Sleeping With the Enemy (25 page)

“I’m sorry, Tanya.” Miles quickly returned his gaze to his other tormentor. “I was distracted thinking of my mother there for a moment.”
Jesus, next I’ll be invoking apple pie and baseball.
His answer sounded evasive even to his own ears. Miles was tanking the interview all because of a woman who
hovered in the shadows of every room but the kitchen. He needed to get her out of his head. Better yet, out of his mother’s inn if he could somehow manage that. But for now he just needed to wrap up the sparring match with Tanya.

He looked up to find that Tanya’s wide smile had a nasty edge to it. Miles resisted the urge to cross his legs and shield the family jewels. Instead he forced himself
to remain relaxed. He was a professional and as such had prepared for anything she could throw at him.

“I asked you whether you and your opponent will be debating one another this summer.”

Miles could hear the Atlantic Ocean slamming against the sand across the street, the whirring of the ceiling fans above their heads, and even the gentle hum of the LED lights shining on either side of
his face, so he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Or dead. He glanced over Tanya’s right shoulder at Coy Scofield III, the young flunkie the party had dumped on him as a campaign manager. Coy was twenty-five with the political expertise of a gnat, but that hadn’t mattered.

Until now.

The kid was talking a mile a minute into the cell phone glued to his ear, his cheeks flushed with what Miles could
only assume was excitement. Coy had been very vocal that he wasn’t thrilled to be stuck in a campaign where there wouldn’t actually be a contest. He wanted the thrill of the chase. The kid was frustrated because Miles was running uncontested. The opposing party’s candidate had withdrawn after being arrested for alleged racketeering violations just days after this spring’s primary. Miles carefully
pushed the words past his lips so that the audio wouldn’t capture the anxiety in his voice.

“From what I understand, Brian Kilpatrick is having a tougher battle with the Treasury Department to worry about debating me. That’s why he’s no longer running.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Tanya was practically bouncing in her seat. “Well, I guess that’s understandable with your
family crisis
and
all. But the opposing party is putting forth another candidate.”

“They can’t.” Miles mentally reviewed the campaign laws. There wasn’t a provision. He’d checked. So had the governor and everyone else in the party. The only way they could replace a candidate who’d been put on the ballot via a primary election was if the candidate was ill and could no longer serve the term of the office. The
only illness Kilpatrick had was that of a terminal dumbass and the opposing party was out of luck on that loophole.

Tanya leaned back, seductively crossing her legs again as if to say
checkmate
. There was no mistaking the malice in her grin now. She was obviously enjoying the reaction her bombshell had gotten out of Miles. “Technically the party can’t add a name to the November ballot. But
the voters can.”

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

A write-in campaign. There’d been talk of one during the initial days after Kilpatrick’s arrest, but the pollsters had assured the governor and the national party bigwigs that Miles’s reputation was sterling enough that the opposition wouldn’t risk funding another candidate. Instead, they’d spend their time and money on a race that wasn’t a shoo-in.
Apparently, with all the talk surrounding his late father these past few weeks, some of the shine had worn off Miles’s reputation.

“It’s funny how these things work, isn’t it?” Tanya was the only one on the verandah who was seeing the humor in the situation.

Determined not to let her—or any of her viewers—see him sweat, Miles leaned back in the stupid glider and smiled back at her. “Well,
it’s a lot better for the constituents to have more than one candidate. A two-party race offers voters greater opportunities to weigh the issues and make sure their interests will be best represented.” Miles was pretty sure he’d read that in a political science textbook somewhere, but at this point he just didn’t care. He needed to regurgitate enough bullshit to get him through this train wreck
of an interview with his shirt still on his back. “Since you have the inside scoop today, Tanya, do you mind telling me who my opponent will be?”

“Of course. We’re headed to Shallotte from here for the big announcement. You’ll be facing off against Faye Rich.”

“Faye Rich as in the GTO Grandma?” Cassidy blurted out from behind the camera and Miles hoped her words and his wince hadn’t been
caught on video.

Faye Rich was exactly what her name implied: rich as Croesus. She’d inherited a string of car dealerships from her father and married into more. Her commercials were legendary for their low-budget, smaltzy, down-home humor. Not to mention Faye had appeared in all of them since she was three years old. Now somewhere in her mid-sixties, she was still the voice behind Rich Automotive,
occasionally even dressed as the Easter Bunny, the Tobacco Queen, or Uncle Sam. She made it a point to appear at events in her souped-up GTO. Her voter recognition would be off the charts. And then there was the fact her name would be easy to write in.

And just like that, Miles took another curveball right to the chest.

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!