Outcast
It might have been a perfect job for his father if Ben’s brother Nash hadn’t been the man in charge of planning and executing the covert activities authorized by the president. Ben’s eldest brother and his father often knocked heads when it came to how an operation should be conducted.
Ben had figured the president would get tired of referee-ing and get rid of one, or both, of them.
But his father gave consistently wise advice.
And Nash Benedict was the best at what he did, a sometime assassin who worked directly for the president with unsurpassed skill and daring.
So President Taylor kept them both. Listened to both. And made her own choices.
Abigail Hamilton had been studying to be a surgeon before she’d married Foster Benedict, and her prodigious charitable activities were directed toward medical causes. So Ben wasn’t surprised when she said, “Would you please ask Andrea if she would mind meeting with the nurses who work in the Pediatric Oncology Clinic at Georgetown University Hospital before she takes her tour of the children’s cancer ward next week? The administrator says the nurses deserve an attagirl. I don’t think Andrea will mind, but I need to make sure before we say anything to the nurses.”
“Why don’t you call her yourself?” his father said.
His mother wrinkled her nose. “There’s a new, overly protective executive administrative assistant to the chief of staff. The impertinent female makes it impossible for old friends to talk to the president without telling her exactly what they want first.”
And his mother had no intention of doing that, Ben thought with amusement. She intended to put the administrative assistant in her place by using her contacts to go around the woman.
“No problem,” his father said. “I’ll give you a call after I talk with Andrea on Monday.”
Ben saw the trap into which his mother had fallen before she did herself. She’d avoided the administrative assistant, all right, but she’d obliged herself to accept a call from her former husband. Whom she otherwise avoided like three-day-old fish.
Ben saw the momentary hesitation before his mother nodded and said, “Thank you.”
She turned her attention to Ben. “Ham told me what happened in Washington today. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Ben said, somehow managing not to snap the words at her. “I’d better get going. I’m Waverly’s ride to his bachelor party.”
“If you need anything … “ his father began.
“Dad, I’ve got everything covered.” Ben escaped the room, leaving his parents standing awkwardly across from each other. It served them right, he thought. Any animosity—or attraction—that existed between his divorced parents should have been dealt with a long time ago.
He made a detour to the kitchen hunting for Waverly, then searched each room as he walked toward the front of the house, finding no sign of his friend. He eyed the staircase that led upstairs where the bridesmaids—and the bride?—had disappeared. Surely Waverly hadn’t gone up there. Not with the senator breathing fire.
He let out an exasperated breath as he debated where to search next. Where the hell was the groom?
13
Ben caught a glimpse of Waverly standing on the front porch as the archbishop exited the front door. The groom had his arms wrapped around the bride. Ben eased surreptitiously past the senator, who was headed upstairs, and slipped out the front door. “Hey, buddy,” he said to his friend. “You ready to go?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Waverly said, his voice slurred.
“You be good, now, sweetheart,” Julia said, standing on tiptoe within her fiancé’s embrace to kiss him on the lips.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Waverly said. “I’m not going to do anything bad.”
“It’s your bachelor party, Wave. I forgive you in advance for all transgressions,” Julia said with a fond smile as she rearranged the tie on Waverly’s tux.
Ben curbed his impatience with effort. The groomsmen had left long ago to join a bunch of Waverly’s cop buddies at The Seasons. The family butler and maid were there to direct the caterers, so the bachelor party was doubtless in full swing. Without its host. Or the groom. Whom Ben was having trouble separating from his bride.
Waverly pulled Julia close for a hug. “I’m marrying the most loving, understanding woman in the world.”
“Look at those naked floozies all you want,” Julia said, returning the hug, then pulling back to meet Waverly’s bloodshot brown eyes. “Just be sure you don’t touch!”
“Damn, Waverly,” Ben said with a shake of his head. “The little woman’s already got you on a short leash.”
Julia punched Ben in the arm. “You shut up, Benjamin. There’s nothing wrong with a groom respecting the wishes of his bride the night before their wedding.”
Ben hooked an arm around Julia’s neck, and she slugged him hard in the stomach with her fist.
“Let me go, you big bully!” she said with a laugh, wrenching herself free at the same moment Ben released her.
