“Lassiter’s—fine. Security took him back to his suite. I’m hoping he’ll make a statement soon. We have no idea what happened. The lights just—went out. Then that crazy alarm starts shrieking. Blam.” Trevor flipped a switch in the air, demonstrating. “Blam. Out. Across the entire floor, apparently. The rest of the hotel was fine. Christ, what a friggin’— This completely sucks. A disaster.”
He twisted the corner of his mouth, rueful, then gestured imaginary headlines. “Lights Out for the Lassiter Campaign,” he said. “Can you see it? Gable’s gonna love this. And that’s off the record.”
Jane nodded, listening. Wonder if Alex can hear this?
“Was it like some transformer thing?” she asked. “Or power outage?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “Call me, say, in fifteen. I’ll let you know where the governor is speaking. I’m sure we’ll have something.”
“It would look pretty bad not to.” Jane couldn’t resist. “Lassiter bailing in the middle of chaos, people freaking out. I mean, if it was an accident—”
“It won’t matter what the truth is, you know? It sucks,” Trevor said, interrupting. “If we can’t run a simple rally, I mean, how can we run the country? That’s what they’ll say. You think we’re gonna get any donations after tonight’s fiasco? And Rory’s trying to make Lassiter—”
He stopped. “Never mind. I gotta go.”
He turned and headed down the stairs, waving his clipboard at her. “Fifteen minutes,” he called out. “Or so.”
Jane waited until he was out of sight. “You hear any of that?” she said into the phone. She continued downstairs slowly, wanting the privacy.
“Kind of,” Alex said. “So I’m thinking—it was some random accident? Or like, electricity overload? A circuit thing? You said it was really hot in there.”
Jane shrugged. “The TV guys weren’t with their cameras at the time. Didn’t get any shots. I did, though. With my still camera. I’ll check ’em out, ASAP. See what I got. This whole rally has been a total mess from moment one. I’ll put it all in my story. And there’s a bunch more. But—”
Jane’s phone beeped, an annoying little whine. “Shoot, Alex, low battery. My charger’s in my room. I’ll call you when I get plugged back in.”
“Jane?” Alex said. “Can you still hear me?”
The cell phone blurped out another warning. “For about two more seconds,” she said. She swung open the door marked LOBBY.
“You said to look up Kenna Wilkes.” Alex raised his voice, as if talking more loudly would solve the battery problem. “Who is she?”
Jane paused, considering. She knew the answer, but had zero time to explain it. “She’s the other woman,” she said.
And the phone went dead.
31
“Governor Lassiter, are you all right?” Kenna, wide-eyed and oh-so-concerned, called out to Owen as his entourage trooped down the stairs from the tenth floor. Two security types, both sweaty and worried looking, led the way, scouting as if some danger lurked on the stairs. Rory trudged two steps behind Lassiter. Both men’s jackets flapped open, Rory’s shirt coming untucked. Even Owen’s tie was askew. His silver hair mussed. Each looked beyond annoyed. Enraged, more like it. Kenna fluttered even harder. “I was so worried.…”
“Ah, Mrs. Wilkes. I see you made it out safely.” Lassiter gave a half smile as he took the last few steps down to the landing. The security guards had opened the door and were already in the hallway.
Probably looking for the evildoers, Kenna thought. Happily, Owen wasn’t focusing on her whereabouts. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Well, you’re having quite the introduction to the campaign, I must say. Yes, we all survived the—” He paused, then looked at Rory. “What are we calling it, Rory?”
“We’re calling it nothing at this point,” Rory said. “The hotel people are already all over this. They’re alleging we must have done something. Plugged in too much. Had too many people. They’re insisting nothing was wrong with the electrical system. No circuit breakers, no blown transformer. How they know all that so fast is beyond me. Although…” He frowned, then stopped as he reached the landing. Rory crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Although.”
“Although?” Owen turned.
Kenna waited. This was going to be good.
“Say it was the Gable campaign. You know? Sabotage,” Rory said. “All you’d have to do would be—I don’t know—find the main light switch. Turn off the lights. Pull an alarm. And blam. Chaos. Campaign dirty trick 101. And we’re semi-screwed.”
