Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series Page 11

  “Good.”

  “I’ve decided to take a more active role as second lady.”

  “Really?” His grunt of laughter made her smile. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “Neither did I, but I’m seeing it as an opportunity to shine some light on things that matter to me, including raising money for spinal cord injury research and adoption and infertility and law enforcement. Those kinds of things.”

  “All worthy causes.”

  “I think so too.” She stood, kissed his forehead and laid her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for this. It was just what I needed.”

  “Anytime, baby girl.”

  “How’s the pain today?”

  “Manageable.”

  “So the needles are helping?” she asked, cringing. Acupuncture was one of several remedies the doctors at the National Institutes of Health had recommended to combat the pain of Skip’s nerves coming back to life after the bullet that had been lodged in his spine for three years was removed.

  “Seem to be.”

  “How’s the sensation?”

  “Tingles all around, but no real movement.”

  “Yet. They said it could take months.”

  “And they said it also might not happen. No matter, I’m better than I was, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “For now.”

  * * *

  “Do you know what John Adams once said about the vice presidency?” Nick asked his chief of staff, Terry O’Connor, during a late-day strategy session.

  “What’s that?”

  “Adams said, it’s ‘the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived.’”

  Terry laughed. “It certainly has that reputation.”

  “I want to change that. I want to do things, not sit around and wait to be asked to participate.” Over the last few weeks, Nick had had a lot of sleepless nights in which he’d had to force himself to think of something—anything—other than the troubles that plagued his precious wife. “Nelson has his team in place, and they’ve been with him for years—decades in some cases. I’m a Johnny-come-lately, so naturally he has no real use for me. He’s got his people, and they’re out forwarding his agenda. I did what he needed by boosting his ratings. The country approves of his choice of a vice president, and he’s moved on. So there’s no reason I can’t set my own agenda and give attention to things that matter to me.”

  “No reason at all,” Terry said. “What’ve you got in mind?”

  With his feet propped on his desk and his tie loosened at the end of a long day, Nick tossed the football he’d been given at a recent fundraiser up in the air and caught it, then did it again. “When Sam met with her team, she gave them a list of issues that are close to her heart. Most of them are also close to mine. Adoption, spinal cord injury research, infertility, learning disabilities and support for law enforcement, especially in the rancorous environment cops are working in these days.”

  “All good causes worthy of the kind of attention you both could bring to them—and none of them are on Nelson’s list.”

  Nick smiled at his friend and closest aide. He loved that his late best friend’s brother worked with him. Having Terry around had helped to fill some of the void John’s death had left in Nick’s life. Some but not all—John was simply irreplaceable. “Exactly,” he said.

  “How do you want to proceed?”

  “Get with Lilia in Sam’s office to coordinate our approach. Make both of us available to groups that work in those areas. This is something my lovely wife and I can do together, and you know how I’m all for anything that includes her. I think it’ll make it easier for her to get involved if I am too.”

  “No doubt.”

  “I don’t want to do this the old-fashioned way, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The football went up and came back down. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened in the last year. I’ve gone from being John’s chief of staff to the Senate and now this. My head has finally begun to stop spinning, and I’ve come to a few realizations.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” Terry said dryly.

  “I’m the first of the next generation that’s going to run this country. I’m twenty-five years younger than Nelson, younger by decades than most of the people in Congress.”

  “And this is news to you?”

  “Not that so much as the opportunity to do things differently—to do things our way rather than their way.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Social media for one thing. How many high-ranking officials manage their own Twitter and Facebook accounts? How many participate on Instagram?”

  “So you want to start tweeting now?”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve got a perfectly capable staff to do those things for you.”

  “And they do a great job, but how much better would it be if I did it myself? If we made it known that every message from this office was from me and not a staffer?”

  “You think you’ll have time for that?”

  “All I’ve got is time. Nelson has given us the deep freeze, so let’s go forth on our own path. Besides, how long does it take to compose one-hundred-forty characters?”

  “Those hundred-forty characters can get you in a world of trouble if they aren’t done right.”

  Nick waved off Terry’s concern. “You’re missing the point. I want to get into trouble and stir things up and make a difference. I want to get people thinking about things they aren’t concerned enough about. I want to get the media reporting on what the VP is tweeting about today and how his Instagram profile has become a daily must-view. I want to be relevant.”

  Terry’s pen flew over the pad on his lap as he took notes. “Okay, social media. What else?”

  “Before we move on from social media, I want Trevor to set me up with a blog on Tumblr, and I want a MovieTime channel. Everything I do needs to be posted there—every appearance, fundraiser, speech, etc. Maybe a few personal things too, like hockey and baseball games with Scotty. The kind of stuff that shows that my life is like a lot of other people’s lives. I can take those videos myself on my phone.”

