Fires of Autumn (26 page)

Mr. Meade
lifted his eyebrows as he sat across from Colt in a matching leather armchair.

“I knew
you could not come to me and I didn’t want to have this conversation on a
traceable line,” he said, his jovial mood fading. “This heroic injury could not
have come at a better time. We must use it to our advantage.”

“What do
you mean?”

“Now that
you have the President’s trust, perhaps it will be easier to get closer to
him.”

Colt knew
what he meant.  He exhaled slowly and sat back against the couch.

“I’ve
spent the better part of the past three weeks doing as much research as I can
on the President and his financial dealings,” he said softly. “My I.T. forensic
contact has managed to crack the president’s bank accounts for the past several
years, at least as long as banking records have been made available online. He
was able to trace deposits through an archived banking server that actually had
stored microfische.
From 1987 through 1999, we've been able to trace over $900,000
in payments to
Swissbanc,
but not the source of the payments.   They’re
simply listed as deposits.
What I’d really like to do is get a hold of
the President’s printed bank statements from that time. They might tell us
more.”

Meade
listened seriously. “So what are you going to do?”

Colt
looked thoughtful. “I need to find out if the President keeps records that far
back,” he said. “Somehow, someway, I need to found out what kind of financial
files the man keeps.”

“What
about Ms. Cleburne?” Meade wanted to know. “As his personal assistant, she
should have access to those things or at least know something about them.”

Colt
nodded, fighting off the extreme protectiveness he felt every time Mr. Meade
brought Casey into the conversation.

“I’m sure
she does,” he replied, “but that conversation will have to take place at the
appropriate time. I’m not going to bring it up or just throw it out there. 
Timing is everything.”

Mr.
Meade’s old, dark eyes held his gaze appraisingly. “Has she been of any help to
you?”

Colt shook
his head. “Not as much as I’d hoped,” he said. “She’s only been his assistant
for six months and, unfortunately, doesn’t have a deep history with him. But I
don’t think it’s a dead-end. I’m working on it.”

Mr. Meade
gazed at him a moment longer, hard eyes growing harder, until finally looking
away and standing up.  If he didn’t believe Colt, he didn’t say so, but Colt
knew the suspicion was there.
He’s protecting her,
he thought.

“See that
you do,” Mr. Meade said as he moved for the door. “We will have another
conversation like this soon and I will expect progress.”

“I’ll do
my best.”

When the
door closed behind Mr. Meade and his bodyguard, Colt jus sat there and closed
his eyes, his jaw ticking, feeling increasingly sickened by his meetings with
Meade.  It was increasingly difficult for him to perform, to do what he was
tasked with.  He didn’t want to betray Casey and he didn’t want to lose her,
not now when she was the center of his world.

He was a
man deeply torn.

***

“Good
morning, Special Agent Sheridan,” Chris Eckart seemed unusually social. “You
don’t look like a man who got shot last week. Welcome back.”

Casey
glanced up casually from her desk as Colt entered her office, trying to stay as
neutral as possible, but her heart leapt at the sight of him.  He looked
healthy, handsome and whole in his sharp dark suit. Colt glanced at Chris but
his focus was drawn to Casey.

“Thanks,”
he said, his eyes on Casey. “Hi, Casey.”

She
couldn’t help but smile at him. “Welcome back.”

“Thank
you. It’s good to be back.”

“How are
you feeling?”

“Fine,” he
said. “Still a little sore, but fine.”

“Good to
hear. We were worried about you.”

It was
such a show the two of them put on, like they were just seeing each other for
the first time in ages when the truth was that they had only seen each other
minutes before.  As had been their routine almost since they had met, Colt came
by her house early in the morning to take her to work, waiting a nominal amount
of time for her to enter the west wing before making his approach. 

Colt had
been released from the hospital the day after the shooting.  He’d gone home for
a few days to recuperate and Casey had spent her time between Colt and Brody,
nursing the walking wounded as best she could.  Colt thought it would be easier
on her if he just went to her house, but Casey wasn’t sure how her boys would
feel about a big stranger recuperating from a bullet wound in her bed.  More
than that, Hunter hadn’t even met the man yet. So he stayed at his house and
saw her at lunch time and in the evening when she got off of work.  She would
bring him dinner, sit with him for a little while, and then head home to tend
to her children. It was a crazy pace but he found himself looking to those few
brief moments with her as the highlight of his day.

Four days
after the shooting, Colt refused to stay down any longer.  His neck was sore,
as was his right shoulder, and his right thigh was sore, but it certainly
wasn’t anything that would keep him out of action.

After his
run-in with Mr. Meade, he felt a strong need to get back to work so he spent
the subsequent weekend at the White House, working with his boss and the secret
service analysts to determine what had gone wrong with the security net and why
events happened as they did. The assassination attempt against Russ Talbot was
the lead off story of every news channel all over the world, still, and the
American public was still freaked out about it.

Colt had
been commended from the start for his quick and selfless actions, and there
were rumors that he was going to be awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor for
his heroic actions.  He was becoming the poster boy for the dedication and
bravery of the Secret Service and over the weekend, one of the media outlets
had gotten a hold of his photograph, which was now being splashed around by the
news people.  The public wanted to learn more about the handsome and courageous
Special Agent in Charge, Colt Sheridan.  His name, and family history, was now
media fodder.  Everybody was coming to know the great-great-great grandson of
the great Civil War general Phillip Sheridan.

