Mirror Image

He had to have been someone in the Rutledge family because only immediate family was allowed in the intensive care unit. But who? None seemed to show any malice toward Tate; quite the contrary, everyone seemed to adore him.

She considered each of them: His father? Unthinkable. It was evident that both parents doted on him. Jack? He didn’t appear to harbor any grudges toward his younger brother. Though Eddy wasn’t a blood relation, he was treated like a member of the family, and the camaraderie between Tate and his best friend was plain to see. She had yet to hear Dorothy Rae or Fancy speak, but she was fairly certain the voice she had heard had been masculine.

None of the voices she had heard recently belonged to her visitor. But how could a stranger have sneaked into her room? The man had been no stranger to Carole; he had spoken to her as a confidante and coconspirator.

Did Tate realize that his wife was conspiring to have him killed? Did he guess she meant him harm? Was that why he administered comfort and encouragement from behind an invisible barrier? Avery knew he gave her what he was expected to give, but nothing more.

Lord, she wished she could sit down with Irish and lay out all the components of this tangle, as she often did before tackling a complex story. They would try to piece together the missing elements. Irish possessed almost supernatural insight into human behavior, and she valued his opinion above all others.

Thinking about the Rutledges had given Avery a splitting headache, so she welcomed the sedative that was injected into her IV that evening to help her sleep. Unlike the constant brilliance of the ICU, only one small night-light was left burning in her room every night.

Wavering between sleep and consciousness, Avery allowed herself to wonder what would happen if she assumed the role of Carole Rutledge indefinitely. It would postpone Tate’s becoming a widower. Mandy would have a mother’s support during her emotional recuperation. Avery Daniels could perhaps expose an attempted assassin and be hailed a heroine.

In her mind, she laughed. Irish would think she had gone crazy for sure. He would rant and rave and probably threaten to bend her over his knee and spank her for even thinking up such a preposterous idea.

Still, it was a provocative one. What a story she would have when the charade was over—politics, human relationships, and intrigue.

The fantasy lulled her to sleep.

Eight

She was more nervous than she had been before her first television audition at that dumpy little TV station in Arkansas eight years earlier. With damp palms and a dry throat, she had stood ankle deep in mud and swill, gripping the microphone with bloodless fingers and bluffing her way through an on-location story about a parasite currently affecting swine farmers. Afterward, the news director had drolly reminded her that the disease was affecting the swine, not the farmers. But he had given her the job of field reporter anyway.

This was an audition, too. Would Mandy detect what no one else had been able to—that the woman behind the battered face was not Carole Rutledge?

During the day, while the caring, talkative nurses had bathed and dressed her, while the physical therapist had gone through her exercises with her, a haunting question persisted: Did she want the truth to be revealed?

She had arrived at no definite answer. For the time being, what difference did it make who they perceived her to be? She couldn’t alter fate. She was alive and Carole Rutledge was dead. Some cosmic force had deemed the outcome of that plane crash, not she.

She had tried desperately, with her severely limited capabilities, to alert everyone to their error, but without success. There was nothing she could do about the consequences of it now. Until she could use a tablet and pencil to communicate, she must remain Carole. While playing that role, she could do some undercover research into a bizarre news story and repay Tate Rutledge for his kindness. If he believed that Mandy would benefit from seeing her “mother,” then Avery would temporarily go along with that. She thought the child might be better off by knowing the truth of her mother’s death right away, but she wasn’t in a position to tell her. Hopefully, her appearance wouldn’t frighten the child so badly that she regressed.

The nurse adjusted the scarf covering her head, where her hair was still no more than an inch long. “There. Not bad at all,” she said, appraising her handiwork. “In a couple more weeks, that handsome husband of yours won’t be able to take his eyes off you. You know, of course, that all the single nurses, as well as a few married ones,” she amende

d dryly, “are wildly in love with him.”

She was moving around the bed, straightening the sheets and fussing with the flowers, pinching off blooms that had already peaked and were withering.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked. “Surely you’re used to other women lusting after him by now. How long have y’all been married? Four years, I believe he said when one of the nurses asked.” She patted Avery’s shoulder. “Dr. Sawyer works miracles. Wait and see. Y’all will be the best-looking couple in Washington.”

“You’re taking a lot for granted, aren’t you?”

At the sound of his voice, Avery’s heart fluttered. She looked toward the door to find him filling it. As he came farther into the room, he said to the nurse, “I’m convinced that Dr. Sawyer can work miracles. But are you that sure I’ll win the election?”

“You’ve got my vote.”

His laugh was deep and rich and as comfortable as an old, worn blanket. “Good. I’ll need all the votes I can get.”

“Where’s your little girl?”

“I left her at the nurses’ station. I’ll get her in a few minutes.”

Taking his subtle cue for what it was, the nurse smiled down at Avery and winked. “Good luck.”

As soon as they were alone, Tate moved to Avery’s side. “Hi. You look nice.” He expelled a deep breath. “Well, she’s here. I’m not sure how it’ll go. Don’t be disappointed if she—”

He broke off as his eyes flickered across her breasts. She didn’t adequately fill the bodice of Carole’s nightgown, modest as it was. Avery saw the puzzlement register on his face and her heart began to pound.

“Carole?” he said huskily.