by Treva Harte
Yet Wynn had risked saying that to her.
She shut her eyes for a moment. He'd better not believe that was his last chance to say anything like that to her again.
Cassie had never really thought of herself as some kind of female version of those ridiculous television heroes who came in and saved the day when everything was about to blow up. But she didn't see anyone else around to volunteer.
This might be the right time to act. Right now everyone else was concentrated on what was going to happen to Wynn. She could feel the energy surging up in her as she got ready to move.
There was only one problem.
What was she supposed to do?
Chapter Twelve
"Arthur." Lida stepped forward to give him a brief embrace and kissed his cheek.
That was her public greeting. After all, they'd known each other ever since she was in grade school.
Art smiled at her but he still wasn't sure. Had he been a fool? Why would someone more than two decades younger than he really be so interested in him? He'd been a Senator, an important man, ever since she was in puberty. And she had learned to value important men from her family. That education had begun long before he had ever met her.
"Sam."
Laura gave Jeffries' hand a shake while she smiled at him warmly. That was the correct greeting to give to a colleague you knew well if not too well.
Lida was so perfect. Too perfect?
"I asked you and Sam to come over tonight so that you could hear a decision I've come to about my campaign. I didn't make it lightly."
Both of them looked at him expectantly. He felt like he was on a podium. Art tried to make the words sound less like a speech and more spontaneous. But he had rehearsed the words and their alternatives, many times over.
"Both of you are very close to me so I wanted you two to be the first to know my decision about a running mate." Art hesitated. "I'm making my decision now because I expect that choice to be thoroughly checked out before I do the nomination. I don't want a nasty surprise."
"Yeah? Who is it?" Jeffries didn't waste a second.
"Glendon."
There was no sound at all in the room.
"Matt Glendon?" Jeffries sounded stunned. "I mean, he's a good man and all—"
"But what about me?"
For the first time, Art saw Lida's composure crack.
She was hurt and she was furious. He went to hold her and she stepped back.
Then it was if she erased all those incorrect emotions and all he saw was an icy, well-mannered woman.
"My dear, I'm afraid I can't consider you." Art waited to see what would happen.
"Why not?" Her composed façade almost crumbled again, but then her training kicked in and she held steady.
Barely.
"First of all, our relationship—between your family and mine—is so close that the press would have a field day. They'd call it cronyism or pay back for all the help you and yours have give me. And second, well—"
"Yes?"
"You're a woman. This is going to be a hard-fought election. Not enough voters were ready to vote for you as a presidential candidate. I don't think enough would vote for you if I put you on my ticket. I just plain don't think the nation is ready for a female vice president."
There was no sound at all in the room again.
"Sam, may I talk to Art privately?"
Lida gave her sweetest smile to the campaign manager.
Art gave a brief thought to the security detail he had outside. He'd told them they needn't be present. Of course it would be all right.
"Go ahead, Sam." Art nodded at him.
This was Lida. If she wanted to yell at him in private, well, he supposed she had the right. He'd been yelled at plenty during this election year.
But after Sam left, she didn't yell.
She walked to him and held him. For a moment he thought everything really would be all right. His most reliable informant had been wrong at last.
Then she murmured, "Fine, darling. Was this a test? A joke? You aren't serious. After all, I deserve this chance. Wasn't I supportive and cooperative for you? In everything? Didn't you appreciate how nicely I stepped out, even though I was doing better than all the other candidates except you? I came in second, Art. Why can't I be second in command?"
The pain in his gut came back.
"I'm very serious, Lida."
That was when she looked at him. It was a cool, appraising look that made him uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry that you said that in front of Sam." Her voice was cool, too.
"I didn't mean to embarrass you, Lida—"
"I see you meant to make the decision final. But you'll just have to tell Sam that you've reconsidered."
"Oh?"
"Or you can tell Sam he better start damage control. Fast."
"What do you mean?"
"I can call about four journalists in less than five minutes and give them enough details about our affair to get the whole press corps buzzing. Your reputation will be gone in less than a half hour."
"You're threatening me?"
"No. I'm telling you. And don't try to bullshit me about how other men have weathered worse scandals. That wasn't during an election year and it wasn't with the woman talking. I can tell them we didn't just have sex. We talked policy, I helped you make decisions. I'll kiss and tell all right. You'll be dead meat."
Art looked at her. His Lida had disappeared. The woman he saw now was—someone else.
No. This must be Lida. The one who had managed to get to where she was in such a short period of time. The one who was her father's daughter. Jack Chatham was a good friend—mostly—but only when it was worth his while. Otherwise, as Art had learned to his cost long ago, he was a ruthless son-of-a-bitch.
That was it. She looked like a younger, female version of Jack Chatham at his meanest.
He'd handled Jack before. He could handle his daughter.
"Go ahead."
She stared at him.
"You're bluffing!" Lida breathed it out.
"Do it now. If you're going to try that as a threat you'll use it later, too. Blow things open now."
"You'll never be able to do anything in politics again. Your party will disown you."
