Chapter 32
June 17
Santa Fe
It was the middle of June when the employees at KCNS first became aware that Emily Kirkland was going to have a child. She had been gaining weight slowly, putting on a pound a month. Then, without warning, she awoke one morning and found a firm rounded mound of flesh where her slightly distended belly existed the night before.
She spent more than half an hour trying on everything in her closet to accommodate her burgeoning body, but the attempt was fruitless. She called the network offices to say she wouldn’t be in, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and one of her brother’s shirts, then headed for the nearest mall to purchase a new wardrobe.
Her life hadn’t changed much since she’d returned from Florida in early March. She’d continued to supervise the intern until two weeks earlier, and Steve Washington was her constant companion and go-between, facilitating her assignations with Chris. They managed to see each other on an average of once every two weeks. His campaign schedule had him crisscrossing the state, visiting as many as eight cities or towns each week.
The increased activity was taking its toll. He’d lost weight, and whenever the camera captured his image it revealed an intensity that hadn’t been apparent before he entered the gubernatorial race.
His strategists had countered Savoy’s claim that Alejandro Delgado was a drug trafficker by securing declassified documents from FBI files showing that the former Mexican diplomat had assisted with the capture and demise of a quartet of powerful Mexican drug lords. Word had filtered from the Savoy camp that the incumbent governor was livid that his son’s investigators had failed to delve deeply enough into the elder Delgado’s activities.
Emily checked with Detective McGrady every week, but the homicide detective hadn’t uncovered any more information concerning the murder. Emily couldn’t feed him more leads because she hadn’t heard from her mysterious informant since late February.
Maneuvering into a parking space at a downtown mall, Emily walked into the air-cooled, two-story structure and headed for a specialty shop that sold lingerie. She had to purchase bras in a larger size. She’d found Chris leering at her whenever she undressed in front of him; her fuller breasts now spilled out of her very impractical lacy bra cups.
The morning passed quickly as she purchased undergarments and picked up six mix-and-match coordinates from a maternity shop before she stopped to eat a salad at one of the counters at the food court.
She left the mall with four shopping bags, stored them in the trunk of the Corvette, then sat in the car trying to decide what to do next. Reaching into her purse, she retrieved her cellular phone and dialed the number of her husband’s cell phone. She heard his voice after the second ring.
“Yes?”
“Hi, lover,” she crooned.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the mall.”
“Are you going back to work?”
“No. I didn’t go to work today because I had to shop for clothes for my very misshapen body.”
He laughed softly. “I think your body’s very cute.”
“You really think so?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do. Why don’t you come over and model your purchases?”
“Where are you, Chris?”
“Home.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Resting up before I attend a dinner with ninety members of the American Legion this evening.”
“Do you think it’s wise for me to come to your place?”
“Look, Emily, you’re not covering Savoy’s campaign, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Right now, I’m not covering anything at the station.”
“Come on over, baby girl, and keep me company.”
* * *
Chris stood at a window, watching for Emily’s car. He would be able to spot her as soon as she came down the street. The industrial building had stored corn and other grains in the late nineteenth century, but had been abandoned for years when the storage company moved to Texas. The owner subdivided more than 35,000 square feet into three separate lofts, and he was the third and last person to purchase more than ten thousand feet of living space.
A slight smile deepened the lines around his eyes when he spied Emily. She was driving much more slowly than she had been before her pregnancy. She’d said she was practicing to become a responsible mother.
Walking across the living room, Chris pressed a button on a wall panel, activating the garage door on the street level. His cell phone chimed softly. He pressed another button, disengaging the lock on the door inside the garage, which led into his apartment. Emily would be able to let herself in.
He retrieved the phone. “Yes?”
“She’s on her way to your place,” came a soft male voice.
“I know. She’s here. Thanks.”
Chris ended the call. The man he’d hired to protect Emily had planted a tracking device under the right wheel well of her car. The man had been the best in his field before an untreated case of strep throat resulted in a heart condition, which led to his retirement from the FBI. The former special agent monitored Emily’s every move and who she met, and reported his findings by cell phone or laptop computer.
Chris moved over to the door and opened it, smiling as Emily walked up four steps and into his apartment. His gaze made love to her, sweeping over the black shiny curls falling around her long, graceful neck. Her on-and-off-again bouts of nausea prevented her from keeping her regularly scheduled beauty salon appointments. The result was that she’d affected a hairstyle that was less sophisticated but made her appear softer, more feminine.
Leaning closer, she pressed her mouth to his. “Hey.”
Curving an arm around her thickening waist, Chris returned her smile. “Hey, yourself.”
Emily cradled his lean face between her palms, noting the changes in her husband’s appearance immediately. The photographs had been kind. Up close and in person he looked emaciated.
