At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1) (4 page)

Adrianna McVeigh was not only brilliant, she also was stunningly beautiful. her long raven hair and light green eyes had a transfixing ability to simultaneously attract the attention of every man in the room and quickly neutralize their planned mating rituals. She acted as though they were invisible. her eyes never strayed from her path, for to do so would acknowledge their presence. A woman of her intelligence and beauty should have been surrounded by eligible young bachelors, all vying for her attention, but she didn’t seem to notice their efforts. She was single-minded in her approach to life, and it resulted in the perception by those men she encountered that she was cold. It wasn’t a coldness that she felt, though. It was a defense mechanism. her inner purpose was to convey unattainability, and at that she was an expert.

On the rare occasion that she appeared at social events, she came with the same escort, her clandestine lover, retired Senator John “Minuteman” Masterson. With Adrianna at his side, women shied away, melting into the scenery. her beauty served as a barrier that also made the senator unattainable, and he liked it that way. Throughout his life, he did the choosing and resented the efforts of those who sought to pierce his cloak of privacy without his permission.

Alone, John Masterson and Adrianna McVeigh were able to be themselves. “It’s nice that we don’t need to bother with clothes if we don’t want to,” purred Adrianna as she combed her long dark hair. Its length obscured her full breasts. The senator, standing behind her, held her in a tight embrace. Not wanting to be deprived of the delight of her nakedness, he pulled her long hair behind her shoulders. “I want to admire you,” he growled in his low baritone. “Until my dying day, I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Adrianna dropped the brush and turned toward her man. “You have me, lock, stock, and barrel,” she replied.
“I want you, heart, mind, and body,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “There are some things I need to say to you.” he led her by hand to two plush wingback chairs in the corner of the master suite, where they sat for several minutes without saying a word, comfortable in their nudity and respectful that important messages come in their own time. They sipped coffee and looked into each other’s eyes until the focus became intense and their connection excluded all distractions.
“You know me.” he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. he reached for his coffee and took a long sip before continuing. he suddenly seemed nervous. Adrianna sat in silence, knowing that it wasn’t his habit of prolonging a conversation beyond its essence.
“Adrianna, we have been together for a long time . . .”
“Twenty years, three months and fourteen days, to be exact . . .” She smirked as he blushed. She began to calculate the last time she had seen John Masterson—or any politician—blush, but his quiet voice brought her back to the present.
“I know my fear of commitment and the Washington social calendar have kept me from making our relationship exclusive . . .”
She frowned. Maybe he was cutting her loose. “Johnny, first you surprise me by blushing, and now you’re beating around the bush. That isn’t like you, and if you don’t get to the point, I’m going to conclude that you don’t like me anymore.” She crossed her arms and legs in a defensive posture and stared directly into his grey eyes. She wasn’t going to let up on him until he capitulated, and Minuteman Masterson was unaccustomed to backing down on anything. She saw him swallow hard.
“I’m not speaking clearly, because I have never told this to a woman before.”
Adrianna knew when to keep silent, despite her fleeting fantasy of placing a front-kick squarely between his legs. The suspense in the room was not lessened by the sweat that was forming on his battlehardened forehead, either. She maintained her dignity, having no clue as to his next words.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Darlin’, is that so hard to say?”
“No, you don’t understand. I really love you, and I don’t want to spend another day without . . .” he was clearly on the verge of becoming speechless. Abruptly, he jumped up and ran out of the room.
She decided not to budge. he was rummaging around the dressing room, and in the reflection of the large mirror, she could see his frantic search through pockets of his suits. Finally, he slapped his forehead and ran over to a wool topcoat. he smiled broadly when he found the object of his efforts.
The sight of a naked man carrying a velvet box reverently in his outstretched hands was too much for her to maintain her composure, and she ran to him, laughing delightedly. The diamond ring seemed to take on a life of its own. The round stone was large, but not so ostentatious to make it unwieldy on her slender finger. Without a word, he dropped to his knee and slid the ring onto her waiting hand. She thought of her years of devotion to him and to Max and nodded gently when he said, “I have waited too long to do this.”

