CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (30 page)

             
"Let me go get the photo album." Mom took Teague's hand, too, before he could move it, and pressed it between her fingers. "You'll want to see Kate's baby pictures."

             
As her mother bustled out of the kitchen, Kate sighed. "I'm afraid you'll have to look at them and ooh and ahh." She wondered if he would stay for that ordeal.

             
"I can do that." As if he couldn't help himself, he let his gaze slide over her, heating her from the inside out. "I'll bet you were a beautiful baby."

             
"Another something we have in common."

             
"I wouldn't know." He sat up too straight. He spoke too stiffly. "I don't have any baby pictures."

             
Truth spilled from him, and her heart ached for the hostility he showed. Yet hostility was better than that dark oblivion she had once glimpsed in him, so she asked, "Do you have your school pictures? Starting with a cute little five-year-old boy with big golden eyes and dark, dark hair, with two teeth missing in the front?"

             
At her enthusiastic description, his forbidding expression cracked slightly, and he smiled. "That's a pretty close description."

             
"And then a photo every year until you graduated from high school?"

             
"Once I got into junior high, I usually skipped picture day." As if impelled to test the limits of her tolerance, he said, "I do have one from when I was fifteen, with my ear cut half off and my nose broken. I wanted to have that day memorialized."

             
Her mother appeared in the doorway, and, from the way she viewed him through narrowed eyes, it was obvious she had heard Teague's confession. "I can see how you would do that," she said, putting the album down on the counter in front of Teague and opening it.

             
"Excuse me." Kate slid off her stool. "While you two laugh at my pictures, I'm going to call the station to see what they know about events at the capitol. Stuff was happening this afternoon, and I couldn't stand still long enough to find out what was going on."

             
When she looked back, Mom was sitting on the stool Kate had abandoned and saying, "This is when Kate was two and a half. She sang in the children's choir at Christmas. That was the year she discovered it was fun to stand in front of a crowd and have them admire her. She's liked being center stage ever since."

SEVENTEEN

              Where was Kate? George had looked for her all day long. He knew she had been in the capitol. When he asked, people said things like, "Yes, I just talked to her," or "You just missed her. She said she had to go to the ladies' room." And, "Dear Lord, Oberlin, what are you doing here? You just buried your wife. You should be home."

             
"The vote's coming up," George kept saying. "Evelyn wouldn't have wanted me to shirk my duty. She cared deeply for the welfare of children. She would have wanted me to vote on school funding." At seven o'clock that night, almost everyone who was anyone had left the capitol building, and George stood in the empty rotunda, his chest heaving in frustration.

             
Was Kate avoiding him? He couldn't believe she was avoiding him. She hadn't even come to pay her condolences to him. She was supposed to feel
sorry
for him.

             
Both his campaign manager and his lawyer had called about Evelyn's accident. Been nervous about her death. Asked George if he had told anyone else he had been considering divorce. George could truthfully assure them that he hadn't.

             
He'd made it very clear to his lawyer that if a rumor started about his intention to divorce Evelyn, he would know whom to blame. He'd done the same with his campaign manager.

             
He was not a man who left such matters to chance. He didn't like to be surprised.

             
The visit from the FBI agents had surprised him.

             
At the back of George's mind, worry plagued him like a hangover. Someone had sent in an anonymous tip about Mrs. Blackthorn. Her accident had been twenty years ago and miles away, but someone still remembered—and suspected the truth.

             
Who?

             
Before she died, Gloria could have told the FBI of her suspicions, but she had kicked the bucket before she could make the connection between Evelyn's death and Blackthorn's. Had Dr. Cunningham finally worked up the nerve to be suspicious? No, because although the good doctor was a cowardly little weasel, he was also a smart man, and he knew if he started slinging accusations, George would nail his ass to the wall.

             
He smiled at the thought, his first genuine smile of the day. His whole life right now was rife with potential.

             
He was going to make so much money in the crash of Givens Industries he would be one of the wealthiest men in the United States. His wallet twitched when he thought how close he was to cashing in the deal. With that financial backing, he could skip the U.S. Senate altogether and go right to the presidency.

             
And Kate would like to be his first lady.

             
Not a first lady like that domineering bitch of Clinton's, but a real first lady like Jackie Kennedy, the kind that everybody envied for her poise and good taste.

             
But first Kate had to learn some manners.

             
She hadn't sought him out. She hadn't sent a note. He'd received no flowers from her. When they were married, he would teach her better manners.

             
He'd teach them. He'd show her. He'd push the school-funding vote through tomorrow. She was a reporter. She'd be there with bells on.

             
"Senator Oberlin, what are you doing here?" Mr. Duarte shuffled over, dragging his mop and his wheeled bucket after him. "It's late."

             
"Have you seen Kate Montgomery?" George had lost any ability to dissemble. "Is she still here?"