But it was
something that Colt was very uncomfortable with.  He had the only adoring
public he needed in Casey, and for the past three nights, he had come to her
house well after the boys had gone to sleep and then left before they got up.  
He wasn’t getting a whole lot of sleep but he was having the time of his life. 
He would drive over around midnight and slip in, making love until the early
hours and then get a few hours of sleep before slipping out before dawn. 

Yesterday,
Riley had been awake very early and had bumped in to him as he had come
downstairs.  All she did was grin and shake her head, and he grinned sheepishly
as he slipped past her.  Casey had got an earful from her sister later on.

Colt went
to his desk and booted up his computer, removing his suit jacket gingerly
because the movement hurt his neck, and laying it over the back of his guest
chair.  He sat down at his desk and prepared to go through the dozens of emails
he had stacked up and waiting for him. Casey had taken his smart phone away
while he had been recuperating and had refused to let him do any work. He had
to negotiate to get it back.  The result was that he had over a week’s worth of
emails waiting for him and he began to plug through them.

The
morning was normal enough. Casey was going over speaking engagement
arrangements for the President in Hawai’i that were a couple of months off,
listening to Chris argue on the phone with someone about something she wasn’t
even paying attention to.  She was paying more attention to Colt in the next
office, listening to him type.  They never sent emails to each other for fear
of being hacked or being discovered by the I.T. department and they only texted
very rarely for the same reasons.  Even though he was sitting in the next room,
she missed talking to him. It was increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Toward
mid-morning, Casey’s intercom buzzed and Lisanne was on the other end.  An
envelope had been delivered for the President from the Pentagon, so Casey stood
up from her chair and stretched her stiff muscles.  She was dressed in a
beautiful sheath dress in a chocolate brown with nude pumps that made her legs
look great.  Colt had picked the dress out for her that morning because he
liked the color and when she stood up from her desk, he caught a glimpse of her
in the sexy dress that was both professional and alluring.  She wore it like a
goddess.

“Would you
like some coffee, Special Agent Sheridan?” she paused by his office door.  “I’m
going down to the mess.”

Colt
glanced up from his computer screen. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

She shook
her head. “Of course not,” she said. “We have to take care of the man who saved
the President.”

They
grinned at each other before she turned away, her smile vanishing as she looked
at Chris.

“Do you
want any coffee?” she demanded.

Chris
looked at her fearfully. “No,” he said. “You’ll just spit in it, anyway.”

Casey
couldn’t help but laugh at him as she left the office and made her way down the
corridor towards the lobby area.  As soon as she hit the lobby, Maggie was
there standing next to Lisanne’s desk.  Casey walked up on the pair, smiling.

“Hey,
hey,” she said softly. “What’s new, ladies?”

Lisanne
handed Casey the envelope. “Wow, Case,” she said, looking the woman up and down
in the empire-waist brown dress. “You look great. Why are you so happy this
morning?”

Casey
shrugged, looking at the special delivery envelope. “Life’s good,” she said
simply. “How was your weekend?”

“Good,”
she said. “How was yours?”

“Wonderful.”

“How’s
Brody?”

“Better.
He’s already crying for a new skateboard.”

Lisanne
nodded. She seemed to be glancing at Maggie a lot, so much so that Casey looked
at the woman as well.  Stout, matronly Maggie was looking at Lisanne, the desk,
the wall, or anything else she could manage to behold. Anything other than
Casey.  Casey’s brow furrowed as she looked at the older woman.

“What’s
the matter, Mags?” she asked.

Maggie was
still looking at away. “Nothing.”

Casey
sensed something was up. She leaned against Lisanne’s desk. “Uh… I don’t think
so,” she said quietly. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Maggie’s
dour face was stiff. “I guess we should be asking you that.”

“What do
you mean?”

Maggie
looked at her, then. “Nothing,” she said, turning her back on her. “I need to
go back to work.”

Casey
frowned and went after her. She caught the woman just as she was entering her
office area.

“Maggie,”
she grabbed her by the arm.  “What’s wrong? Why are you upset?”

Maggie was
so angry that she had a white ring around her tight lips.  She pulled her arm
from Casey’s grip. In spite of her anger, she started to talk.

“I thought
you were my friend,” she hissed. “I thought you were honest with me.”

Casey was
confused. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Maggie was
beginning to quiver. “You knew I…,” she faltered and started again. “Everybody
is talking about the fact that Colt Sheridan is married.”

Casey’s
eyebrows flew up. “Married?” she repeated. “What
are
you talking about?”

Maggie
took a step back from her, crossing her arms angrily. “Someone at the hospital
said he’s married,” she said. “His wife’s name is Casey.”

Casey felt
as if she’d been struck.  She took a step back from Maggie, startled, looking
at the woman with shock and some chagrin.  “Where in the hell did you hear that?”
she demanded.

Maggie was
more hurt than angry. “I heard some of the Secret Service guys talking this
morning in the lobby when I came in,” she said. “They were talking about
Sheridan’s heroism and about his wife who came to see him when he was shot. A
nurse said her name was Casey and people said they say
you
at the
hospital. Is it a coincidence?”

Casey just
looked at her, wondering how in the world she was going to get out of this
one.  People saw her arrive at the hospital and people saw Peter escort her
back to see Colt.  She was so upset at the time that she hadn’t really thought
about being discreet.  It should have occurred to her but it hadn’t. Now, what
she had feared was coming to past.  The rumors were starting.

“You know
I’m not married,” she finally said. “Next time, if you have a problem with me,
come talk to me like an adult and don’t act like a jilted teenager.  Maybe you
don’t think I’m honest, but you just lost some of my respect for giving in to
rumors and gossip.”