“Came on to me like you did.”
Avery’s chest rose and fell on a single, life-or-death breath. “Jack—”
“No, I want to know. Dorothy Rae says you never cared about me, that you only flirted with me to drive a wedge between Tate and me. Why, damn you? I nearly ruined my relationship with my brother. I nearly let my marriage fall apart because of you.”
“Jack, I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “Truly I am, but—”
“You just wanted to make me look like a buffoon, didn’t you? Did it elevate your ego to humiliate Dorothy Rae?”
“Jack, listen, please.”
“No, you listen. She’s twice the woman you are. Have you noticed how she’s quit drinking all by herself? That takes character—something you’ll never have. She still loves me, in spite of—”
“Jack, when did Eddy first come to work for Tate?”
He swore beneath his breath and shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. “I’m spilling my guts here and—”
“It’s important!” she shouted. “How did Eddy talk himself into the job of campaign manager? When did he first appear on the scene? Did anyone think to check his qualifications?”
“What the hell are you talking about? You know as well as I do that he didn’t talk himself into anything. He was recruited for the job.”
“Recruited?” she repeated thinly. “By whom, Jack? Whose idea was it? Who hired Eddy Paschal?”
Jack gave her a blank stare, then a quick shrug. “Dad.”
Forty-Nine
The Corte Real was a lovely facility but a poor selection to host Tate Rutledge’s victory celebration because it had only one entrance. Between a pair of massive Spanish doors and the ballroom itself was a short, narrow passageway. It formed an inevitable bottleneck.
The newly elected senator was propelled through that channel by a surge of family, friends, and supporters, all raucous, all jubilant over his win. Television lights created an aura around his head that shone like a celestial crown. His smile blended confidence with humility, that mix that elevated good men to greatness.
Tate’s tall, gray-haired observer weaved his way toward the decorated platform at the opposite end of the room from the entrance. He elbowed aside media and Rutledge enthusiasts, somehow managing to do so without drawing attention to himself. Over the years, he’d mastered that kind of maneuver.
Recently, he had wondered if his skills weren’t getting rusty. He was almost certain Mrs. Rutledge had picked him out of the crowd on more than one occasion.
Having thought of her, he suddenly realized that she wasn’t among the group following Tate toward the dais. Incisive eyes swung toward the entrance. Ah, there she was, bringing up the rear, looking distraught, obviously because she’d become separated from the rest of the family.
He turned his attention back to the charismatic young man, whose appearance in the ballroom had whipped the crowd into a frenzy. As he climbed the steps of the dais, balloons were released from a net overhead. They contributed to the confusion and poor visibility.
On the stage, Rutledge paused to shake hands with some of his most influential supporters—among them, several sports heroes and a Texas-bred movie actress. He waved to his disciples and they cheered him.
Gray Hair dodged the corner of a bouncing placard that nearly caught him on the forehead and kept his eyes trained on the hero of the hour. In the midst of this orgy of celebration, his face alone was grave with resolution.
Purposefully, he continued to move steadily forward, toward the platform. The pandemonium would have intimidated most, but it didn’t faze him. He considered it a nuisance, nothing more. His progress was undeterred. Nothing could stop him from reaching Tate Rutledge.
* * *
Avery arrived breathless at the door of the ballroom. The walls of her heart felt as thin as a balloon about to burst. The muscles of her legs were burning. She’d run down twenty flights of stairs.
She hadn’t even attempted to take an elevator to the hotel’s mezzanine level but, together with Jack, who’d only been told that his brother’s life was in imminent danger, had dashed for the stairs. Somewhere in the stairwell, Jack was still trying to catch up with her.
Pausing only a fraction of a moment to draw breath and get her bearings, she madly plunged through the crowd toward the dais. Wall-to-wall bodies formed a barricade, but Avery managed to plow through it.
She saw his head rise above the throng as he took the steps leading to the platform. “Tate!”
He heard her shout and swiveled his head around, but he missed seeing her when someone on the temporary stage grabbed his arm and began pumping his hand enthusiastically.
Avery frantically sought Eddy and found him positioning Nelson, Zee, Dorothy Rae, and Fancy in a semicircle behind the podium. He then motioned Tate toward the speaker’s stand, where a dozen microphones were mounted and ready to amplify his first words as a newly elected senator.