She broke through the last wave of balls and saw the edge. If a ladder existed to help her out, she didn’t see it and didn’t waste time looking. Lara reached up for the edge, a foot above the waterline, and hooked a few fingers over. She lifted herself enough to swing her other arm to the ledge. Years of painful pull-ups and hours at the rock climbing gym paid off and she hauled herself out of the water.
Lara glanced over to see Kirsten struggling, and failing, to climb out. She bolted for the door, and it opened with ease to let her through. On the other side, Minda and her camera crew were waiting to interview the winner.
Chapter 10
Six and a half months earlier: Thurs., Nov. 17
Paul finished his VEx workout, which he’d added ten minutes to, then hurried to the bathroom to check his weight. Lilly followed, sensing his excitement. Paul stepped on the scale. Down another pound! The MetaboSlim diet pills he’d bought online were really working. He lifted his shirt and gazed at his bare stomach.
“Look at that, Lilly. My muscles are starting to show.” A shiver of pleasure surged through this torso. “Wait ’til I get my new nose to go with my new body. You won’t even recognize me.” Now that he had the money, he’d made an appointment and asked for the time off. He planned to buy several money orders to pay for the procedure. His own bank would never see the cash.
Another thought sent him scurrying for the shower. Tonight he would meet Camille for drinks. He’d gone ahead and bought a ticket to the Transitions fundraiser, so he’d have an excuse to dress up for Camille and somewhere to go after their date. He wanted Camille to think of him as a social man about town, someone she would want to be seen with. The banquet would also give him an opportunity to chat with Thaddeus Morton again. If he could arrange to get Camille on Morton’s replacement list, she’d be grateful and see him in a new way.
As Paul dressed for work, a dark thought threatened to ruin his mood. Today he also had to start his campaign to get Janel Roberts fired. He’d planned his strategy, but put it off because it was distasteful to him. Now it was time. Rathmore expected results, and Paul needed the rest of the money.
“You’re early today, Mr. Madsen.” The security guard nodded but didn’t call him aside.
“I’ve got some things to catch up on.” He tried to smile, but didn’t pull it off. It bothered him that she noticed he was early. Paul didn’t want anything about his behavior to attract attention. He’d come at seventy-thirty so he could hack into Janel Roberts’ message center on his own time, but not in his own workspace. He headed for the elevator, his oatmeal heavy in his stomach.
Paul slipped into the guest office on the second floor and used the NetCom to craft a text, which he’d thought about in detail and had memorized. The recipient was Janel Roberts’ boss-Jay Brewer, Director of Health and Human Services and a married man. The message was coded to read as though it had been sent from Janel’s message center. Paul used subtle language, but in essence the subtext said: I need more autonomy and I’m willing to have sex with you to get it. He scheduled the message to send later that morning and slipped back out into the empty hall. The phony text was just the first step. He had a more direct and dangerous mission planned for that evening.
Two meetings and a monthly maintenance purge of the payroll database kept Paul busy all day, and he managed to keep his personal plans out of his thoughts until quitting time. On the bus ride home, he fidgeted so much the older woman sitting next to him moved. What if Camille stood him up? She hadn’t mentioned their date when they’d brushed arms leaving the afternoon meeting. Paul let himself think about Camille because it was less nerve-wracking than dwelling on his plans for the middle of the night.
At home, he ate a quick microwave meal, showered again, and dressed in a dark gray suit with a maroon tie. Men’s business fashion hadn’t changed in a hundred years and that was fine with him. It was one less thing to screw up.
The hotel lounge was dark and quiet with soft seats and even softer music. Paul found a table near the entrance, so Camille would see him as she walked in. He ordered a gin and tonic, something his foster mother would drink, and tried to look casual.
At 6:40, Paul accepted that Camille wasn’t coming. He should have known. He downed half his drink and stood to leave for the banquet upstairs. As he reached for his IDB card, Camille walked up. She wore a slim-fitting dress that matched his maroon tie and her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, making her seem even taller. Her beauty soothed his crushed heart.
“Hi Paul. Sorry I’m late. There was a multiple shooting near Dupont Circle, and the police rerouted traffic. It was a nightmare.”
Paul was so happy to see her, so mesmerized by her long exposed neck and cleavage, he barely registered her excuse. “I’m glad you’re here. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.”
She slipped into a chair and Paul signaled the cocktail server. After the young man took the order, Paul checked his iCom. The banquet started in seventeen minutes. He opened his mouth to speak and realized he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t exactly share what he’d been up to lately.
“That meeting sure went long today,” he said, with an accompanying eye roll. “I couldn’t believe Stacia read every line of that memo to us.”
Camille touched the back of his hand. “Let’s not talk about work.”
Paul flushed, feeling foolish, but forced himself to rebound. “What do you have planned for the weekend?”
“The theater with some friends. Maybe some shopping.”
“Sounds like fun,” Paul lied.
“What are you up to this weekend?”
“Uh.” Paul kicked himself for not preparing better. “I plan to get in a workout or two and catch up on my reading.” He sounded boring even to himself.
Her eyes sparked with interest though. “What kind of workout do you do?”
Should he admit he used a VEx? “I jog sometimes.” He had last week, anyway, while chasing a dog.
“I like to stop at the gym and use the elliptical machine.” Camille pulled in her already flat stomach. “The weather is too unpredictable for me to spend much time outside.”
The cocktail server brought the glass of wine and processed Paul’s card with a small handheld device. When he left, Camille asked, “Are you planning to socialize with Thaddeus Morton this evening?”
“I’ll try, but I’m sure he’ll have plenty of people wanting to see him after his talk.”
“He’s a popular man.” Camille touched Paul’s hand again. “I’d love to work for him on the Gauntlet. It would be so much more interesting that HR.”
“But it’s only seasonal work.”
“The director’s job is full-time.” Camille sipped her wine, leaving a hint of maroon lipstick on the glass.
“Do you watch the competition?” Paul asked, not sure what else to say.
She seemed surprised. “Of course. It’s like the Olympics, only intense and entertaining.” She smiled. “And viewers get to participate. Although sometimes I think we all just cancel each other out.”
“That’s why I rarely vote. I don’t trust the system.”
“Will you introduce me to the commissioner?” Camille asked, standing to give him another look at her body.
“Now?”
“Why not? I’m sure he’s in the meeting room now, schmoozing with the attendees.”
“Okay.” Paul was rattled but refused to let it show. He finished his drink, grinned stupidly, and said, “I’m ready.”
They didn’t catch up with Morton until it was nearly time for the program to start. Paul had been practicing what to say since they left the lounge, but as they made their way through the rows of tables to where the commissioner stood, his heart started to pound and the words left him. This would not go well, Paul thought, as they stepped up and stood awkwardly while the commissioner chatted with a stylish silver-haired woman about the foster care system.
