DUTCH AND GINA: THE SINS OF THE FATHERS Page 2

  Gina smiled. And then laughed.

  The drive to Blair House was a quick one because the residence was a stone’s throw from the White House. Although it was known as the president’s guest house, Crader McKenzie, who had already taken up temporary residence there before his appointment as vice president, decided to stay until the end of the president’s term. He could have moved his family into the official vice presidential residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory, some three miles away from the White House, but he, instead, stayed put. Which pleased Gina no end. In fact, given the proximity of Blair House to the White House, Gina had wanted to walk over rather than ride. But before Dutch left town he had ordered the Secret Service to not allow her to walk anywhere.

  “Surely he didn’t mean that to include Blair House,” Gina had tried to reason with the agent. “It’s right there. It’s not even a block away.”

  But the agent called his boss, his boss called the head of the Secret Service, and the head of the Secret Service decided to phone the president himself for clarification. Dutch then phoned Gina and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t walking anywhere, and that included Blair House. She wanted to disagree with him but she knew, by his tone, that his word was final on the matter.

  Besides, he didn’t say she couldn’t go to Blair House. Just that she couldn’t walk there. And she needed to get there. They took the limousine.

  Crader McKenzie, the Vice President, met them at the Blair House entrance with a grand smile on his handsome face. He was wearing a blue suit, the color matching his eyes, Gina thought, and she had never seen him so ramped-up. He kissed her when she stepped out of the limo, and unbuckled Little Walt himself.

  “This is my man right here,” Crader said as he lifted Walt into his arms. Walt grinned. “You are just growing by leaps and bounds, little fellar.”

  “Where’s La?” Gina asked.

  “Right this way, madam First Lady,” Crader said as he escorted Gina and carried Walt into the residence.

  Seated in the Eisenhower Room, looking pretty in pink, was Gina’s best and oldest friend, Loretta “LaLa” King-McKenzie. And she had her newborn daughter in her arms.

  “Baby!” Walt said excitedly as he pointed and smiled when they entered the room.

  “Yes,” Gina said, even more excitedly. “That’s little Nicole. Hello, baby girl,” she added as she sat beside La.

  “Oh, so I don’t exist anymore?” LaLa said with a smile. “It’s all about the baby now?”

  “All about her, girl,” Gina said. “Get used to it.”

  LaLa and Crader laughed. He took a seat, with Walt on his lap, in the flanking chair.

  “Baby doll,” Walt said, staring at Nicole.

  “Yes, she is,” Crader said. “She’s my baby doll.” Then he thought about it. “What a great nickname for her, La. Baby doll. Let’s call her Doll.”

  LaLa shook her head. This had to be the tenth “nickname” Crader had suggested. “We’ll see, dear,” she said.

  “But really,” he said as the double doors to the sitting room opened, “I think it’s a great nickname. And we can always give Little Walt credit for being the one to come up with it. It’ll be marvelous conversation piece when he and Nicole are playmates together.”

  LaLa laughed. Crader and this baby. There couldn’t possibly be a more attentive father. “We’ll see,” she said again.

  Jeffrey, the usher, complete with white gloves, stepped inside. “Excuse me, Mr. Vice President, but you have a visitor, sir.”

  “A visitor? Who?”

  “The President’s chief of staff wishes to see you.”

  “Allison Shearer?” LaLa asked. “She could have come to the parlor. I haven’t had a chance to congratulate her on her promotion anyway. Bring her here, Jeffrey.”

  “It was suggested, madam,” Jeffrey said, “but she prefers his office. It’s a matter, she says, of some privacy.”

  Crader really didn’t want to leave his wife and son. Not even for a second. But duty called. “I’d better see what she wants,” he said as he stood up and then sat Walt in the chair. “You hold it down for me, big man,” he said to the little boy.

  Walt frowned, unable to make out exactly what Crader meant. How do you hold down a chair? He wasn’t quite sure. But he began pressing his body down into that chair just the same.

