Kiss and Kill

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Chapter One

Anne Atwood was awake before the alarm rang. She lay on her side, facing away from her husband, not touching. The clock radio clicked and music started. Parker shut off the sound, threw back the covers, and got out of bed. Moments later, she heard him turn on the shower and knew he planned to have sex this morning. Ordinarily, he would have headed downstairs for a cup of coffee and then showered. But today he was leaving on a week-long hunting trip in Montana with a party of VIPs and as always when he traveled, he believed in leaving Anne satisfied and smiling. To Anne, it felt more like being serviced, and she'd rather pass. She tried to remember how long it had been since they'd awakened like lovers, coming together spontaneously in passion and need. Too long.

She was up and dressed in her robe by the time he came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his neck and a sexy smile. At fifty-two, he was still as trim as he'd been in his mid-thirties and--she had to admit--just as attractive.

He came up close from behind her and put his arms around her. "Why'd you get up, babe? Didn't you hear the shower?" After twenty years, he knew she recognized sensual signals.

"I was ready for coffee," she said, shifting and attempting to pull away as he nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His embrace tightened.

"And I was ready for you," he said, pushing his erection against her buttocks while he covered her breasts with his hands.

"I didn't sleep very well last night," she said, feeling tense and, she admitted it, unwilling. "I was headed downstairs to get a cup of coffee."

He opened her robe, his hands now seeking more intimate territory. "Coffee can wait."

"No, it can't."

A beat or two of silence passed and Parker suddenly released her and stepped back. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on." She bent down and found her slippers. After putting them on, she went to the door, then stopped and looked back at him. "Can I bring you a cup of coffee?"

He didn't reply. Instead he studied her, as if something in her face might reveal why she was unwilling to make love. She didn't often refuse him. "Moodiness" was the way Parker would define her reluctance, not a personal rejection. It wouldn't occur to him that anything about him personally might influence her desire to go to bed with him.

"Is it that time of the month?"

She sighed. He knew it wasn't. "No. Do you want coffee or not?"

He swore suddenly. "I'm leaving in two hours, Anne. I'll be gone for a week." He paused, obviously having another thought. "You've been moody as hell lately. Are you having symptoms of--you know, female problems?"

"As in menopause?"

He shrugged. "It's possible, isn't it?"

"I'm forty-two, Parker," she said dryly. "I think I have a few more sexually active years."

"Well, what's the problem then? It's normal for people to have sex when they aren't going to see each other for a week."

"We haven't been normal for a long time, Parker."

"Now what the hell does that mean?" He struggled to hang on to his patience.

She looked directly at him. "Are you sure you want to take the time to go into it right now?"

"This is about last night, isn't it?"

"Were you aware of doing anything last night that might have offended me?"

He turned away abruptly and stalked to the chest. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a pair of silk boxers and jerked them on. "You knew better than to talk to that bastard."

"Which bastard, Parker? At one time or another, you've referred to nearly every politician in Washington, D. C., in those terms."

"Cute, Anne." Moving to his closet, he selected a denim shirt. "He's a goddamn reporter."

"I assume you're referring to Ian McKay."

"I didn't notice you talking with any other reporter."

"He's a friend of mine. You know that. We were talking about old times."

"Yeah, right." He tossed the shirt on the bed. "They're all like vultures picking at our carcasses looking for scandal."

She winced with distaste. "Lovely metaphor," she murmured.

"You know what I mean. Last night it looked like the two of you were getting a little too cozy, so I broke it up."

"In a very heavy-handed way. You embarrassed me."

"Friendship goes out the window when a reporter gets wind of anything juicy. As the wife of a senator, you ought to know that instinctively. And I know how women gab. A careless remark can have dire repercussions. McKay was just waiting for a tidbit. Next thing, you'd find your words twisted and embellished and on the front page of the Post."

"Do you realize how patronizing that is, Parker? You make me sound like a brainless twit. In the twenty years we've been married, have I ever once been indiscreet? Has anything I've ever said to a journalist caused you one second of discomfort?"

He put his pants on and picked up the shirt. "There's always a first time."

"Besides, Ian McKay isn't a reporter anymore."

