The Raven's Assignment

The waiter approached, and they both gave their orders, then were silent as the wine—compliments of the owner—was opened and poured.

“Nice touch, even if I am going to have to pay for it. We’re not allowed to accept gifts, you know. Still, I could get used to this,” Jesse said, sipping the wine. “So, Samantha, are you going to tell me? Why do you want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”

“Because he’s right for America,” Samantha said, and then she grimaced. “Okay, okay, the truth. Not that he isn’t right for America. He’s a wonderful man. But to get the chance to walk into the West Wing? Stand inside the Oval Office? Be even a small piece of the power behind the man in that office? You’ve admitted it, so I can say it. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“True, true. Fifteen-hour days, constant emergencies, news leaks, congressmen who need their hands held. It’s great.”

“You’re just saying that. I don’t think you’d ever be anywhere you didn’t want to be.”

Jesse didn’t answer her. He just lifted his glass in salute and took another sip of wine as the waiter placed large bowls of salad in front of them.

Oh, he liked this woman. He really, really liked her. And she was correct. He was right where he wanted to be. Across the table from a very interesting woman.

By the time they’d finished their steaks, Jesse was feeling pretty mellow.

Mellow enough to ask a question he probably shouldn’t have asked.

“Have you ever been to the Chekagovian embassy?” he asked, because it seemed as if she’d been everywhere else in the District, and most parts of Virginia. She knew everybody, probably through her parents or Senator Phillips, and had been invited to all the right parties.

Samantha sat back and rolled her eyes. “Oh, the Chekagovian embassy! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.” That much was true. He’d only gotten the fax from the local law firm yesterday, and was still trying to grasp the idea that he and his relatives owned the pricey mansion…and the rest of it.

“You’ve never seen it? Oh, you have to see it. I mean, I’ve never been inside, but from the outside? The grounds are magnificent, just for starters. I was there for a photo op with the senator’s wife, but we didn’t get to go inside. Gorgeous gardens, with flowers all over—”

“I’ve heard that. Gardens, with flowers in them. Very unique.”

“Don’t be funny,” she said, then waited until their plates were cleared from the table. “And it’s not just the gardens. The mansion is truly extraordinary. Federal style. Wonderful old redbrick. A million windows. Exterior wood all painted creamy white, and definitely handcrafted by experts. It’s…it’s a slice of American history. Really.”

“And it serves as the Chekagovian embassy.”

She nodded. “That’s what happened to so many of the best old houses. It’s the price we pay for being the center of the political world. Of course, if we weren’t, who knows what would have happened to those lovely old mansions.”

“They’d never have been built.”

“Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Anyway, I’d love to get inside that place, just for a look around. Why did you mention it?”

Jesse drew back, knowing he’d probably already said too much. “Oh, no real reason. I’d just heard it was a…a nice place.”

Her gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said as the waiter poured coffee for them. “I never lie.”

“Oh, the new millennium’s George Washington. You cannot tell a lie. This city hasn’t seen another one like him, until you, of course. I’m so impressed. Really.”

“All right, all right,” Jesse said, holding out his hands. “But only because you dragged it out of me at fork-point.”

“I did not,” she told him. “That was next.”

Jesse laughed. He didn’t know if the good food had made him feel so comfortable, or the good wine…or the great company. What he did know was that if he didn’t soon tell someone what he’d learned in that fax, he was probably going to burst. Just like a little kid with good news.

“First I have to swear you to secrecy,” he told her.

“Certainly,” she said, then held up her right hand. “I, Samantha Cosgrove, do solemnly swear that I won’t breathe a word of what Jesse Colton is about to tell me, so help me spit. There. Is that good enough?”

“Pretty good. Although I’ll still have to kill you once you know everything.”

“That seems only fair. You were Secret Service. Does that mean you could kill me with a rubber band or pencil sharpener?”

“We don’t do those anymore. Now we use Post-it notes. I’m hell with a Post-it note.”

“I’ll bet you are. Now, come on, tell me. What do I want to know about the Chekagovian embassy?”

“That I own it?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“That you…that you…oh, you fibber you. You own it? Well, that makes us even. I own the Washington Monument. Oh, and we rent out the Lincoln Memorial. Tax reasons, you know.”