             
"Ah, Senator, I feel so pitiful for you. You just lost your wife, and that young lady is off with her boyfriend. But you stop fretting about her. I know you took her under your wing when nobody else would help her fly, and God will bless you for your kindness, but the little bird is winging her way skyward right now."

             
George heard only one word. "Boyfriend?" He gaped and whispered, "What boyfriend?"

             
"That nice young man, the one who does security here." Duarte smacked his lips as he thought. "I can't quite amember his name . . ."

             
"Ramos? Teague Ramos?"

             
"That's him." Duarte nodded, his brown eyes rheumy. "He's a nice young feller, and I've seen enough to recognize a man in love."

             
"In . . . love." George felt sick. Then, swiftly, he recovered. "
He's
in love." Of course he was in love with Kate.

             
"Yes, sir, Senator," Duarte said with the enthusiasm of a born romantic. "That boy's in love. And you know what? She's in love, too. He's in love. She's in love." Duarte's singsong voice went on and on. "They're in lu-ove."

             
Another betrayal.

             
A betrayal that cut as deep as the first one.

             
Duarte's foolish, wrinkled face swam before George's eyes, and it was all George could do to remember the security cameras and not choke the old man. George hadn't been this angry since he . . . since he had killed the minister and his wife with his own hands.

             
While Duarte was still talking, George walked away. He strode out of the capitol, toward the phone, toward his car, toward revenge.

             
Once in his car he pulled a burn phone out of the glove box and, with careful fingers, dialed the number that would put him in touch with Jason Urbano in Boston.

             
When Urbano's voice answered, George said, "Remember that task I set for you to do? I want you to do it
now
.

             
"Senator? Senator Oberlin? Please don't make me do this." Urbano's voice shook like a little girl's.

             
"Do it, or you know what will happen." George usually prided himself on sounding upbeat while he delivered his threats. This time, such a performance was beyond him, and his voice crackled with irritation.

             
"All right. For everything to be done right, it's going to take two days. Day after tomorrow, Givens Industries will be nothing but rubble." Urbano took a deep, painful breath. "But you promise you'll cover for me? When the Feds investigate the collapse, you'll make sure they don't press charges?"

             
"Yes. I'll save your ass. Now—do it!" George hung up and sat, chest heaving, his hand still on the receiver. His knees shook so hard he could hardly stand. His eyes felt swollen with rage. The voice he'd heard coming from his mouth had been his father's.

             
Was George Oberlin losing his mind?

             
No, not him.

             
He had everything in hand.

             
Yet all the while, rage bubbled in his veins and Duarte's words echoed in his mind.

             
That boy's in love . . . She's in love, too . . . He's in love . . . She's in love. They're in lu-ove.

             
Kate did not understand the forces she had unleashed.

             
After she hung up her mother's phone, Kate sat looking at it. The call to KTTV had set her on edge. She felt funny, not being in the midst of things. She had settled into her position as political reporter: digging out stories, sniffing the air for upcoming events. She
liked
her job.

             
She understood why Teague wanted her to avoid Oberlin. It would be stupid, considering what they believed of him, to take the chance of running into him. My God, they feared he was an obsessive-compulsive murderer who had fixated on her.

             
But she had never turned tail and run away from a situation before. Never had she avoided her profession because she was afraid. And now after only a few hours away from the action, she feared she had lost her edge.

             
Silly, really. Politics moved at the speed of glacial crawl. Nothing would happen this week, and by next week Teague would . . . would do what? This situation with Oberlin was more frightening than anything she'd faced since the terrorists had kidnapped her father. She felt just as helpless, and she itched to take control.

             
She believed in Teague. She believed he was the best security man in the country—but what could he do? This was big. This was huge. This was more than either of them had ever faced, and they needed to face it together. Somehow, they needed to draw strength from each other. . . . Kate found herself smiling foolishly into the air. She was madly in love with a man who had bristled with antagonism when her mother asked about his family.

             
Maybe it was her mom's knife threat that had caused his hostility.

             
Hastily, Kate rose and headed back into the kitchen.

             
Her mother was busy with a kettle, a china pot shaped like Dumbo, and a canister of loose tea. Kate leaned against the counter. "Nice teapot, Mom."

             
"Aunt Carol brought it to me from Disneyland." She held it up and looked into its amiable, gray face. "May I say, it does look like her."

             
Kate laughed because she couldn't help herself, and turned to Teague. "Aunt Carol has a round tummy, big ears, and a big nose"—she bent an admonishing glance at Mom—"and my mother has a biting sense of humor when she chooses."

             
"Yes, I'm going to hell for that. By the way, I hope the reason you two are seeing each other isn't because someone else is stalking Kate." Her mother considered them with that cool, penetrating gaze that used to have the effect of making Kate sit up straight and study her math.

             
She caught Kate by surprise. Kate's gaze dropped.

             
"Oh, dear." Mom sat heavily on a stool. "I wanted to hear you were dating."

             
"We are dating," Kate said.