Executive Privilege by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online Page A

there’s something else.”
    “You didn’t hit her?” Hawkins asked, alarmed by the possibility that Farrington had been violent.
    “No, it’s nothing like that.” The president paused. “There was someone in the woods.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Someone was taking pictures.”
    “Jesus Christ! Do you realize how bad this is? Pictures of you and Walsh would sell for thousands to a tabloid or they can be used for blackmail.”
    Farrington’s head snapped up. He was angry. “I’m not stupid, Chuck. I know exactly how ugly this can get. That’s why I need you to fix it.”
    “How do you know someone was taking pictures?”
    “One of the Secret Service agents spotted her.”
    “It was a woman?”
    “We think so.”
    “Why just ‘think’?”
    “One of the guards spotted someone on the hill taking pictures. She ran, so he never got real close, and it was dark. Then she hit him on the head and stunned him. But he thought the photographer was a woman.
    “The other guards heard a commotion and ran up to check on what was happening. One of them chased the intruder. When he got to the road a car was driving away. He thinks he got the license number but it was dark and the car kicked up a lot of dust. The plate we ran belongs to a Dana Cutler. She’s an ex-D.C. cop who works as a private detective, which would fit with her doing surveillance and taking pictures.”
    “That’s a lot of ifs.”
    “It’s what we have. Can’t you do something?”
    “About what?”
    “Both problems, Charlotte and the P.I.”
    Hawkins knew exactly what Farrington wanted him to do. He stood up.
    “It’s late. If we’re lucky neither woman will do anything until the morning. That gives me a few hours.”
    “Thank you, Chuck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    Hawkins didn’t answer. He was too angry. Instead he shook his head in disgust and walked out of the room. As soon as he was certain he wouldn’t be overheard, Hawkins took out his cell phone and made a call.
     
    Christopher Farrington had been anxious when his misadventure began, but he felt confident that Chuck would fix everything. He always did. And while he may have had twinges of fear and moments of doubt, the president never felt guilty about the way he’d used Charlotte Walsh; guilt was an emotion alien to him.
    Farrington returned to the White House a little before 2 A.M. He took a quick shower and tiptoed into bed, feeling much better now that he was clean, as if the hot water had washed away his sins along with the grime. Everything would turn out well, he told himself. Farrington was smiling when he slipped beneath the fresh sheets.
    “How did your meeting go?” Claire asked in a voice heavy with sleep.
    Farrington rolled toward her and rested a hand on her backside. He really did love her. The other women served to alleviate a physical need, but Claire was his strength, his helpmate. He’d be lost without her.
    “I didn’t wake you, did I? I tried to be quiet.”
    Claire kissed him. “Don’t worry. I wanted to be awake when you got back but I must have drifted off.”
    “Did your speech go okay?”
    “Didn’t Chuck tell you?”
    “I’m sorry, but I was so wrapped up in what we were doing I forgot to ask.”
    Claire touched his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. I know the pressure you’re under. But just so you know, I knocked ’em dead. They didn’t even miss you.”
    Farrington smiled. “I’m glad you’re not running against me. I wouldn’t get a single vote.”
    “You’d get mine,” Claire whispered, and the president felt familiar fingers snake through the fly of his pajamas and caress him.
    He laughed. “I thought pregnancy lowered a woman’s sex drive.”
    “Then you don’t remember the last time I was pregnant. Now do something about my itch or I’ll go on TV and tell Barbara Walters you’re impotent.”
    “What a bitch,” he whispered as he moved back far enough so he could pull down his pajama