Part 15 (2/2)

”I remember signing off for it, but it was in the budget,” Phoebe argued, leaning forward for the file. Timothy handed it over and then sat back into the cus.h.i.+oned seat. ”How would this have overextended us? I double checked the amount.”

”You wrote the same check a month ago.” Timothy reached into his pocket and removed a white handkerchief. He then proceeded to clean his gla.s.ses while speaking. ”Nancy made a mistake on the estimates and didn't think twice when she had you cut the second check. It wasn't until I finally had time to review our files yesterday that I realized what had happened.”

Phoebe understood what he was saying and felt her stomach sink at a mistake that had ultimately been hers. She looked at the check written out last month and then looked at the one she'd signed approximately ten days ago. She hadn't caught the duplicate because she'd been too preoccupied.

”I should have realized that I'd written the additional check,” Phoebe admitted, tucking the strands back that had fallen across her cheek as she reviewed the papers. It was pointless to give excuses for such a careless error. It wouldn't change the outcome. Looking up, she saw anger written across Timothy's features. Something had to change and she was the one that needed to fix this. ”I take full responsibility. Walk me through how this affects us for the next two months. I've already decided to come back full time after the primaries, regardless if my father is on the ballot or not.”

Timothy's shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the next hour he and Phoebe discussed options and business plans that could be executed to extend what funding they had on hand. She'd even used her cell phone to patch in Crescent's accountant who lectured her on upgrading their compliance so this wouldn't happen again. They weren't even close to being done when another knock sounded at the door.

”Timothy, here,” Phoebe said, handing over her cell so that she could deal with her next meeting. ”Keep talking while I take care of something. I won't be more than five minutes.”

Phoebe had already decided that her meeting with Stewart would be brief. She would hand him the new cold call list, along with instructions that he speak with Paul. She needed to start handing these responsibilities over to Paul anyway if she was going to step back after the primaries. Steve was already greeting her next guest and she knew he would keep Stewart at the door until she was ready. She headed into the bedroom, seeing her suitcase that she'd repacked for her and Lach's trip to California, and hoped that this next hour pa.s.sed by fast. She dug into her working files and pulled out Hannah's letter of recommendation, which Phoebe had already inserted into an envelope. Stewart could give it to Hannah the next time he saw her.

Phoebe had come out of the bedroom and walked halfway across the living room when she finally looked up. To her surprise, Steve was standing in the foyer looking none too happy. Stewart was by his side and appeared a little chagrined, although for what reason she couldn't fathom. Kimmie and Austin were still at the kitchen counter, not bothering with the books in front of them and both sets of eyes glued to Stewart. Timothy was too busy on the phone to notice anything was amiss.

”Is everything all right?” Phoebe asked, directing the question to Steve.

”Mr. Barnes brought a guest with him that wasn't on your list. I wouldn't allow the young lady inside without speaking with you first.”

Phoebe finally understood and shot Stewart a look of irritation. Hannah? Why would Steve have brought Hannah knowing full well she would be perceived as a potential threat in the eyes of her personal security detail? Technically, all Phoebe needed to do was hand him the folder along with the letter and send him on his way, yet she didn't want Hannah to think she harbored any ill will toward her. Stewart had placed her in a difficult situation.

”Steve, it's all right. She can come in.”

”I can't allow that unless we do a pat down, Ms. Dunaway. Her father's in jail for communicating a threat against your father.” Steve's tone was hard, indicating his displeasure that even the remotest of threats had appeared at her doorstep. She couldn't blame him and nodded her consent. ”I'll be back in a moment.”

”Stewart, you should have known better,” Phoebe admonished softly. She came to stand next to him to see what was taking place near the entrance. Steve had closed the door behind him, but she figured he was looking through Hannah's purse and checking her person for any type of concealed weapon. ”I know that you and Hannah are close, but you can't just bring her to my apartment.”

”Hannah wanted to come with me,” Stewart replied, slipping his hands into his black trousers. He'd come a long way in being the spoiled son of a senator, yet if he wasn't careful, the choices he made would overshadow any future he might have in following in his father's footsteps. ”Her father used her for information. You have no idea how bad that hurt her and she just wants to thank you in person for writing her a recommendation. It means a lot to her.”