"Hah! They never quit." His irritation changed into something else. He took a sweater from a drawer before adding with derision, "Even when they get their asses fired."

"He wasn't fired from World Cable; he resigned. He was torn up over that tragic incident in Kosovo."

"Yeah. Being responsible for driving a kid to suicide is definitely a tragedy."

"No one feels the pain of that more than Ian. Besides, I'm sure there's more to that story than the public knows, but Ian's too much a professional to air the details simply to put a good face on it."

Parker paused with his sweater in his hands. "What is this? You're overrun with sympathy for a reporter with blood on his hands, some scruffy guy from your past, but you can't work up the energy to make love with your husband when he's leaving for a week. There's something wrong with this picture, Anne."

"I'm getting that coffee now." She started to turn, but he stopped her with a word.

"What exactly were you talking about with McKay?"

"I told you, Parker. He asked about Ellen and my parents. We chatted about people we both graduated with and where they are now. It was the kind of conversation I'd have with any person I bumped into after several years."

"Did he tell you that we met a couple of weeks ago?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on. "He claims he's doing a piece for PBS on Washington's political golden boys. His title, not mine," Parker said. "He almost sucked me in, then I heard from Dean and Jeb Barnes about the kind of stuff he was asking. The bastard's digging like crazy into my past just looking for anything to juice up his piece. That kind of reckless snooping is hazardous. I called him up and told him where he could stuff his golden boy feature. Let him do Trent Lott or Tom DeLay, just stay the hell away from me."

Anne was shaking her head. "So what if he was to dig into your past? After eighteen years in politics, every facet of your life--and mine--has been scrutinized down to the tiniest detail. We have no secrets. There's nothing there."

"There's always something there. Nobody's perfect."

She widened her eyes. "Not even you, Senator Atwood?"

He stared at her. "What's gotten into you this morning?"

She felt a pang of remorse. "I'm sorry. That was rude." She escaped, wondering as she fled whether she might be experiencing hormonal upheavals. Such impudence was truly unlike her. She'd been Parker's wife long enough to know that his ego was as touchy as any other politician's. So why was she tweaking it, especially just as he was heading off on one of his junkets? Maybe that was it, she thought as she went slowly down the stairs. Maybe she was harboring resentment and wasn't honest enough to admit it. Their daughter was home from boarding school for Thanksgiving and she hadn't seen her parents for nearly a month. Instead of taking off to the wilds of Montana, Anne felt that Parker should devote at least a few days of the season to his family.

Or maybe she felt resentful because he was forever reminding her of her role. She was Mrs. Senator Parker Atwood, and how could she forget it? She ran his home, successfully juggling the demands of wife, mother, hostess and campaigner. She was an active participant in many political causes. She was still reasonably attractive--a size eight in spite of the fact that they ate out at least four nights a week due to the social and professional commitments that governed Parker's life. And her own. And yet he felt it necessary to break into a conversation with an old friend for fear that she would be dim enough to say something that might damage him. Did every detail and every waking moment of her life have to revolve around Parker and his position? Had they reached a point where a private conversation with an old friend who happened to be a reporter became an impossible luxury?

Lord, he was right, something had gotten into her this morning, she thought as she entered the kitchen. But his narcissism was more tiresome some days than others. Opening a cabinet, she reached for a cup. "He can damn well come down and get his own coffee," she muttered.

"Who're you talking to, Mom?"

Anne started, splashing coffee on the counter. She turned to find her daughter sitting at the table in the breakfast nook. "Barry! I didn't hear you. Goodness, you're up early."

"I wanted to talk to Daddy before he left."

"He's almost finished dressing now, so he'll probably be down in a few minutes." She mopped up the spill with a paper towel and took a seat across from Barry. "What's up? What did you want to talk about?"

Barry shrugged, playing with a glass of orange juice. "Just some things."

Anne spread her hands with a smile. "Want to try me instead?"

"Why, because Dad's in a bad mood?"

'What makes you say that?"

"I heard y'all arguing."

"We weren't arguing, Barry. We were having a discussion and we disagreed. We do that occasionally. Most married couples disagree about some things."

