Instead, he pocketed his phone, amusement still evident in the handsome smile lines around his dark eyes, and moved to stretch his injured hand. The throbbing had started to dissipate, though he only just now noticed. Rapid healing was a part of the metahuman package he’d enjoyed over the years.
His smile continued as his thoughts shifted to that morning’s meeting with Presidential candidate Joe Hawthorne. Joe had the nerve to start the conference with a superior attitude, but it didn’t take long to wipe the smugness off his pasty face once he heard the terms of Arkdone’s proposition.
“You’re bluffing.” Joe’s mouth hung agape.
“I have no reason to bluff, Joe. I’m your Vice-Presidential Candidate or you lose. Checkmate.” He leaned back in the stiff leather chair opposite Joe who sat at his desk—an Oval Office replica—and draped his forearms on the captain’s armrests. Joe’s eyes bored holes in Arkdone’s forehead as he searched for any way out of the trap.
Absently Donovan crossed his legs and nodded expectantly.
“I’ll need my guys to crunch some numbers, of course,” he finally shrugged noncommittally—trying to save face.
“Do it now. You have twenty minutes or my offer is revoked.” Arkdone savored his turn to smile smugly.
Joe reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his phone. “Get me Hockiday.” There was a pause long enough for Joe to glance up at Donovan’s unreadable face. “I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing. Get him to my office immediately!”
He disconnected the call with a tremor-filled finger.
Exactly nineteen minutes later, after campaign managers Hockiday and Roth had put their calculators side-by-side, Hawthorne conceded to Arkdone’s terms. The announcement would be made to the press that very afternoon.
For now, the Senator was resting in one of the guest suites at the priciest hotel in town. Just as his mind wandered back to Meg, his cell phone chirped indicating an incoming call.
He checked the caller ID and raised a brow when a familiar area code flashed across the screen.
“Hello, Dr. Williams,” he grinned into the phone.
“Senator,” Williams responded as neutrally as possible.
“It’s been ages. How have you been?”
“Neither of us wants to exchange pleasantries,” Williams’ wet cough smacked in Arkdone’s ear.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“A truce.”
“Why?”
“The Winter Clan.”
“What about them?”
“They are reassembling. I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.” Arkdone’s tone took on an angry edge at the mention of Meg—and all the power she possessed—escaping him the night before.
“We combine our forces and end them, once and for all.”
Arkdone smiled, but kept his voice nonchalant. “Why do you need me? You have your soldiers. Just take care of them yourself.”
“We’ve both underestimated this family time and again. I need your forces to join mine to not just tip the scales in our favor, but smash them into dust!” Williams’ breathing came in ragged, angry bursts. “I want the entire family slaughtered together,” he gritted his teeth. “Their deaths are long overdue.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“Exactly.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I understand you’re about to make an announcement to the world concerning your alignment with presidential candidate Joe Hawthorne. Surely a man in your position wouldn’t want to risk nasty rumors of what really goes on in your asylum.” Williams’ leathery lips cracked open and bled as he smiled into the silence on the other end of the line. “They know too much, Arkdone.”
“Agreed.” Deep in thought, Arkdone leaned back in his chair.
“Have we a deal? Your forces and mine working in accord, just this once, toward a mutually beneficial end?” Williams pressed.
Silence was the first response he got. “How do I know you don’t have a double-cross in mind?” Arkdone finally asked.
“You could just as easily plot something against me, Senator.”
“True.”
“So, let me be clear,” Williams’ icy calm was crisp in his voice. “Neither of us trusts the other—that isn’t going to change. What I propose is a temporary truce in this endeavor; a final collaboration toward a mutual goal. Afterward we go our separate ways and our paths never need crossing again.”
“Obviously, I have other interests these days. I suppose I could help you tie up this loose end.” He stood, absently wandered to the minibar and poured himself a drink. The adrenaline rush at the prospect of acquiring revenge against the Winter Clan made his mind race. “I am already assembling my metamonarchs—thirty-five of them.”
“And my 17th Company is already en route, scheduled to arrive within the hour.”
“Good. Ideally, we can get our teams there before the family arrives.”
“Ideally, yes.”
“Question.” Williams had been trying to figure out the best way to breech this topic, but decided in the end just to blurt it out and see what happened. “Where exactly is my daughter?”
“Your daughter—yes, she is difficult, isn’t she?”