Free In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) by L.D. Beyer

that?”
    “It’s pretty obvious.”  Rumson growled.
    Perry waited; it wasn’t so obvious to him.  He didn’t have to wait long.
    “He’s got to go!”  Rumson slammed his fist on the table.
    The flower vase fell and shattered on the tile floor. 
___
    One week later, Rumson looked up from his newspaper as Agent C.J. Timmons, the head of his Secret Service detail, stepped into his study. 
    “Your niece is here.”
    Rumson folded the newspaper and stood as the woman strode into the room. 
    “Hello, Uncle Tyler.”  She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then stepped back and took in the room.  “I like your house.”  Her eyes sparkled.  “But how come it’s taken you so long to invite me?”
    Rumson smiled.  “I’ve been somewhat busy.  But you know you’re always welcome.” 
    Rumson’s house was located on the grounds of the United States Naval Observatory in Washington, DC.  Originally built for the observatory’s superintendent in 1893, it was taken over by the Chief of Naval Operations in 1923, when, after a visit, he decided the Queen Anne style house was more befitting a man of his stature than a mere superintendent.  The Navy continued to use the mansion to house its Chief until 1974, when Congress, in an ironic turn of events, kicked the CNO out and the building was converted to the official residence of the vice president.
    As Julie sat, Rumson offered refreshments.  He wasn’t surprised when she asked for water.  He had never known her to drink.  He added a twist of lemon to her glass and prepared himself a scotch.
    They sipped their drinks and made small talk.  Although his wife wasn’t home, he expected her shortly.  After twenty-nine years of marriage, she had learned never to disturb him when he was in his office.  This, and the fact that Julie wasn’t really his niece, would likely lead to speculation by the household staff and the Secret Service that Julie was a dalliance for a man whose marriage, while cordial, was devoid of emotion.  While that couldn’t be further from the truth, it suited Rumson for now.
    He had met Julie’s father when she was fourteen.  Her father had been a New Jersey State Trooper who had landed in trouble when it was alleged that he had “mishandled evidence,” a polite way of saying that some items he had been charged with protecting until they were needed for trial went missing.  The fact that all of the items in question during Trooper Stapleton’s short tenure as head of the State Police evidence locker were deemed high value didn’t help.  Nor did it help when several pieces of jewelry confiscated during the arrest of a suspected mobster were later discovered in a series of pawnshops owned by Trooper Stapleton’s neighbor.  Rumson had intervened with the state attorney general, the charges were quietly dropped, and Trooper Stapleton was reassigned back to patrol duty. 
    Stapleton had been killed less than a month later, when he was shot twice in the face during a routine traffic stop on the Garden State Parkway.  The crime had never been solved, but Rumson had seen to it that the trooper’s family was taken care of financially, including sending the trooper’s only child, Jane, to college.  It wasn’t until she applied that Rumson learned her name was Julie, not Jane as he still called her.  Jane was a nickname that had stuck when Julie, as a four-year-old on the first day of preschool, had combined her first initial with her misspelled middle name, Ann.
    Julie’s mother had died seven years later of lung cancer, but not before seeing her daughter graduate from college.  After graduation, Julie, like her father, had enlisted in the Army.  All the while, she continued to hold a grudge against the New Jersey State Police and, as her Army record indicated, authority in general.  Despite her occasional insubordination, she was honorably discharged three years later.  She then joined a private security firm, again