The Kingmaker (Powerplay #1) Read online

  His broad shoulders and narrow waist were emphasized by the perfect cut of his suit, but his tie was askew, as if he’d been yanking on it, and his body hummed with a kind of restless energy visible even on camera. As Melville gestured around the stage, talking about supporters and advisors, the camera zoomed in, and London got a split second close-up of those eyes. The icy blue eyes that had stared her down not two hours ago in a bedroom of the Renaissance Hotel. Coupled with the hard-as-steel jaw, those eyes were intimidating. But then everything about Derek Ambrose was intimidating. And sexy. Really damn sexy.

  “Oh look,” Joanna breathed as she watched the screen raptly. “There’s Derek Ambrose, he must be Melville’s campaign consultant. Isn’t he the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

  London scoffed. “If you like them big and mean, I guess?”

  “How do you know he’s mean? Ooh, have you met him?” She turned to face London, her face lit up with excitement.

  “Just look at him. Look at his expression. That is not the face of a nice guy.” London nodded her head as if it would give her statement more weight.

  Joanna pondered the screen for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. Melville seems a lot more approachable. And he might even be better-looking anyway.”

  London wished she could agree.

  “Oh. Here we go,” Joanna said, turning up the volume.

  “So it is with great pleasure,” Melville spoke into the microphones set before him, “that I officially announce my candidacy for President of the United States.”

  The various hangers-on and hired guns on stage clapped loudly and Joanna squealed with excitement.

  “He’s doing it, he’s going to run.” She turned to London. “You have no idea how this is going to change Brian’s career. He can go from being a minion at the law firm to being a power broker on the Hill. You have to promise me you’ll vote for Melville.”

  London tried not to sigh. “I don’t vote. You know this.”

  Joanna made a face in exasperation. “London, seriously, you can’t keep living in D.C. and be so incredibly blasé about our nation’s governance.”

  “Like you care who wins? The only thing that matters to you is whether Brian gets to be Ambassador to some small exotic island where you can lie by a pool all day and be fanned by native boys.”

  Joanna laughed and London softened the words with a grin.

  “That is patently untrue,” Joanna said, turning serious—at least for her. “I care a great deal about who runs this country, and I think Senator Melville would make an excellent president. He’s young and creative, he’s sponsored some of the most important legislation protecting women and children that we’ve seen in decades, and he seems very devoted to his wife and family. Doesn’t that sound like the kind of man you want as president?”

  It took everything London had not to fall on the floor laughing. Melville was young all right. That’s about all London was willing to give him at the moment.

  London cleared her throat. “Well, I hope he wins—for Brian’s sake at least.”

  “So you’ll think about voting for him? Maybe you could even get involved in the campaign a bit. You are registered so you can vote in the primaries, right? Please tell me you didn’t go and do something dumb like put yourself down as an independent.”

  London took another sip of water before answering. “I’m registered. And for the right party even.”

  “Oh thank God. I didn’t want to have to unfriend you after all the effort I’ve put in.” Joanna winked and stood. “I really should go, Brian is going to want to talk about the campaign tonight, and I need to have the furniture for the solarium picked out by the time he comes home so that he’ll be too distracted to notice the prices.”

  London smiled. “You’re a devious one, Joanna Russell.”

  “That I am.”

  After Joanna left, London turned her attention back to the television screen, watching the last of the press conference play out. As the camera panned around the stage while Melville answered the final questions from reporters, it stalled on Derek, his face stony, his expression unreadable, and then just before it moved on, he cracked. His eyes flashed fire and his mouth twitched, those full lips pursing briefly. As London watched, rapt, she could have sworn he was looking right at her. And burning her alive while he did it.

