Read Deadlock for Free Online Page A

perspiration.
    Levering leaned toward her a little, unwavering in his gaze. “I think you need to live a little.”
    Millie swallowed. “Oh?”
    Levering put his hand on hers. “We’re cut from the same cloth, you know.”
    Millie tried to gently pull her hand away. Levering held on.
    “From the people,” Levering said. “We worked our way up the hard way. I know all about you, Madame Justice.”
    She wondered what he meant by that, and by the half smile on his face. For a moment she thought he would try to kiss her. But he leaned back, reached behind her to the bar, and poured more champagne for himself.
    “You grew up poor, like I did,” Levering said. “You pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and made it. Boalt Hall Law. Editor of the Law Review . Number one in your class. You were slated for greatness from the start. So was I.”
    The limo approached the Lincoln Memorial. Millie saw the flocks of tourists dotting the stairs, and Lincoln presiding over it all.
    “And now,” Levering said, “here we are.”
    He squeezed her hand again. Millie felt her face heating up. How silly this all was. That she should be acting like a little schoolgirl.
    Levering leaned over and kissed her neck.
    Alarms went off through her body. Part of her, the rational part, told her to take it easy. This was a harmless development; she could handle it. But the other part, made up of instinct and feelings she hardly knew, cried out at full volume.
    She smelled alcohol on his breath as Levering reached his hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him. She pushed back.
    “Stop it.” Millie slid away from him. “Take me home, please.”
    He backed away. “Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed the limo phone and told the driver to pull over.
    “Senator Levering, take me home.” She said it firmly, but knew he had no intention of doing so. Now what?
    The limo pulled into a crowded parking lot. The driver opened the door, offering his hand to Millie. She decided to get out. Maybe she could catch a taxi.
    Levering stumbled out behind her. The air was crisp for early summer. A tour group ambled past them heading toward the Lincoln Memorial. Levering staggered a bit as he watched the raucous teens.
    “They don’t even know who we are,” he said. “And couldn’t care less.”
    Millie started to worry that someone would recognize the senator, a group leader perhaps, and before long she’d be staring at herself on the cover of the National Exposure. She shuddered.
    Levering grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s walk.”
    She tried to extricate her hand from his, but he pulled her toward a grassy area. The thin sliver of moon seemed like a sardonic smile.
    “Please let me go,” she said. “I really want to go home.”
    He turned toward her. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I’m on your side. I’m your friend.”
    “Friendship is fine,” Millie said. “I don’t mind that.”
    “But I need more.” In the gloom she could barely see his face, but it looked sorrowful. For one moment she thought of him not as a senator, but a boy. The look quickly faded as a smooth smile returned.
    “Don’t you want to give it a try?” Levering said.
    “Give what a try?” she asked.
    “This. Us. Just give it a try. You’ll like it.”
    He moved quickly, grabbing her around the waist and pressing his face on hers.
    She broke his hold and stumbled back. “Stop.”
    His arms shot out again and pulled her toward him. He kissed her mouth. She struggled in his embrace, but he was strong.
    It was all so surreal. She was no longer a judge on the highest court in the land, but simply another woman being pawed by a drunk in the dark.
    She slapped him.
    It landed clumsily, not with the loud pop that a Bette Davis might have managed. And when he smiled at it, she turned and found herself running, stupidly, the heels of her shoes poking holes in the soft grass.
     
    | 10
    Charlene’s prayer tonight was not a song. It was a crying