“Did you eat today?”
His gaze lowered, long lashes sweeping over the sharp ridge of his cheekbones. “I had a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee this morning.”
“It’s looks as if I’m the only one in this family who’s putting on weight. You look horrible, Chris.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
“I’m serious. You look sick.” Taking his hand, she pulled him in the direction of the kitchen. “You’re so intent on campaigning that you’re neglecting your health. Our baby has a right to grow up with both parents. From the look of you, you seem intent on starving yourself to death.”
Releasing his hand, she walked over to the refrigerator and flung open the door. She went completely still. A bottle of orange juice, half a loaf of bread and a small plastic dish with no more than a pat of butter on it rested on the top shelf. The other shelves were bare.
Slamming the door with a resounding thud, Emily turned to face Chris. “Where are your takeout menus?”
“I’m going out to eat at the VFW tonight.”
“What? Rubber chicken, raw bloody beef and putrid fish?” She extended her hand. “Give me the menus, Chris.”
“Aw, come on, baby.”
Her eyes lost their vibrant color. “Now!”
His temper exploded. “Dammit, Emily!”
“Watch your mouth, Christopher Delgado.” She pushed past him, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. To buy some food for this place.”
Chris raced across the large space, his fingers curling around her upper arm, stopping her retreat. “Okay, Emelia.”
Turning, she stared at him, seeing the strain he tried vainly to conceal f
rom her as her heart turned over in compassion. Closing her eyes, she swayed slightly.
“I love you, Chris. More than you know. And because I love you, I worry about you. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
His strong hands circled her waist, pulling her flush against his body. He wanted to tell her how much he worried about her. He hadn’t ignored his brother-in-law’s warning to protect her; he’d taken Salem’s suggestion and hired a protection specialist. Even though the man tracked her every move, Chris found that he was unable to relax until he received his daily report that she was safe.
“Shhh, baby. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
She didn’t know him. She was in love with him, married to him, yet she did not know him at all. He wasn’t eating regularly because he hated eating alone. It was at fundraising dinners that he consumed the rubber chickens, half-raw prime rib and smelly fish plates.
“Have you eaten, baby?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ll order something, but only if you’ll share a few bites with me.”
She laughed, the soft, sensual sound bubbling up from her throat. “I can assure you that right now I’m eating more than a few bites.”
He placed a hand over her belly, his fingers splayed. He was missing so much—going to the doctor with her, massaging her legs when they cramped, bringing her the herbal tea she’d begun drinking to offset her nausea.
The next one, he thought. It would be so different with the next baby.
Chris retrieved several menus, and they selected a number of healthy dishes. Their selections were delivered forty-five minutes later.
Emily shared a chicken and blue cheese salad made with baby salad greens and sliced pears, served with a warm bacon vinaigrette dressing, along with slices of sourdough bread and chilled mineral water. Dessert was a cup of chilled mango mousse with a tart raspberry sauce.
Pushing away from the table, she made her way slowly up a circular flight of wrought-iron stairs to the upper level. The master bedroom was a repeat of the rooms on the first floor—shuttered windows, brick walls and herringbone-designed wood floors. She was full and very sleepy.
She removed her sweatpants, shirt and bra, leaving on her panties, and crawled under the sheet on Chris’s king-size bed. She didn’t know when he crawled into bed beside her, one hand resting over the mound where their child moved vigorously in her womb.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Emily rolled over and found Chris asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting on her belly.
He’d half-closed the shutters against the bright late-spring sun, but beams of light had inched across his eyes and forehead. She examined him feature by feature, a smile curving her lips. Every time she looked at Chris she wondered whether their baby would look more like him or her. She was certain it would have very dark hair, because they both did. Would it inherit his eye color, or would it be a lighter brown? Whether girl or boy, it was certain to be tall. Chris was an even six foot, while she was five-nine. Without warning, he opened his eyes, his gaze fusing with hers before it moved lower.
Emily felt the heat from his perusal, wanting to pull the sheet up over her bare breasts to hide them from his hungry eyes. She gasped when he placed a hand over the swollen, ripened flesh, squeezing gently.
Rising on an elbow, he moved over her, supporting his weight on his forearms. “You are so beautiful.” He’d stressed each syllable.
Reaching up and curving her arms around his neck, Emily pulled his head down. “Liar,” she whispered against his lips.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
Lowering his head, he caught a tender nipple between his teeth, and she gasped aloud, arching off the mattress. He suckled one breast, then the other. Liquid love vibrated and flowed even before he entered her quivering flesh.
Chris loved her—every inch of her sweet, fragrant, flesh. And as her desire rose, his met and matched hers. They’d been apart too long; he hadn’t gotten enough of her. She didn’t know how much he craved her: every day, hour, minute, second.