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ChAPTER NINE

Y

ou can do it, Son! Falling is easy. It’s the climb that’s the scary part!” The senator stood at the bottom of the high dive as Max, fully eight years of age, stood shivering at the end of the diving board. he had been up there for about ten minutes now, his legs shaking so much that the board swayed up and down. This motion only compounded his fear to the point that he began looking for an escape. Anything to avoid the jump. Any route that wouldn’t involve losing face. he turned and looked at the thirty steps that transported him to the top. It was the only other way out, but to go back down those steps of shame would only result in another challenge from the senator. Next time, it might be worse. At the moment, he couldn’t imagine what that might be, but his father had a vivid imagination. Each challenge was a lesson, and for as long as he could remember, Max was challenged almost on a daily basis. Max considered his choices. he jumped.

Dad was right. It wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was fun, hurtling through the air with that elevator feeling in your gut. hitting the water didn’t hurt either, if you pointed your toes.

“I want to do it again!”

“That’s my boy. This time, do a cannonball and see if you can splash me.”
The lesson at the pool lasted exactly one hour. Every lesson lasted the same length of time. his tutor had one hour per subject, no more, no less. Daily exercise was an intense nonstop activity for those sixty minutes. Reading after dinner was one hour. Access to television and video games was the same. he learned early on that most worthwhile activities lasted one hour and declined in intensity if extended beyond that time. Anything longer could not be completed or be of enough benefit to suit the senator. One hour was just right, and he had no more patience than that. Adrianna continued to tutor Max under the Minuteman Principle, realizing the important lesson of living life under the senator’s guidance. he always got his way.
During his life in politics, before he retired to create the business that made him famous and defined his life, the senator was “Minuteman.” To Max, he was father, teacher, philosopher, playmate, motivator, and friend. Life on the estate with the senator was Max’s total existence, and it was all-consuming. It was all he knew, but the bounty of his existence far surpassed all that was available to anyone else and was all designed for one purpose: Max was going to be president of the United States.

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ChAPTER TEN

Senator Masterson was being interviewed by a reporter for the weekly edition of Meet the Press and was flanked by the director of homeland Security, Adam Pryor, his nemesis during his years in Congress.

“Senator Masterson, may I refer to you by your nickname, ‘Minuteman,’ or would you prefer I just call you ‘Smiley’?” The moderator, Charles Atchison, was teasing him for the overt joy he was displaying over the recent vote of Congress in adopting the “American Privacy Bill,” which guaranteed the right of U.S. citizens to be exempted from wholesale surveillance by government.

“You can call me anything you want as long as you don’t attach my medical records to the transcript of the show,” joked Masterson. he was referring to the practice of the National Security Agency to include irrelevant information about surveillance suspects in their reports in an effort to pad the information obtained through unlimited access to private records.
Pryor, not known for sitting idly while his agency was being publicly vilified, responded swiftly. “I resent the implication that the government would use information obtained lawfully to harm law-abiding citizens. We acted within the law in effect at the time to ensure that patriotic Americans are not harmed by the terrorists who are planning destruction of U.S. facilities.”

Minuteman was quick to respond. “I am sick and tired of politicians telling me that it’s unpatriotic to not want to turn over every detail of my life to them, so they can do what they please with it. I can understand their surveillance of foreigners. hellfire, I’d be the first in line to say that some foreign national with a terrorist profile is going to be brain-scanned, fingerprinted, and picked apart like buzzards do to roadkill. But I am not going to sit back and let them do it to lawabiding Americans.”

“Mr. Masterson is merely trying to make money off of this issue, and he doesn’t give a hoot about privacy.” This outburst by Pryor was the culmination of years of acrimonious exchanges between Minuteman and his adversaries, and the effect of his words could be seen in detail on Masterson’s face. As the camera closed in on Minuteman’s angry expression, Atchison sought to temper the fury by asking a question.

