Don’t tell me you’re hungry.
She had been acting so shocky earlier, he was glad to hear a hint of dark humor in her voice. No, he said. But I would like to know if there is a very large cut of something, a roast perhaps, or a leg of lamb. Even a turkey would do. Whatever it is can’t be frozen. If we do have anything, I need it in the library too.
I’ll check then go talk to the president.
Thank you. He paused for the briefest of moments. Everything is going to be okay, you know. Even if we can’t make this okay, we’re going to be fine.
Her voice warmed. I know we will. I love you.
I love you too, he told her.
He realized he didn’t tell her that enough. She never complained or appeared to take hurt from it, but still, he made a note to tell her more often. He tried to show her how he felt, but she deserved the words too.
Stepping into the library, he poured himself a scotch, took a seat, crossed his legs and waited.
Shortly, one of the kitchen staff walked in briskly, carrying a tray that held a large, irregularly shaped item wrapped in butcher’s paper. Following Dragos’s orders, he set the tray on a round Chippendale table and left.
Within a few minutes, he heard Pia and Johnson chatting as they came near. They walked into the library, with Bayne and the president’s guard following behind.
“You two,” Dragos said to Bayne and the president’s man. “Wait outside.”
The Secret Security guard looked to the president, who gave him a nod. Only then did he move with Bayne to step outside the room.
Dragos added in Bayne’s head telepathically, Cordon off the area of hall where the body is. And nobody comes in this room without my say-so. Do you hear? I mean come hell or high water, nobody comes in here, and I expect things will get very unpleasant out there soon.
I hear you, said Bayne, as he backed out of the room, closing the double doors to the hall. Nobody’s coming in, not even this nice, dedicated soldier standing with me right now, although I hope to gods I don’t have to shoot him. I’ll have George stand guard with us.
George was part of Bayne’s security detail, a massive, easygoing man who was also a rare Wyr elephant. As strong and stubborn as a troll, if George stood guard at the doors with Bayne, nobody would get in unless Dragos said they could.
Very good, Dragos said. Leisurely he stood. “Thank you for coming, Ben. Can I pour you a drink?”
The president laughed. “You’ve been very generous with the alcohol this evening, Dragos. I think I’d better pass on any more until we have some dinner.”
“About that dinner,” said Dragos.
As he spoke, he moved to the liquor tray, refreshed his drink and poured a second scotch for the president. With a quick glance at Pia, he raised his eyebrows at her in inquiry. She looked tense again, and very pale. Dark patches of feverish red touched her cheeks. Twisting her fingers together, she shook her head.
Johnson laughed again, only this time he sounded uneasier. He looked back and forth at Dragos and Pia. “Don’t tell me there’s been another kitchen accident.”
“No, there hasn’t.” Dragos turned to face the president, holding both drinks. “I’m going to ask you for one thing—only one, but it’s going to be hard for you for a little while.”
“What’s that?” President Johnson’s intelligent expression had turned closed and wary.
Walking over to him, Dragos held out a scotch. “We need to have a frank, tough conversation, you and I. And whatever you may think, or however you may react while we’re having it, I need for you to hear me out.”
Chapter Nine