Shattered Lies (Web of Lies #3)(4)

“What happened?” Helena asked as George threw back his wine.

George handed the phone to him. When the host looked down, he saw a picture of a dead Fitz Houlihan with his arm around another dead man. Someone he guessed had some relation to Fitz. “Who’s the other guy?”

“A cleaner named Hugo. He disappeared when Jeff Sargent did,” Helena answered.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“Christine found them at our front door when she was going to spin class. There was a note. She read it to me, and I told her to burn it. She did so while we were on the phone,” George said, his breathing slightly heavy with anxiety. “The puppet strings have been cut. Mollia Domini is next.”

The host sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His rage was boiling. “Ah!” he yelled, shoving back his chair, reaching behind his back and pulling his gun. In seconds, George and Helena lay on the ground, their blood turning the sand brown. The remaining two at the table sat silently, staring down at the dead bodies.

“Their usefulness has run out. And because of them, we have to push phase three up. It’s forcing me to do things I hadn’t wanted to do. I’ve received word from a White House contact. I’m taking care of it since it appears I can’t depend on any of you.”

Sandra looked down at her plate. She didn’t know he had someone else in the White House. It had been na?ve to think she’d be the only one trusted with guiding the president from within.

“May I offer some assistance?” the person across the table from Sandra asked.

He turned to the other side of the table, letting Sandra shake in fear. “Yes, have your men in DC at the ready. I’ll give you the orders in an hour. And we must get the bombs ready. Check in with your contacts and report back tomorrow with where we stand in terms of phase three readiness.” He stood up and dragged the bodies one at a time over to the water’s edge as Sandra and his other partner hurried inside. He kicked off his shoes, shed his clothes, and pulled the bodies into the sea. He pushed them past the waves, his anger cooling as his body thrummed under the exercise. With one big push, he shoved the bodies toward the open water and began his swim back to the beach. He should have known he couldn’t depend on anyone but himself.





3





Birch looked out the window of the West Sitting Hall as he waited for Tate to finish getting ready for their first official date. They’d slept in as long as they could that morning—all the way until five o’clock. Since then, it had been nonstop. Humphrey had had way too much coffee and spent the day running from office to office handing out reports, handling media, and working with Tate on presenting the correct story to the public. The story was of George Stanworth using the media as his own way to push his agenda with no concern or respect for the actual truth. What was interesting was that George and his daughter, Helena, were nowhere to be found to answer for the shitstorm now coming down on his company.

Jason had arrived back home and reported the packages had been delivered successfully and offered his help at any time. Maybe that was why George had disappeared? The numbness in Jason’s voice had reminded Birch of the pain of losing his own wife. That pain never went away. But as he turned to look at Tate walking down the hall toward him, he knew there was enough love in him for them both. He hoped that someday Jason would remember he was still alive. The pain was undoubtedly excruciating. So for now, Jason was doing what he needed to survive the tremendous loss.

“You’re stunning,” Birch told her as she did a little spin in the casual sundress. She looked relaxed even after the ups and downs of the past month.

“I feel great. I’m turning off my phone and going on a date with the man I love. Not only that, we don’t have to hide. The newest popular story running is our love story. The hate and vile filth that had been thrown at me before has now changed to the almost idyllic President and the Press Secretary story.” Tate laughed happily and Birch smiled at her pleasure.

“What’s funny?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking at her.

“The irony. Our relationship has been anything but idyllic. But if I get a couple hours to forget about the darkness we are embroiled in, that’s worth smiling.” Tate leaned up and placed her lips on his. Birch closed his eyes, getting lost in a kiss that was turning hotter by the second.

“We better head out for our date now, or we may forget we had plans and end up in bed,” Birch said, pulling away. He wasn’t entirely convinced that would be a bad thing.

“I’m starving!” Tate laughed as she swatted him on the bottom and hurried down the hall. Birch smiled and caught up to her, slipping his hand into hers as they headed down the red-carpeted stairs.

Birch met Abrams and Brock at the bottom of the stairs before they headed to the limo. “As per your request, we have trimmed the detail. We have two cars with us with agents in both. We have two agents at the restaurant now, securing the location and a table for you,” Brock informed him quietly as he opened the door to limo for them.

“Thank you, Brock,” Tate said, placing her hand quickly on his arm and giving it a squeeze.

Birch slid into the back seat next to Tate. They talked of their day. They talked of their worst first dates, and they laughed. For a moment Birch was simply a man nervous about making sure his date went well.