  Derek Ambrose was the nation’s leading campaign consultant. Blessed with the looks and persona that could easily have made him a candidate himself, he’d chosen life on the inside of the political world, but that didn’t stop him from being a star in his party, known by the public, often the public face of campaigns, and a darling of the media. When Derek spoke, America listened, and when he posed, they watched. He actually preferred pulling the strings from behind the scenes, but he’d long ago become accustomed to the attention, and used it to his benefit when necessary. Because in Washington you needed every advantage you could get, and Derek wasn’t shy about finding his own advantages.

  Several hours after Melville’s announcement, Derek dropped his jacket and briefcase on the sofa as he entered the large lounge of a studio apartment in the heart of downtown D.C. It contained all the classic elements of a man cave—sectional sofas, pool table, fully stocked bar, big screen TV—and it served as the headquarters for the Powerplay Club.

  The Powerplay club was one of the best-kept secrets in Washington. Formed by Derek and his college classmate Kamal Masri, the son of a wealthy Egyptian businessman and currently the Egyptian Ambassador to the U.S., the club’s members had been chosen carefully and consciously. Each of the six had a position in a different area of Washington’s elite, and each brought unique knowledge and insight to the club. The club’s objective was to garner power and influence for its members, and Derek had known that together they stood a far better chance of reaching the top of the D.C. dog pile than they did alone.

  The club operated with very few rules. Each member had his special connections and skills, the others would call on them as needed. Derek was a mastermind who could strategize better than anyone in the District. Kamal had connections—legal ones and not so legal ones—who could get intelligence on virtually anything or anyone. Teague Roberts handled all their legal issues from criminal to contracts. Other members had their own skills and resources, and they all benefited from the association.

  One of the club’s biggest pushes had been to find a presidential candidate they could support, nurture, and place in office. The inside track to the President of the United States was a goal that all of the Powerplay members shared, and one that would give them unprecedented influence. While Derek had personally known every U.S. President for the last decade, he’d never been the campaign manager for any of them. He’d grown tired of waiting to be invited and decided to recruit his own candidate.

  By joint agreement the club had settled on Jason Melville, second term Senator from Pennsylvania, and up and coming party favorite. The Powerplay members had been impressed with his leadership on the Senate Foreign Affairs committee, his spotless personal life, and his willingness to listen to their objectives while still standing strong in his positions. It didn’t hurt that Melville was dedicated to working for some of the issues closest to Derek’s heart—women, children, and workers’ rights. Melville was widely known as being one of the hardest-working members of the Senate. He was serious about the issues, and about his part in effecting real change in Washington.

  But given what Derek had seen of the Senator earlier in the day, perhaps his workaholic tendencies needed some tempering—in a way other than sex with a hooker. Now Derek was faced with telling his closest friends and confidants that their chosen one was tarnished so badly the whole effort might have been a waste of time.

  Kamal, and Jeff, a U.S. Army Colonel and the group’s security specialist, had beat Derek to the club condo, and were arguing at the pool table as he approached.

  “I did not tap it twice,” Jeff rumbled. “It was a clean shot, you just
can’t stand to lose.”

  Kamal shook his head of dark hair. He needed a haircut, Derek thought. What the hell kind of Ambassador let his hair curl up over the collar of his shirt?

  “You clearly tapped it twice. But since you’re afraid I’ll win unless you cheat, then we’ll call it good and move on.”

  Derek reached the table, watching as Jeff shook his head and pursed his lips. Kamal had a spark in his eyes that was a clear indication he was in a trouble-making mood. Something that rarely bode well for anyone.

  “Is this how you handle delicate international negotiations?” Derek queried. “Tell them they get the win because they’re pussies?”

  Kamal laughed heartily. “Yes, telling the diplomatic staff of opposing nations that they’re pussies—as you so eloquently put it—is a highly effective strategy. I think in fact that’s how World War II started, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re a dick,” Jeff answered with no real heat from where he now lounged against the bar, a tumbler of scotch in hand.

  “Ah, but I’ve been told it’s one of my more popular features.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes and Derek stared at Kamal with disdain.