”We talked about this,” Phoebe argued, locking eyes with Stewart to show him the importance of her words. ”h.e.l.l, Stewart, I gave Hannah my opinion the day her father was arrested. The best thing she can do is stay out of the limelight until some small campaign comes along that she can use to start rebuilding her career, if that's the path that she wants to take. In all honesty, I'm not even sure it would work out then. Her career in any type of politics probably ended the day her dad pled guilty.”

Phoebe separated the folder from the letter she'd crafted and handed the file to Stewart. The door opened slowly and she got an uneasy feeling until she saw Steve standing there, Hannah by his side. Jim and Kimmie's s.h.i.+ft agent were behind them, with Jim reaching for the handle as Steve and Hannah stepped across the threshold, shutting them inside. The innocent young girl looked at Stewart as she walked closer, most likely to see how much trouble she'd gotten him into.

”Ms. Dunaway, please don't be mad at Stewart. I knew he was coming by to pick up my recommendation letter and I wanted to come personally thank you for doing this for me.” Hannah clutched her purse in front of her, showing her anxiety. ”It's important that you know how much it means to me that you have faith in me.”

A second hadn't gone by when a low thud sounded throughout the apartment and Steve fell to the floor. Kimmie's yelp seemed m.u.f.fled to Phoebe's ears as she tried to figure out what just happened. Stewart starting spouting curses before backing up from the blood that was pooling beneath Steve's collapsed body. Hannah seemed to follow Stewart's path, still clutching her purse. There was nothing in her hands to indicate she'd done something to Steve, although everyone was looking around, trying to figure out what had happened.

”What the f.u.c.k?” Timothy said from behind where Phoebe was still attempting to come out of the shock that had been given to her system.

”Steve?” Phoebe dropped the envelope that was still in her hand, taking a step toward the agent. He wasn't moving and there was so much blood, her mind was having trouble deciphering what to do. ”We need to-”

”Phoebe, don't,” Stewart ordered, his words shaking as he lifted a trembling arm and pointed a finger.

Phoebe's gaze followed his aim and she saw Austin move out from behind the small wall that separated the foyer from the kitchen. In his hand was a gun with what looked like a smoking silencer attached to it, just like in all of the movies she'd seen. A cruel smile was on his face, but his eyes were locked onto Hannah. The girl's mirthful laughter resounded through the apartment, but unfortunately, it wasn't loud enough to penetrate through the front door.

”You're late, honey,” Austin announced to Hannah, although pointing the weapon at Phoebe. She took a step back and b.u.mped into Timothy and Kimmie. ”I wasn't sure they were going to let you in.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Lach punched the elevator b.u.t.ton and waited impatiently for the doors to open. He'd texted Phoebe twice and phoned her once, but his call went directly to voicemail. He knew that she was in meetings, but it was rare that she didn't reply back. He'd swung by his apartment, packed what he'd need over the weekend, and then ran his Land Cruiser through the wash. There had still been remnants of salt and sand on the undercarriage of his vehicle and he couldn't stand the thought of it remaining there to rust the metal while his SUV sat in long-term parking. He looked up at the horizontal line of numbers, trying to see what the holdup was.

”McKinnon,” Thornton said in greeting as he came to stand beside Lach. Whereas Lach was comfortable in a pair of denims, the agent was wearing a crisp suit without a strand of hair out of place on top of his head. He was going to be as uncomfortable as h.e.l.l on the plane. ”We are still on schedule to depart at sixteen hundred. We'll follow behind and then once we hit the airport, we'll make our way through the security checkpoint before we have to endure the TSA two-step to carry on our weapon aboard the aircraft. The air marshal has to be notified and TSA always takes their sweet time with all of the paperwork.”

”I'm familiar with that particular dance step,” Lach replied as the elevator doors finally swung open. He waited for a couple to disembark and then took their place, hitting Phoebe's floor number. ”Is Jim going as well?”