He smiled, shook his head. “I know, it’s hard to believe, but I own it. Really. Well, I own some of it.”

“Some of it,” she repeated, spooning three sugars into her coffee.

“Hey, easy on the sugar.”

“Never mind me. You’d better take yours black, because I think you’ve had too much wine, and you’ll need to sober up before you drive home.”

“You think I’m handing you a line?” he asked, tipping his head to one side as he looked at her. God, she had a wise mouth. He loved to hear her talk. He’d love more to shut her up…with his own mouth.

“If you are, I have to admit I’ve never heard this particular one before tonight. So, if I promise to be good, and not laugh too hard, why don’t you tell me why you own part of the mansion?”

“That would take until tomorrow morning,” Jesse said, wincing. “So we’ll leave that for another time, if that’s all right with you.”

“There’s going to be another time?”

“If you want, yes. But it’s getting late, and I’ve got a six-thirty meeting at the White House. So…”

“So I should tell you my reason for contacting you in the first place? For…for stalking you?”

“What a good idea,” he said, grinning. “You can tell me part of it, the way I told you part of mine, and then we’ll go on from there. If you want to.”

“I shouldn’t. You’re much, much too sure of yourself, Jesse Colton.”

“It’s a failing, I agree. So? Do we have a deal?”

She nodded. “We have a deal. But not here, there are too many ears. Pay the check, and I’ll tell you once you drive me home. At the curb, Colton—I’m not inviting you into my house. Agreed?”

He eased his wallet from his slacks pocket and pulled out a credit card. “Agreed. Spoilsport.”

They left the restaurant after Samantha was kissed on both cheeks by the maître d’, two interchangeable Anthonys and a plump woman who came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron as she called out, “Bella! Sweet Bella!”

“Are you this popular in all the District restaurants? If so, I think ours could be a beautiful relationship, at least until my credit card maxes out.”

“I’ll bet everyone in every gym in town knows you,” she said as he tried to open the car door for her, only to be beaten out by Anthony Number One.

When he slid in behind the wheel, he said, “Actually, they know me at most of the museums. I’m big on museums.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she said as he pulled away from the curb. “Head toward Dupont Circle, and I’ll give you directions from there.”

Fifteen minutes later he pulled the sedan over to the curb in front of an old redbrick town house. “Apartment?” he asked, looking at the well-kept building.

“Mom and Dad’s place, for when they come to the city. We never sold it. Juliet doesn’t stay here, not that she’s ever in town, but I’m the younger daughter, and part of my permission to come here to work hinged on my agreeing to stay at the old homestead. Mom’s a worrywart,” she told him, fishing in her purse for her key and not finding it. “Now, remember that sworn-to-secrecy stuff?”

“Hope to spit,” he said, turning off the ignition, knowing the windows would fog up within minutes. But if he didn’t turn off the ignition, the chances were lower that he’d be invited in for a nightcap. Hope to spit, yes. And hope springs eternal—that was Jesse’s motto, or at least it was since meeting Samantha Cosgrove.

She took a deep breath, then stared through the rapidly steaming-up windshield, her fingers nervously opening and closing the snap on her purse. “I have fairly varied duties at campaign headquarters. I handle press releases sometimes, organize fund-raisers, help write some of the lesser important speeches. Even lick stamps if we’re shorthanded. I do everything.”

“All right,” Jesse said, and that’s all he said, because he could tell that Samantha was nervous and still might change her mind about talking to him.

“In the course of my…duties,” she went on after a moment, her cheeks pale in the light of a strong street-lamp across the way, “I learned a few names. More than a few names. I learned yours, for instance.”

“But not my whereabouts, because you tried to reach me through the OEOB.”

“I used an old directory,” she said with a wave of her hand. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have a reputation, Jesse.”

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” he said, then winced. “Sorry. It was getting a little tense in here. I thought I’d try to lighten the mood.”

“That’s all right. I’m not saying this very well. This is embarrassing, because I’m usually very good with words. But you do have a reputation, Jesse. For honesty. For being a straight shooter. For being intensely loyal and definitely trustworthy.”

“Now I’m embarrassed.”

