Razor Sharp. Fern Michaels

down her back and around her shoulders looked like spun silver.

      And then she was in front of the judge, every ear tuned to the conversation. “I’m so sorry, Judge Leland, but I have to leave this enchanting party because I need to double-check a motion I want to file in the morning. I hope you have a wonderful retirement and don’t miss all of us too much.”

      The judge’s voice was raspy and yet frail-sounding when he said, “Ah, Miss Fox, I will sorely miss listening to your outstanding oratory in the courtroom. My wife always quizzed me on your fashionable attire when I got home. Thank you so much for coming this evening to help me celebrate my retirement. I’ll look forward to reading about your courtroom dramas in the days to come, as opposed to witnessing them firsthand.”

      Lizzie laughed, that tinkling sound she was famous for. She bent down and, to the amazement of just about everyone in the room, kissed the judge soundly on the cheek. She smiled, and the room grew brighter as she waited for the sea of white heads to part once again. Two minutes later she was out of the room and headed for the checkroom to retrieve her cashmere coat. But maybe she needed to visit the restroom first.

      Inside the elegant restroom, she met three colleagues she knew quite well. They were whispering among themselves. “Okay, ladies, it’s safe to leave. I paved the way for all of us to call it a night,” Lizzie said.

      “There is a God,” one of the lawyers said dramatically. “Lizzie, have you heard?”

      “Heard what?” Lizzie asked curiously as she headed to the far stall.

      The three women as one moved down the length of the vanity and all of them started talking at once.

      Lizzie exited the stall and started to wash her hands. She had trouble keeping up with what she was hearing.

      “Biggest scandal since…God, I don’t know when.” “Practically the whole damn cabinet…even some of the Secret Service…try the vice prez…jeez, what’s this all going to do to Martine Connor’s new administration?” “Congress and the Senate…more than you can shake a stick at.”

      Lizzie was about to weigh in with a dozen questions when the door opened and a gaggle of women entered the room. All conversation among the lawyers screeched to a halt. Lizzie rolled her eyes as she held the door for the others.

      Lizzie retrieved her long white cashmere coat, slipped into it, and almost ran to the exit. She handed the valet her ticket and waited for her brand-new Porsche to be brought to where she was standing. Her head buzzed with what she’d heard and what she hadn’t heard. Imagination was a powerful thing.

      Her car roared to a stop. For some reason, Porsches driven by anyone other than their owners always seemed to roar. Lizzie slipped a ten-dollar bill into the valet’s hand and slid behind the wheel. The powerful car purred and growled to life as she raced down the circular road that would lead her to the main highway. Another scandal in Washington. What else was new? She didn’t want to think about scandals, she wanted to think about Cosmo Cricket and the coming weekend when she would fly out to see him.

      Five hours later, Lizzie rolled over on her lavender-scented sheets as she struggled to figure out what had woken her. The phone, of course. She squinted at the clock on the nightstand. The large red numerals said it was 2:59. No one called her at this hour unless it was a dire emergency. Her first thought was Cosmo, but she discarded that thought immediately. He’d said he was going straight to bed when they hung up from their call, and she had done the same thing. One of the Sisters? Surely nothing was happening on the mountain that couldn’t wait till morning. The caller I.D. said PRIVATE CALLER. Did she even want to take the call? No. She rolled back over, sniffed her pillowcase, and settled down to go back to sleep when the phone rang again. Damn. She rolled back over and picked up the phone. “This better be really, really good because it’s three o’clock in the morning, and I was sound asleep.” Lizzie didn’t care who was listening to her tirade.

      “Lizzie, it’s Martine Connor. I am sorry to wake you, truly I am, but I do not have a minute to myself these days. This is the only time I can call you. I need to talk to you, Lizzie.”

      “Madam President,” Lizzie said, bolting upright and swinging her legs over the side of the bed at the same time. “Is this how we’re going to chat from time to time? Is something wrong?”

      “First things first, cut out that ‘Madam President’ stuff. You only have to call me Madam President if the press is around. No, we are not going to chat in the middle of the night. No, I take that back, yes, that’s about the only time we can talk. I can’t sleep in this job. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I moved into this damn place. I used to sleep like a baby and, yes, something is wrong. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten wind of it all, even though they’re trying to put a lid on it. You know whenever they do that, an explosion always follows.”

      Lizzie’s mind raced as she made her way out to the kitchen to make coffee. She knew there would be no more sleep for her that night. She thought about the conversation in the lavatory with her colleagues at the Hay-Adams a little while ago.

      “I think you need to be a little more precise, Martine. I did hear something tonight at Judge Leland’s retirement party, but it was in the restroom. Lawyers talk, you know that. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the party room. I think I would have picked up on it. Every damn judge and lawyer in this town was there. Also, there were quite a few congressmen and senators present. Give it to me straight up. Martine, does anyone know you’re calling me? Aren’t there invisible eyes and ears on you?”

      “I’m on that crazy phone you gave me. I carry it on me at all times. Yes, my dear, in my bra if I’m wearing clothes without pockets. I have it set on vibration mode. I’m also in bed. Alone. There are no eyes and ears here that I know of. There damn well better not be.”

      Lizzie poured her coffee, added cream, then rummaged in the fridge for something to munch on. She reached for some chicken legs her day lady had left on a platter of Southern-fried chicken along with a side bowl of potato salad. She poked at the other bowls and saw a salad and some fruit. With the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder, she carried everything to the round wooden table. “Talk to me,” she mumbled.

      “It’s that old devil sex. It’s reared its ugly head in my administration. This is worse than the scandal that erupted before I took office. You remember the D.C. Madam, don’t you?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, President Connor raced on. “This time around, half my staff attended the damn party. I’m told there were Secret Service there. I lost count of the federal judges and congressmen who attended the damn camp weekend. Not just once, but twice,” Connor screeched. “They had such a good time, they did an encore after I was sworn in. And don’t tell me ‘boys will be boys.’ I don’t want to hear it. I think every politician in this damn town was involved in one way or another. Do you know how this makes me look?” Again she didn’t bother to wait for a reply. “I have an administration of perverts. Say something, Lizzie.”

      Lizzie for some reason enjoyed hearing Martine venting. Welcome to Washington was what she wanted to say. Instead, Lizzie said, “I heard there were quite a few senators who…uh, went to camp, and I also heard several of your fancy-dancy ambassadors and a few of their friends were also in attendance.” Lizzie licked at her fingers and reached for a second chicken leg. “I hope you aren’t calling me to ask me to represent any of those perverts because the answer is no, Madam President. I have long believed that the johns should be the ones who are arrested and punished, not the working girls and madams. The men went to the summer, or winter, camp, whatever it was, of their own free will, and they were willing to pony up outrageous sums of money for the pleasure. No one twisted their arms. Then they walk off scot-free, and the women take the fall. What’s wrong with this picture? No, Madam President, I can’t help you.”

      “Lizzie, you have to help me. Not directly, I realize that. I want you to get in touch with the Vigilantes and ask for their help. I can’t think of anything else. I guess you can see I’m desperate, or I wouldn’t be calling you.”

      “Martine, no! They won’t