  “It’s true,” a voice boomed from the front door of the apartment. “I was with him at the Stageline Club last week and the blonde on his lap was very complimentary of his dickliness.”

  “That’s not a word, Teague,” Derek answered, turning to watch the dapper, imposing figure approach.

  “How are you?” Teague asked as he reached the pool table and gave Derek a hard slap on the back.

  “I’ve been better,” Derek grumbled.

  “This ought to be your moment of triumph,” Teague said. Derek could see the high-powered litigator in him laying in wait just under the surface, ready to do battle with anyone or anything that might have fucked up Derek’s day. Teague hadn’t made it to full partner at one of the most powerful law firms in the nation by being quiet and compromising. Unfortunately, they were all hamstrung when it came to Jason Melville. They’d chosen him, and now they had to live with the consequences.

  “Did you catch the press conference today?”

  All three of the other men around the pool table nodded.

  “Well, the part you didn’t see was when I caught our candidate about to fuck a hooker two hours before that.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Teague muttered.

  “Bloody fool,” Kamal added, tossing his pool cue on the table in disgust.

  Jeff merely snorted. Everyone there knew what he thought of politicians.

  “I did clean up as best I could. The woman is apparently known for her discretion, but I wonder how many presidential contenders she’s had as clients. I doubt she’s dealt with this level of shit before now.”

  “Who is she?” Teague asked.

  Derek reached into his briefcase on the sofa and picked up his tablet swiping at the screen quickly to pull up the report his top-notch investigations team had put together over the last few hours of the day. In Derek’s line of work, having highly capable and highly discreet P.I.s at your beck and call was essential.

  “London Sharpe. She’s been with Double D Escorts for the last eight years, and before that it appears she was an exotic dancer at the Beltway Club.”

  “So high-end all the way,” Kamal added.

  “Yes. She’s a damn grand an hour.”

  “Whooo,” Teague shook his hand out and whistled.

  “And before the Beltway Club?” Jeff asked.

  “There are a couple of years missing in her late teens. She’s the daughter of a Middle Eastern linguistics professor at Georgetown. Father unknown.”

  “What’s the mother’s name?” Kamal demanded, extra alert now.

  Derek scrolled through the report he’d been emailed by his in-house investigation team. “Farrah Amid. Iranian dissident who claimed political asylum when the daughter was about two.”

  Kamal nodded. “Persian. A lot of highly educated women in Iran. I can’t imagine her mother is too pleased with the daughter’s choice of profession.”

  “So was she a runaway teen?” Jeff interjected.

  “What makes you think that?” Derek asked, something about the idea of the beautiful fiery woman being young and alone twisting his stomach.

  “There are years missing right around the time she’s what, seventeen? Eighteen?”

  Derek looked at the screen. “Yeah, last adolescent record is first semester of her senior year in high school. She would have been…seventeen.”

  Jeff nodded. “And she turns back up when?”

  “At twenty.”

  Teague looked at Jeff and some understanding seemed to pass between the two men. Jeff’s childhood had been spent in the rural south, while Teague’s was in a New York City housing project. But both men had clawed their way to the top of their respective fields, and they’d both seen a lot of the darker side of life before they got there.

  “My guess is that’s as long as she could make it before she had to turn to stripping and prostitution to survive,” Teague said quietly.

  Derek’s gut clenched. There was a vast difference between a confident, beautiful woman choosing to become an escort and a scared, hungry teen turning to prostitution in order to eat. He didn’t like either scenario personally, but only the latter made him physically nauseous.

  “Luckily she landed in the classier places,” Kamal added. “Could have been worse.”

  “She said something to me this morning,” Derek said. “She said, ‘I have complete control over my life. Don’t pity me.’ It sounded so much more like it was a choice than the picture you’re painting.”

  Teague shrugged. “Sometimes it helps to convince yourself of that.”