”Yes, as well as an agent named Dennis. I'll introduce you when we get to the airport,” Thornton responded, coming to stand beside Lach. ”Too many variables.”

”We wouldn't want you to be bored.”

The rest of the ascent to their destination was ridden in silence. Lach had phoned his parents on the drive over to this side of town, giving them details of their flight. The Secret Service would have several rental cars, but Lach's parents were old-fas.h.i.+oned. He wasn't about to start the trip with a perception of Phoebe based on the agents surrounding her.

The elevator doors swung open and Lach exited first. Jim was standing outside of Phoebe's apartment, along with one of Kimmie's s.h.i.+ft agents. Her next detail should be arriving shortly as well. Once Jim caught sight of them, he turned and knocked on the door. By the time Lach and Thornton had reached him, neither Phoebe nor her primary had answered.

”They probably didn't hear me,” Jim said, knocking again. ”Ms. Dunaway has been busy today.”

Lach could have stood here and gone into detail by stating that was the reason he was taking Phoebe away for the weekend, but he shrugged his shoulders instead. It wasn't this man's business why they were taking a few days away. Thornton had reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was no doubt their itinerary.

”Phoebe?” Lach called out, rapping his knuckles on the door as well. It was so like her to have trouble disengaging from a conversation, but Steve should have answered by now. The uneasy feeling from earlier started to once again descend. ”Steve?”

”Um, Lach?” Phoebe called from behind the door. Lach instantly knew something was wrong and his hand went immediately to where his weapon would have been if he hadn't been on his way to the airport. He leaned forward to catch what she saying. Her voice was m.u.f.fled and tentative. ”We have a problem. S-Stewart has a gun and he's a-already shot Steve. Stewart would like to speak w-with his father before this g-goes any further.”

”Both Heart and Songbird are compromised. I repeat, Heart and Songbird are compromised.” Jim had spoken into the standard issued wrist mic as Thornton took a few steps away to place a phone call. ”Heart's primary is down. Both protectees plus additional hostages are captive by at least one armed a.s.sailant.”

Lach couldn't prevent his hand from touching the door, a ball of fury forming inside of his chest. He stared at the hard surface as if there were a way inside that would give him access without making the situation worse. Phoebe was contained inside four main walls with a lunatic boy whose response to life was still based on hormones. If he'd already shot a federal agent, he had nothing left to lose whereas Lach now had everything to lose. His prior training kicked back in and he did his best to push aside his fear and rage, his words. .h.i.tting the wood as if they were bullets.

”Phoebe, you do exactly as Stewart tells you. Is there anyone else hurt?”

”Sir, I know that you want to help,” Jim said in a low voice, placing a hand on Lach's arm, ”but you're still a civilian. I need you to step back.”

Lach's jaw tightened to the point of pain and he had to make a fist with his hand against the door so as not to take a swing at the agent. He was just stating the truth and doing his job. That didn't mean Lach had to like it or that he wouldn't take precautionary measures. He needed Crest and his team members by his side. Maybe there was a way that Crest could get Lach on the inside where he needed to be.

”Lach? No one else i-is hurt.” There was a long and too lengthy pause before Phoebe spoke again. ”You have fifteen minutes to get Stewart's father here.”

”Let Lach reply,” Thornton whispered, leaning in and pulling Jim away. ”He can keep Ms. Dunaway calm until a negotiator arrives, as well as the Emergency Response Team. ETA is fifteen minutes on the ERT and the whole world right behind them.”

”We need at least an hour, Phoebe,” Lach replied, giving the standard answer when presented with a time constraint. A negotiator always added more minutes in order to give his team time to get into position. Unfortunately, Lach already knew what was on the other side of Phoebe's apartment. A window that overlooked the city, yet there were no buildings close enough for SWAT to set up an over-watch position. They would put a few snipers into place, but Lach guaranteed that Stewart had already closed the blinds. ”Please tell Stewart we'll do everything in our power to get his father here as quickly as possible, but he has to be patient.”

”Thirty minutes,” Phoebe replied from a distance, letting Lach know that she'd moved away from the foyer-more like made to move. ”You have thirty minutes.”

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