Ben genuinely liked his half sister. She’d attached herself to him every time he and Carter came to visit, following him around like a puppy. When he was a teenager, he’d found her a nuisance, but he’d never failed to pick her up when she’d raised her arms and smiled up at him.
He hoped Julia and Waverly were going to be happy. But he didn’t believe in fairy tales. She was too young to understand the problems her money would create for their marriage. And Waverly was too blinded by love to believe they wouldn’t live happily ever after.
Julia shoved both hands through her long blond hair, fluffing it, and tugged up the bodice of her strapless pink satin dress. “I’m not a kid anymore, Ben. You have to stop treating me like one.”
“No, you’re not, Little Bit,” Ben said, his voice gruff. “You’re about to become a wife.”
“And I’m marrying the best man in the world,” Julia said with a beatific smile. She turned and grabbed both of Waverly’s ears and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips.
“Waverly was a good boy—a pretty good boy—” Ben amended “—at the rehearsal dinner. I watched him jump with alacrity through every hoop Mother and the senator put in front of him.”
“Waverly’s marrying into a political family. Hoop-jumping is a necessary skill,” Julia said.
“And—I’m—damned—good—at—it,” Waverly said painstakingly.
Ben heard in Waverly’s precise diction just how much liquid courage he’d needed to make it through the rehearsal dinner with Julia’s intimidating parents. He still couldn’t believe the announcement Waverly had made when he’d stood up, champagne glass in hand. But he admired his friend for it.
Ben was jerked from his rumination by Julia’s rough tug on the two ends of his untied bow tie. “Hey!” he said, grabbing her wrists.
“How drunk are you?” she asked.
“I’m sober enough to drive.”
“I’m counting on you to take care of Wave tonight,” Julia said. “Make sure he gets back here on time for the wedding tomorrow afternoon.”
“We won’t be leaving The Seasons,” Ben said. “If Waverly doesn’t show up tomorrow, you can come over and get him.”
Julia batted his arm. “Don’t tease me, Ben. Keep an eye on Wave for me. Don’t let him drink too much.”
“It’s already too late for that,” Ben said, pointing to Waverly, who was slumped against a wide Corinthian column on the front porch, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open.
“Then take him home and put him to bed,” Julia said, shooting a tolerant glance in her future husband’s direction.
At the word bed, Waverly’s eyes opened and he smiled broadly at Julia. “You want to go to bed, sweetheart? I thought you said we should spend tonight apart.”
Ben smirked at Julia, lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and was amused by the rosy blush that appeared on his half sister’s cheeks.
Julia turned to Waverly and said, “Honey, you’re staying with Ben tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, struggling to focus bleary eyes. “Okay.”
“Please get him out of here,” Julia said to Ben, “before Mother and Daddy come out here and find him like this.”
“Let’s go, Waverly.” Ben slipped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and helped him navigate the front steps.
“Wait!” Julia called out when they reached the redbrick driveway.
Ben half turned with Waverly as Julia tripped down the steps. She held her fiancé’s face gently between her palms and gave him a tender kiss on the lips. “Good night, my love,” she murmured. “Until tomorrow.”
When Waverly reached drunkenly for her, she turned and ran back up the stairs.
“Take it easy, buddy. Tomorrow she’ll be your wife, and you can sleep with her every night for the rest of your life.”
“Love her so much,” Waverly said, staring after Julia.
“Yeah, I know.” As he stuffed Waverly into the passenger seat of his Jag, Ben heard a cell phone play the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
“That’s mine,” Waverly said, fumbling in his tux jacket for his phone. He dropped it on the floor at his feet.
As Ben picked it up and handed it to his friend, he said, “You had this on all night? You do like living dangerously. If that had rung during dinner—”
“‘Lo,” Wave said. “Uh-huh. Yeah. A few.”
Ben was halfway to The Seasons before the conversation was over. He turned to his friend and said, “Julia wanted to whisper sweet nothings?”
“I have to go back to D.C.,” Waverly said slowly and distinctly.
“Have you forgotten about your bachelor party? Friends? Strippers? The works?”
“Screw the party.”
Ben stared at his friend. “Who was that on the phone?”
“None of your business.”
“Look, if there’s some problem—”
“I have to go out for a li’l while,” Waverly slurred. “I’ll be back. I just have to go do something.”
