She sat up. “My ‘fine mind.’ More like my fine ass.”
“You do have a terrific ass,” Jake said. “When Danzig sent me to see you, one of the things he mentioned in the briefing was your ass. I’ve noticed that a lot of serious women riders have great asses. Probably all the pounding. Anyway, I’m thinking of nominating you for Miss Ass, USA. We could create a pageant in Atlantic City . . .”
“We could call the contestants ‘aspirants’ . . .”
“Your spelling sucks,” Jake said. “Anyway, we could have the Atlantic City Ass Parade, like the Rose Parade in Pasadena, but instead of flowers on the floats . . .”
“That’s enough. Did Danzig really mention my ass?”
“Yes, he did. And your . . . breasts.”
“Except he called them tits.”
“Yes, he did.” He rolled up on one shoulder. He lightly dragged his index finger from the notch of her collarbone to her navel, and on south. “It’s a weird thing. With most good-looking women, you might want to play around a little. You know, get them up on top, or just . . . fool around. With you, all I want is in. And I want to stay in. I just want to be inside, be as close as I can get.”
After a moment, she said, “That’s nice, I think. After a while, you’ll probably notice my fine mind.”
“And your understanding of Thai culture.”
“Arab.”
“That’s what I meant, Arab.”
They made love twice more, and after the second time, with her arms wrapped around his neck, she whispered, “I think . . . we could be onto something here.”
“At my age, I’m almost afraid to think that,” Jake said. “But I hope so.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows. “We have a huge tub in the master bath . . .”
They spent a half hour in the bath, which was big enough to float them both simultaneously, and then climbed out, retrieved their clothes. While Jake got dressed, Madison changed into jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt. She already had a bag packed. “You ready?”
“I’m ready.” She touched her hair, as though for a TV appearance. “Let’s do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think about the girl in Madison. You described her a little too well.”
“I could figure out something with the car,” Jake said.
“Nah—I’m going.”
He trailed her down to the front room. Launching the play, she said, “You’re sure you don’t want another glass of wine? You have to go?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get this done,” Jake said. “I could use a Coke. It’s a long drive.”
They went out in the kitchen, still talking, and Madison got two Cokes out of the refrigerator and said, “Take another one for the road.”
“Thanks.”
They drifted back into the front room and he twisted the top off the Coke bottle; Jake wondered if the pfffttt it made would be audible on a tape.
“I don’t understand why you can’t look at it here,” Madison said. “I mean, in Washington, at your house.”
“Because I’m tied into the Wisconsin thing. If Novatny smells a rat, the feds might come crashing through the door. And they must be getting frantic, with Barber going out the window. If I’ve got the package, I’m toast. I don’t even know everything that’s in it yet. It might be impossible to hold on to . . .”
“You’ve got to hold on to it, Jake,” Madison said, urgency in her voice. He thought, Not bad. “You’ve got to. All of this will have been pointless if that thing gets out there now. All you have to do is hold it until after the convention. Or even just before the convention, that would do it. Just hold on to it for a few weeks.”
“I’d like to. But I gotta find out what’s in it, sugar,” Jake said. “The cabin has everything I need—it’s got Internet access, got a computer, and nobody’s gonna find it. I talked to Billy and nobody’ll be there all week. For the rest of the month, for that matter.”
“When are you coming back? I might need you here.”
“I need you, too.” He kissed her, spent some time with it, then broke away, breathing hard again. “We gotta stop. I gotta get going.”
“Please try to hold on to it,” she said, an urgent, pleading tone in her voice. “If Landers gets knocked out now, they’ll give the job to Goodman in a flash. He’s the one they want. Landers won’t do them any good this year.”
“I will, I’ll hold on to it.” Sounding a little harassed now. “I’ll try to hold on. If there’s nothing in it that would push it out there right now, I’ll stick it in a safe-deposit box, somewhere that’s not obvious, and we’ll break it out in October.”
“Where are you going to be? Give me a phone number . . .”
“You can’t call from here, if there’s trouble, they could trace it back, they’d know you knew where I went.”
“Only for an emergency. I’d call you from outside.”
“All right. Got a pen? It’s 540-555-6475.”
“540-555-64 . . .”
“6475. Don’t use your cell phone, either. We don’t want any tracks that the feds can find later. For one thing, that might drag Billy into it, just for loaning me the place.”
“What if I have to call you, and you’re not there?”
“I’ll be there. Or I’ll be on my way back here. I’m gonna get up early and work on it all day; I won’t be going for a walk in the woods.”
In the doorway she kissed him a last time and whispered, “How was that?”
“Perfect.” Though he wasn’t sure about that: some of it sounded like dialogue from a bad novel.
He left her in the doorway, headed back down the walk, tapping along with his cane. He was twenty feet down the walk when he heard a woman’s voice calling, “Sir? Sir, I’m with the New York Times.”
He thought, Damnit, and turned back, scurried up the front steps to the house, rang the bell. Madison appeared at the door, puzzled, and Jake stepped inside, held her close, and whispered, “The Times still has the place staked out. I’ll give you a single ring when it’s clear.”
“Okay. I’ll start turning out lights.”
Back outside, the Times reporter was standing on the sidewalk, carefully outside the property line. As Jake came down the front walk, she called, “Sir, could you tell me who you are?”
“I do paperwork for Miz Bowe and the law firm. You’ll have to call Johnson Black, I’m sure you have his number.”
“If you . . .”
“Miss, if I said one more word, they’d fire my ass. Think of the guilt you’d feel.”
“I’d manage somehow,” she said, but she was smiling at him.
“Call Johnson Black.” He glanced back at the house. “Miz Bowe is going to bed. If you’re planning to stay all night, I hope your car has a heater.”
Inside the house, the lights were going out.
20
Jake cruised the neighborhood for half an hour before the Times reporter left. He saw her car pulling out of its parking space, followed the taillights until she turned left at the bottom of the hill, eased up to the stop sign, then far enough out into the street to make sure that she’d kept going. When she was out of sight, he touched the speed dial on his cell phone, let it ring once, then turned the car around. Madison came down the side of the house carrying her overnight bag.
“I hate doing this,” Jake said when she got in the car. “This is way more dangerous than stealing that laptop. Maybe we just oughta call the cops.”