by Laura Hayden
Kate ignored her question. Even if Lee had already drawn a line between fact A and person B, their standing confidentiality agreement would keep her from spreading the news. But that wasn’t Kate’s concern now. “Lee, when you were investigating Nick, how far back did you go?”
“Hmmm . . . let me log in to the office’s database. Hang on.” She was on the phone again in less than a minute. “For your most recent request, I only went back four or so years. But our files actually go back to the original request you made when he started dating Emily. You know, the typical background stuff—nothing too checkered beyond the usual cockeyed Louisiana politics. Sure, we knew he drank a bit more than could be considered merely recreational, but that wasn’t the sort of glaring flaw we were looking for. I did scan the older files this last time around, but I spent most of my time on his postdivorce life, with a heavy concentration concerning his private life in the past four years.”
“Do you have any data on the time period immediately around the big breakup with Emily?”
“You mean the brouhaha at the party or his arrest the next day?”
“Give me everything you’ve got, including what led up to the arrest. ASAP.”
“Sure. Listen, if I remember right, Sierra has some sealed documents not included in this file. As soon as I get ahold of her, I should be able to have her unlock them and I can report those back to you as well. But while I’m waiting, I’ll dig in and see what I can reconstruct.”
“Thanks.”
Kate spent the rest of the day conducting damage control. There were two basic ways to do that—either patch the holes and hope the resulting fix would hold or distract the media with something more interesting. In most cases, a carefully calculated leak or two would redirect the media into “straying” in more controlled territory. But there were precious few things to reveal about a woman who had practically grown up in the public eye.
At least, few things that the Benton campaign really wanted to bring to light.
For instance, Kate absolutely didn’t want to bring up the “what Daddy did to me in Mexico” story. It would only play well as a last-stand defense against speculations—make that accusations—about the real reasons behind Nick and Emily’s childless state.
And no one needed to know about the DUI that Emily had sidestepped in New Orleans. At the time, even Kate hadn’t known her friend had the forethought to carry a second wallet that contained a series of bogus IDs supporting a completely faked identity. It was awfully easy to sidestep criminal liability when all the paperwork was filled out in a fictitious name. It only took a small bribe a day later by a friend of the family to facilitate removing the fingerprints of “Olivia Davis” from the system.
As far as Emily was concerned, the DUI had never happened. And the lack of evidence completely supported her. As far as Kate was concerned, that little dodge had given her sleepless nights, but she had justified it because she knew Emily only drank for effect. She never indulged privately and never to excess. For Emily to have overdone it, she had to have been dealing with some major issues. The problems with Nick had pushed her into behaviors she had never exhibited before or since that awful time.
Then there was the plagiarism scandal. In that particular situation, Emily really hadn’t done anything wrong . . . at least initially. Emily had simply been the individual who’d recognized the striking similarities between two papers, the one she was reviewing for a fellow student and the original that she had read only a week or so earlier. All she’d done was give their law professor both papers and let him draw his own conclusions. At first, she was thankful he’d kept her name out of the resulting student court hearing. Then she became more than a bit resentful that the professor took full credit for having discovered the literary property theft. To make things worse, he turned the whole experience into a CNN news story and ended up writing a book exposing the pressures placed on students in graduate school.
However, he failed to take into account the tendency of the Bentons to exact revenge when they believed they were maligned or mistreated. Emily got her retribution when she combed through the good professor’s book and substantiated a dozen or more instances where the man failed to credit the original source of the material he had used without attribution.
Word for word.
The press had a field day with her findings of his plagiarism.
What goes around, comes around. . . .
Even that wasn’t illegal or immoral. But it sure was vindictive.
In Kate’s experience, political candidates usually fell into one of two groups—those who shunned bad PR and those who embraced it, believing that bad PR merely created an opportunity for a public rebuttal, not to mention the chance to get in the last word.
Emily fell into the second camp, so Kate took full advantage of the unfortunate attack on the Talbot headquarters to stump Emily’s platform in front of the voters—in a positive way.
In her next few speeches, Kate had Emily refocus the public spotlight on gun control and increased funding for mental health programs, both key planks in her platform. What better example could they cite than the recent unfortunate attack on the Talbot campaign to demonstrate the need for stricter control of guns and better care for the mentally ill? The press ate it up. They stopped asking if the shooter’s T-shirt had any significance and whether the Benton campaign was in some way connected to the attack.
And Kate pushed any thought that it might be possible down to the farthest reaches of her mind. She repeatedly reminded herself that she’d never once seen a whisper of such an intention in Emily. No matter what the provocation, she simply couldn’t imagine Emily using violence like that.
Especially since she refused to think about it.
Meanwhile, whether it helped or hurt, the news hoopla that surrounded them kept Emily firmly in the thoughts and minds of her constituents.
As Emily always said, “People won’t vote for someone they don’t remember.”
Emily was many things but never forgettable. Kate grinned. She couldn’t forget Emily for even a minute.
But the media circus didn’t stop Kate from worrying. Maybe Nick was playing her from the start, deliberately planting that seed of doubt in Kate’s mind in hopes of causing friction or, better yet, fracture between her and Emily. If so, the only person she could blame would be herself if she allowed that seed of doubt to germinate. There was no way Emily would ever orchestrate anything this horrendous, devastating, or overt.
