“Why not? That’s what Nelson was to you. Whatever his motives were, he was a good father.”

“I guess so.” He gave her a lengthy stare. “I should have believed you yesterday when you tried to warn me.”

“It was too unbelievable for you to accept.”

“But you were right.”

She shook her head. “I never suspected Nelson. Eddy, yes. Even Jack. But never Nelson.”

“I want to mourn his death, but when I hear how cruel he’s been to my mother, and that he hired my best friend to kill me… Jesus.” He exhaled loudly, raking his hand through his hair. Tears came to his eyes.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Tate. You’ve got a lot to deal with all at once.” She wanted to hold him and comfort him, but he hadn’t asked her to and, until he did, she had no right to.

“When you do your story, I have one favor to ask.”

“There won’t be a story.”

“There’ll be a story,” he argued firmly. He rounded the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “You’re already being hailed as a heroine.”

“You shouldn’t have revealed my identity during the press conference this morning.” She had watched it on the set in her hospital room while it was being broadcast live from the lobby of the Palacio Del Rio. “You could have divorced me as Carole, as you planned to.”

“I can’t begin my political career with a lie, Avery.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name,” she whispered, left breathless from hearing it on his lips.

Their gazes held for a moment, then he continued. “So far, no one but the people who were in this room, and I guess a few FBI agents, know that Nelson Rutledge engineered the plot. They’ve surmised that it was all Eddy’s doing and have attributed it to his disillusionment in America after the war. I’m asking you to keep it that way, for my family’s sake. Mostly for my mother’s sake.”

“If anyone asks, I will. But I won’t do a story.”

“Yes, you will.”

Tears started in her eyes again. Fretfully, she groped for his hand. “I can’t stand having you think I did this to exploit you, or that I did it for fame and glory.”

“I think you did it for the reason you told me yesterday, and which I stubbornly refused to believe—because you love me.”

Her heart went a little crazy. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I do, Tate. More than my life.”

He gazed at the bandage on her shoulder and, shuddering slightly, squeezed his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they were misty. “I know.”

Epilogue

“Watching it again?”

Senator Tate Rutledge entered the living room of the comfortable Georgetown town home he shared with his wife and daughter. On this particular afternoon, he caught Avery alone in the living room, watching a tape of her documentary.

The story she had produced, at Tate’s insistence, aired on PBS stations across the country six months into his term. The facts were presented fairly, concisely, and without any embellishment in spite of her personal involvement.

Tate had convinced her that the public had a right to know about the bizarre chain of events that had started with the crash of Flight 398 and culminated on election night.

He further stated that no one could report the events with more insight and sensitivity than she. His final argument was that he didn’t want his first term as senator to be clouded by lies and half-truths. He would rather have the public know than speculate.

The documentary hadn’t won Avery a Pulitzer prize, though it was acclaimed by viewers, critics, and colleagues. She was currently considering the offers she had received to produce documentaries on a variety of subjects.

“Still basking in the glory, huh?” Tate laid his briefcase on an end table and shrugged off his jacket.

“Don’t tease.” She reached behind her for his hand and kissed the back of it as she pulled him around to join her on the sofa. “Irish called today. He made me think of it.”

Irish had survived the heart attack he had suffered in the elevator at the Palacio Del Rio. He claimed that he had actually died and come back to life. How else could Paschal have failed to feel a pulse? He swore that he remembered floating out of himself, looking down and seeing Paschal drag his body into the alcove.

Tags: Sandra Brown Mystery
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