“Senator, I understand that information will now be filtered through a program that locks personal information away from prying eyes and will only be made available to those who have permission, and they have to pay a fee, is that right?”

“Charles, my company will make a dollar off of every request. The rest of the five dollar fee goes to administrative expenses, and is paid by the requester, including Mr. Pryor here. he doesn’t want to pay for the cost of protecting Americans from the government, and he’s here today to whine about it just like he has for the past decade. But he can’t rain on my parade. he lost, I won, and now Congress has voted that he has to have permission from law-abiding citizens to pry into their private lives.”

Pryor stood, his microphone falling from its perch on his collar. As he faced Masterson, the senator rose, not quite reaching the chin of the taller man. Pryor grabbed the lapels of his adversary, realizing only too late that he was challenging a lifelong practitioner of the martial arts.

With one movement, Pryor was rendered unconscious with simultaneous blows to the groin and the trachea. As he fell to the floor, Masterson calmly faced the cameras, and said, “Charles, this is how Americans should respond to attacks, and today we regained the right to protect ourselves.” Minuteman Masterson calmly unclipped his microphone and walked offstage to the silence of the stunned commentator, content that he had made his point, and within the allotted time.

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ChAPTER ELEVEN

Adrianna had pushed Max in his baby jogger from the time he came to Fairlane until he was four years old. She ran on the winding trails through the woods that provided a cushioned respite from the hard concrete of paved roads, and the shadows felt cool on her perspiring skin. She had taught Max the ABC’s and to count to one hundred. he learned the names of the dinosaurs and words that would not be learned by other children until they were well into high school. When Max began to ask adult questions and discuss adult issues, she had allowed the conversations to expand. he became her running partner, his little legs strengthening daily and his endurance peaking. By age six, he was able to carry on their conversations while running an eight-minute mile pace.

“Mommy?”
“Max, we talked about this last week. I’m not your mommy. I’m just a lady who wants to be your mommy.” They had discussed the death of Max’s parents in the car wreck on many of their runs, but Max needed someone to be there for him and Adrianna supplied all of the emotional support that a boy could want from his mother.
“Mommy,” Max continued, ignoring yet another correction on her status in his young life. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Sweetie,” she replied as she sprinted to the top of a small rise along the Potomac. When Max caught up seconds later, she put her arms around the boy and held him close, inhaling the sweet scent that only young children can produce. She wilted at his insistence. “You can call me Mommy anytime.” She realized that young children describe their world and the people around them in the most honest of ways, and it didn’t matter to the little boy that she had yet to obtain the legal status of wife or mother. To him she was Mommy, and for her, that was good enough.

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ChAPTER TWELVE

As they sat on the huge rock at the top of Soaring Cliffs, Max and the senator watched the clouds turn from orange to lavender. Eagles and hawks soared on the updrafts around the ancient volcanic dome. For as long as he could remember, his father had taken him alone to this spot, and they had free-climbed to the top each spring. They ignored the “Do Not Climb” signs posted in the years following the falling deaths of tourists who had no reason to go there, secretly savoring the solitude. There was a secret grotto at the top, an outdoor cathedral open to the sky. It was encircled by enormous boulders, which reflected the firelight and stood as silent sentinels from the rest of the world. Their refuge was hidden from the path below, where they would set up a nylon hiking tent just big enough for the two of them. Max loved the tent and the freedom it offered with its screen top open to the sky. he could lie next to the senator and look at the stars bright in the evening sky, closer to God. The sky came down to greet them, the early stars shining before the sunset.

At sixteen, Max realized that their special trip would likely be the last to their private spot. he could see the toll the hike was taking on the senator. It wasn’t that he wasn’t nimble; his father had a lifetime of athletic accomplishments as a rower, gymnast, and triathlete in his younger years. But the rasping sound he made upon exertion was new, and it foretold an underlying illness that the senator had hidden from everyone except his personal doctors.