Emily never used a sledgehammer when the flick of a finger would do.
Nick wasn’t even on Emily’s radar anymore, right?
Once again, Kate told herself she wasn’t going to think about that whole mess. Instead, she decided to continue fighting the good fight for the rest of the day—for God, country, and Emily, in that order. When it ultimately came time to tally the votes, she found her reward in the results: Emily pulled out a victory in New Hampshire with 37 percent of the vote. Burl Bochner had a respectable second-place win with 18 percent and retained his position as a potential threat to Emily’s campaign.
It wasn’t until a couple of hours after the New Hampshire victory party that Kate and Emily finally got back to the relative quiet of Kate’s hotel suite.
Emily propped her feet up on the coffee table and nodded toward the bar fridge. “Get me a beer while you’re up.”
Kate, having already collapsed into an upholstered chair near the window, groaned. But she rose from her seat to retrieve a can of beer for Emily and a diet soda for herself.
Emily made a face at Kate’s choice of beverage. “That thing is nothing but water contaminated with artificial coloring, artificial flavoring, and artificial sweeteners—nothing but chemicals, you know.” She admired her beer can, then rolled its smooth cold surface across her forehead. “And this is 100 percent all natural ingredients. Barley, hops, yeast, water, and time. Nothing harmful to man can grow in the ferment of a good beer.”
She raised the can in
salute and then opened it. “That’s about the only good thing that came out of my marriage to Nick. He did teach me how to appreciate beer.”
Kate took a tentative sip of her soda. So far, the Talbot campaign had been able to keep Nick’s name out of the news. His name hadn’t even showed up as a victim of the shooter.
But she knew she couldn’t keep the news from Emily any longer. “Uh . . . M? Speaking of Nick . . .”
“Do we have to?”
“Seriously. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Hang on.” Emily took a deep gulp of beer and settled back into the soft couch. “I need a lot more fortification before we start talking about him.” After another long draw from the can, she gestured for Kate to continue. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
Kate cringed over the unfortunate choice of words. “It’s about the shooting yesterday. Uh . . . Nick was one of the people who was injured.”
“You’re kidding me! Really?” Emily took another sip. She looked interested but not worried. “How bad was it?”
“A bullet grazed his arm.”
Emily made a face. “That’s all?”
“It could have been much worse. One of the volunteers died.”
Emily released a harsh bark of laughter. “How does that old chestnut go? ‘I really missed my man. But my aim is getting better’? Better luck next time, eh?”
“Give it a rest, Emily.” Kate knew there was no real use in scolding her for such irreverence. Nick was and always would be a sore spot for her. But she couldn’t joke about something so serious. Her conscience, still sore from the strain she’d been under for so long, couldn’t take it.
Emily’s sigh dripped with overly dramatic exasperation. “Don’t look so aghast, K. I’m not saying these things in public. I know better. I’m only saying them to you. In private. Since no one has leaked this in the press, I guess he called you to tell you his little sob story. Probably wanted to build up a little sympathy for himself.”
“No, I called him.”
Emily’s smirk faded away to a concerned stare. “I’m really getting worried about you. I can’t just sit here and let Nick get his hooks into you. He’s still the same vindictive, untrustworthy, unreliable, smarmy—did I say untrustworthy?—person he was before I ditched him. Nothing has changed. Think about it; his best revenge would be to stop me by compromising you.”
“He’s not getting any ‘hooks’ into me. And he’s not going to use me against you. I won’t let him. You know me better than that.”
“Well . . . you’re right. I guess I do.” Mollified, Emily drained her beer. Rather than ask Kate to get her another one, she rose and fetched one for herself. “But God help you if you’re keeping anything else from me.”
It took a moment or two for Emily to realize how threatening her harsh words sounded, and she scrambled to correct herself. “Oh, man, K. You know I didn’t mean to sound so grumpy. Let me try again. I appreciate that you’ve shouldered a lot of things on your own, not bothering me while I was on the road. So is there anything else I need to know?”
Kate hesitated. Should she tell Emily about the second threatening note now or later?
Emily put down the second beer, unopened. “What is it?” She studied Kate’s face. “I can read you like a book, my friend. If something’s bothering you, then it’s bothering me, too. You know. Sisters. Compadres. Arm in arm. Hand in hand.” She waited expectantly, and when Kate said nothing, Emily cocked her head, real concern filling her eyes. “What is it, Kate?”
Yep, they were closer than sisters in some ways. Emily knew things about Kate even her mother didn’t know. It had been that way since they were roommates in college. Kate realized there was no way to gloss over what had happened. Time to rip the bandage off the wound. She reached down, found her briefcase, and thumbed through the files until she found the one with the copy of the message. She held the sheet of paper out for Emily’s inspection. “I got another threatening note. This time addressed to me and delivered to the office here.”
Emily gawked at her, then at the note. “When?”
“Three days ago.” One look at Emily’s distressed face and she quickly added, “But I reported it. Both the Secret Service and our own security team know all about it. They’re on top of things.”
