Page 43 of Escape into the Night

Without a word, Bella circumnavigated the table and stopped short behind the seated man who suddenly didn't seem quite as large and imposing as he usually did. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, face covered, he looked exactly how she felt—war-weary and overwhelmed. Her arms curled around his shoulders as shepressed her cheek to the top of his head. They were the strong ones, but even the strongest soldiers weren't invincible.

She let her mind wander to Lily. Her sweet Lily, who had been so excited to plan their future, so eager to escape the cloak and dagger world of politics. Lily, who had put their plans for marriage and babies and a future together on hold to remain in the employ of the White House. To continue doing the work that was destroying her because Bella had asked. She hadn't needed to beg or plead, and that made it somehow worse. She hadn't even needed to make the argument that they needed someone to get close to the President to rule out coercion or manipulation or blackmail or, heaven forbid it, drugs or mind-altering chemicals. She simply asked, and Lily said yes. They were all sacrificing. They were all suffering. And none of them had a better option. Bella hated every second of it.

With a steadying breath, Bella forced herself to unfurl her arms from around Luke’s shoulders and stood upright. She let her hand linger in the space between his shoulder blades a little longer.

“We will divide the list. I am sure T is already going to comb through the entire thing himself. We can split the names, dig into their history, and find out who can be trusted. Carefully. Quietly.”

“Wilco, Abs.” Luke lifted his gaze, red-rimmed eyes carrying all the worries he wouldn't voice aloud. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Mn. Si.” Impulse drove her to kiss the man’s forehead before she squeezed his shoulder and stepped away. They would figure it out. They always did. She couldn't help but worry about the consequences when they did, though. If only it was as easy as burning the haystack to the ground to find the needles hidden inside.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Caleb

Tuckedawayinthenew office he’d furnished for himself in the basement of their home, Caleb’s mind ran through the mantras and pep talks of old, preparing for a conversation that could shift everything. The odd dinner party that left them with a nearly insurmountable list of issues was fresh in his mind as he settled into the seat with every intention of hopefully, mercifully, crossing one of those items off. He didn't want to believe that the German Chancellor was somehow complicit in any of the problems they faced, but experience dictated one thing—greed and power would always, always make men do unsavory things.

The antique banker's lamp illuminated the desk in a soft, soothing light, lending warmth to the cold glow of the computer screen. He felt eerily distant, far removed from the established quiet of their pristine neighborhood and the wholesome façade of the magazine-worthy home. Outside, he knew the sun wasn't yet fully risen. Inside, artificial light made it seem like any time of day, painfully normal despite the magnitude of all that bore down on them. The steady, blinking light on the screen was like a teleprompter taunting him. Showtime, Cay.

With a single click of the trackpad, Caleb connected the call, sitting back with affected ease as he smoothed a hand over the buttons of his shirt. Bahrenburg didn't need to know he wasn't wearing pants. From the waist up, he easily pulled off casual professional. It was all part of the show. Professional, but approachable. An every man’s sort of man. If only this was a casual conversation and not him conducting a wholesale fishing expedition. He hated fishing, literally and figuratively. It took a lot of work to keep the distaste from showing on his carefully constructed expression of relaxed camaraderie.

“Mr. Cohen,” Bahrenburg crowed, his loud, effusive voice bursting into the room, flooding every nook and cranny with reverberating tones as his face came into frame. Same old Bahrenburg. Big, boisterous, and straight to business.

“Cohen-Williams, Mister Chancellor.” Caleb gave his biggest, brightest smile as he lifted his left hand to show off the simple band on his ring finger. His right hand tapped a silent staccato against the arm of his chair as he spoke.Control the pacing. Keep it light. See what he gives you.The mental reminders continued on a loop in the back of his head.

“Yes, yes. Congratulations, of course. It has been some time,” Bahrenburg replied with the faintest trace of amusement lacing his voice. “I assumed your departure from the White House meant you had left the world of diplomacy behind.”

Caleb chuckled, the well-practiced canned laughter of diplomats the world over. “Now, now. You know me. Can't stay away from all the fun for too long.”

A measured heat of silence followed, absent of any shared levity. No responding chuckle or warm-hearted smiles from the Chancellor today, it would seem.

“And yet, you call not as an emissary, but as the devoted husband of a man seeking the highest office of your country.”

He felt the shift on a physical level, but his smile didn't falter. It was no surprise the Chancellor had already done his due diligence. Cay had prepared ahead of time assuming as much.

“Elias’ campaign has been a delightfully exciting challenge. It's utterly fascinating to see how the game has evolved since our last dealings.” Caleb eased back in the chair with a lingering smile.

“Evolved. Yes.” Something in the man’s voice grew tight, like the faintest press of a blade against skin. Cay resisted the urge to lean forward. He was nothing if not a consummate professional and he wasn't about to give up the gig this early in the game. He continued speaking with as much ease as his facial expression conveyed.

“It's really a remarkable thing, watching the board shift.” His tone was intentionally light, his comments delivered offhand. “New players, old alliances, a constant dance of redefined movements.”

“Indeed.” He paused for a sip of something—tea, perhaps. Knowing Bahrenburg, it was more likely the mug was filled with schnapps or a grain brandy. His cheeks definitely indicated it was something stronger than a steeped tea despite the vessel he used to drink. When he spoke again, his voice was as chilly as the overcast autumn morning he could see through the window overlooking Berlin in the background. “The world is always in motion, Mr. Cohen-Williams. Those who fail to move with it…” He shrugged and made a toasting motion with the mug. “They get left behind.”

Resisting the urge to strangle the arm’s of his chair with his grip, Caleb loosely laced his fingers under his chin. “I imagine some have moved ahead quite spectacularly.”

“And some have found themselves caught between the tides.” Bahrenburg’s words were soft, but the message slithered over the skin like the hypnotizing slick of oil on wet asphalt—oddly pleasing in its iridescence and yet utterly filthy when you remembered what it was.

“It must be difficult, navigating those tides.” Caleb cocked his head as if considering the words.

“More than you will ever know.” There it was. Bahrenburg wasn't admitting to anything. Not outright. He was too smart for that. But the message was clear. He was involved. Maybe not at the helm, definitely not a major player, but he knew what was happening in the shadows. There was another pause, a test, a challenge, before Bahrenburg changed tack.

“Elias is an interesting choice. If he secures the nomination, the world will be watching very, very closely. I will be watching closely. Some will see opportunities. Others, risks.”

“And you, Mister Chancellor? What will you see?”

A half-chuckle tinged his words as a barely-there smile curved the man’s lips. “You know me as well as I know you. You cannot stay away from the fun, while I appreciate the art of negotiation. The ability to adapt, and to choose the right allies.”

“Allies are important.” A chill trickled down Caleb’s spine. “So is loyalty.”

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