She shifted on the seat, turning to face him. “Last week,” she began, then closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. “Oh, this is so hard.”

“Just say it fast, Samantha,” he advised her, taking her hand in his. Her fingers were icy cold, nearly bloodless. He didn’t know what was wrong, but whatever it was, she wasn’t only worried, she was scared.

“All right. Last week, Thursday, I think, I…I was licking stamps. I mean, not really licking stamps, but I was there late, and there was mail to go out, and since I was there and had no plans, I stayed to do it.”

Jesse’s radar switched on. Mail. Mail leaving a senator’s campaign office. The possibilities were endless. “Go on,” he urged when she stopped speaking.

“I can’t. I can’t do this. Senator Phillips has been so good to me. And my father? He adores the man. They were in the army together. I mean, I used to call him Uncle Mark. I still do, in private.”

“Samantha, sorry, but you can’t stop here. What was in the mail?”

“Outgoing mail,” she clarified, then sighed. “It had to be a mistake. I mean, he wouldn’t do anything wrong, I know he wouldn’t.”

“What was in the mail?” Jesse repeated, squeezing her fingers.

“Something…something that shouldn’t even have been in there, in the campaign office,” she said quietly, pulling her hand free. “You know he chairs the Senate Ways and Means Committee, and they deal with some very sensitive material…”

“Money, Samantha. They deal with a lot of money. In Washington, money equals power, and power equals money. Now, one more time, Samantha. What was in the mail?”

“Tomorrow,” she said quickly, one hand on the door handle. “Come to the office tomorrow evening. Around seven. Everybody else should be gone. I…I’ll show you then.”

“You didn’t send it out?”

She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. I’m sure that information should never have been released. I shouldn’t even have seen it.”

“Did you also save the envelope?” Jesse asked, thinking ahead.

“Yes. That’s how I got to see the contents. The envelope wasn’t sealed correctly and the glue was all gone. I wanted to tape it shut but couldn’t find any tape—sometimes our office is a real mess—so I slipped everything out of the envelope to put it into a new one and I saw…I saw…” Her voice was so quiet he had to lean over to hear her above the sound of rain pelting the roof of the sedan. “I’ll…I’ll show you everything.”

She opened the car door, then turned back, grabbed his arm. “But you can’t tell anybody. Not until we know exactly what’s going on. I mean, it was the senator’s mail, but that doesn’t mean that he—”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Samantha,” Jesse said, putting his hand over hers. “It’s probably nothing.”

“That’s what I think. It’s nothing. Just a…a mistake. Good night.”

And then she was gone, running through the rain to the steps of the town house. She knocked, and a few moments later a uniformed maid opened the door, spilling mellow yellow light out onto the brick sidewalk.

“Nice work if you can get it,” Jesse muttered, putting the car in gear to head home to a sleepless night.

Chapter Two

A t ten o’clock the next morning, Jesse passed by the well-dressed secretary who held the door open for him, and into the large, teak-paneled law office of Rand Colton, oldest son of former Senator Joseph Colton.

His relatives. Amazing. A whole, huge branch of the family Jesse and his family hadn’t known existed until a few short weeks ago. The wealthy, socially and politically prominent branch of the family, about as far away from Oklahoma and Black Arrow as a person could get.

He’d seen photographs of Senator Colton, read stories of the scandal and murders and near tragedies that had nearly torn the California family apart.

He’d run several Colton names through the Internet, read the microfiche newspaper articles at the library, and had come to the conclusion that the last thing these people needed was for another problem to rear its ugly head, both privately and for public consumption.

The public had consumed plenty already, with the murder attempts on the former senator by both his business partner and his supposed wife.

That had been the double whammy, that his wife had been the victim of amnesia for ten years while her twin sister, a convicted murderer, had impersonated her, taken her place in Joe Colton’s house, Joe Colton’s bed.

Bizarre.

It was the stuff of tabloids, made for TV docudramas, all that sleazy stuff. Except it all had happened to good people.

But all of that was over, in the past. Problems solved, lives mended, the future bright.

Until these latest revelations that, thankfully, were still hiding under the press’s radar. Until, if the information Jesse had received thus far was correct, it had been learned that his grandmother had been the legal wife of Joe Colton’s father, Teddy. The only legal wife of Joe Colton’s father.