Emily stared at the note and dropped to the couch. “I can’t believe you kept this from me, K. That stuff about Nick—in the long run, it’s just not that important. But this is about you and your safety. That’s critical to me! I love you like family. Never mind what you mean to my campaign.”
“What was I supposed to do? You needed all the support you could get out there on the road. I didn’t need to distract you with my problems.”
Emily shot her a perplexed look. “But your problems are my problems.” She stared at the note, recognition dawning in her eyes. “I bet I know who sent this. It had to be Daniel Gilroy. I remember him using that same phrase when he was talking about his ex-wife.”
“I thought that too. I called Wes right after I got it and picked his brain. He thinks Gilroy isn’t really a violent man—and he isn’t likely to act on any threats he might make.”
“Especially if he’s in jail,” Emily said.
Kate swallowed hard. Emily wasn’t going to like her answer at all. “The problem is—Gilroy’s not in jail. He’s been paroled.”
EMILY’S RESPONSE SHOULD HAVE BLISTERED the paint from the walls. She slammed her palm against the coffee table, the sound ricocheting through the room. “I can’t believe the Feds let him free without even warning us. Those idiots!”
“He did his time.”
“Still . . .” She rose from the couch and stalked to the minibar. “He had a thing for me. I should have been notified.” When Emily got upset, sometimes a six-dollar package of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts or a three-dollar Snickers bar could take the edge off. Kate hoped today was one of those times.
Emily rummaged around the small fridge until she found something suitably sweet and expensive. “In any case, I agree with Wes—I never got a sense from him that Gilroy was actually dangerous.” She held out a yellow bag of M&M’s, but Kate refused. Emily tossed some into her mouth and continued. “Gilroy’s confused—yes. Crazier than a bedbug—sure. But violent? I don’t think so. We’re not talking Waco or Ruby Ridge here. That whole cabin siege scene was pretty much a complete farce. He gave in without even a whimper. His followers ran away behind his back and left him to take the rap for everything himself. But that didn’t matter. He was already crumbling. I think he knew what was at stake.” She tipped the bag up and poured a few more candies into her mouth. “But that language. It sure sounds like him. I wonder . . . Is everyone basing their accusations on the fact that he always used that ‘Handmaiden of the Devil’ line when talking about his wife?”
“Not really. The Secret Service isn’t sure it’s him. They’ve had him under surveillance and he’s not made any suspicious moves. You don’t think it’s simply a coincidence, do you? That someone else just used that same phrase?”
“Not by accident, at least. There are no coincidences in politics, and I suspect that applies to crazed cult leaders too.” Emily stood and began to pace the room, the chocolate and sugar evidently having hit her system with carb-fueled energy that needed to be bled off. “This guy is targeting you. It goes without saying that you’ll have to stay in Virginia rather than head to Florida with me.”
“Now, wait—”
Emily cut her off fast. “We’ve been working for over eighteen months to build up the key state headquarters so they could function at peak efficiency for the primaries and beyond. I’m not saying that the hard work is over. . . . Far from it. But you need to have faith in all the hard work you’ve done so far, that we’ve done together.”
She spoke rapidly without even pausing to catch her breath. “We can manage South Carolina and Florida just fine with you working your mojo from Virginia. We’d discussed this possibility even before the note
writer became a royal pain in our rumps. The week after Florida is going to be a logistical nightmare anyway. I think I’d rather have you manning your regular desk in preparation for it. You’ll have better control from there.”
“Emily, I appreciate your flexibility, but—”
“But nothing. Once I get out of Gilroy’s backyard, then it’s back to work as usual for you—some on the road, some back home.”
Emily finally paused to draw in a deep breath, which calmed her somewhat. “And while you’re home, you put in your time at the office. No lollygagging around with that mutt of yours,” she teased. Then her face softened. “How is my Buster boy, anyway?”
Kate knew this was Emily’s way of temporarily closing the subject from further discussion. She played along. “Buster’s doing fine. Every time I come back, Kaleesa has taught him a new trick. Soon his vocabulary will exceed mine.”
A rare look of nostalgia filled Emily’s eyes. “I really miss hanging around my favorite pooch. I still think we should have made him the official campaign mascot.” She used one hand to trace an invisible banner in the air. “Buster for Benton.”
“Buster Barks for Benton,” Kate countered.
“Buster Bets Benton Buries Bochner!”
The word games made Kate smile and remember why she felt so close to Emily.
But as amusing as this was, it didn’t change the fact that somewhere, somebody had Kate in their sights.
They were dancing around the real topic and they both knew it. But it was a game they played—pretending for a few minutes that the big, hairy complication didn’t exist by burying it under a pile of off-subject pleasantries.
Emily was the one who broke protocol first. “Listen, K, I know you’re worried about all this. About Gilroy. But trust me, he’s all bully, no bite.”
“That’s pretty much what Wes said. And the Secret Service.”
“Which means it’s true. After all, you heard it from unimpeachable sources like the good Reverend Kingsbury and now from me, the next president of the United States. . . .” A small smile of satisfaction creased her face. “I do like the sound of that.”