"Neither will you, Lida. I've had decades doing this. Being president would be an—achievement—but I don't need it anymore. You've just started. You'll go down with me and never get anywhere near what you want. Remember should I win, we still have many options together. There are Cabinet positions available. I had been considering—But never mind. As president I can help you. As your discredited ex-lover, I can't do anything for you at all."
"Bastard."
She turned to walk out.
Art wondered, with a certain detachment, which way she would go. Would she take his advice or not? She was furious, but she wasn't stupid.
"Lida, my dear—"
She swung back, looking ready to kill.
"What?"
"Do you know someone named Rauss? Emmanuel Rauss?"
Complete, stunned dismay showed on her face for a moment. Then nothing at all. Art realized she really was still a little inexperienced. A few more years and she wouldn't crack at any question. She had recovered well. There was hope for her yet.
If you hoped for her to become an accomplished politician, that is. An accomplished politician who was associated with a crazy cult leader.
Then she left. She handled that with a certain polite perfection, too. She didn't even slam the door. It shut with a firm click as she marched out.
And there went his perfect woman. She was undoubtedly running off to call this Emmanuel and tell how their plans were ruined. Art imagined the phone call Lida was about to make. She was going to be outraged and unhappy and look for sympathy.
Well, his plans for a refuge from the world with a woman had been ruined, too, but he doubted there was anyone in the world who wanted to give him any pity. He knew there wasn't anyone he
could ask to give any.
Who the hell could he call for help right now? No one.
* * * * *
Emmanuel's cell phone gave a shrill beep. Everyone jumped. Cassie just jumped the right way. She went toward Ullman and tried using her gift the way Wynn or Emmanuel might. She mentally snapped her command out.
*Drop the gun!*
She could feel the man's hand forcing itself open. That felt odd—like making a toy car move with a remote control. Cassie concentrated.
Then, to her stunned amazement, she realized she had done it. Looking bewildered, the one goon dropped the weapon and then hastily bent to retrieve it. But Cassie got there first.
She couldn't quite figure out why her reflexes were going quicker than anyone else's. Maybe the adrenaline was going so hard now that she was moving faster. She could see other people move, but they looked like they were almost in slow motion. She was in fast forward. Weird.
She didn't have time to think about why. She just had time to use it.
She scooped the gun up and cradled it against her.
"Free Wynn." She motioned to Ullmann.
As the man grudgingly undid what he had done a few moments before, she saw Wynn seem to come to with a start and move toward her.
"Can you use this?" she asked.
He grabbed the gun without a response. Yeah, well she was no expert but he looked like he could.
The three underlings began to move and then stopped when they saw what Wynn was doing. They seemed to think he could manage a weapon, too. Good.
But Emmanuel had disappeared. Not good.
"Cassie, get out." As he said it, Wynn shot the lights out overhead.
Cassie ran. But she didn't know the way out, especially now that it was really dark.
*Wynn?*
Then it occurred to her that Emmanuel could trick her, especially in the dark. What if he answered her?
She imagined running toward Emmanuel, all unknowing, and him grabbing her out of the dark. That would be just like the bogeyman in nightmares or horror movies.
She tried to laugh but couldn't. Emmanuel was the bogeyman. Her adrenaline was running down or at least she was suddenly aware that she was breathing hard from her running. She hadn't noticed that before.
She paused in a dark corner and tried to reassess. She could hear crashes in the back, away from her. But maybe that was where the exit was and they figured she would be there. Oh, damn. What next?
Suddenly she thought of snowflakes.
"Wynn?" she whispered it.
A hand touched her shoulder. She almost jumped and then she almost cried. Wynn.
"You OK?" His hand brushed over her to assess rather than comfort.
His touch was comforting all the same. Yeah, the adrenaline was definitely running out. Cassie clenched her teeth to try to keep them from chattering.
"Sure. Never better." She managed. "You?"
"I've been worse. Would have been worse, except for your insane trick back there." His whisper was barely audible, but she heard the exasperation clearly nonetheless. "You could've been killed."
"You would've been if I hadn't done something. Or worse."
"A fate worse than death? Ah, maybe. Probably. But hush. I'll get you out. Follow me." He gave her the lightest of kisses and then moved out.
Edging from shadow to shadow, listening for the sounds of others took up a good bit of Cassie's time. Still she had time to think about what that I'll get you out meant. He better have meant I'll get us out.
She really didn't like the way she was interpreting Wynn's brief statements at the moment.
Cassie tried not to stumble over things in the dark but she was getting tired and increasingly afraid. Wynn would move closer to guide her when she needed it, but otherwise he was just a shadow in front of her.
He seemed very far away and, despite spending most of her life without using telepathy, she suddenly felt lost without using it with Wynn. She had never been overly trusting before, but she trusted him. Considering that they had been in nothing but danger recently, that implied a lot of faith or stupidity on her part.
She didn't care. Wherever he was going, she knew he was going to do his best to keep her safe. She decided that she would concentrate on keeping as hidden as possible and leave the rest to Wynn for now.