  When Crader and Jeffrey left the room, Gina looked at LaLa. “He looks so nervous, La,” she said with a smile.

  “He is. The baby was two months premature, I had eclampsia during the delivery, he’s still haunted by all of that. I think he’s still a little traumatized.”

  “My oh my. He is going to spoil you and that baby rotten.”

  LaLa smiled. “He’s doing that already. He rarely goes over to his office at the White House anymore. I can’t get rid of him.”

  Gina laughed. “I never would have thought in a million years that Crader McKenzie would ever settle down and become husband and father the way he has.”

  “Yes,” LaLa agreed. Then a look came over her. It was subtle, but Gina caught it.

  “What’s wrong, La?”

  LaLa hesitated. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “What is it?”

  She hesitated again. “He still. . . He still has it in him.” She said this and looked at Gina, to see if she understood.

  Gina understood. She had married a world renowned playboy herself. “And how do you know this?” she asked her best friend.

  “I see the way he looks at those attractive women on his staff. And I don’t mean a casual glance, either. Sometimes he looks as if he’s undressing those women with his eyes, G.”

  “Knowing Crader, he probably is.”

  “Gina!” LaLa said. “How can you say that? He’s my husband. You don’t hear me badmouthing your husband.”

  “I’m not badmouthing him. I’m telling you the truth. And Dutch probably does the same thing, I’m just keeping it real. We didn’t marry a couple of priests, La. We married two virile, very virile men. They are going to look.”

  “But do they touch?”

  Gina thought about this. “I can’t speak for Crader,” she said. “I can only speak for Dutch.”

  “And I already know your answer,” LaLa said. “You’re such a realist. I already know you’re going to say there’s no way of telling if Dutch touches or not. Right?”

  “Wrong,” Gina said. “You are so wrong. Dutch may look, I know he will look, but he won’t touch.”

  “But you can’t be a hundred percent certain of that,” LaLa reminded her.

  “A hundred percent, no,” Gina admitted. “Of course not. But I’m reasonably certain he won’t go there, which is great progress for me. I mean, he’s a man, I understand that. Men can be downright dogs, I understand that, too. But I trust my husband one-hundred percent now. I have to. And no, that kind of trust didn’t come overnight. Bet that. But it’s here now.”

  “So there’s no way under the sun that Dutch can cheat on you, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No, I’m not telling you that at all, La. Of course he could cheat! But that’s not the question. The question is will he cheat? Will he see and not touch? I know he has it in him to touch, but will he touch? I say no.”

  This surprised LaLa. Gina had never been the type to speak in absolute terms regarding anything, especially what some man who was not in her eyesight twenty-four-seven would or would not do. “And you’re absolutely certain of that?” she asked her best friend.

  “I’m absolutely certain of my trust in him,” Gina answered absolutely. “I would be beyond surprised if Dutch cheated on me. Hell, I’d be a basket case for months.”

  They both smiled.

  “And don’t get me wrong,” Gina continued. “I’m not sitting up here like some pie-in-the-sky, clueless airhead telling you he never has or never will. I’m telling you I pray daily that he doesn’t. There’s some serious skanks out there eager to get their hands on my husban
d, I know that. And his ass is probably just as eager to get his hands on some of them.” They both laughed. “But I truly don’t believe he’d betray me like that.”

  “But he’s still a man, G.”

  “I hear you. And you’re right. He’s still a man. A special man, yes, very special. But he’s a man. And you and I both have had our share of heartaches to know that loving a man is a risk no matter who he might be, I feel you, girl. None of them are sure bets.”

  Although LaLa smiled at that, she was far from comforted. That look of concern returned on her soft, brown-skinned, pretty face. If Dutch Harber wasn’t a sure bet, she reasoned, how in the world could Crader ever be? Especially since Crader didn’t have half the willpower Dutch seemed to have, and Crader had already cheated on her long before they were married.

