by Karen Leabo
“You can come stay with me if you want.”
“Thanks, Michelle. Maybe I will. I’ll let you know as soon as I make some decisions, okay?”
“Okay. You take care. Call me when you get home and talk to Stan. If he gives you any trouble, you turn him over to me.”
Christine actually laughed. “I’ll do that.”
Now what? she wondered. She still had some of that hundred dollars. Could she take a bus back to D.C.? She couldn’t, she realized. She couldn’t just leave Ryan in the hospital. She’d promised to look after him while he was here. She had to at least keep that promise, even if he didn’t want her to.
A shadow fell across her lap. She looked up to see a highway patrolman, his arms full. “Christine Greenlow?”
“Yes?”
“We found these things in Mr. Mulvaney’s car when we had it towed. Thought you might need them.”
Her suitcase! And some of Ryan’s things, too. Another patrolman entered the waiting room with more stuff.
“Is that all of it?” the first officer asked.
“That’s it.”
“You can leave it here,” Christine said. “I’ll take care of it.”
The officers seemed relieved to drop off their burdens and depart.
Christine began stacking up Ryan’s things, intending to deliver them to his room. They would give her a good excuse to see him again and tell him of her plans. Maybe he would ask her to stay...maybe he would explain why he’d gotten so angry with her.
Then she saw the manilla folder, filled with neat typed pages. His story. He’d offered to let her read it after he sent it to Primus, and she’d declined. Now the temptation was too much. She closed the waiting room door, resumed her chair and began reading.
Fifteen minutes later, she was torn in two. Ryan hadn’t lied. The story didn’t contain a single untruth. And no reader who finished the story would be in doubt about Christine having, in fact, been kidnapped by environmental terrorists who tied her up, starved her and beat her.
Why, then, did she feel so negative after reading Ryan’s composition? It wasn’t just the horrid disclosures about her father’s illegal campaign contributions. It was the way she sounded. Like a flake, a ditzy rich girl who had no idea what to do with herself when her father wasn’t giving her minute-by-minute instructions.
Was that the way Ryan saw her? Was that the way she’d presented herself?
Was that what she really was? Well, regardless, that was how the rest of the world would see her. After this story came out, would anyone take her seriously again? Would anyone hire her as an employee? She couldn’t help feeling angry at Ryan. Then again, she couldn’t count herself blameless. She had said and done everything exactly as he’d portrayed it.
Again she began gathering up Ryan’s things. She didn’t want to delay talking with him. If they were really going to part ways for good, she didn’t want anger between them. They’d come too far for that.
She opened the door and almost ran into someone standing on the other side, preparing to knock.
“Dad?”
“Christine, my God, are you all right?” The large man swept her into a warm hug. “Oh, Christine, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, that I ignored—My God, I could have lost you. They said you were shot!”
Christine just stood there, stunned beyond words.
Chapter 17
Ryan’s story nearly burned a hole through the manilla folder Christine clutched against her chest. She couldn’t allow her father to see it, not yet. First she had to explain to him how Ryan had saved her life, not once but numerous times.
Stan Greenlow set his daughter away from him and studied her. He looked at the bandage on her forehead, the fading bruise on her jaw, her generally unkempt appearance. “Honey, tell me what happened. Did you really get shot?”
She gingerly touched the bandage. “They aren’t sure if it was a bullet that grazed me, or just flying glass.”
“We’ll get you the best plastic surgeon money can buy,” he said fervently.
Naturally, he would think of something like that, Christine thought impatiently. The possibility of a scar on her forehead hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said. “It was a small cut. Come in the waiting room, Dad. We need to talk.” It was then that she realized that Gerald was standing outside the room, along with a couple of her father’s security guards. Behind them were two still photographers and a woman with a minicam. Had they recorded her reunion with her father?
The idea made her furious. If someone was going to invade their privacy, why couldn’t it be Ryan? He’d earned the right, she figured.
Leaving everyone else outside, her father entered the room and closed the door. “You’re sure you’re all right? You just say the word and I’ll fly you to the Mayo, get you a private suite—”
“I’m fine, really, just tired.” They both sat down. Then, she couldn’t resist saying, “It’s a little late for you to be showing such devoted concern, don’t you think?”
He closed his eyes. A tear escaped one, and Christine immediately regretted her harsh words. She hadn’t seen her father cry since her mother’s death.
“I’m so sorry, Christine, for doubting you. But you’d been so angry with me about the pills—”
“Concerned. I was worried sick, and you wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I know, I know.”
“But how could you think that I would instigate something like that? That I would even associate with those terrorists? Do you know what I thought when I heard you refused to pay the ransom? I thought you didn’t want me back. I thought you’d decided life would be less complicated with Christine dead than with Christine alive, and you’d get sympathy votes to boot.”
“Christine! Good God, I may not be the soul of honesty and integrity, but I’m not a monster.”
“I know. I realized that a little later. But the thought did cross my mind. I was confused. I’d been given this drug, and even after it mostly wore off, I was still a little disoriented, not thinking straight.”
