Read Online Power Play (An FBI Thriller) by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Coulter
Ads: Link
nice old couple,” he added, “and they wanted to help, but the fact is I don’t even think the Thompsons even realized you were shot at, from what they said.”
“I wish I’d gotten a better look at him myself. I’ve been going over what I saw of him all evening, and there’s nothing more. Like I told the officers, he was on the tall side and kind of thin. A really nice camel wool coat, khakis, and boots. I couldn’t tell his age because he was wearing sunglasses and had his head all bundled up. That’s all I’ve got.” She sighed again. “Well, the forensics team might find some fingerprints on the motorcycle or DNA, if the gods are smiling on us. With any luck, he’ll be in the database.”
“We’ll check the street cameras outside the Hoover Building, and any along Prospect Street near the service station. If you’reright, and it was an old Colt M1917, but I doubt he bought the gun on the street. I wonder how he got hold of such an old weapon.”
“He probably didn’t know how to buy a throwaway. Maybe it belonged to his grandfather. Hey, where are you going?”
Savich turned to look down at her. He saw the slight bulge of the bandage beneath her nightgown sleeve and felt a spurt of fear. “I was going to put a brighter lightbulb in the closet so you won’t strain your eyes reading when I lock you in.”
Secretary of state’s home
Caldicott Road, Washington, D.C.
Tuesday night
I t appeared to Davis that Arliss Goddard Abbott’s second husband was a booze hound, but then he supposed he’d have to consider that Brooxey Wallingford, of the Philadelphia mainline Wallingfords, could support one or two third-world countries. Davis thought the elder Wallingford seniors must have hated him to pin such a ridiculous name on him. He’d obviously drunk one too many shots of Glenfiddich that evening and was ogling the women, particularly Natalie, that or her diamonds, Davis wasn’t sure which. He and the secretary of state, who’d kept her own name, had been married less than a year, Natalie had told him, and said only, “He was always nice and charming the half-dozen times I was with him socially. He was a prince at their wedding.” She looked from Arliss to Wallingford, sighed. “I wonder if Arliss knew he was such a drinker before they got married.”
Cynical to the bone, Davis said, “It may be a huge mitigating factor that he and his family are almost as rich as Bill Gates.”
Natalie shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, it’s none of my business.”
When they reached Arliss Abbott in the receiving line, she cheek-kissed Natalie and gave Davis a cool smile and a firm handshake. She was a tall, elegant woman in her long black designer gown, similar in age and as beautifully presented as Natalie. She was, Davis thought, the undisputed queen of her kingdom. It was odd though, that Natalie seemed to radiate warmth and interest, whereas Abbott gave off an “I’m in charge and don’t you forget it” vibe
.
Maybe, he thought, she had learned to project that image on the job, but he doubted it. He rather thought she’d learned it in the cradle. He saw her give a nearly imperceptible nod to one of her aides. Davis watched the young man discreetly lead second husband Wallingford away, with some practiced excuse, no doubt. What would the aide do? Put him in his jammies and tuck him in bed?
He felt her powerful intelligence focus on him. “Natalie tells me you’re a special agent with the FBI. I understand you work for Dillon Savich, and everyone is impressed with him, the president included.”
Maybe Davis was impressive by extension? “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and left it at that.
“However did you hook up with Natalie?”
Hook up?
Well, she was sitting in a smoky bar over on K Street, drinking alone, and I
—“Natalie tells it better than I do, ma’am. I guess you could say I protect her from unwanted attention.” Davis kept his eyes firmly on her face, not about to see if Mr.
“I wish I’d gotten a better look at him myself. I’ve been going over what I saw of him all evening, and there’s nothing more. Like I told the officers, he was on the tall side and kind of thin. A really nice camel wool coat, khakis, and boots. I couldn’t tell his age because he was wearing sunglasses and had his head all bundled up. That’s all I’ve got.” She sighed again. “Well, the forensics team might find some fingerprints on the motorcycle or DNA, if the gods are smiling on us. With any luck, he’ll be in the database.”
“We’ll check the street cameras outside the Hoover Building, and any along Prospect Street near the service station. If you’reright, and it was an old Colt M1917, but I doubt he bought the gun on the street. I wonder how he got hold of such an old weapon.”
“He probably didn’t know how to buy a throwaway. Maybe it belonged to his grandfather. Hey, where are you going?”
Savich turned to look down at her. He saw the slight bulge of the bandage beneath her nightgown sleeve and felt a spurt of fear. “I was going to put a brighter lightbulb in the closet so you won’t strain your eyes reading when I lock you in.”
Secretary of state’s home
Caldicott Road, Washington, D.C.
Tuesday night
I t appeared to Davis that Arliss Goddard Abbott’s second husband was a booze hound, but then he supposed he’d have to consider that Brooxey Wallingford, of the Philadelphia mainline Wallingfords, could support one or two third-world countries. Davis thought the elder Wallingford seniors must have hated him to pin such a ridiculous name on him. He’d obviously drunk one too many shots of Glenfiddich that evening and was ogling the women, particularly Natalie, that or her diamonds, Davis wasn’t sure which. He and the secretary of state, who’d kept her own name, had been married less than a year, Natalie had told him, and said only, “He was always nice and charming the half-dozen times I was with him socially. He was a prince at their wedding.” She looked from Arliss to Wallingford, sighed. “I wonder if Arliss knew he was such a drinker before they got married.”
Cynical to the bone, Davis said, “It may be a huge mitigating factor that he and his family are almost as rich as Bill Gates.”
Natalie shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, it’s none of my business.”
When they reached Arliss Abbott in the receiving line, she cheek-kissed Natalie and gave Davis a cool smile and a firm handshake. She was a tall, elegant woman in her long black designer gown, similar in age and as beautifully presented as Natalie. She was, Davis thought, the undisputed queen of her kingdom. It was odd though, that Natalie seemed to radiate warmth and interest, whereas Abbott gave off an “I’m in charge and don’t you forget it” vibe
.
Maybe, he thought, she had learned to project that image on the job, but he doubted it. He rather thought she’d learned it in the cradle. He saw her give a nearly imperceptible nod to one of her aides. Davis watched the young man discreetly lead second husband Wallingford away, with some practiced excuse, no doubt. What would the aide do? Put him in his jammies and tuck him in bed?
He felt her powerful intelligence focus on him. “Natalie tells me you’re a special agent with the FBI. I understand you work for Dillon Savich, and everyone is impressed with him, the president included.”
Maybe Davis was impressive by extension? “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and left it at that.
“However did you hook up with Natalie?”
Hook up?
Well, she was sitting in a smoky bar over on K Street, drinking alone, and I
—“Natalie tells it better than I do, ma’am. I guess you could say I protect her from unwanted attention.” Davis kept his eyes firmly on her face, not about to see if Mr.
Similar Books
