Drummer In the Dark

Free Drummer In the Dark by T. Davis Bunn Page A

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Authors: T. Davis Bunn
Tags: Fiction
but will not hear; eyes, but will remain safely blind.” The gentle voice had not risen in tone, yet there was a new passion at work, as forceful as it was gentle. “I am not here tonight to answer your questions, Congressman. I am here to beg you to
wake up.”
    “I don’t understand a word you’ve just told me.”
    “Do not permit yourself to lose this opportunity to find true wealth. Do not.” A small hand gripped his arm, a hasp locking out all but the gentle words. “When you wake up at night, Congressman, alone and desperate despite the world’s assurance that you have everything anyone could ever dream of, I urge you to heed the unheard voice. Sybel assures me that you can be the one we need. We seek another fighter, Congressman. We need another friend. And in return, all we can offer you is work and strife and possibly a lifetime’s worth of frustration.”
    The priest made to turn away, then added quietly, “Oh, and passion. I neglected to mention that, did I not. The passion of a quest worth the day and the night and the day, until the moment when the day is no more.”
     
    W YNN WANDERED AIMLESSLY through the room, shaking innumerable hands, mulling over the priest’s mystery, until he spotted her. This particular woman could not have approached unseen. Not a beauty like this. If he had been comatose and she had advanced from behind, he would still have noticed. She was that striking.
    Serious hair. That was his first thought. A rich cinnamon, and long enough to tease her shoulders like caressing fingers as she walked. A designer suit whose skirt was cut high to show off million dollar legs. Body undulating smoothly, almost hidden by the cutaway jacket. Eyes huge and a mere shade browner than her hair. She stopped before him and announced, “I believe I’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I couldn’t possibly race up the first moment you arrived and fling myself at your feet.”
    He smiled. Not at her words, but her accent. It was English and Oxbridge and rich, as perfect a match as her jewelry, understated and utterly appealing. “Why not?”
    “Oh, come now, Congressman. Even a newcomer like yourself is aware of the dire situation facing a single unattached woman in Washington. Nine to one is the current ratio. Appalling situation, really, they should pass a law. I was considering some awful act, like flying to New York for a wanton weekend. And then here you come, sauntering in all by your lonesome.” She had a way of framing the words as if she were tasting them. “That sounds utterly brazen, doesn’t it. I’m so ashamed I really should turn and flee. But I dare not. I might never have another such occasion.”
    Wynn waved his glass at the room. “It doesn’t bother you that the entire hall is watching us?”
    “Well, of course they are. The latest addition to the Washington power set is a handsome widower and as unattached as a prince from my childhood fairy tales. His first night in Washington, and already he’s snagged by a K Street lobbyist.” She offered a long-fingered hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve not even introduced myself. Valerie Lawry.”
    “A pleasure.” And a relief. The priest had already been relegated to the realm of unwelcome night visitors. “What did you say you were?”
    She gave a delighted laugh. “Oh, Congressman, this is just too rich.”
    “Call me Wynn.”
    “Wynn. I had heard the name, but it was too perfect to be real. It sounds positively drawn from the days of President Hoover. I can see the caption now, Win With Wynn, all draped with bunting and patriotic balloons.”
    Wynn wished for something intelligent to say. But her perfume and her looks and her eyes were a potion that robbed him of what little sense he ever had. “You’re a lobbyist.”
    “Indeed so. K Street is home to the most expensive of our breed. The hottest guns for hire.”
    “Who are you representing tonight?”
    “No one, good sir.” She reached out a

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