Emily’s passion spiraled out of control, and she knew this was one time when she would climb the peaks of ecstasy before her husband. She couldn’t control her cry of delight as she gave in to the rush of passion exploding and shaking her until she lay motionless, spent.
Chris felt the familiar tightening in the sacs carrying his seed, but he fought the urge to explode in his wife’s body. He didn’t see her enough, have enough of her, for it to end so quickly.
Gritting his teeth, he tried concentrating on everything else but the soft pulsing of the hot, moist flesh closing around his throbbing sex. But it was in vain, and he surrendered to the sexual hysteria that gripped him in a vortex that pulsed violently, refusing to release him until he collapsed on the body beneath him.
He rolled off her, not wanting to injure their unborn child. Waiting until his pulse returned to normal, he sat up, scooped Emily up in his arms and carried her to a sunroom where he’d erected a sylvan shower.
The sunroom, enclosed by frosted glass, was an oasis filled with tropical plants, flowers and ferns. The shower, erected from a metal frame, flowed into a small pool that emptied into the city sewer system via a series of pipes built under the floor.
Emily felt as if she were in a primordial jungle when she stood under the flow of lukewarm water with Chris. He lathered her body with a lime-scented body wash, his hands and fingers exploring the hidden places and reviving her passion all over again. They made love a second time, this coupling a desperate coming together that reminded them that it might be the last time for a long time.
She rinsed her body and washed her hair while he walked across the slate floor to shave for his dinner with the veterans. Stepping out of the shower, she sat down on a wrought-iron love seat, blotted beads of water off her body with a thirsty bathsheet, then returned to the bedroom to retrieve her clothes.
She didn’t wait for Chris to let her out, and she didn’t see him watching from a window as she drove away from his building, fighting tears.
Chapter 33
September 26
Santa Fe
Emily made her way to Richard Adams’s office, her pace slower now that she was midway through her third trimester. Everyone at the station deferred to her because of her condition, while many assumed she was engaged to Steve Washington because of the ring on her left hand and the baby kicking vigorously in her belly. She hadn’t reported any personal changes in her marital status to the human resource department, not even concerning her medical benefits.
She considered herself lucky if she saw Chris more than twice a month, while Steve had elected to take her out to dinner or to a movie even when he wasn’t directed to take her to meet her husband. The police officer wasn’t very forthcoming with information about himself, but after a while he felt comfortable enough with her to reveal that he was divorced but wasn’t dating anyone at present. He confessed that he was looking for quality, not quantity, when it came to women. As spring became summer and summer turned to fall, she and Steve became good friends. She had come to realize that she hadn’t had a good male friend since Christopher Delgado.
The summer had passed quickly. She found herself spending more time with her parents at their Santa Fe Hills home, and visiting with her aunt and uncle. She’d traveled to Las Cruces with her parents to visit with her in-laws and the Lassiters over the Fourth of July weekend. Though the desert heat never bothered her before, she couldn’t wait to return to Santa Fe with its cooler mountain breezes.
Emily arrived at Richard’s office. The door was open and he sat behind his desk, half turned to gaze out the window. She rapped lightly to get his attention.
Swiveling on his chair, Richard stared at her for s
everal seconds before he rose to his feet. “Please come in and close the door.” He moved around the desk and held out a chair for her.
Emily sat down, thanking him. “Your secretary said you wanted to see me.”
It was the first time in more than seven months that he had requested her presence.
Richard stared at her, noting the flawlessness of her skin, and her longer raven-black hair falling over her forehead and around her delicately made face. A rust-colored smock dress artfully concealed her advancing pregnancy. His gaze dropped to her fingers. The large diamonds on the ring on her finger had cost someone a small fortune. He was aware of the rumors that the father of the child in Emily Kirkland’s womb was a Santa Fe highway police officer. First a ballplayer, now a cop. He thought she could’ve married better.
“Yes. I know you’ve been waiting for an assignment since you were dropped from the Savoy campaign.”
Dropped! She wanted to tell Richard that it was more like she had been banished from the campaign and ostracized by her own network.
“I’ve decided to let you represent KCNS when Savoy and Delgado face off for their televised debates.”
Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair to keep herself from springing to her feet to kiss Richard. “I appreciate the offer.”
Richard managed to look contrite. “I didn’t want to pull you off Savoy’s campaign, but I didn’t have any choice. The governor called the head of the network, and the rest was history.”
Emily nodded. “Most political journalists want access to campaigns for information. What Savoy thought I wanted was controversy. All I wanted to do was cover the campaign, then let the public form its own opinions.”
“I know,” Richard said softly. “There will be a series of three debates, the first on Monday. Do you think you have enough time to prepare?”
Private Passions Page 30