“Sabotage?” Owen’s lips pursed, as if he’d never tasted the word before. “But by who? That guest list was vetted, correct? We know everyone who was there. A-listers, you told me. Damn it. Excuse me, Kenna. We didn’t even get to make our final money pitch. Now we’re talking in a damn stairwell. And the damn press is going to want some answers.”
He called me Kenna. Finally. She waited. It’d be interesting to hear what would happen next. She’d take her cue from—she recomposed her face, remembering to look concerned.
“Do you need some privacy?” she said. “This sounds important.”
Rory waved her off. “We trust you, Mrs. Wilkes,” he said.
“And now you’re calling it sabotage?” Owen, ignoring their exchange, adjusted his paisley tie, then did it again. “You’re theorizing someone in the crowd—or someone with the hotel? What does Trevor Kiernan say? Where is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know, Governor,” Rory said. Then seemed to make a decision. “Look. This hotel has been snakebit from moment one. The whole room thing, the elevators, the GD lights. Let’s get you out of here. Before who knows what else goes wrong.”
“Ah, Rory, we need to make some kind of a statement to the press.” Owen, frowning, made the time-out sign with his hands. “I can’t just—”
“I’m afraid I insist, Governor.” Rory took out a cell phone. “We’ll get your stuff, get it downstairs, get on the road. We can make a statement tomorrow. From Boston. When we know the facts. I’ll call Sheila to put out the word that you’re fine. Then call for the car.”
“I’m not sure.…”
“Governor? I insist. This kind of thing only gets worse. Although I don’t see how it can be worse than this. Mrs. Wilkes? Can you be ready in twenty, thirty minutes?”
“Faster than that,” she said.
“Use the service elevators. I’ll tell security. Mrs. Wilkes, we’ll meet you at the car in—”
“I need some food,” Lassiter interrupted, frowning. “And a drink. And possibly a shower. I’m not leaving until after that.”
Maitland raked his hands through what would have been his hair. Looked at his watch. “It’s quarter till nine. We’ll leave at ten. No later,” he said. “Kenna, call room service if you want. Governor, come with me. Christ. I’ve had it with this place. We’re done here.”
Kenna followed them into the hallway, watched Rory use his key card to open the door of the presidential suite. She trotted down the corridor to her own room, passing a fully loaded maid’s cart—towels, soap, little shampoos, trash bags. She looked both ways, then swiped two plastic bottles of body lotion with curlicue labels saying PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, tucking them into her pocket. She looked at the campaign brochures she was still holding. Thought for a second. Then shoved them into the trash.
32
Holly could barely wait to see the pictures. Maybe she could take a quick look at them, for one second, here in the hotel corridor? No, no, no, I need privacy. She found her blue key card in the pocket of her purse, just where she’d put it, and clicked open her hotel room door. She’d left the lights on, of course. Her heart was beating so fast! Almost like when … She felt herself blushing, remembering. A kiss in the hallway, a promise made.
She practically fell against the door as it closed behind her. Her knees felt almost weak. She had touched him, he had touched her, they had … had connected.
And Jane
Ryland! Actually there! In person! Taking the actual pictures, which was so unexpectedly perfect. She would be so happy when she got the photos. What a perfect, perfect night.
The silly lights had gone out at the rally and the alarm was scary for a second, of course. But even that was so funny. Owen Lassiter, with her, in the dark. She could smell him still. So funny. Owen Lassiter in the dark.
And she had pictures.
She pushed the oval silver button on the camera. Pushed it again.
No. No.
The stupid camera was taking too long to power up. Broken? Jane Ryland broke her camera? No. No. Maybe it was out of batteries. Out of batteries? Holly hit the silver button again, praying. The camera made a little sound, like a mean whisper, like, No, I’m not showing you the pictures. You were bad.
No, she wasn’t bad! She was good and she was right and it was just a stupid camera and it couldn’t talk and it was a stupid battery and all she needed was the charger.
Had she brought the charger? Oh, no no no. She didn’t have the charger.