"I guess sex being one of them this morning."

First Parker, now Barry. She stared at her daughter, who returned her gaze blandly while sipping orange juice. "Some things are private between husband and wife," Anne said sternly. "The danger in eavesdropping is that you might misconstrue what you hear."

"You mean I might not get it that Dad's leaving for a week to go hunting with his friends and he wanted to have sex? I get it, Mom. I'm sixteen, not ten. But I wonder if you get it. You don't know whether there will be other women around. If so, you can't blame him if he gets horny, and then anything can happen."

"Barry!"

She shrugged again. "What's the problem? I know about sex and men and how they think with what's between their legs a lot more than what's between their ears."

Anne struggled not to appear shocked. She'd been much older than sixteen before she'd ever heard that cynical line. That Barry would throw it out just to get a reaction was something that happened more and more lately. And it was one more example of the widening gulf between them. "What's come over you this morning, Barry?"

"I heard Daddy say the same thing to you a few minutes ago." She gazed into the juice remaining in the glass. "Maybe it's something in the o.j."

Anne sighed, mourning the good old days, when she and Barry had been the best of friends, when she'd considered herself lucky to have such a sweet-natured, beautiful young daughter. Now it seemed as if some demon alter ego had invaded Barry's body. After two years in an exclusive boarding school, she was smart mouthed and far more streetwise than she ever would have been if she'd stayed at home.

Anne and Parker had disagreed about boarding school for Barry. He had argued that Anne was overprotective. That the offspring of other Washington politicos went to exclusive private schools and Barry should be no exception. Privileged or not, most of the kids came from broken homes, and to Anne it seemed too many were shipped out of the house more for the convenience of the parents than to provide them with a quality education. But Anne had reluctantly given in and had regretted it ever since. She made a mental note to have another talk with Parker about it.

But not now, she thought, hearing him coming down the stairs. Barry jumped to her feet.

"Anne, what happened to my down parka? I need it for the trip and I can't find the damn thing anywhere."

Striding into the room, Parker barely glanced at Anne or Barry. He made his way directly to the coffeepot and, after plopping his briefcase on the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee.

He looked good, Anne thought, recalling Barry's words. The washed denim shirt matched the smoky blue of his eyes. He'd pulled a wine-dark sweater over tan pants. Trim and broad-shouldered, he really was remarkably attractive. If there were any women at the hunting lodge, Parker would have no trouble attracting them. But there would be no women. Womanizing wasn't one of his faults. Nowadays, it was much too risky for any politician to ignore the media's no-holds-barred mentality.

"The parka's in the foyer closet," Anne said, rising. "I knew you'd need all your cold weather gear and it's packed in a duffel bag with your boots, thermal socks and gloves sitting in the foyer. All your driver has to do is load it."

Parker grunted something that sounded like thanks. "Where's the sugar? Is it too much to ask that we don't hide it?"

"Inside the cabinet just above the coffeepot." In its usual spot. Anne watched while he jerked a drawer open to get a spoon and then stirred three scoops of sugar into his coffee. He had a sweet tooth that seemed to get stronger as he got older. "Would you like some breakfast before you go?"

He said a distracted no, while studying notes in an electronic calendar that he'd removed from his briefcase. Dean Connerly, his chief aide, had insisted he needed the small handheld pocket organizer, and now Parker's life was categorized, classified and regimented to a fare-thee-well. Parker had taken to it like a duck to water, while Anne, whose calendar was pretty hectic as well, had never gotten the hang of it. She preferred an old-fashioned date book where she could page back and forth and have the freedom to make and keep notes in a way that seemed incompatible with an electronic gizmo.

"Daddy, I need to talk to you."

"Hmm." Parker, studying his calendar, didn't look up. "Anne, I want you to call my Houston office and have Freddy notify the A list that the President's going to play golf at the Woodlands the fifteenth of next month. It's a thousand bucks to anybody on that list who wants to play."

Freddy Cassidy managed the Houston office. Anne jotted a memo on a yellow sticky note as Parker began shuffling papers in his briefcase.

"Daddy--"

He looked up with a frown. "Where's my cell phone?"