  But she refused to dwell on all of that. Gina had misgivings about Dutch when they were first married, too. Now she was certain of her man. Or, at least, as certain as you could be about somebody else. But LaLa was going to hold onto that ray of hope. In time, if Crader acted right, she’d be as certain of him, too. She married a gorgeous man, a man who was going to look at the ladies, and the ladies were going to look at him. But she had to trust that he didn’t touch. She had to trust that his cheating ways ended forevermore the day he decided to change course, and asked her to marry him.

  Crader made his way into the beautifully-appointed Truman Study and plopped down behind the desk. Allison Shearer, who was standing in front of that desk, waited until he sat down.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Vice President.”

  “This couldn’t wait?”

  “No, sir,” Allison said and handed him a manila envelope. “It definitely couldn’t wait.”

  Allison slung her long, blonde hair out of her face as Crader slowly opened the envelope and pulled out a newspaper clipping. A yellow post-it note was sticking onto its front. Show to VP, the post-it note said.

  “Where did you get this?” Crader asked as he removed the post-it note.

  “It was mailed to my home.”

  Crader looked at her. “Your home?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Crader looked at the news clipping’s headline: Vegas Couple Killed in Private Plane Crash. Crader looked down, at the grainy picture of the couple, and then he looked at the names below the picture. Jim and Elvelyn Rosenthal. Didn’t ring a bell at all. He looked at Allison.

  “What is this about?” he asked, confused.

  “I thought you’d be able to tell me,” Allison said. “It said for me to show this clipping to you.”

  Crader looked at the attractive couple again. And then he read the news account. They were on their way to Aspen, Colorado in their private plane, the plane developed engine trouble, and shortly thereafter crashed. They were the only two on board and both were killed. They had been married for a year and a half. They had a child, the guy was a wealthy businessman, both were considered wonderful, vivacious, had everything to live for high society types. Yada, yada, yada.

  Crader turned the clipping over, saw nothing, and then looked back at Allison.

  “I must be missing something here,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

  Allison shrugged her shoulder. “There’s certainly something there somebody wanted you to see. I assumed it would be obvious.”

  But it wasn’t. Not to Crader. He looked at the couple again. Jim and Elvelyn Rosenthal. Jim Rosenthal. Nothing. Elvelyn Rosenthal. Nothing. Nothing about this couple was ringing any bells with him whatsoever.

  But then, as he stared at the couple, he realized he was staring more at the names than the faces. He looked closely at the faces. And closer still at the woman’s face. Elvelyn Rosenthal. Elvelyn. Elvelyn Mitchell? Last time he saw her she had just gotten married. Was never told the man’s name and he never asked. Could this be Elvelyn Mitchell? Was this Elv?

  He looked harder. It was an awful picture for identification purposes. She had on dark shades, a scarf around her neck, and it wasn’t a close-up but full-length, and from a distance. But that blonde hair, that tall, thin physique, the way she carried her pocketbook.

  His heart began to pound.

  “What is it?” Allison asked, her face now as anxious as his appeared.

  “Where’s Dutch?”

  “Crader, what is it?”

  “Where’s the president?”

  “Crader, tell me something!”

  “Where’s the fucking president!” Crader screamed in his well-known bombastic style, his hand slamming onto his desk. He looked up at Allison. She was offended, but she was also accustomed to Crader’s hard edge.

  “He’s still in Helsinki, at the summit,” she reminded him. “He’s not due back to the States until late tonight, as soon as the last of those meetings are over. You know his schedule, Cray. Now what is it?”

  Crader still sat there, staring at that picture. He knew he had to calm back down. But if it were true . . .

  “I need more information,” he started mumbling.

  “More information about what?” a now worried Allison wanted to know.

  But Allison didn’t exist right now for Crader. “I need to be certain,” he continued to mumble, looking around the room. “I can’t just go running to the president half-cock like this, not until I’m certain. But how can I be certain?” he asked with a distressed look on his face. “Who would even send this to me? Who would even know . . .”