* * * * *
Wynn wasn't feeling at all sure about what he was going to do. He was almost glad that he and Cassie couldn't communicate with just their thoughts right now. He didn't want her to realize just how worried he was.
The panic wasn't there for him—or at least not as much. Not any more. If all Emmanuel could do was shoot him with bullets or sodium pentothal...well, Wynn had lived through both once before. He could deal with what he knew.
When Emmanuel began probing his mind, Wynn figured that would be the end. If Emmanuel could destroy or cripple his gift, Wynn wasn't sure that he could go on. But he had managed to resist most of Emmanuel's telepathic linking attempts. The time Emmanuel had forced him to his knees, humiliating him, he'd been young and unprepared. Nothing like that had happened now.
So that must mean he could deal with whatever Emmanuel could try to do.
What he couldn't deal with was what Cassie would do or what others might do to her. He'd never expected to be so scared for anyone else, but he'd thought he'd have a stroke when he saw her waltz over and take the gun away. He supposed she'd gotten away with it because no one had expected her to do it. She couldn't do anything like that so easily a second time.
A second time and she'd be dead. But he knew she'd try if she thought she could manage it. She might try it even if she thought she couldn't.
Good. He could tell they were close to the door leading out. He heard nothing, but his neck was prickling again. There was danger nearby. Not just his gut but his head told him that. This would be a logical place for someone to wait. After all, he and Cassie would have to come out some time.
But he had the gun. If anyone else had a gun wouldn't they have used it long before this? If so, the worst that could happen was that someone would follow Cassie and him—at least until they could get their hands on another weapon.
Wynn knew he needed to act fast, before that other weapon arrived.
"Cassie, when we get out, I want you to take off. Anywhere. I don't want to know where and I don't want to know how. They may try to follow you. I don't think so, but they might. Confuse them. We've thrown people off track together. You can do it alone."
"Where the hell will you be while I do this?" Cassie could feel a distinct need to wrap her hands around his neck—or his shoulders.
"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did. I'm the one they want. I figure most or all of 'em will follow me. They don't think you're important. If we can keep things that way, you should be much safer."
"Wynn—"
"Hey, I'm the one who grew up with the con artist, remember? I'm fine. I'm more worried about you."
Cassie'd had enough. "Well, great. That makes everything OK. I don't need to give you a second thought then."
Wynn looked a little stunned and puzzled at her raised voice. Then he gave her a sudden, much harder, kiss than the last one.
"Thanks. Thanks for worrying." His expression closed up again.
Cassie wanted to yell at him some more. But she found she couldn't. Why wouldn't he expect her to worry, for heaven's sake? Even if no one ever had ever done that for him before, she was different. She was in l—
Oh. That.
Cassie stared at him, wondering if he had picked up on the thoughts she had grown too upset to remember to block.
If he did, he didn't show it. But then he could hide feelings really well. Instead he twisted open the door to the outside.
"I'll go first. Wait a bit. Then take off, sweetheart. Fast. Be tricky."
He hesitated a long moment then went on, more reluctantly. "If you get thoroughly stuck, use this phone number. An—ally of mine will answer. You call him Squint and
he'll know I sent you. I believe he'd help you. We have a—a mutually advantageous relationship. Squint gives me information and I help him discover things he can't get from his damned computers and agency job."
He muttered a phone number and Cassie gaped at him. Impatiently he gestured and she repeated the number. He nodded.
"Don't use that unless you must. You hear me? I've never given anyone else Squint's number. I never thought I ever would."
Cassie nodded. He handed her the gun.
Oh, right. Like she knew what to do with it.
He hesitated a half second more before, without a kiss or wave, he walked out into the open.
Then he was moving down the alley without any more hesitation. He didn't try to hide. Cassie waited for a gunshot. There was nothing. In this case the silence was a good thing. She hoped.
After a moment or two she realized he was gone. Somewhere.
She was on her own.
And she had no money.
Wynn had said he was running low, but she'd left with nothing at all. Alone, chased by the bad guys and with no money somewhere in New York City. Every woman's nightmare.
Damn that Wynn.
Looking for change, anything, she stuck her hands in her jean pockets. She could feel paper. She pulled the paper out. Amazingly, she now had several twenties and a fifty. How...Wynn. She hadn't even felt him do it.
Then she tried not to cry. He better not have given her all his money.
Before she let herself get too worked up, a glimmer of sense returned. If he was that slick at putting money in pockets, he could probably lift more out of someone else's. Before long he'd probably be rolling in money and then he'd find her again. If he could.
In the mean time she had to think for herself. Cassie told herself that she would come up with something on her own. She hadn't had any problems doing that—well, not too many—before she met Wynn. He seemed to believe she could manage a few thoughts, too. He'd told her to be tricky.
How tricky could she be? Cassie took a deep breath and began to make some plans. The only one she could come up with wasn't incredibly devious, but it was at least more of a plan than she'd had five minutes ago.