"Right here." Barry leaped to hand him the cell phone lying on the table beside her.

He looked irritated. "Were you using it?"

"Only for a minute. I called a friend."

"You know the rules, Barry." He took the cellular and chose a preprogrammed number with his thumb. "You should have used the house phone."

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again."

While waiting for the connection, he said to Anne, "I left a business card from a Chinese diplomat on my armoire. Would you go get it? I need it."

Anne rose to do as he asked. She could have sent Barry upstairs, but this might be the girl's only chance to tell her father whatever was on her mind.

"Daddy, the reason I was calling Lisa was about the party tonight."

Parker shot a cuff back and checked his watch as he spoke into the phone. "Dean? What's keeping you?" He paused for half a minute, listening. "That sneaky sonofabitch! Tell him I'm looking into it. We have the votes except for a couple of holdouts, but they'll come around. Tell him we'll talk when I get back." Parker ended the call with a violent punch, then slipped the cellular into the briefcase and snapped the locks.

"It's a sleepover at her house," Barry said.

"What are you talking about, Barry?"

"A party! At Lisa's house."

"Who's Lisa?"

"Daddy!"

Anne was poised to climb the stairs, but she stopped, realizing suddenly what Barry wanted to talk to her father about. And why. Sighing, she turned and headed back to the kitchen. The business card could wait.

"I'm listening," Parker told Barry. "Fill me in."

"Lisa Weston's having a party. You know her dad."

"Is that Gordon Weston's kid?" Weston was the senator from North Carolina.

"Uh-huh. It'll be way cool. And tons of people will be there."

Parker was patting his pockets for something else now. "You need to talk to your mother about that."

"Dad..." she said plaintively. "I want to drive my car, but Mom says no."

"Why?" He reopened his briefcase.

"I said no," Anne spoke from the door, "not because of the car, but because the party's a boy-girl sleepover. It's asking for trouble when a group of fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds spend the night together."

"Mo-omm!"

"I'm sorry, Barry. We've discussed this and I've given you my decision."

Barry turned to her father, her face flushed with anger. "See, Daddy? This is the way it is when you aren't around to bring some ... some balance to our lives. Mom is so old-fashioned!"

Muttering irritably, Parker again closed and locked his briefcase. Drawing a long-suffering breath, he looked at Anne. "Are the Westons going to be around to chaperone the kids?"

"They're going to be there," she said, "but if you recall, their house is huge. The party is in the game room on the second floor. The master bedroom is downstairs, to which Gordon and Beatrice will no doubt retreat when it gets late. You know they aren't going to stay awake all night checking on a bunch of kids."

"And neither are the kids," Parker said, locating his wallet. "Did you get that card for me?"

"And what if they do, Parker?" she asked with exasperation.

"Do what?" He had his notebook to check something.

"What if Gordon and Beatrice fall asleep and the kids don't?"

"You worry too much," he said, studying an entry, then adding, "I need that card."

Then get it yourself ! But she only thought the furious retort. They shouldn't be having this discussion in front of Barry. As parents they should present a united front on contentious issues, especially now that Barry was getting so adept at pitting them against each other.

"Barry, go and get the business card on your father's armoire," she ordered.

"So you can talk him out of letting me go?" Barry asked hotly. 'I don't think so."

Parker's patience ended as he closed the notebook with a snap. "Barry, go and get the damn card! Anne, I don't see Gordon Weston condoning an orgy in his game room, especially one in which his own daughter is participating. Let the kid go."

"And I disagree," Anne said, ignoring the triumph on Barry's face. "He wouldn't condone it because he wouldn't know about it. I'm not putting Barry in that situation."

"It's because she doesn't trust me, Daddy!" Barry cried, rushing to keep up with her father, who was leaving the kitchen. "She thinks I'm like those trashy girls she crusades for, getting pregnant and having babies without getting married."

"That is not true and you know it, Barry." Wearily, Anne followed them to the foyer.

"It is so true, Daddy! She's obsessed with keeping me locked up in this house like a ... a prisoner!" She turned to Anne again. "I heard what Daddy said to you about menopause and I bet it's true. That's probably why you're so cranky and hard to please."