“So, will you tell me what happened? From the beginning.”
Christine gave him an abbreviated version of her adventures, leaving out the romantic overtones. Her father frowned. all the way through it. Even when she got to the part about Ryan’s story and the kickbacks he’d learned about, her father’s expression never changed.
“So. where is this story?”
“I’ve got it here,” she said, handing him the folder. Better for him to read it here, in private, so that he could be prepared.
He scanned the pages briefly. “Well, this Mulvaney is a hell of a reporter, I’ll give him that,” he said. “He doesn’t miss a trick.”
Christine had expected a more dramatic reaction. “Dad, I thought you’d be bouncing off the walls. Aren’t you mad?”
He shrugged. “Honey, it was all starting to fall apart long before the kidnapping. Some subcommittee was already starting to make inquiries. It was only a matter of time before this stuff came out.”
“Then it’s true?”
“Every word, I’m afraid.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Why, Dad?”
“Why else? Ambition. After your mother died, that’s all I had—my career. And you, of course. But you’re grown up, ready to live your own life. I had one shot left at the presidency, and a damn good chance this time around of getting the Republican nomination. If I didn’t get it, I was going to retire. I guess I lost all perspective.” He sighed. “Anyway, it’s over now.”
“What’s over?”
“The campaign, my career. I can’t recover after a scandal like this. I have nothing left.”
“You have me,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I won’t turn my back on you just because you’ve made some mistakes.”
He nodded. “I guess I’ll be checking into Betty Ford, too. I have nothing to hide, now. Besides, Dr. DeKalb got so rattled after that reporter trac
ked him down that he’s cut off my prescription.”
“Thank God for small favors,” she said, but she put her arms around her father’s leathery neck and hugged him for all she was worth. “I’ll help you through this.”
“Now, honey, I don’t want you to worry about me. You’ve got a wedding to think about, a new life with Robert.”
Christine gasped. “Robert! I’m not marrying that scumbag. He left me stranded in this horrible neighborhood, wouldn’t even come get me. Told me to take a cab. Ooh, wait till I see him. He’s gonna be sorry he ever met me.”
The senator cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll get your chance, probably sooner than you thought. He’s on his way here. He was about fifteen minutes behind me.”
“Good. The sooner the better.”
As if on cue, a tentative knock sounded on the door to the waiting room. “Christine, love, it’s me, Robert.”
Christine gathered up all of Ryan’s things one last time. This was one confrontation she was actually looking forward to. She yanked open the door.
Robert smiled. “Darling!”
“You turkey.” She slapped him hard enough that her hand stung like crazy. “I already told you, the engagement’s off. And no, you can’t have your ring back. It was stolen and fenced at a pawnshop.” She turned to look at her astonished father. “Will you come with me to see the man I really want to marry?”
“Oh, Lord, not Mulvaney.”
“He’s the one.”
Her father shook his head hopelessly. “I had a feeling this might be coming. Sure, take me to him. Let me chew on his butt a little bit, get it out of my system, before I give you my blessing.”
Feeling inexplicably lighter of heart, Christine smiled and waved at the reporters and photographers who were now standing behind a barricade flanked by two hospital security guards.
“We’re not exactly engaged,” she said to her father once they were alone in the elevator. The bodyguards had stayed behind. “In fact, he might not even be speaking to me. He’s mad at me, I think because I suggested he might want to write a final chapter to his story, silly me. Apparently I insulted his integrity.”
“What, he’s decided not to rip people to shreds with his mighty typewriter?” Stan asked derisively.
“Not everybody, just us,” she replied as the elevator doors opened.
To her disappointment, she found Ryan asleep. Rather than wake him, she and her father retreated to a nearby waiting area. “You don’t have to stay,” she told Stan.
“What else do I have to do? Anyway, you’ve got me curious. What are your plans?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He might just kick me right out of his room.”
“Then you keep coming back. You know, I had to ask your mother out four times before she finally accepted. I could have missed the whole boat if I hadn’t been so persistent. You be persistent. Don’t take no for an answer. Don’t let misunderstandings get in the way.”
“No, I’m done with that,” she said. She set Ryan’s things on the chair next to her, absently neatening the pile. That was when she saw a large white envelope she hadn’t paid much attention to before. Curious, she opened it and pulled out the contents.
It was Ryan’s contract with Primus. Unsigned. Of course! He’d told Fran he would overnight-mail it, but they’d never stopped at a post office. Had he forgotten something so important? Somehow, she doubted it. He’d held the contract on purpose. Which meant...he intended not to sell the story. But how could that be? He’d knocked himself out for this story. It could bring him national attention, big-time job offers.
Something fluttered inside her chest, a tiny hope that had sprung to life. He’d done it for her. Because he knew the story would hurt her, even with the kid gloves he’d handled her with. And he knew the story would be damaging to her father.
That was what he’d meant when he accused her of not “getting it.” He loved her. The signs were there, she’d simply not seen them.
“What are you grinning about?” Stan asked.
“Oh, nothing.” And everything.
