Mirror Image

“Would you?”

“Yes,” she replied without equivocation. “From the time I regained consciousness until the day I left the clinic, he was wonderful—absolutely wonderful. The way he treats Carole in public is above reproach.”

“What about how he treats her in private?”

“Chilly, like a betrayed husband. I’m working on that.”

“What will happen then? If he gives in and makes love to you, don’t you think he’ll know the difference?”

“Will he?” She tilted her head to one side and tried to smile. “Don’t men say that all cats are gray in the dark?”

He gave her a reproving glare. “Okay, let’s say he doesn’t notice. How will you feel about him making love to you while thinking you’re somebody else?”

That hadn’t occurred to her. Thinking about it now caused her to frown. “I’ll want him to know it’s me. I know it’s wrong to trick him, but…”

Her voice trailed off as she wrestled with the question she hadn’t yet found an answer for. Leaving it unresolved again, she said, “And then there’s Mandy. I love her, too, Irish. She desperately needs a caring mother.”

“I agree. What will happen to her when your job is done and you desert her?”

“I won’t just desert—”

“And how do you think Rutledge is going to feel when you do an exposé on his family?”

“It won’t be an exposé.”

“I’d hate to be around when you try and explain that to him. He’ll think you’ve used him.” He paused for emphasis. “He’ll be right, Avery.”

“Not if I saved his life in the process. Don’t you think he could find it within himself to forgive me?”

He swore beneath his breath. “You missed your calling. You should have been a lawyer. You’d argue with the devil himself.”

“I can’t let my career end in disgrace, Irish. I’ve got to make restitution for the mistake I made in Washington and earn back my credibility as a journalist. Maybe I am only trying to be daddy’s little girl, but I’ve got to do it.” Her eyes appealed to him for understanding. “I didn’t pursue this golden opportunity. It was forced on me. I’ve got to make the best of it.”

“You’re going about it the wrong way,” he said gently, tilting her chin up with his index finger. “You’re too emotionally involved, Avery. You’ve got too much heart to remain detached. By your own admission, you care for these people. You love them.”

“All the more reason for me to stay. Someone wants to kill Tate and make Mandy an orphan. If it’s within my power, I’ve got to prevent that from happening.”

His silence was as good as waving a white flag of surrender. She consulted his wall clock. “I must go. But first, do you have something belonging to me?”

In under a minute she was slipping the gold chain of her locket over her head. Monetarily it wasn’t worth much, but it was her most valued possession.

Her father had brought it back to her from Egypt in 1967, when he had been hired by Newsweek to document the conflict between that country and Israel.

Avery depressed the spring and the two disks parted. She gazed at the photographs inside. One was of her father. In the photograph, he was dressed in battle fatigues, a 35-mm camera draped around his neck. It was the last picture taken of him. He had been killed a few weeks later. The other picture was of her mother. Rosemary, lovely and dainty, was smiling into the camera, but sadly.

Hot, salty tears filled Avery’s eyes. She closed the locket and squeezed it in her palm. Not everything had been taken away from her. She still had this, and she still had Irish.

“I hoped you had it,” she told him gruffly.

“It was in the dead woman’s hands.”

Avery nodded, finding it difficult to speak. “Mandy had noticed it around my neck. I had given it to her to look at. Just as we were about to take off, Carole became annoyed because Mandy was twirling the chain. She took it away from her. That’s the last thing I remember before the crash.”

He showed her Carole’s jewelry. “Shook my gizzard when I opened that envelope you sent. You did send it, didn’t you?”

She told him how that had come about. “I didn’t know what else to do with it.”

“Why didn’t you just throw it away?”