Making Senator Joseph Colton the bastard born on the wrong side of the blanket. Oh yeah, the tabloids would gobble it up if they knew. One thing Jesse wanted to make very clear to the senator’s son was that nobody in the Oklahoma branch of the Coltons planned to go public with anything. Ever.

“Jesse,” Rand Colton said, walking around from behind his desk, his right hand extended in greeting. “Or should I say, cousin?”

Jesse took the man’s hand in his, felt the dry warmth and solid strength he hadn’t expected to find in the grip of a lawyer. “Jesse’s fine,” he said, then took a seat on a chair that was part of a small conversational gathering of chairs and couch on one side of the large office. “Are we really sure?”

“You’ve spoken to your family?” Rand asked, lowering his six-foot-two-inch frame into the facing chair.

“Yes, when I went home after my grandmother’s funeral. I couldn’t be there in July, as I was traveling in Europe with the president, but I finally got there. They’ve been having some pretty interesting times in Black Arrow.”

“Thanks to my uncle, yes,” Rand said, shaking his head, then looking toward the now-open door. “Is there something wrong, Sylvia?”

“Oh, no sir, Mr. Colton. I only wondered if you and Mr. Colton might like some coffee,” the secretary said.

“Coffee?” Rand asked, looking at Jesse.

“Sure,” he answered, and turned to smile at the secretary. “I take it black, thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble, Mr. Colton,” Sylvia gushed, and Jesse saw a slight flush in her cheeks. “Really. It’s absolutely no trouble at all.”

As the secretary turned to exit, and nearly collided with the doorjamb, Rand said, “Do you always have that impact on women? I doubt I’ll get any coffee at all. You’ll probably get coffee and doughnuts.”

Jesse settled himself in his chair once more, and grinned. “It’s my Comanche blood, I suppose. Some women find that exciting.”

“I find that Comanche blood interesting, frankly,” Rand said, crossing one long leg over the other. “From everything I’ve learned about Teddy Colton—our mutual paternal grandfather—he was a heavy drinker, a social climber, a pompous ass—and a world-class bigot.”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Jesse said, resting his arms on the chair. “But I’ve seen early photographs of my grandmother just before she went to Reno to get a job that would allow her to send money home to her parents, and she was a beautiful woman. I mean, truly beautiful. He probably couldn’t help himself.”

“I can believe that. I can also believe that Teddy met her and married her—before his society marriage to my grandmother. My paternal granddaddy, a bigamist. It’s still mind-boggling. Have you seen the documentation?”

Jesse nodded. “On my visit home, yes. I brought the deed and marriage license back with me so I could look into the matter here. Although why Gloria—my grandmother—never told her sons the full truth is still beyond me.”

“Pride,” Rand said with a slight nod of his head. “The way I’ve heard it, thanks to my father, is that when she realized she was pregnant and contacted Teddy, it was to learn that my grandmother was also pregnant. She could have raised one hell of a stink but she didn’t. She just went home to raise her twin sons on her own. I admire her greatly. A simple woman with real class and a giving heart. Teddy, on the other hand, didn’t trust her.”

“Never measure others by the length of your own lodgepole, as my great-grandfather would say. Teddy would have used information like that as a hammer, and so he felt sure Gloria would, as well. But she never did.”

“And she never took a penny from the trust Teddy set up in her name,” Rand said, “or from the house he put into the trust for her. The Chekagovian embassy. I’ve already asked the lawyers who handle the trust to request that the embassy be vacated, and that’s well in hand.”

“I can’t believe we can evict the Chekagovians,” Jesse said with a smile.

“We didn’t have to. It seems the embassy was already in the process of being emptied in favor of a newer building closer to the Capitol. It should be entirely vacant by the end of next week. I’ll make sure you have keys waiting for you at the lawyers’ office, as I’m sure you’ll want to see the place. I know I would. Say, next Friday?”

Jesse lowered his eyelids, thinking that Samantha would be pleased when he told her he could take her on a tour of the estate. Nothing like turning this entire thing into a dating opportunity. He blinked, ordered his mind to concentrate on the matters at hand.

