Read No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Mark E Becker
No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) (33 page)
“Notify security at Fairlane that Rachel is not to be notified of my arrival, and I will be approaching by foot and alone. I will be entering through the private door, and I want them to leave us alone for the evening.”
“Mr. President, she knows you’re coming. We have been keeping her informed since the start of the crisis according to your instructions.” Armstrong saw the look of dismay that his words had caused. “She knows you’re OK, she knows you’re coming, but she doesn’t know when. She kicked my detail out of the house a few hours ago, with strict instructions that they were not to enter. My guys are holed up in the room above the garage,” he said reassuringly.
“Good. Leave them there.”
He turned toward the house. The only sound was the crunch of snow under his feet. He could breathe again. Max savored the moment and made his way alone, pausing only to marvel at the stars in the clear night sky that the full moon could not outshine. It was a moment in time, but his pausing provoked anxiety. He felt a longing to be home, and he missed Rachel. She was his love. No woman he had known was so right for him. She knew it, too. They both felt it. They had trust, mutual attraction, and a healthy approach to life. He had never felt this way about any of the many, and it felt comfortable. He needed Rachel in his life.
Max approached his private entrance. The technology he had ordered to be installed eliminated any chance that an intruder could enter through that door. He was scanned, and the door unlocked immediately. Forcible entry would have sealed the hallway and gassed all intruders into immediate unconsciousness, and if no antidote was administered within ten minutes, death would come quietly.
He strode quickly down the long hallway. His boots squeaked on the tile floor as he made his way toward Rachel.
She knows I’m coming. What surprise does she have in store for me?
He entered the central part of the house, the kitchen. The four hallways all converged on the kitchen; Senator Masterson had designed it after realizing that every gathering ends up in the kitchen. There were stools and a counter that addressed each of the hallways as a welcome to anyone who entered from any part of the house. Then there was the pool; it was visible from the kitchen, too, and he saw a glow. Dozens of large candles illuminated the interior of the geodesic dome that covered the heated pool. The steam rising from the pool and the snow falling on the heated glass gave the illusion of a tropical forest inside of a huge snowball.
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“Rachel! I’m home!”
There was no answer, but he was drawn to the glow like a moth to a flame.
The glass doors parted as he entered the pool enclosure. A wave of warm, humid air engulfed him. “Rachel, where are you? He stood at the edge of the pool and surveyed the effusion of tropical plants that surrounded the pool. Suddenly, he felt a blow to his butt and felt himself vaulting through the air. He flipped and landed with a splash. Max looked up, and when he had cleared the water from his vision, he saw the most erotic image he had ever seen. Rachel stood above him. She stood above him, bare, fit, and tanned. Her hands were on her hips. She was smiling, and her dimples illuminated by the flickering candles added to his delight. For a long time he said nothing, recovering from the shock and savoring the view.
“Welcome home Mr. President. How was your day?”
“Killed a bad guy with my bare hands and saved the country from certain ruin. How was yours?”
“I soloed your new plane. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”
Max leaped forward and grabbed Rachel by both ankles and propelled her over his head. She spun in midair and landed feet first, facing him.
“You are vastly overdressed, my brave warrior.”
Rachel reached for the zippers of Max’s commando uniform and pulled. It split sideways, leaving his tank top and underwear exposed. “You’re still overdressed,” she said.
“OK, strip me.”
Rachel reached for the wet cotton tank top with both hands and tore it from his body. She tossed the wet heap to the side of the pool. Max breathed deeply with excitement. The candles displayed his wet chest. “No fair,” she sighed.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m standing in front of you, fully willing and naked, and you still have your boxer briefs on.”
“Not my fault. You got me excited, and there’s a hang-up.”
“I’ll take care of that,” she replied. Rachel submerged, and stripped Max to the ankles.
“I see that you have been freed from your confines,” she said, wiping hair and water from her eyes. Max pulled her into his arms and held her close. She could feel his rising excitement.
If a man could get any harder, I don’t know if I could stand it. I want him.
She wrapped her legs around Max, and he entered her. She gasped, and pressed her chest to his.
Their lovemaking was hot and desperate. He was hard, and she was wet. He locked his arms around her hips and walked her from the pool to a lounger covered with a mink throw. He set her down gently, still inside her. “Oh . . . my . . . you
are
mine,” he exclaimed. They writhed and became one, their bodies pumping and stroking. The passion peaked at the same moment, and they exploded in an all-encompassing mutual orgasm. They held each other, breathing hard and sweating. They kissed with more passion. He picked her up and carried her in his arms toward the bedroom. There would be no sleeping.
u
EPILOGUE
I
n the morning, Max emerged from his bedroom wrapped only in a towel. His hair was tousled, and he was exhausted, but the look of satisfaction on his face matched his mood. He was back in his environment, and for the moment, he was satisfied. He
padded his way toward the kitchen, rubbing his face with his hands. He detected movement through his fingers as he emerged from the hall. Roger Sinclair sat at the large butcher-block kitchen table in the alcove, stirring honey into a cup of coffee and gazing into his iPad.
“Good morning, Mr. President. Have you recovered from your trip?”
“It’s too early to tell.” Max walked to the refrigerator and extracted a large bottle of his favorite morning drink, a mixture of green tea and orange juice. He dispatched with the formality of a glass, and gulped half of the contents before taking a breath.
“How did you get in here?”
“I have this annoying habit of sneaking in unannounced, but this time I came up from the tunnel. It’s handy to have your own underground freeway from the White House,” Sinclair replied.
“I’m assuming two things. You already know all about the demise of Pryor, and that you’re not just here to congratulate me. What is it?”
“While you were out saving the country from certain anarchy, a situation erupted in the Middle East, and you need to go over there and fix it. We leave in five hours.”
“At least you have a legitimate reason for interfering with my love life and my beauty sleep. Before I wake Rachel, let me ask you a question: How do you know everything that is happening before anyone else?”
“Magic,” Sinclair said with an enigmatic smile.
“That response doesn’t answer my question, but I’ll let you slide if you tell me how that Tesla generator works.” Max stood with his hands on his hips, oblivious to his relative state of undress.
“Well, Mr. President, from the best I can determine, it came from Teddy Roosevelt, and the U.S. government has kept that secret for generations. We hold the patent confidentially and retain the exclusive rights. Needless to say, the tycoons of his time would have run him out of office for destroying their dynasties in oil and transportation and power generation, so it has been bottled up all this time.”
“Theodore.”
“What?”
“Theodore. He preferred to be called Theodore. TR to his friends.”
Sinclair acquired a puzzled look. “I suppose you won’t be telling me anytime soon about how you know that interesting bit of American history.”
“Not until you answer my question.” Max tenaciously clung to his original inquiry.
“I’ll stick with my first answer. It’s magic. We know how to build them, but damned if we know how they work. We have been trying to figure that out since Mark Twain delivered them to...Theodore Roosevelt.” The puzzled look on Sinclair’s face was replaced with one of sincerity.
“Mark Twain? Are you toying with the President of the United
NO CORNER TO HIDE
States?” Max shook his head and turned to leave.
I’ll have to ask TR about that the next time I see him.
“Are you going to tell me the answer to my question? How do you know personal details about a long-dead president,” Sinclair implored.
“I have my sources,” Max replied over his shoulder.
Every question does not deserve an answer.
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