Night Is Mine by M. L. Buchman Read Free Book Online

double-major at the renowned Wharton School of business in Philadelphia.
    Too statuesque, too redheaded, and far too full of herself. Actually, the last point might make her a good combat pilot. She possessed the level of arrogance that only the very best air jocks cultivated. The knowledge that all of her actions were absolutely correct because they had to be, every time.
    Of course, if the First Lady screwed up, there’d just be an irritated diplomat and her husband could call on the U.S. Armed Forces to clear up any little misunderstandings. If Emily messed up, people wound up very suddenly dead. Maybe she and the First Lady weren’t all that different. Well, except for the statuesque and redheaded bits. Slender and blond didn’t really play on the same field. Emily’s height was far too emphasized by her lean physique. The First Lady was all in proper proportion and Emily didn’t like her. Especially not married to the man she’d snared.
    “The reason I didn’t laugh off this request is very classified.” The admiral dug into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive with “Top Secret. Eyes only.” emblazoned across it. As if that wasn’t a walking advertisement of the worst kind saying, “Steal me.”
    “Captain, may I?”
    It always amused her that she and Captain Tully held the same rank, but she commanded a squad of four for the Army while he commanded a ship of four thousand for the Navy. Today she wished she were a newly minted second lieutenant and none of these people had ever heard of her.
    At a wave of the captain’s hand, the admiral plugged the drive into the communication and conference gear that covered part of one wall and turned on the main screen.
    The “Top Secret” thing was worrisome; she’d rather not see it. Her attempts to swallow nearly choked her against the too-tight zipper. She managed to ease it down a little while the two men focused on the screen, but she still couldn’t breathe. She needed an oxygen bottle or perhaps a stiff drink to maintain mental operations at this altitude. Who knew that air five levels above a carrier deck had such a low oxygen content? The First Lady wanted her? To cook? It was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard in all her years of Army flying.
    At the prompt, Admiral Parker typed in a ten-digit password and then, after a moment of searching, found the print authentication pad and laid his thumb on it.
    Emily now knew for certain she didn’t want to see whatever this was.
    ***
     
    Emily gasped aloud as the first image after the “Classified Documents” warning flashed up on the captain’s screen, then clamped her jaw shut to silence herself. Of all the faces she could possibly see, the Wicked Witch of the West Wing was the last she wanted to. Ever.
    But that wasn’t what had evoked her surprise.
    The woman on the screen wasn’t the First Lady Katherine Matthews that the world knew all too well. Cameras loved Katherine. She showed up front and center on the news so often that editorial cartoons joked about President Katherine.
    But the one woman on the planet who didn’t have to worry about how she looked on camera had been betrayed. The flowing red hair, intense Hollywood smile, and perfect complexion weren’t in evidence at all.
    The smile was missing. The glistening green eyes were closed. The red hair a snarl rather than a flounce. And the complexion was marred by a dozen bloody abrasions and cuts against a pallor gone from ivory to alabaster.
    The admiral spoke, though Emily couldn’t turn to look at him. It was the first time the woman had ever looked less than perfect.
    “The window of the First Lady’s limousine was shattered last week. We do not, I repeat, not have the attacker in custody. Apparently someone fired a spread of chipped porcelain. A shotgun blast would have done less damage, probably little more than scuff the paint job.”
    The next shot was a lipstick-red limousine that appeared to have the rear passenger window