Deadly Deals by Fern Michaels

Maggie asked.
    â€œIt sucks. I wish I were on some island somewhere, on a beach with white sand, warm breezes, and a drink in my hand,” Jack said.
    Harry agreed.
    â€œIt’s not going to happen. This is the Christmas season, so get in the spirit.” Maggie looked down at her watch. “Lizzie should be in Baron Bell’s office right about now.”
    â€œHow do you think that’s going to go?”
    â€œSurely you jest, Jack!” Maggie teased. “How do you think it’s going to go? We’re talking about Lizzie here. He’s toast.”
    Jack made a face. “Don’t be so sure, Maggie. I’ve seen that guy in court. They call him Saint Baron around the courthouse. There is also speculation that he has a couple of judges in his pocket. I’m just saying.”
    â€œBy chance, Jack, are those the same judges who get tongue-tied when Lizzie appears in front of them? You want to put his record up against Lizzie’s?”
    Jack shook his head. “No, Maggie, I don’t. I just don’t want you to forget that Bell has some really powerful friends here in the District. Yes, I know Lizzie does, too. He goes in and out of the White House like it’s his home away from home.”
    Harry watched the two of them, his head going back and forth like he was at a tennis match. He decided it was time to weigh in. “Lizzie will be working at the White House come January second.”
    Maggie laughed. “Bell will be history by January second. Here, check this out,” she said, sliding a folder across the table. “I’m sharing my headline with you. What do you think?”
    â€œWell, damn. You’re right. I think he might be toast,” Jack agreed.
    â€œMight be?” Harry said, his tone full of menace.
    Jack slid the photos and the mock-up headline back into the folder just as the waiter set down a huge tray with a dozen hot dogs, all topped with “the works,” along with a triple order of onion rings and french fries.
    The trio dived into the food, each of them mumbling that his or her cholesterol was in the normal range.
    Ten minutes into the food orgy, Jack dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. He fixed his gaze on Maggie. “Are Harry and I sitting this one out? I haven’t heard a thing from the mountain.”
    Maggie stopped eating long enough to say, “I don’t think so. The last thing I heard was you guys are going to be front and center. Stay on the alert.”
    â€œWe’re always on the alert, aren’t we, Harry?”
    Harry glared at Jack.
    Jack tried for one of what he hoped was his more innocent expressions, and said, “Maggie, what do you think of champagne as a color?”
    â€œOh, I love it. When we were on the mountain, we were talking about interior decorating. It’s all the rage. It’s so clean and elegant looking. You know, regal somehow. I seem to remember Nikki and Yoko saying they liked it. Why? Are you going to do some redecorating?”
    â€œNot right now. Down the road possibly. Maybe in the spring,” Jack replied. He risked a glance at Harry, who appeared to be in a trance. He winked at Maggie and reached for his fifth hot dog.

Chapter 6
    D ressed in a faux white mink coat and hat, Lizzie drew stares as she exited the luxurious limousine, wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes against the blinding whiteness all about her. She looked like a Russian spy in a popular movie as she strode toward the building that housed Baron Bell’s offices. The door was thrust open by a smiling doorman. He watched as the striking woman, her every move choreographed, sailed across the ornate lobby toward the elevator, which opened as though by magic. And then the goddess was gone, and the lobby’s occupants went back to what they were doing before the vision in white had graced their space.
    The only occupants of the old-fashioned elevator were Lizzie and an elderly lady with