Maybe I do. She yanked open her black wheelie bag, unzipped all the pockets, one at a time, jamming her hands inside, exploring every space where maybe she had been smart enough, good enough, to put the charger. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The charger was at home in Boston. Hours away. Maybe I just have to—
She pressed her lips together, very hard, trying not to cry. She needed the pictures. She had to see the pictures. Had. To. See. Them.
Tonight.
* * *
It doesn’t matter if I missed the rally. He didn’t need to hear some speech. Matt felt one fist clench, and that muscle in his neck twitch again. He simply needed to see if Holly was there. This was about stopping her. And protecting Governor Lassiter from whatever the hell she was planning.
The campaign probably didn’t even know anything was wrong. Yet.
He eased his car into the New Englander parking lot, scanning for a spot. Still pretty crowded. A good sign.
If Holly was following the campaign, which is exactly what she would do, she’d still be here as long as Lassiter was here. Would they stay overnight, this far from Boston? He should have asked that Denise girl, but she was already spooked. He was here; he could find out. Not a problem. It is what it is.
If Holly was following the campaign, she’d be on it like—like she was on him back then. Started out signing up for the same classes. At first, he’d thought it a coincidence, and she was pretty cute anyway. He’d been nice to her, why not? His first mistake. It took him a while to get the real picture. They’d studied together, gone out a couple of times. No big deal. She was so damn hot. So willing. So what was he supposed to do, say no, go away? He’d kissed her, so what? It was grad school, for godsake.
Then, she’d be in the hallway every time he turned the friggin’ corner. Cookies left at his apartment door. Flowers. Showed up with a whole dinner that time, all jazzed, saying it was their anniversary. I mean, anniversary of what?
And he was just too—too what? His mother had taught him to be polite, to treat women with respect. She’d drilled that into him every day. And to watch out for the bad ones. He simply hadn’t realized Holly was a bad one. He couldn’t let her hurt the governor.
Matt turned off the ignition, grabbed his overnight bag, pushed through the revolving door, made a beeline for the registration desk. A little after nine o’clock, the lobby was still crowded, and the bar, too. Maybe campaign stuff was still going on upstairs. Maybe Holly was still up there. Maybe she was in the bar. If the governor was there, she’d be there.
Some wimp in a navy blazer, name tag, and plastered-on smile waved him over to the end of the counter. Matt took a hotel brochure and a red apple from a big glass bowl. Why not. He’d be a paying guest soon enough.
“Reservation, sir?”
Matt took a bite of the apple, held up his hand, wait a sec. He swallowed, then said, “Nope. Just want a room for the night. A single. One night.”
The guy looked pained or something. Shaking his head. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, we’re fully booked this evening.” He waved a hand across the lobby. “Convention. And the Lassiter campaign. As you can see.”
Matt scowled. Hotels always had another room. This asshole just didn’t want to give it to him. He put on his nice guy look and reached into his pocket.
“Oh, gee, well, that’s too bad. I really do need to stay here tonight.” Matt opened his wallet, folded two twenties, and put them on the desk, his palm not quite hiding them. “I’ve stayed in your hotel chain lots of times. I’m a gold card holder. Isn’t there any way you could … check again?”
The clerk looked even more pained. And looked at Matt’s hand like it held a winning lottery ticket. “Yes—no, sir, we truly are full up. I’m so sorry. There’s just nothing—”
Matt tossed the apple over the counter. It splatted on the wall behind the clerk, landing on a deep bluish swirl in the ugly patterned carpet. “I doubt that, asshole.”
“Sir! I—”
Matt stuffed the two bills back into his wallet. Gave the clerk a look like, You’re lucky it wasn’t you I threw against the wall. Not that it would have helped. Plus, the guy had already darted behind the office door. Wimp.
Out the door, into the freezing night. He slammed on the ignition, cranked the heat. There was another way to handle this. He yanked out that brochure, then his cell phone, and dialed the hotel.
“I’m looking for a guest, a Holly Neff?” He disguised his voice a little, in case wimp clerk answered.