"That's enough out of you, Barry!" Anne snapped, wondering how the encounter had spun so completely out of control. "I'm not concerned that you will misbehave, but other young people that I don't know as well will be there. It could be an explosive situation. Boys and girls react differently in situations where sex is involved. I know you believe you wouldn't do anything, but boys are different from girls. They--"

"I'm not a complete dork, Mom. I know the difference between boys and girls. I won't be doing any of that."

"True, because you won't be at that party," Anne repeated firmly.

Barry whirled back to her father. "Daddy, can't you do something?"

"Yeah, I can get the hell out of here," Parker said as the doorbell rang announcing his driver. "Will someone go upstairs and get that card or am I going to have to get it myself?"

"I hate it here!" Barry screamed, her fists rigid at her sides and her face flushed with fury. "And I hate my life when I have to come back to D.C.! Why don't you just let me stay at Merriwood if I'm such a pain when I'm home?" With a dramatic cry, she dashed up the stairs.

"It's a thought," Parker muttered, for Anne's ears alone. "And get that card down to me on the double or the car's in the garage for a week!" he yelled up to Barry, before turning to Anne as he checked the items in the duffel bag she'd packed for him. "She's a spoiled brat; you realize that, don't you?"

"She's no worse than most teens," Anne said, but she was troubled. She had cherished the hope that a week at home with Barry would help them reclaim some of the joy they'd once found in each other. But in this phase of their daughter's life, Parker was clearly the favored one. Sadly, he couldn't wait to get away from them both.

"You're going to have to be harder on her," he said, hefting the duffel bag and leaving two other bags as the doorbell rang again. "If you don't want her to go to the party, then put your foot down. And if you don't want her driving, just tell her."

"And become the wicked witch of Washington while you remain nicely balanced on your pedestal?"

He shrugged. "If the shoe fits..." Ignoring the sudden hurt on her face, he went to the door to admit his driver.

With the appearance of the man, Parker's demeanor changed instantly. He metamorphosed into the patriarchal senator. He smiled with engaging warmth at Jimmy Mason, who'd been on his staff since the early days in Houston. "Morning, Jimmy. How's it goin', my man?"

"Just great, Senator. You doin' okay?"

"Couldn't be better. Dean's in the car?"

"Yes, sir. Good morning, Mrs. Atwood," he said, giving Anne a quick, shy look, not quite meeting her eyes. Even after years of driving her almost daily, he was still as awkward as a boy around her.

"Good morning, Jimmy."

The senator rubbed his palms together. "We need to get going, Jimmy."

"Yes, sir." Big, broad-shouldered and tough enough to whip six ordinary men in a confrontation, Jimmy slung the garment bag onto his shoulder and bent to lift both matching ones at his feet.

Barry arrived, breathless. "Here's the card you wanted, Daddy." She handed it over and, after he'd tucked it into his pocket, threw her arms around him. He responded with a one-armed hug, but she still clung, reluctant to let him go. "Have a good trip," she whispered, burying her nose in his shirtfront, "and don't forget us."

"No way, sweetheart." He dropped a hurried kiss on her hair before letting her go.

"I love you, Daddy."

She was not the angry, rebellious daughter now, but an uncertain, vulnerable adolescent. Watching, Anne's heart caught. Over the years, she'd become accustomed to Parker's rather distracted demonstrations of affection, but Barry, who adored him, deserved better. Couldn't he see how hungry she was for a real hug, for a genuine declaration of his love?

"Be a good girl," he told her, giving her a casual chuck beneath her chin.

"Okay, Daddy."

"Give me a kiss, babe," Parker said, leaning toward Anne. Their lips met in a quick kiss and he turned to go. "Pick out a spot in the den for a trophy bighorn," he called heartily, heading out with Jimmy following.

Dean Connerly, spotting them from inside the limo, was out onto the sidewalk hurriedly, holding the door open for the senator to climb inside while Jimmy stowed the luggage. Anne and Barry watched as the long vehicle pulled away, but Parker was already in conversation with Connerly and forgot to wave.