  Terry eyed him skeptically for a long moment and then put pen to paper. “MovieTime. Got it.”

  “Even though I sort of grew up in Washington over these last fifteen years, I’m not of Washington, you know? I’m not an insider.”

  Terry’s eyes went wide before he laughed. “If you’re not an insider, who is?”

  “I’m talking about Lowell and growing up as the product of teenage parents who had better things to do than raise the son they never wanted. Maybe I’ve become an insider, but I came from so far outside the Beltway it’s not even funny. I want to show other kids out there who have no hope that there’s always hope, that they can aim as high as they want and never stop reaching until they get where they want to be. Sometimes they can get to places they never dreamed of.” He gestured to the well-appointed White House office to make his point.

  “So you want to go into the schools and meet with kids?”

  “As often as I can. Middle school and high school kids, in particular, the ones who pretend to be so cool on the outside when they’re filled with doubts and insecurities on the inside.”

  Terry nodded in approval. “We can definitely make that happen.”

  “I don’t want just the affluent kids. I want the inner city kids too. Particularly them.”

  “Got it. What else?”

  “Get me on TV—late night talk shows, the Daily Show and anything that’s hip and widely watched by the younger demographic. I want to be where they are.”

  “You’ve been invited, literally, everywhere.”

  “Start saying yes to some of them.�
�

  “You’ll need to travel,” Terry said, knowing how much he hated being away from home, especially lately.

  “Or,” Nick said with a grin, “they could come to me if they want me badly enough.”

  “There is that.”

  “See what you can do. Of course I’d go to New York if I were asked to host Saturday Night Live.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m totally serious. That’d be the ultimate.”

  “Nelson would crap himself.”

  “All the more reason to do it.”

  Terry held up a stack of papers. “These are all the print interview requests you’ve received since you took office.”

  “Pick out five of the edgier, less predictable requests, and I’ll choose three of them to start with. I don’t want to be on the cover of the high-brow intellectual magazines, but I might say yes to Rolling Stone, Spin, The Fader or XXL.”

  “I haven’t even heard of those last two.”

  “They’re both music industry publications, but they cover culture and other hot topics.”

  “You’re very avant-garde, Mr. Vice President.”

  “That’s the idea. If I’m the VP for Gen X and Y, then let’s go to where they are. I want to engage them in government and the running of their country. I want to hear their ideas and get them talking.” Nick caught the football and held it between both hands. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “No, sir. I think you’re about to prove John Adams very, very wrong.”

  Nick smiled, pleased to know that Terry approved of his plans. “That’s the idea.”

  Chapter Ten

  As Sam walked home from her dad’s house, a caravan of black SUVs pulled up to their place. She recognized the agents from Nick’s detail and walked a little quicker so she could be there to greet him when he emerged from the back of the car.

  His face lit up with pleasure when he saw her there. And just like it always did when he walked into a room—or onto a sidewalk in this case—her heart skipped a happy beat at the sight of him.

  “This is a nice surprise, the little woman greeting the conquering hero when he returns from battle,” he said with a teasing grin.

  “Conquering hero? Have you given yourself yet another promotion?”

  “And here I thought the little woman thing would get me in trouble.”

  She went up on tiptoes to kiss him right in front of his detail, which went against everything she believed in about public displays of affection. “I like to surprise you.”

  His grin got bigger as he put his arm around her to walk her inside. “And you do it so well. How is my gorgeous little wife tonight?”

  “Better than she was this morning.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s very good news.”

  They walked up the ramp he’d had installed so her dad could visit their home.

  “Good evening, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano.”

  “Good evening, Jim,” Nick said to the agent manning the door.

  Sam hadn’t yet gotten used to having her own front door opened for her, but she expected it would become routine by the time Nick left office—or at least she hoped it would. When Sam would’ve tossed her coat over the sofa, Nick grabbed it and hung it next to his in the closet while Sam looked on in amusement. “There’s one minute of your life you’ll never get back.”

  “It was one minute well spent to keep our home orderly and neat.”

  She held up a hand to her ear. “What was that noise I just heard? Was it your sphincter tightening?”

  He laughed. “There she is.”

  Confused, Sam looked over her shoulder at an empty room. “There who is?”

  “There’s my smart-mouthed, sarcastic wife. I’ve missed her the last few weeks.”

  “She’s been right here.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, she hasn’t.” He glanced at Jim, who was standing inside the door pretending not to listen to every word they said. “Would you give us a minute, please?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The agent crossed to the room that used to be their study and now served as the Secret Service’s office.

  “There,” Nick said. “That’s better.” He drew her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her.