  All four men were silent for a moment. Derek knew better than to ask Teague for details about his life prior to the day Teague arrived in D.C. to attend law school at Georgetown, but he’d gleaned enough over the years to realize that Teague had lived through things most people only saw on television shows like Breaking Bad. If anyone knew what it felt like to be young, alone, and desperate, it was Teague.

  “Now if only we knew whether she’ll be satisfied with the payoff I gave her…” he muttered.

  “She will,” Kamal said with confidence. “Even after she gives the agency their cut she earns a great deal, and she was raised in a culture that highly reveres integrity. Her word is probably as good as gold. You just made her day at work more profitable than usual is all.” He paused. “How much did you give her anyway?”

  “Twenty grand.” Derek sighed. He made a very good living, but twenty grand wasn’t chump change, and he’d really been looking forward to having that new Jaguar F-Type parked in his Georgetown garage next month.

  “Ouch,” Jeff said, grimacing.

  “So we think she’ll keep quiet?” Kamal summarized.

  Teague and Jeff nodded.

  “And if she doesn’t?” Kamal asked.

  “Then we’re fucked,” Derek answered. “And eighteen months of plans are as well.”

  No one looked happy at that. The Powerplay club had worked hard to choose Melville. They’d scouted candidates, discussed options, and vetted the Senator very carefully. It was a colossal disappointment to find out he had bad habits they hadn’t discovered prior to his announcement.

  “How did this slip by us?” Jeff asked. “There was nothing in his background or profile that indicated he was seeing a hooker.”

  “Escort,” Derek interjected half-heartedly.

  “Whatever,” Jeff replied.

  Teague snorted.

  Derek continued, “I don’t know how it slipped by, I’ve talked to our investigators and believe me we’ll be shopping around for some new talent, but in the meantime I do not like someone else holding the cards here.”

  “Let me look into options to get us in a better position,” Teague said. “Maybe we can find some sort of leverage to insure she keeps quiet.”

  “I’ll ask my contact at the D.C
. police department what he can tell us about the escort service too,” Jeff added, running a hand over his buzz cut hair. Even though he’d been assigned to the Pentagon for several years, he kept his hair as short as a field officer did.

  “Good,” Kamal said. “And let’s get Scott to keep an eye on our candidate while he’s at work on the Hill.” Powerplay member Scott Campbell was Chief of Staff for the President Pro Temp of the Senate.

  “And I’ve got him when he’s on the campaign trail.” Derek scowled.

  “Now,” Kamal pressed. “What’s next on the agenda?”

  Chapter 2

  London didn’t work that night. Generally she had one client a day, four to five days a week. She took on a new client every couple of months, but most of the time she was dealing with regular customers. She was the most popular escort at her agency, and didn’t need to do anything to get new clients referred to her whenever old ones dropped off.

  But she decided to stop by the office. She wanted to check up on the next day’s schedule and get out of the house, plus she really owed it to her employers to inform them of the day’s happenings¸ since they’d been anything but ordinary. The entire event with Melville and Derek Ambrose had left her restless and unfocused. She’d tried cooking, her usual go-to for stress relief, but that had only resulted in a house full of bread that she really shouldn’t eat all in one day, so she wrapped up a couple of loaves and caught a cab to a high-end storefront in the tony shopping district on Wisconsin Avenue. The small luxury lingerie store served as a front for the much more lucrative business of escort service.

  The door chimed as she entered the store. Gorgeous French silk in pastels, jewel tones, and neutrals hung from padded hangers and filled glass cases along the walls. Bras, panties, corsets, garter belts, the store was the wealthy D.C. woman’s ace-in-the-hole when it came to seduction.

  A well-dressed and well-coiffed woman in her early fifties stepped out from the back room, her face breaking into a smile when she saw London. The inky hair that was pulled back into a sophisticated twist had strands of silver through it, but her green eyes were bright and her face was nearly unlined. She also had a style, and the very slightest accent, that told of her French origins.