The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,14

the check with the other, and she picks up her little black leather purse and he’s smiling like some teen boy finally getting his driver’s license. In his sweet, low voice, he says, “You … you’re a green-eyed djinni, you are. The way you make me do what you want.”

Marsha waits for him to come around the small table, then stands up and crooks her arm. He slides his arm into hers, and they walk out of the bar, into the grand and posh lobby of the Hay-Adams Hotel, which is made of columns, high ceilings, polished wood, and quietly efficient staff.

Three bulky men in ill-fitting suits are sitting in comfortable chairs, eyeing the two of them as they walk by, and Marsha just keeps the smile on her face. The elevator is quick, silent, and in the few seconds they are in there, she turns her head and buries her face into his neck, gently nibbling and licking. He tastes of vanilla. She continues to taste him, ensuring her face isn’t seen on the elevator’s surveillance cameras.

Down the hallway and poor Carl’s hand is practically trembling as he tries to use the keycard once, twice, and then on the third attempt, he gets the door open. Marsha sees the front of his trousers is bulging out.

Inside, he waves her in, and again she takes just the slightest breath at the expense and expanse of the suite that Carl has been living in these past two weeks. There’s old-style furniture, a sitting area, a gorgeous and well-designed bedroom, and windows actually overlooking the White House.

She turns and kisses him ravenously, holding him tight, rubbing a black-stocking-covered thigh against his crotch, and he moans with lust and anticipation, and she breaks away, breathing heavily. “Carl … just a moment … all right?”

“Yes … my djinni … anything you want.”

Marsha goes across the room, thinking that even a one-night stay in the smallest room in this hotel costs more than a month’s pay when she was in the Corps, and she draws the curtains closed so the White House is no longer visible, in the process hiding the room’s interior from any Secret Service spotters on the White House’s roof. She opens up her small purse, fumbles inside for something, and then walks back to Carl, smiling widely, reaching back to unzip her dress.

Carl is way ahead of her, his coat and tie off, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a dark and hairy chest, and he’s working at his belt with his shaking hands as Marsha comes forward and kisses him, gives him one last hug, and then kills him.

CHAPTER 13

THE PRESIDENT OF the United States sits in silence with his chief of staff for a minute after the very angry and very determined head of his Presidential Protective Division has left the Oval Office. He gets up from the couch and walks over to his wooden desk, Resolute, a gift to the nation from Queen Victoria. Harrison sits down behind the small and ornate desk, the same one used by JFK and Bill Clinton, reflecting that they too had women problems—just like him, just like now.

The Oval Office … how many times has he spoken to the nation from this room? How many times has he had his photo taken with visitors and dignitaries in this historic place? How many meetings held here with cabinet members or news reporters?

Now, he has just concluded a meeting about secretly looking for his missing wife on the same day his relationship with Tammy Doyle was brutally made public. Twenty-four hours earlier he would never have thought that was possible.

Parker comes over, sits next to his desk in a handsome striped cushioned chair. Harrison turns to him and says, “Do you think she’ll do it? We’re asking a lot from her.”

Parker smiles. “You know what they say, once you have ’em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.”

For the first time since he left Atlanta, Harrison manages a laugh. “She’s a woman, you fool.”

His chief of staff smiles back at him from the chair. “Like you’re an expert on women. Look, she’ll do her job. You went after her based on her career. That didn’t make her budge. But I went after her personally, with her and her daughter. That was the trick.”

Harrison looks at his phone, knows at some point today he will have to reach out to Tammy Doyle. Along with the growing fear of what’s happened to Grace, there’s the