“That’s wonderful,” Thomas replied flippantly as she removed her robe and tossed it on the bed.
Shield quickly averted her eyes but not before she got a good look at Thomas’s rather sheer, cream-colored nightgown, trimmed in lace, which allowed a far-too-revealing view of the slender figure beneath. This woman was not only frustrating but also distracting as hell. “Is your dislike personal?” Joe had told her back in Greece that the president was distant, but he hadn’t said she treated him with cold indifference, and the expression on the woman’s face in Greece was anything but cold.
“Men are less chatty. Are you usually this talkative with your subjects?”
“No, Madam President.” For someone who advocated gender equal rights, Thomas was doing a miserable job at setting an example. “If you have any doubts, however, I’m sure my boss can have me replaced.” Shield wanted to tell her to go to hell. She’d worked too long and too hard and had put her life on the line more than a few times to protect self-proclaimed important people to have to put up with this ungrateful woman.
“This boss of yours,” Thomas said, her voice edged with contempt, “who would he replace you with? A mute, perhaps?”
“I…” Shield was getting very close to not giving a damn about whether this woman lived or died, but she did care about what Pierce would say if she walked. She’d given an oath to do her job to the best of her abilities. She forced a smile. “Have a good morning, Madam President,” she finally said, and left.
She went back to her own room and had to force herself not to slam the door. Great. Another snobbish bitch. Although she’d studied the White House and its environs through maps on her way to Washington, she had been up most of the night while a guard from the Uniformed Division stood outside the president’s door. She wanted to familiarize herself with the grounds and all possible exits, as well as everything planned for the next day. As a result, she hadn’t gotten more than two hours’ sleep, and that, combined with Thomas’s attitude, was really making her cranky. Shield just wanted to get on the first plane to Tuscany and never leave Italy again.
She paced, listening for sounds from the other room indicating the president was nearing departure, and an hour later, her phone rang.
Thomas was short and to the point. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Nine
Inspired by Team USA’s #1 showing at the 2012 London Olympic Games, Elizabeth Thomas had made Find Your Sport the theme for her version of the Democratic initiative to solve childhood obesity within a generation, following in the footsteps of the Obama Let’s Move campaign. A host of Dream Team medal-winning athletes would be on hand to participate in interactive sessions with the kids, designed to help them discover sports and activities that would motivate them to lead more active lives. Ryden hoped that having Michael Phelps, Gabby Douglas, and Missy Franklin here, in addition to many other favorites, would take some of the attention off her.
The thousands of children and parents who’d been invited all had to pass through even more extensive screening than usual because of the assassination attempt. In the last administration, the First Lady had spearheaded the day’s fitness festivities, but since Thomas’s husband had recently passed away, it was up to Ryden to make up for the absence of a First Spouse. That meant she would have to rotate among all the activities to mingle with the visitors. Her schedule had been cleared of everything else for the rest of the day.
She stood behind the closed door that would take her out to the crowd, with just Harper Kennedy in the room with her. Considering that scores of media representatives and Thomas’s family would attend, it would certainly be her biggest challenge to date. Ryden took deep breaths to steady her rapid breathing, but that didn’t help calm her nerves. You’re going to do fine, she kept telling herself. Just remember your training. No one will…
She suddenly felt a little light-headed, but even as that fact registered in a slight blur of focus, she felt a sturdy mass against her back and a steadying arm around her waist.
“Are you all right, Madam President?”
“I…I think so.” Ryden blinked hard. “What happened?”
“You almost passed out.”
Ryden remained against Kennedy’s body, still too shaky to move. “I didn’t touch my breakfast,” she lied. “Not very wise.”
“Maybe you should sit down.” Kennedy helped her to an armchair. “Get the president a glass of orange juice,” she said into the communications device in her sleeve.
Very soon, a sweet middle-aged woman named Betty, one of several domestics who attended the chief executive, came through the door with a full glass. “Is Madam President not well?” she asked.
“A dizzy spell, that’s all.” Ryden’s head was clearer now, but her hands still shook.
Ratman barged into the room. “What’s going on?”
“The president is unwell,” Betty replied.
“I don’t remember asking you,” he said sharply. “Please, return to your duties.”
“Of course.” Betty hurriedly left.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Ryden.
“I got dizzy. It’s nothing serious.”
“Good. It would be…disappointing to stand all these people up.” He shot her a warning glance.
If her hands were shaking before, they were almost out of control now. She had to do something before Ratman and his watchdog considered her incompetent. “I’m much better now.” She got up and Kennedy rushed to her side. “I’m fine, Ms. Kennedy. No need to fuss over me.”
Ryden went to the door, took another deep breath, and walked out to meet the thousands waiting outside. As soon as she emerged and stepped toward the microphone, the noisy crowd quieted. Except for some of the children, all eyes were on her.
Shield stayed very close to the president while remaining out of her way as Thomas kicked off the first two events, lacing up sneakers for a brief run with Allyson Felix, then shedding her footwear entirely for a little beach volleyball with Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh. In keeping with the theme and informal dress code for the day, Thomas had opted for designer activewear, but Shield didn’t want to blend in. In her dark suit and sunglasses, she wanted to make it clear to anyone watching that Elizabeth Thomas was being well guarded.
The president had transformed herself into her smiling public persona the instant she greeted the crowd, leaving any trace of worry or nervousness at the door. Shield could understand the dizziness having been due to low blood sugar, though she seemed fine now. However, the chief executive’s rattled nerves really puzzled her. Thomas was a veteran at national politics and this event was far less demanding than her other duties, yet her hands had been shaking so badly, Shield thought they might come loose.
And the shaking had intensified when Kenneth Moore walked in. And although he seemed genuinely concerned about Thomas’s well-being, something about his attitude and close scrutiny of the president didn’t make sense. Even now, he constantly stood a few feet away from Thomas and at all times was within earshot. Was this extreme behavior toward her because of the attempt on her life? That, combined with the loss of her husband, could be why he was so watchful of her. Shield knew presidents usually got close to their private advisors and vice versa, so maybe he was being overly protective because of her probable fragile state.
As if on cue, Moore approached Thomas and whispered something in her ear. The president smiled and waved across the lawn to a woman Shield recognized as Thomas’s sister, Nancy Payton. Nancy waved back enthusiastically and, with her husband, son, daughter, and family dog—a German shepherd mix—made her way toward Thomas.