  And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He looked up at Allison, although he didn’t even notice her there. “Max,” he said. “Max Brennan.”

  “What about Max?” Allison asked.

  “Max?” Crader said as if it was a question.

  “What about Max?”

  “How could Max know . . . He was there twelve years ago, but not. . . Why would he?”

  “Why would he what, Crader? What about Max?”

  But Crader was already looking away from Allison and at the possibilities that Max Brennan, the president’s former chief of staff, a man who’d already betrayed the president’s trust royally, could be up to some new shit now. And then, as soon as he thought about Max, he realized the bigger problem. He realized what Elvelyn’s death meant. What Jim Rosenthal’s death meant.

  He rose to his feet so fast that his chair fell backwards.

  “Miss Shearer,” he said to Allison with a look of undeniable seriousness on his face, “you never received this clipping. Do you understand me?”

  Allison frowned. “What is it, Cray?”

  “Miss Shearer,” Crader said again, clutching the desk, “you never saw this clipping, do you understand me? You don’t know anything about this clipping. If you receive any more you are to turn them over to me and me alone. Not my staff. Not your staff. But me and me alone. Without hesitation. Without question. Do I make myself clear?”

  Allison was floored. She’d been in Washington long enough to know that when the Vice President of the United States tells you to keep your mouth shut, you had better keep your mouth shut.

  Allison was also no fool. Dutch would kick her out on her rear if she didn’t do exactly what Crader was ordering her to do right now.

  “Yes, sir,” she said to the VP. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

  Crader exhaled. He knew he could rely on Ally. “That’ll be all,” he said to her, attempting to remain upright although he felt like collapsing. Allison could see his distress too, and she knew, in time, she’d be in the loop on just what was going on here. But not now. She left.

  Crader sat his chair back up and sunk down into it. He needed more information. He had to know for certain. She could have been blowing smoke up his ass when she came to him last year. This clipping could have nothing to do with that.

  Or everything to do with that.

  But before he uttered a word of this to Dutch, he had to be certain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “It’s now or never,” Jade said to her mother as they stood in the back of t
he large reception room in Helsinki, Finland. They watched Dutch Harber meet and greet wealthy Europeans who seemed enthralled with the handsome American president. It was Jade’s first time at an event like this with her father, and she marveled at how he knew how to work it. He seemed to just love it, she felt, when she was certain nobody could truly love this.

  But he acted as if he was pleased to meet every new face in the reception line. And he enjoyed them with style, too, Jade thought with a smile, as he stood there in his elegant black suit that looked as if it had been stitched onto his tall, muscular body. His wavy black hair was slicked back off of his smooth, tanned forehead, revealing those gorgeous green eyes that were always so sharply focused they looked like glass. He was smiling, shaking every hand, giving successful but otherwise regular people the opportunity to hobnob with the President of the United States. And Jade was once again proud that this man, Walter “Dutch” Harber, was her father.

  But she was also restless. Because of her mother. Because she still had to convince her mother that if she wanted Dutch, if she wanted to make him a part of their family and not Gina’s, she had to be willing to fight the fight of her life to get him.

  Her mother, however, wasn’t the kind of woman who understood these things. And it was driving Jade nuts.

  “Ma, did you hear me?” Jade said stridently, although she was still staring at her father. “It’s now or never. If you don’t make up your mind that you’re willing to fight for him, you won’t get him. You don’t know Gina like I know her. She’s something else. She won’t give him up without a fight.”

  Samantha “Sam” Redding sipped from her glass of wine and continued to stare her big, almond eyes at Dutch. And on some level she resented him. He swooped into their lives, with all of his power and money and charm, and charmed their daughter away from her. Not to mention how he destroyed Henry Osgood, the only man who could handle Jade, in the process. That boy, whom Sam once had dreams of marrying Jade, was in a wheelchair now, thanks to what Dutch had done to him.