only the two of them would know it was a scream of ecstasy, as Belinda DeMouy experienced the most powerful, most intense, and most satisfying orgasm of her entire life.