“How come
?”
“It’ll take a while to explain.”
“I’m under no deadline.”
“But I am,” she cried, clutching his skinny arm. “Van, you can’t tell anybody. Lives would be put in danger.”
“Yeah, Rutledge just might be pissed off enough to kill you.”
“I’m talking about Tate’s life. This isn’t a game, trust me. There’s a lot at stake. You’ll agree when I’ve had a chance to explain. But I can’t now. I’ve got to get back.”
“This is quite a gig, Avery. When did you decide to do it?”
“In the hospital. I was mistaken for Carole Rutledge. They had done the reconstructive operation on my face before I could tell them otherwise.”
“When you could, why didn’t you?”
Frantically, she groped for an expeditious way to tell him. “Ask Irish,” she blurted out.
“Irish!” he croaked, choking on marijuana smoke. “That cagy son of a bitch. He knows?”
“Not until recently. I had to tell somebody.”
“So that’s why he sent me on this trip. I wondered why we were covering Rutledge like he was fuckin’ royalty or something. It was you Irish wanted me to keep an eye on.”
“I guess. I didn’t know he was going to assign you this detail. I was stunned when I saw you in Houston. It was bad enough when I answered the door that day at the ranch and you were standing on the porch. Is that when you first recognized me?”
“The day you left the clinic, I noticed how Mrs. Rutledge’s mannerisms in front of a camera were similar to yours. It was spooky the way she wet her lips and made that movement with her head just like you used to. After that day of taping at the ranch, I was almost convinced. Tonight I was so sure of it, I decided to let you know that I was in on your little secret.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“What?”
Over Van’s shoulder Avery had spotted a patrolman approaching them on foot.
* * *
“Okay, what is it?” Tate asked his brother irritably.
Jack closed the door to his hotel room and shrugged out of his formal jacket. “Drink?”
“No thanks. What’s up?”
The moment they entered the lobby of the Adolphus, Jack had cupped Tate’s elbow and whispered that he needed to see him alone.
“What, now?”
“Now.”
Tate didn’t feel like holding a closed-door session with his brother tonight. The only one he wanted to speak with privately was his wife, who had been behaving strangely since their arrival at Southfork. Before that, she had been fine.
Over dinner, she had mentioned a gray-haired man—obviously someone from her past who had inconveniently showed up at the banquet. Whoever he was, he must have confronted her when she had gone to the ladies’ room, because she had returned to the head table looking pale and shaken.
She’d been as jumpy as a cat for the remainder of the evening. Several times he had caught her nervously gnawing on her lower lip. When she did smile, it was phony as hell. He hadn’t had an opportunity to get to the bottom of it. He wanted to now—right now.
But for the sake of harmony within the camp, he decided to humor Jack first. While they were waiting for an elevator, he had turned to her and said, “Jack wants to see me for five minutes.” He shot his brother a meaningful glance that said, “No more than five minutes.”