  Sam burrowed her nose into his neck, breathing in the sweet scents of starch and cologne, the smell of home. “I’m sorry about last night and everything—”

  He pulled back to kiss her. “No apology needed.”

  “I don’t know why I felt the need to fake it, Nick. I’ve been screwed up, but I think I’m going to be better now. Talking to Harry helped and my dad. Trulo cleared me to go back to work.”

  “Wow, you’ve had quite a day.”

  “I’m going to wait until after the inauguration to go back. Gonzo is running things on the knife murders, and it’s good for him to have that experience. I have dress fittings and other important second lady business to attend to, so the week after next is soon enough.”

  “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. I’m glad to hear you say you’re going back.”

  “Are you? I sort of figured you’d be happy to hear I was thinking of quitting.”

  “As much as I sweat over your safety, I’d never want you to give up something that makes you happy, especially not now. Not when it would give he-who-shall-not-be-named such pleasure to think he ran you off the force.”

  “My dad said the same thing.”

  “Skip is a wise man, and so is your husband.”

  “Indeed. Could I schedule a little loft time tonight?” She ran her finger down the silky length of his tie and hooked it under his belt. “I owe you a do-over.”

  “Um…” He swallowed hard.

  “What?”

  “I can’t remember what I was going to say. All the blood in my body is heading to a party in my pants.”

  Sam started laughing and couldn’t stop.

  Scotty came in from the kitchen and made a face at them. “Eww, are you kissing again?”

  Nick smiled at her as he released her. “To be continued.” Turning to Scotty, he said, “I’m living for the day you have your first girlfriend. Be prepared to pay for all the times you’ve said how gross kissing is.”

  Scotty made another disgusted face that had them both laughing.

  “How’s the homework?” Sam asked.

  “All done except for stinking math. Shelby and I made our own meatballs. They are so good. You gotta come have some. It’s all ready.”

  “It smells fantastic,” Nick said. He took Sam’s hand to walk with her into the kitchen.

  “I should be doing this stuff with him,” Sam said for Nick’s ears only.

  “It’s probably better for all of us if we let Shelby handle that part of his education.”

  Sam elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m not that bad in the kitchen.”

  “Um, yeah you are, but luckily you shine in other rooms.”

  “Sex-crazed beast.”

  “I’m a victim of my environment.” He gave her a little push that carried her into the kitchen where their personal assistant and friend, Shelby Faircloth, was stirring something on the stove.

  The tiny blonde wore an apron that covered the slight bump in her abdomen.

  “You’re feeling better, Tinker Bell?” Sam asked.

  “I might’ve turned a corner this morning. I only puked twice and then I felt good enough to come spend some time with my best buddy Scotty.”

  “Glad to hear it. What’ve you brewed up for us tonight?”

  “Scotty gets all the credit. I only supervised.”

  “Is Avery still away?” Sam ask
ed, casually, not wanting to show too much interest in the FBI agent who’d shown too much interest in her for Nick’s liking. But now he was engaged to Shelby, and that was all in the past. Or at least it was for Sam. Nick still showed his teeth a little too often when Avery was around.

  “Yes, he’s in Charleston for one more night.”

  “How’s his mother doing?”

  “Much better. The cardiologist said the pacemaker is working perfectly, and she shouldn’t have any more issues.”

  “The family must be relieved.”

  “Very much so.” Shelby removed the apron, and Sam tried not to fixate overly much on the gentle swell of her abdomen under the fuzzy pink sweater she wore. “I’ll get out of here so you guys can eat.” She kissed Scotty’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

  “Why don’t you stay and eat with us?” Nick said. “I’m sure there’s plenty, and there’s no need for you to eat alone when you could be with us.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Scotty said as he set a fourth place. “We love having you around.”

  Shelby’s eyes filled with tears. “Damned pregnancy hormones.” She glanced at Sam, seeming to immediately regret complaining about pregnancy.

  Sam smiled at her, hoping to send the message that it was okay. She could handle being around yet another pregnant woman when pregnancy had proven challenging for her.

  They sat down to enjoy Scotty’s delicious meatballs and a rant about the insanity of seventh grade math.

  “Can I just say, for the record, that I totally agree with you?” Sam said. The glass of wine Nick had poured for her had given her liquid courage. “Middle school math sucks balls.”

  “Samantha,” her husband said in the chastising tone she loved.

  “What? It does! It’s the stupidest thing in the history of stupid things. When have you ever used algebra for anything?” She looked to Nick and Shelby, neither of whom had a satisfactory answer. “We put kids all the way through school without teaching them a thing about personal finance or nutrition or how to open a bank account or why they need insurance or how to buy a house. We torture them with algebra and chemistry and Shakespeare, but they don’t learn much of anything that they’ll actually use in their lives.”