Mirror Image

“Not with the Indian names again,” Irish groaned. He pulled her into a bear hug. “You’ve given me the worst bellyache of my life,” he said gruffly. “But I still don’t want to lose you again.”

She hugged him back and kissed his cheek. “You won’t.”

Van said, “Cover your ass, Avery.”

“I will, I promise.”

She left quickly and sped home. But she wasn’t speedy enough.

Thirty-Four

“This is becoming an all-too-familiar scene.” Tate angrily confronted Avery the moment she cleared Mandy’s bedroom door. “I’m pacing the floor, not knowing where the hell you are.”

Breathless, she rushed across the room and gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the bed. Mandy was sleeping, but there were tear tracks on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Zee told me she had another nightmare.” Tate’s mother had been waiting for her in the hall when she came in.

Tate appeared even more agitated than Zee had been. His face was drawn and haggard, his hair uncombed. “It happened about an hour ago, shortly after she’d fallen asleep.”

“Did she remember anything?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

“No,” he replied in a clipped voice. “Her own screams woke her up.”

Avery smoothed back Mandy’s hair and murmured, “I should have been here.”

“You damn sure should have. She cried for you. Where were you?”

“I had errands to run.” His imperative tone of voice grated on her, but she was presently more interested in the child than in arguing with Tate. “I’ll stay with her now.”

“You can’t. The men from Wakely and Foster are here.”

“Who?”

“The consultants we hired to oversee the campaign. Our meeting was interrupted by Mandy’s nightmare, and their time is expensive. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

He propelled her from Mandy’s bedroom and toward one of the doors that opened onto the central courtyard. Avery dug in her heels. “What are you most upset over, Tate—your daughter’s nightmare, or keeping the bigwigs waiting?”

“Don’t test my temper now, Carole,” he said, straining the words through clenched teeth. “I was here to comfort her, not you.”

She conceded him the argument by guiltily glancing away. “I thought you were against using professional consultants for your cam

paign.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Eddy and Jack changed it for you.”

“They had their input, but I made the final decision. Anyway, they’re here, waiting to talk strategy with us.”

“Tate, wait a minute,” she said, laying a restraining hand on his chest when he made to move past her. “If you don’t feel right about this, just say no to them. Up till now, your campaign has been based on you—who you are and what you stand for. What if these so-called experts try to change you? Won’t you feel diluted? Homogenized? Even the best advisers can be wrong. Please don’t be pressured into doing something you don’t want to do.”

He removed her hand from the front of his shirt. “If I could be pressured into doing something, Carole, I would have divorced you a long time ago. That’s what I was advised to do.”

* * *

The following morning she stepped out of her tub and loosely wrapped a bath sheet around herself. As she stood in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair, she thought she saw movement in the bedroom through the partially opened door. Her first thought was that it might be Fancy. She flung open the door, but rapidly recoiled.

“Jack!”

“I’m sorry, Carole. I thought you heard my knock.”