“One moment, please, sir.” A woman’s voice, so no prob.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” He’d get the operator to put the call through, hear her voice—he’d know it—then say, Wrong number. He’d come back at the crack of dawn, stake her out. Or hell, sleep in his car. Done it before. It’d be worth it.
“She’s checked out, sir.”
Checked out? “Checked out?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn’t believe this. She had been here. And he’d missed her.
A rock sank in his chest. The clerk had unknowingly answered another question. The woman he’d seen was Holly Neff. She was in that photo. She was back in his life. And maybe, as a result, back in Lassiter’s. They were all in trouble. Big, big trouble.
“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry.”
Not half as sorry as I am. Shit. Shit on a freakin’ …
“Can you tell me … when?” He put a smile into his voice, hoping it would work as well here as it did with his sales calls. “It would be so helpful if you could tell me—when did she check out?”
There was a pause. Come on, honey.
“Well, actually, just a few minutes ago.”
Matt needed to think.
“Sir?” The voice on the phone.
“Yeah, thanks.” Matt tried to control his breathing. It was fine. If she was with the campaign, he had a handle on this. He didn’t need to find her tonight. He was cool. He just needed to confirm it.
He squinted through the rental’s dirt-streaked windshield toward the hotel’s glass-fronted doorway. “She was part of the governor’s campaign, right? She’s with the—”
And there she was.
Holly Neff. His worst nightmare. Shiny as a bad penny. Standing in the hotel’s front doorway, walking out the doorway, nodding to the bellman. Walking into the parking lot. Walking his way.
Matt slammed off the phone.
His turn.
33
“Dammit,” Jane muttered. She couldn’t get the cell phone cord to reach the bathroom. “Alex? Me again. I’m in my hotel room. Plugged in.” She looked around, remembering. “All the lights are working fine. I skulked around the main offices to talk to the hotel people, but they were ‘unavailable,’ some corporate lackey finally told me. I’ll hit ’em again, later. Anyway, let me bang out a story—”
“Fifteen inches,” Alex said. “It’s for the morning edition, print version. Deadline’s at
three, so chop chop. It’s so awesome you were there. Wish I had seen it, though. I mean, not seen it. You got pix?”
“We’ll see,” Jane said. It was odd not to worry about getting video. Take that, Channel 11. This newspaper stuff was much easier. “I just held the camera up, didn’t aim. How could I? It’ll be pretty cool if they turn out, very cinema verité. But I’m still waiting to hear from the campaign guy. He said Lassiter would have a statement in fifteen minutes, but now it’s been more than an hour. I’ll call him, soon as we get off. But I can write the lede without it and plug in the statement at the end. You know, Lassiter explains the blackout was—whatever they say it was.”
“Cool if it were sa-bo-tage.” Alex gave the word a spy-movie accent.
“You’ve watched too many thrillers,” Jane said, eyeing the bathroom. Darn this cord. She tried to yank off her boots, toe to heel, without putting down the phone. No luck.
“I’m serious,” he said. “What if it’s a Gable thing? You know? It could be—‘Lightgate.’” Alex was laughing. He could actually be pretty funny, though she hadn’t seen him smile much recently. Maybe his wife was back. Or gone. Bathroom.
“Alex? I’ll call you, okay?”
“—to know what Lassiter thinks,” Alex continued.
“Alex? My call-waiting just kicked in. Missed what you said. Gotta go. This might be Trevor.”
“—is that? And don’t let me forget to update you on the Gable interview. It’s gotta be soon. This week, they’re saying.”
“Alex? I’ll call you.” She clicked. “This is Jane.”
“Janey?”
“Jake? Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Jake was almost sputtering. “You’re the one who was in the—what the hell was it, anyway? Were you there? Are you okay? I tried to call you earlier, but you didn’t answer. So I figured—not good.”
He was truly wonderful. Maybe they could just … Jane plopped on the edge of the flowery bedspread, stared at the tight-woven shag of the unfortunate carpeting. Here she was, goofy over a gorgeous cop who was totally off-limits. Reluctantly intrigued by a married man, her boss, also totally off-limits. Waiting for a call from a professional contact, kind of adorable, ditto totally off-limits.
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