Ryan stirred, then cracked his eyes open. At first he thought he was seeing things when the image of Stan Greenlow flashed through his brain. But no, the man was sitting a few feet from his bed, studying Ryan thoughtfully.
Was he here to kill him? Ryan thought blearily. Had Primus run his story anyway, and now Greenlow was here to exact his revenge? Then Ryan realized Chrissy was sitting next to her father, looking anxious.
He opened his eyes all the way. Was Chrissy actually smiling?
“Hey, sleepyhead, it’s about time you woke up.”
“Mmm. Pain drugs make me woozy,” he managed. Then he remembered his earlier resolve to speak his mind to Chrissy, to let her know his feelings. He marshaled his thoughts together, intending to say something profound, but Chrissy beat him to it.
“You never sold that story to Primus, did you?” she asked without preamble. “I found the unsigned contract with your stuff the police pulled out of the car.”
He shook his head. “No. I sent the story, but not the contract. I couldn’t make myself do it, Chrissy. They might print it anyway, without my permission. I’m sorry. I should either have backed away from you or the story a lot sooner than I did. And I wasn’t going to back away from you.”
She surprised him with a huge grin. “I was hoping I’d read that right. Oh, Ryan, I’m past being hurt by all this publicity. Sell the story. Call that editor right now and tell him to print the story as it stands. It’s good.”
“You read it?” He cast a wary eye at the senator, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.
“We both read it,” Chrissy said. “It’s not exactly flattering, but it’s as fair as anything that’s likely to be printed about our family. Here, sign the contract. I’ll take it down to the business office right now and fax it, and you can call the editor and tell him to print the story.” She thrust the papers and a pen at him.
For a moment, he was tempted, but only for a moment. He shook his head. “I can’t do it. It would stand between us forever. Besides, I’ve become a part of the story. I’m nowhere near unbiased, if I ever was. No.” He shook his head vehemently.
Chrissy exchanged a glance with her father. “See, Dad, I told you he was a good guy. And he loves me. I think he fell in love with me the first time he saw me getting pawed by a bunch of hoodlums. Why else would he have risked his life rescuing me?”
Ryan didn’t contradict her. He couldn’t speak. He knew he probably had a silly grin on his face.
“Several times, apparently,” the senator said dryly as he stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, I’ve had enough of this party. You two undoubtedly have things to talk about. I’m off to throw a press conference. Guess I’ll have to tell everyone I’m going to Betty Ford.” He was muttering to himself now. “Guess I’ll have to come up with some kind of clean-up plan for those wetlands, too. No, first I’ll kick that worm Robert’s butt from here all the way back to Washington.” He left without saying goodbye.
“Mind telling me what that was all about?” Ryan asked casually. “Your father was looking me over like a prizewinning goat at the county fair.”
“He was checking you out for son-in-law potential.” She looked up at the ceiling, down at her toes, anywhere but at him.
Ryan didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not. “And did he approve, or find me lacking?”
“Oh, he definitely approved.”
“Even after he read the story?” Ryan could hardly believe that.
“I think the fact that you decided not to sell the story helped a lot, but he was already leaning toward approval. He likes the fact that you risked life and limb to take care of me. And he said you were a good reporter.”
“Well, there’s just one question left, then. If I qualify as a son-in-law, do I make the cut as husband material?”
“Um, well, I might have been rushing things a bit. I said that about w
anting to marry you as a parting shot to Robert.”
“So you don’t want to marry me?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that. You’re not...asking, are you? I mean, last time we talked, you told me to get out.”
He turned serious. “That was stupid of me. I got my nose out of joint because I thought you should read my mind, automatically have faith in me without my having proved I deserve it.”
“Oh, but you do deserve it,” she said hastily, coming closer to the bed.
“You thought I would cash in on our relationship.”
“I thought—” She stopped, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I’d hoped you would set the record straight—or keep it straight, that was all. You’re in a unique position to tell the whole story, and I thought you would want to. I don’t see anything wrong with that. But you can finish the story or not, print it or kill it. I don’t care. I only care if you love me.”
She bit her lip. “Things haven’t changed for me. Now that Denny is behind bars—and headed for Bellvue, I understand—and the rest of the group is being rounded up, and we’re safe and sound, I feel exactly the same way as I did when I thought we were going to die. I love you.”
Ryan held out his hand. “Come closer, Chrissy.”
She hesitated, then took his hand.
“Closer.” He reeled her in, then pulled her toward him until she realized his intent. She hesitated only a moment longer before leaning the rest of the way down and kissing him.
“Yes, I love you, too, sweet Chrissy,” he murmured. “And if I wasn’t all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, I’d show you how much.”
She produced a gratifying blush. “I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid if I close my eyes, you’ll disappear.”
“No way. I’m a hostage here, remember? You’re the one who can disappear in a puff of smoke.”
“I’m here to stay.”
“As for the marriage part...” His mouth was suddenly dry, so he took a swallow of ice water before continuing. He wanted to get it right this time. “Chrissy, will you marry me?”