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She scowled at him. “The pager isn’t malfunctioning, Bondurant, I am. As far as journalism goes, I’m washed up in Washington.”

“You still have a way with words.”

The more he tried to boost her spirits, the more recalcitrant she became. “Nobody, not even the most secret unidentified source, wants to be associated with me. I couldn’t get a job cleaning toilets in any news facility in this city, maybe in the country.”

Leaning her head back, she sighed. “I meant about ninety percent of what I said tonight before we set out. I do wish I had my life back. I miss Cronkite. I miss my house. It was no palace, but it was my home. I miss my work, the deadlines, the rush I get when I’m on the scene of an event, the gratification I feel when I put together a good piece. God forbid, I think I even miss Howie, because it was almost good to see him tonight.”

Gray looked at her askance. “You must be suffering a severe case of self-pity.”

“Aren’t you, just a little? Don’t you miss your ranch and your horses, your precious solitude? Don’t you sometimes wish I’d never come calling?”

“But you did come calling. So what difference would wishes make now? For the past year I’ve been retired, but I knew I’d see action of some sort again

. Subconsciously I was waiting to see what form it would take. The catalyst turned out to be Robert Rushton Merritt’s death. Who could have predicted that? Nobody. Ultimately, we can never know what’s going to happen to us next.” He raised one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “I take things as they come and try not to look back.”

“God, don’t you ever crack? Don’t you ever let one human emotion pierce that damn armor of yours? Can’t you ever just let go and feel?”

When her voice cracked, she shut up so he wouldn’t know that she was on the verge of tears. Yes, she felt like a fool for tracking down a crank caller. Yes, she was frustrated because they hadn’t penetrated the wall of secrecy surrounding Vanessa. For all they knew, she might already be dead. Barrie was more convinced than ever that making himself a widower was Merritt’s ultimate goal. Each day that Barrie failed to expose him, he moved closer to succeeding.

Yes, she was worried about Daily, because he looked and sounded increasingly bad. He put up a good front, but she knew he was declining. His specialist had said there was nothing more to be done. The disease had progressed to a stage where even the most aggressive and innovative treatments wouldn’t benefit him and would only diminish the quality of the life he had left.

Yes, yes, yes. All those concerns were troubling her tonight. But the number-one, champion tear maker was the man beside her. Gray Bondurant remained an enigma. They’d been intimate, but she didn’t know him. Despite all the time they’d spent together, he was as much a stranger as he’d been that first morning, maybe even more of one.

That’s why she felt like crying. She’d caressed his body, but she hadn’t touched him.

Throwing down her caution, she said, “How can you not care about anything or anyone? What made you such an unfeeling bastard?”

A full minute of hostile silence passed before he said, “My folks died on the same day. Zap. They were gone. I was a kid. It hurt. But I got over it and came to rely on my grandparents. Then, one by one, they died. My sister and I were close, but her husband didn’t take to me. He and her kids came first with her, so she more or less shut me out of their lives.

“I formed strong friendships with two men I trusted. I could read their thoughts before they thought them, and vice versa. We were as close as three heterosexual men can be. Then they betrayed me and have tried twice to kill me.” He shrugged. “I guess I don’t see any advantage to forming relationships.”

It was more of himself than he’d revealed before. Yet, something was noticeably absent from his soul-baring monologue. “You left out the part about Vanessa and the baby,” Barrie said. “You failed to mention that the love of your life was another man’s wife.”

Tersely, he said, “Yeah. I left that part out.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Senator?”

Clete addressed the speakerphone on his desk. “What is it, Carol?”

“Gray Bondurant wishes to speak to you.”

Clete rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Tell him I’m not here.”

“This is the third time he’s called in two days.”

“I don’t care how many times he’s called, I’m not going to talk to him. What about Dr. Allan?”

“I’m still trying to reach him, but I’m told he’s unavailable.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The White House staff hasn’t been more specific than that, sir.”

George Allan had called to inform him that Vanessa hadn’t responded well to the adjustment he’d made on her medication. He’d also hinted that she was drinking heavily again. The upshot of the conversation had been to tell the senator that he was placing her in a private hospital for observation. Until she was stabilized, it was best that she not have visitors. In fact, prohibition of visitors was hospital policy.

It was goddamn Highpoint all over again. Vanessa had been shuttled off without so much as a goodbye to him, and she was unreachable. Allan had ended by saying he didn’t expect her to be confined for more than a few days.