“You shouldn’t be driving. If you need to go somewhere, let me take you there.”
Waverly shook his head, then put his hands to either side of it and closed his eyes, as though he were dizzy. “Just get me to my car.”
One of Waverly’s cop friends was supposed to have driven his Ford Explorer to The Seasons.
“I can’t let you drive, Waverly. Not in this condition.”
“I’ll stop and get some coffee. Don’t argue with me, Ben. I don’t have any choice.”
“Then let me drive you where you have to go,” Ben insisted.
“You’ve seen me drive in worse shape.”
“When we were stupid kids. Before I promised Julia I’d get you to your wedding in one piece. If you drive drunk—”
“Stow it, Ben.”
They’d reached The Seasons, and Ben pulled his Jag in next to Waverly’s Ford SUV. “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”
“If you’re my friend, you’ll let me do this,” Waverly said. “I need to settle this before Julia and I take off on our honeymoon.”
“There’s another woman?” Ben said incredulously. “Is that it?”
“Hell, no! It’s gang—It’s none of your business.”
“What’s so important you have to miss your bachelor party to handle it?”
“This can’t wait.”
Ben put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Look, Waverly, I can’t let you drive.”
Wave pulled free and shoved open the door of the Jag. “I’m not sure when I’ll get back. Tell the guys I’ll see them at the wedding.”
Ben jumped out of his Jag and grabbed for the keys to the Explorer where they’d been left above the visor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Waverly demanded.
“Saving your life,” Ben said. “And maybe the lives of other innocent drivers. You’re drunk, buddy.”
“Give me my keys!”
Waverly grabbed for the keys and Ben deftly stepped aside. Waverly’s momentum carried him forward, so he lost his footing and landed on his hands and knees. He came up mad and he came up swinging.
Ben bunched his hand into a fist around the keys and hit Waverly hard in the chin. “Damn it, Waverly!” he shouted as he nursed his stinging knuckles. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Waverly was out cold.
Ben stuffed Waverly’s keys back behind the visor and returned to heft his friend over his shoulder. He hauled Waverly inside, grunting with the strain as he headed up the broad, winding, Gone With the Wind staircase. He could hear the shouts and laughter of Waverly’s friends coming from the kitchen and parlor.
“Damn you, Waverly,” Ben snarled at his unconscious friend. “Julia’s going to give me hell if your chin is bruised tomorrow. But I promised her I’d get you to your wedding alive and well. And, by God, that’s exactly what I intend to do!”
14
“Wake up, you sonofabitch!”
Ben felt himself falling off the bed and realized the sheet and blanket had been ripped out from under him. He hit the Aubusson carpet on his hands and knees, searching frantically for his XM107 .50 caliber long-range sniper rifle. Which wasn’t there.
A breath shuddered out of him as he reminded himself he was no longer in the desert. He was in his bedroom at The Seasons. And he stank with the foul sweat of someone scared shitless.
He’d been dreaming again. The same lousy dream. He looked at his shaking hands, expecting them to be covered with sticky red blood. His fingertips were callused but clean.
“Get up!” Waverly ordered.
Ben sucked in a breath and shoved himself upright enough to see a furious Waverly standing in boxers and a T-shirt on the other side of the bed.
“I told you I had to get back to D.C. last night. Look at this!” Waverly leaned across the bed to shove The Washington Post under Ben’s nose.
Ben was still hung over—he’d celebrated Waverly’s wedding after he’d put the groom to bed—and he struggled to focus his eyes. The headline was hard to miss: “Gang Riot Leaves 3 Dead.”
“This is all my fault,” Waverly gritted out between tight jaws.
“How could it be your fault?”
Waverly threw the folded paper in Ben’s face. “That call last night was from my confidential informant. My CI told me trouble was brewing between MS and the One-Eight, that a shoot-out was likely. I knew those kids. I could have intervened. Maybe I could have prevented those deaths.”
“And maybe not,” Ben said, pushing himself to his feet.
“Both gangs will be out for blood now. I need to get to D.C. and find the other boy involved in that shooting—the one still left alive—before the whole city erupts in gang violence.”
“Have you forgotten you’re getting married at one o’clock? You don’t have time to go to D.C. The only place you have time to hit is the shower.”
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