Exclusive by Sandra Brown

Author:Sandra Brown [Brown, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Crime, Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780446604239
Google: w3gxGwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0446604232
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 1996-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

He walked quickly across the corridor to his own bedroom, giving cursory nods to the Secret Service agents who wished him a good night. Even though he'd won the round with Vanessa-and it hadn't even been a close contest-he'd come away from it angry. The problem of what to do about her was still unresolved. God damn that nurse! His bed had been turned down. The nightstand lamp was low. The chamber looked intimate and inviting. He thought about summoning one of his regulars, the syndicated columnist who was a strong advocate of women's rights in print but whose blow jobs were legendary. She thought that being sneaked into the White House was a big turn-on and usually rewarded him well for the thrill. But Vanessa's whining had squelched his desire. Which only gave him more justification to be steamed. He poured himself a glass of water, added a dash of whiskey to it, and carried the glass into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, rinsed, and spat into the sink. When he reached for his whiskey-spiked water, he caught movement behind him in the mirror. As he spun around, the glass slipped from his hand and shattered onto the floor. Clutching his chest, he fell back against the sink. "Mr. President. You look like you've just seen a ghost." "Jesus." David sank down onto the commode. He was

trembling. "I thought you were dead."

238 Sandra Brown

Spencer Martin leaned negligently against the doorjamb. For all his nonchalance, he looked worse for wear. His clothes were Kmart stock and appeared new, but he was unshaven, and it looked as though he hadn't showered or washed his hair in weeks. Having recovered from his initial shock, David said, "Where in hell have you been? You look like shit. Smell like it too." "Before making good my escape, I lay in my own waste for several days." "Your escape from what?" "I think the pioneers quaintly referred to it as a root cellar. Actually it's a hole in the ground-in this case, beneath the barn of your friend and mine, Gray Bondurant." Spence sneered. "Can you believe it? That motherfucker shot me." David listened as Spence described the casual breakfast they'd shared. "He admitted Barrie Travis had been to see him, but apparently he was on to me from the beginning. He got off a shot before I could fire." His lips narrowed to a thin, bitter line. "He's going to regret not killing me when he had the chance. Being the Boy Scout he is, he didn't aim to kill." "What happened then?" "He packed my shoulder wound, stripped me naked, trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and placed me in the cellar. My hands were tied, but I could reach the food and water with my mouth. If I rationed it well, it was enough to last for several weeks. Just before he closed the door on me, he reminded me that I had aced survival training. `So survive, you son of a bitch,' he said.

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