Mirror Image

She was reliving the nightmare again. She tried desperately to ward it off. Again, she couldn’t see him, but she could feel his sinister presence hovering above her, just beyond her field of vision. His breath fanned across her exposed eye. It was like being taunted in the dark with a sheer veil—unseen but felt, ghostly.

There will never be a Senator Tate Rutledge. Tate will never live. Senator Tate Rutledge will die first. There’ll never be… Never live…

Avery woke up screaming. It was a silent scream, of course, but it reverberated through her skull. She opened her eye and recognized the lights overhead, the medicinal smell she associated with hospitals, the hissing sound of her respirator. She had been asleep, so this time it had been a nightmare.

But last night it had been real. Last night she hadn’t even known Mr. Rutledge’s first name! She couldn’t have dreamed it if she hadn’t known it, but she distinctly remembered hearing that menacing, faceless voice contemptuously whispering it into her ear.

Was her mind playing games with her, or was Tate Rutledge in real danger? Surely she was becoming panicked prematurely. After all, she had been heavily sedated and disoriented. Maybe she wasn’t keeping the chronology straight. Was she getting events out of order? Who could possibly want him dead?

God, these were staggering questions. She had to know the answers to them. But her powers of deductive reasoning seemed to have deserted her, along with her other faculties. She couldn’t think logically.

The threat to Tate Rutledge’s life had far-reaching and enormous ramifications, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She was too woozy to formulate an explanation or solution. Her mind was operating sluggishly. It wouldn’t, couldn’t function properly, even though a man’s life was at stake.

Avery almost resented this intrusion into her own problem. Didn’t she already have enough to cope with without worrying about a senatorial candidate’s safety?

She was incapable of motion, yet on the inside she was roiling with frustration. It was exhausting. Eventually, it was no match for the void that continued to remain at the fringes of her consciousness. She combated it, but finally gave up the struggle and was sucked into its peacefulness again.

Five

“I’m not at all surprised by her reaction. It’s to be expected in accident victims.” Dr. Sawyer, the esteemed plastic surgeon, smiled placidly. “Imagine how you would feel if your handsome face had been pulverized.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Tate said tightly.

At that moment, he would have liked to crush the surgeon’s complacent face. Despite his sterling reputation, the man seemed to have ice water flowing through his veins.

He had done fine-tuning on some of the most celebrated faces in the state, including debutantes who possessed as much money as vanity, corporate executives who wanted to stay ahead of the aging process, models, and TV stars. Although his credentials were impressive, Tate didn’t like the cocky way he dismissed Carole’s apprehensions.

“I’ve tried to put myself in Carole’s place,” he explained. “Under the circumstances, I think she’s bearing up very well—better than I would ever have guessed she could.”

“You’re contradicting yourself, Tate,” Nelson remarked. He was sitting beside Zee on a sofa in the ICU waiting room. “You just told Dr. Sawyer that Carole seemed terribly upset at the mention of the surgery.”

“I know it sounds contradictory. What I mean is that she seemed to take the news about Mandy and the crash itself very well. But when I began telling her about the surgery on her face, she started crying. Jesus,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “You can’t imagine how pitiful she looks when she cries out of that one eye. It’s like something out of ‘The Twilight Zone.’ ”

“Your wife was a beautiful woman, Mr. Rutledge,” the doctor said. “The damage to her face panics her. Naturally, she’s afraid of looking like a monster for the rest of her life. Part of my job is to assure her that her face can be reconstructed, even improved upon.”

Sawyer paused to make eye contact with each of them. “I sense hesitation and reluctance from you. I can’t have that. I must have your cooperation and wholehearted confidence in my ability.”

“If you didn’t have my confidence, I wouldn’t have retained your services,” Tate said bluntly. “I don’t think you’re lacking in skill, just sympathy.”

“I save my bedside manner for my patients. I don’t waste time or energy bullshitting their families, Mr. Rutledge. I leave that to politicians. Like you.”

Tate and the surgeon stared each other down. Eventually Tate smiled, then laughed dryly. “I don’t bullshit either, Dr. Sawyer. You’re necessary. That’s why you’re here. You’re also the most pompous son of a bitch I’ve ever run across, but by all accounts, you’re the best. So I’ll cooperate with you in order to see Carole returned to normal.”

“Okay, then,” the surgeon said, unaffected by the insult, “let’s go see the patient.”

When they entered the ICU, Tate moved ahead, arriving first at her bedside. “Carole? Are you awake?”

She responded immediately by opening her eye. As best he could tell, she was lucid. “Hi. Mom and Dad are here.” He moved aside. They approached the bed.

“Hello again, Carole,” Zee said. “Mandy said to tell you she loves you.”

Tate had forgotten to caution his mother against telling Carole about Mandy’s initial session with the child psychologist. It hadn’t gone well, but thankfully, Zee was sensitive enough not to mention it. She moved aside and let Nelson take her place.

“Hi, Carole. You gave us all a fright. Can’t tell you how pleased we are that you’re going to be okay.”

He relinquished his position to Tate. “The surgeon’s here, Carole.”

Tate exchanged places with Dr. Sawyer, who smiled down at his patient. “We’ve already met, Carole. You just don’t remember it. At the request of your family, I came in to examine you on your second day here. The staff plastic surgeon had done all the preliminary treatment in the emergency room when you arrived. I’ll take over from here.”