free Jovunet. Yes, this was like cat and mouse, and Sunday did not like playing the mouse.
But what could she do? Being tied down and kept literally in the dark left her few options. Perhaps physically there was nothing she could do, but her mind could still roam freely. She thought back to the ring she had noticed on her captor’s finger. She was positive she had seen it before. But where? And when? Was it on this man’s finger, or had it belonged to someone else?
Inch by mental inch she began to consider everyone who might have been that man with the ring. Congressional staff? Ridiculous. Besides the memory seemed to go back further in time. Delivery people? Any of the help at the New Jersey house? No. I’ve only known Henry less than a year, Sunday thought. And everyone who works for him has been with him forever.
Then who was it?
I’ll figure it out eventually, she vowed.
You’d better hurry up,
an interior voice cautioned.
You’re running out of time.
Will I ever get out of here alive? she asked herself. Will I ever see Henry again? For a long minute Sunday was shaken to the core of her being. She yearned to be home at Drumdoe with Henry. She had found a wonderful new recipe for garlic chicken in a Provençal cookbook and had intended to try it over the weekend. Working her way through Fordham as a short-order cook had taught her to really love preparing food. She had studied gourmet cooking at the Culinary Institute. Now at least one night of the weekend Henry’s longtime
cordon bleu
chef took off and she took over.
She was supposed to be in the House committee meeting this morning. The bill on health benefits for illegal immigrant kids was being discussed again. It drove her crazy that the guy who was leading the fight to deny them benefits was always showing off pictures of his own grandchildren. She had planned to sail into him about that.
But first she had to get out of here, or at least help to get herself out! The Lord helps those who help themselves, she told herself. That had been her father’s favorite adage.
And God help those who are caught doing it!
That was what I used to think when I was trying to get my defendants off, Sunday thought. Then she inhaled sharply.
That’s it, she thought excitedly. I didn’t see that ring around Drumdoe or Washington. It does go back further than that. It was when I was a public defender. One of the guys I defended was wearing it.
But which one?
Which of the hundreds and hundreds of cases she had tried in those seven years had been the one in which the accused was wearing a thick signet-type ring with a hole in the center?
She was wide awake now, as she thought back over all the cases she had handled. As the last of her mental Rolodex cards flipped over, she shook her head. She was absolutely positive that she had never defended her captor. But she was certain about the ring. Although maybe it wasn’t the
exact
ring. Could it be a symbol of a terrorist group? I know I never had a case that involved a terrorist, Sunday thought, and again she reflected on just how nonpolitical this guy seemed. Okay, so he is not a terrorist, and he was never one of my “clients.” So who
is
this guy?
Where was Sunday last night? Henry asked himself as he entered the Cabinet Room of the White House at eleven o’clock the following morning. He realized immediately that if anything the mood was even grimmer than it had been at the meeting the previous day. He saw that in addition to Des Ogilvey, the full cabinet, and the heads of the CIA and FBI, two newcomers were present: the Senate Majority Leader and the Speaker of the House. Always looking for a photo opportunity, he thought. Neither man was particularly high on his list.
It had snowed lightly during the night, and the weather forecast was for a major storm to hit sometime before the weekend, probably on Friday. Please God, don’t let us be grounded, Henry prayed. The longer Sunday is left in their hands, the more
But what could she do? Being tied down and kept literally in the dark left her few options. Perhaps physically there was nothing she could do, but her mind could still roam freely. She thought back to the ring she had noticed on her captor’s finger. She was positive she had seen it before. But where? And when? Was it on this man’s finger, or had it belonged to someone else?
Inch by mental inch she began to consider everyone who might have been that man with the ring. Congressional staff? Ridiculous. Besides the memory seemed to go back further in time. Delivery people? Any of the help at the New Jersey house? No. I’ve only known Henry less than a year, Sunday thought. And everyone who works for him has been with him forever.
Then who was it?
I’ll figure it out eventually, she vowed.
You’d better hurry up,
an interior voice cautioned.
You’re running out of time.
Will I ever get out of here alive? she asked herself. Will I ever see Henry again? For a long minute Sunday was shaken to the core of her being. She yearned to be home at Drumdoe with Henry. She had found a wonderful new recipe for garlic chicken in a Provençal cookbook and had intended to try it over the weekend. Working her way through Fordham as a short-order cook had taught her to really love preparing food. She had studied gourmet cooking at the Culinary Institute. Now at least one night of the weekend Henry’s longtime
cordon bleu
chef took off and she took over.
She was supposed to be in the House committee meeting this morning. The bill on health benefits for illegal immigrant kids was being discussed again. It drove her crazy that the guy who was leading the fight to deny them benefits was always showing off pictures of his own grandchildren. She had planned to sail into him about that.
But first she had to get out of here, or at least help to get herself out! The Lord helps those who help themselves, she told herself. That had been her father’s favorite adage.
And God help those who are caught doing it!
That was what I used to think when I was trying to get my defendants off, Sunday thought. Then she inhaled sharply.
That’s it, she thought excitedly. I didn’t see that ring around Drumdoe or Washington. It does go back further than that. It was when I was a public defender. One of the guys I defended was wearing it.
But which one?
Which of the hundreds and hundreds of cases she had tried in those seven years had been the one in which the accused was wearing a thick signet-type ring with a hole in the center?
She was wide awake now, as she thought back over all the cases she had handled. As the last of her mental Rolodex cards flipped over, she shook her head. She was absolutely positive that she had never defended her captor. But she was certain about the ring. Although maybe it wasn’t the
exact
ring. Could it be a symbol of a terrorist group? I know I never had a case that involved a terrorist, Sunday thought, and again she reflected on just how nonpolitical this guy seemed. Okay, so he is not a terrorist, and he was never one of my “clients.” So who
is
this guy?
Where was Sunday last night? Henry asked himself as he entered the Cabinet Room of the White House at eleven o’clock the following morning. He realized immediately that if anything the mood was even grimmer than it had been at the meeting the previous day. He saw that in addition to Des Ogilvey, the full cabinet, and the heads of the CIA and FBI, two newcomers were present: the Senate Majority Leader and the Speaker of the House. Always looking for a photo opportunity, he thought. Neither man was particularly high on his list.
It had snowed lightly during the night, and the weather forecast was for a major storm to hit sometime before the weekend, probably on Friday. Please God, don’t let us be grounded, Henry prayed. The longer Sunday is left in their hands, the more
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