“Thank you. And about the trust? I’m still having a hard time getting my mind wrapped around that number. Ten million dollars?”

“Rounded down, yes. Sixty years of interest is a lot of interest, especially when the stock market began taking off—and especially when the trust was handled well enough to get out of that market and into safer funds while it was still high,” Rand said, grinning. “And imagine. If my uncle Graham hadn’t gotten greedy, nobody might have known about any of this.”

“Yes, how did that happen?”

Rand and Jesse both stood up as Sylvia entered, carrying a tray holding a small pot, two cups and saucers and one plate of doughnuts. “Thank you, Sylvia. Sylvia?” Rand prompted as his secretary continued to stare at Jesse.

“Thank you, Sylvia,” Jesse said, and the secretary blushed again, then backed her way out of the room.

“Truly amazing. I believe it’s called charisma, Jesse,” Rand said as he sat down once more. “Living in this town, you ought to run for office. You’d certainly get the female vote, if Sylvia’s any indication.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jesse said, then took a bite of the glazed doughnut he’d selected.

“Anyway,” Rand said, picking up his coffee cup, “it was Graham, my father’s brother, who contacted our lawyers here in some desperation, wanting to sell up anything that might be left of their father and mother’s estate.”

“Yes, I remember the name now. Graham. The younger brother?”

“That’s him. Graham earns plenty working for my dad, but money just runs through his fingers, so he was looking for another way to make a quick buck. The way I heard it, some junior law clerk, God knows why, mentioned the Georgetown mansion. Never should have happened because my grandfather had apparently explicitly demanded the estate be kept private unless the inquisitor had the deed in hand. Anyway, the clerk was disciplined, although I’m rather glad he made the mistake, if not happy how Graham reacted to learning of your grandmother’s existence. He went ballistic, thinking about the money and the possible scandal.”

“So you don’t mind any of this?”

Rand shook his head. “The money simply isn’t an issue. As for the scandal? It’s ancient history. Besides, if the news had come out years ago, when Dad was running for the Senate, I imagine his handlers would have put a hell of a spin on it. Who knows, he could have ended up as president.”

Jesse laughed, as did Rand. “My family met your father in Black Arrow. They were very impressed with him. Even my great-grandfather, and let me tell you, the old boy isn’t an easy sell.”

“Dad’s good at impressing people. It comes naturally to him, probably because he’s a good man. I wish I could say the same for Graham.”

“He’s the one who hired somebody to find the marriage license, birth certificates, the deed to the Georgetown mansion, and destroy them? The same guy who ordered the town hall burnt down?”

“Not to mention the break-ins at the newspaper office and your late grandmother’s feed and grain store, yes. Busy, busy, busy. Although Graham swears he never told his hireling to do any of that. No violence, he told the guy, or so he says. Just to find the papers and destroy them, as if destroying evidence and robbing a family of its just inheritance were forgivable. But that’s Graham. He sees things his own way. Luckily, the documents were always in a locked box in your grandmother’s bedroom.”

“And the lawyers here have verified everything from the original deed for the Georgetown property to the marriage license,” Jesse said, perhaps a bit too sternly.

“Your whole branch of the Colton family is quite legitimate. You can rest assured that nobody on our side of the family is going to oppose your claim in any way.”

“Thank you. And I can tell you that no one on our side of the family is going to look this gift horse in the mouth, or try to profit from a sad situation by going public with it.”

Rand seemed relieved by his last statement. “Sounds like we’ve agreed, then. Good, and I thank you. So, what do you and your family plan to do with the estate? With all that money?”

Jesse grinned, looked quite boyish for a moment. “We haven’t the faintest damn idea, cousin.”

Samantha ate at her desk, some quite wonderful beef sandwiches left over from the Sunday roast.

She knew the meat was good; it had been a nearly perfect rump roast she’d prepared with garlic mashed potatoes and freshly steamed broccoli. Rose, the live-in maid, who was a full-time student and the only staff Samantha would allow her mother to put in the house, had sworn it tasted like ambrosia. Samantha had agreed.

Yet, today, it tasted like cardboard.

She lifted the top piece of bread and stared at the meat, lettuce and mayonnaise. Nope. Not cardboard.