SEALed With A Kiss(18)

“You show up at John’s funeral with Ophelia Price safely ensconced in your car; I’ll show up with the manuscript, and we’ll do a trade. How’s that? You get to salvage your career, and I get to salvage my marriage. Fair enough?”

Jay gave one more stab at protesting his innocence. “I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about,” he growled.

“Well, in that case, you leave me no choice. I’ll make copies of the manuscript right now and mail them to The New York Times and The Washington Post. You’ll be dead in the water by this time tomorrow. When Ophelia’s body is found, you’ll be faced with the death penalty, which I understand you supported in your bid for lieutenant governor. Good talking to you, Jay.”

“Wait!” Jay blurted the word before he’d made a decision as to what to say, what to do. “How do I know you haven’t made a copy of the book already, or that you won’t expose me later?”

“Gee, I hadn’t thought of that,” Monty said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I guess you don’t know. Either your career goes up in flames today or sometime further down the road. I’d guess the timeline’s up to you. You have my number,” the man noted. “Call me if you change your mind.”

Pride kept Jay mute. He flinched as the phone clicked in his ear, signaling an end to the call. Numb with shock, he lowered his arm until the receiver clattered into the cradle.

His knees jittered as he stood staring at the gray sky outside. What do I do? There had to be a way to keep the past from haunting him, some way to alter records so that the exposé, if published, would look falsified. Jay still had friends in the CIA. Maybe one of them, with the right inducement, could hack into the mission files and alter the details, making Staskiewicz’s allegations look like big fat lies, even if three other SEALs elected to corroborate them. But until Jay found an ally in the Agency willing to help him out, he had to get his hands on the manuscript before Monty sent it to the press.

With a shaking finger, he stabbed the intercom button. “Michelle,” he rasped. “Get the last caller back on the phone with me, will you?”

“Of course. Just a minute, sir.”

Brutally efficient, she got back to him in half that time. “Sir, I have Commander Montgomery on line one for you.”

Jay snatched up the phone, hit line one, and with a bracing breath stated, “I’ll see you at the funeral.” With that, he hung up and lunged for his cell phone. His hands were shaking too badly for him to text David Collum, so he called him instead.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“What?”

“Call Fernando and tell him not to dispose of the package as planned. I need him to bring it to Philly on Saturday and hand it back to you.”

“To me, sir?”

“Shut up and listen. Have him meet you at the usual spot at 8 A.M. Then bring the package to my Philadelphia apartment. I want it back in one piece with no marks on it, understand?”

“I guess.” Collum sounded utterly confounded.

Jay ended the call. He could care less what Collum thought. For several minutes all he could do was to stand in one spot overcome by doubts. The jangling of his cell phone made him jump. “What?” Jay snapped, recognizing his assistant’s number.

“He says his price is the same whether he brings it back or not. I said I would check with you first.”

Jay ground his molars together. The same? Ten thousand dollars was a helluva fee for babysitting. But what choice did he have. He needed that manuscript. “Fine,” he spat. “But only if the package is in pristine condition. And he can’t be late.”

“I’ll tell him,” Collum promised.

With a growl of rage, Jay hung up and hurled his cell phone across the room where it landed, by luck, on an armchair, bouncing harmlessly onto the Turkish carpet. Would this nightmare never end?

Air Force bombers dropped bombs on the enemy population and never got in trouble for it. So why should his knee-jerk action prevent him from attaining the vice presidency? It shouldn’t. But silencing Ophelia Price the way he’d silenced Staskiewicz wouldn’t keep the news of his actions out of the public eye, not anymore.

He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he would have to find some other way to protect his reputation.

*

The sound of a rough male voice roused Ophelia from a drug-induced sleep. By sheer force of will, she slit her impossibly heavy eyelids, managing to glimpse the dark head of her abductor in the driver’s seat before her eyelids slammed shut.

The man had been holding a cell phone to his ear. She could hear him talking. “My price is the same,” he insisted, speaking with a Spanish accent.