The President's Shadow by Brad Meltzer Read Free Book Online Page B

here, I somehow studied where all your cameras are?”
    “Beecher, when was the last time you heard from Nico?” A.J. pushes back.
    “You’re joking, right? Why would Nico care about me ?”
    “You know exactly why. Your girlfriend Clementine—”
    “She’s not my girlfriend.”
    “She was your girlfriend…”
    “She was my first kiss. In eighth grade!”
    “She also happens to be Nico’s just-as-crazy daughter, who, last I checked, tried to blackmail us and manipulate you . What was the lie she told last time? That she was dying of cancer? There’s nothing she won’t say. And like her dad, for some reason, they both refuse to hurt you.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “You’ve been around Nico multiple times, yet he’s never laid a hand on you. He looks out for you, Beecher. So it’s not a question of if they’re coming back. It’s just a matter of when .”
    I don’t argue. Over A.J.’s shoulder, the TV clicks to four new camera angles. To my surprise, someone’s staring back. I stay locked on A.J., pretending not to see it. Onscreen, outside the elevator to the Private Residence, First Lady Shona Wallace has her hands on her hips, her smoker’s lips pursed as she glares into the camera.
    It happens in an eyeblink. The First Lady is unreadable. She can’t see us, but she knows who’s watching. Message sent, though the more I think about it, there’s only one person that message can be for.
    My eyes slide toward Francy, whose quick glance at the screen reminds me that when it comes to her placement in the White House, Francy doesn’t work for the President. She works for the First Lady.
    In a blink, the TV clicks to four new camera angles. Shona Wallace is gone.
    “Beecher, we’re not accusing you of anything,” Francy says as if the President’s wife were never there. “We’re just hoping that if Nico or Clementine reach out to you, you’ll let us know.”
    My eyebrow starts to twitch. I want to like Francy. She reminds me of that tough high school teacher you don’t appreciate until years after graduation. There’s nothing fake about her. But to see that look from the First Lady, to see Francy be on my side this quickly, there’s something else she’s chasing. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” I say. “If that was all you wanted to tell me, why’s the leader of the free world personally eavesdropping?”
    Francy doesn’t answer. She’s focused back on her earpiece. “But sir—” she says. “Sir, I can handle this.”
    Her shoulders fall. Overruled.
    Back by the TV screens, A.J. touches his pointer-finger to his ear. Something’s coming through his Secret Service earpiece.
    There’s a quiet click behind me. I spin at the sound.
    The door swings open, revealing the most famous gray eyes in the world. No matter how much I hate him, there’s still nothing like seeing him.
    “Funny, I was just talking about you, Beecher,” the President of the United States says as he steps toward me and the door shuts behind him. “Have I got an opportunity for you.”

11
    L emon square? You a fan of lemon squares?” President Orson Wallace asks, entering the underground laundry room and holding a plate of fine bone china. At the center of the plate, there’s one pale yellow treat left. “Even the French admit…our dessert chef is a marvel.”
    I watch him carefully, knowing his tricks. Like any politician, he always leads with charm.
    “I mean it, Beecher. If a dessert could change your life, this is the one.”
    “I’ll pass.”
    “Your loss,” he says, snatching up the treat and eating it himself. He licks his lips, then sucks the tip of each of his manicured fingers, one by one, as if it’s his first victory. Still, I see the gaps of receding hair pushing back his side part, plus the way the nail on his pinkie is bitten down to the cuticle. He hides it from the public. He’s been chewing on it recently.
    “If it weren’t for the stress of the job, I’d weigh an extra