The Kept Woman (28 page)

There were two distinct possibilities—one that would put her at almost three months and another that would put her at about six weeks. Knowing how her body worked, it could be either, because she'd continued to have scant periods for the first four months she was pregnant with Greg. This could easily be a repeat of that. Sam had begun counting backward week by week when the phone rang. She picked it up from the bed, assuming it was Jack again.

"Hi."

"
Look, we're not really engaged to be married, OK? Jack Tolliver hired me to pretend to be his fiancee until the primary. That's all. It's a business deal
."

Sam froze at the sound of her own voice coming through the phone.

"I want a hundred thousand or I'm giving this to the press."

It took several long seconds for Sam to get her lips to move. "
Mitchell?
"

"I taped our little conversation the other day. I was wired for sound, baby."

"Oh God, no. . .."

"Hey, maybe I'll give it to that congressman he's running against. Manheimer? I bet he'll cream his jeans when he gets ahold of this."

Sam's stomach lurched. She recognized the lilt in his voice. He was on something. "Please, please don't do this, Mitch."

"Wire the money by the end of the business day tomorrow and I won't."

Sam pulled herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, fighting back a wave of nausea. She had to think fast, find a way to reason with him. "Any money I give you will come out of your children's future, do you realize that? Is this how you show your love for them?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"I've saved nearly all my stipend, except for what I spent on Christmas gifts, and I was going to use it as a down payment on a house for us. The rest has gone into trust funds for their education and I couldn't get my hands on it even if I wanted to."

"Trust funds?" Mitch laughed. "My kids got fuckin' trust funds? Woo hoo!"

"Is it coke? Is that what you're on?"

"Got a pen for that account number?"

"I won't do it."

"Fine. Then I'm going public with this, you're out of a job, and Jack Tolliver is done for."

"Mitch!" Sam stood up, breathing deep to clear her head. "I've got about seventy-five thousand dollars to my name and that's it."

"What the fuck?" It sounded like Mitch dropped the phone. He picked it up amid a torrent of cursing. "I thought you'd be good for more than that. The Tollivers are rich!"

"That's all the cash I have."

"I'll take it."

Sam rocked back and forth and gripped herself tight. "This is blackmail, Mitch. I can go to the police."

"By the time they find me, if they ever find me, the damage will be done, so go ahead."

Sam heard herself laugh. It came out sounding cartoonish, maybe because this was finally it—the moment she finally cracked. Maybe Lily was right—she was losing her shit. She'd been fighting for three years to keep it together, and now, just when everything seemed to be perfect, she finds out she's pregnant and gets blackmailed, all in the same day!

She laughed again. "This is hilarious, do you know why?"

"No, but I'm afraid you're gonna tell me."

"Because I really am Jack's girlfriend. I finally found a man I can love and trust, who loves me the way I've always dreamed, and if that tape gets out, it won't even be the truth. That's what I find so hilarious."

Mitch was quiet for a moment and Sam heard him breathing fast. "You told me he hired you."

"He did. We fell in love after."

"Are you engaged for real?"

"No."

"OK. I'm revising my request."

Sam's heart leaped.

"I want you to break up with Jack Tolliver and
then
wire me the money."

"
What?
"

"I don't want him adopting my fucking kids! Don't you get it? I told you that already! No judge in the world would give me my kids back, and if you stay with him
he'll
get them!"

"This is crazy talk, Mitch. You're high. You need to think about what—"

"You need to wire the money to this account. Got that pen yet?"

Sam scrambled to the bedside table for a pen and piece of paper and wrote down the fourteen-digit number, repeating it to make sure she had it right.

"Don't let that jock get his hands on my kids. Break it off with him or I'll release this tape. Simple as that. And I'll find out if you don't do it, Sam. I'll be watching you."

That was enough. "You never cared about your kids and you don't now, so don't you
dare
use them as an excuse for any of your fucked-up scheming. Jack has been more of a father to them in just a few months than you
ever
were!"

Mitch's laugh was low and ugly. "Just break it off with him now, Sam. You wouldn't be able to keep him anyway. You know I'm right. A man like Jack Tolliver could never be satisfied with you. You turned me off women altogether and you'll do the same to him."

Sam's chin began to tremble. She would not let him do this to her. "I am not responsible for your sexual identity issues."

"Think whatever you want."

"You will never see the children again as long as you live. Go to hell, Mitch." Sam clicked off the phone and threw it with all her might at the closed double doors of the suite, just as Monte came in carrying a tray. Monte ducked as the phone whizzed over her head, then blinked at Sam in surprise.

"Damn, girl." She walked across the room and placed the tray on the table. "If you're gonna be throwing shit at somebody, I think it should be Jack."

Sam tried to smile as Jack held open the limo door for her and then slid in beside her. The moment the driver put the car in gear, Jack put his arms around Sam, drawing her close.

"I can't wait for the primary to be over. There are a million things I want to talk to you about." Jack's lips skimmed across Sam's hair and down the side of her face and her throat. She realized this might her last encounter with one of Jack's miracle kisses, and she reveled in one last feel of those infamous lips on her skin. She leaned her head back in bliss, knowing she would remember this moment as long as she lived.

Sam had agonized over this all afternoon, and she realized she had to go along with Mitch's insane request. If the tape ever got out, Jack's career would be over, and it would be all her fault. She's the one who opened her big mouth! Mitch was her crazy ex-husband! And if the tape was released before the primary, not only would she ruin Jack's reputation, but she'd screw up her children's future as well! Her contract specified that if she revealed the arrangement publicly, she'd lose the trust funds and would have to pay back every penny of the almost eighty-five thousand dollars she'd earned, a feat that would surely take the rest of her life.

Sam was the world's biggest fuckup. The world's biggest
pregnant-yet-again
fuckup. What was it with her and sperm, anyway?

"I have something I need to tell you," Jack said. "I'm afraid it's not very pleasant news."

Maybe her instincts had been right. Maybe Jack really was breaking up with her. She would survive. She could make it through this conversation. She focused on his face and nodded.

"I've already told Stu and Kara about what happened and how I've decided to handle it," Jack said, stroking her hand.

They knew she and Jack had been a real couple? Did they know she was pregnant? Did Jack?
"I see. When did you tell them?"

"Uh, today." Jack frowned at her and got ready to say something, but she interrupted him.

"I know this has to be hard for you, so don't even bother saying it. I understand. I'd give you back your ring, but I'm supposed to wear it until the primary, right?" Sam tried to produce a little laugh. It came out as a sob.

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

"I think this is for the best; I really do. Recent developments have led me to believe it would be best for us—the real us—to break up."

Jack lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

"Break up. You and me. Something has happened on my end, too, and trust me when I tell you it would be best for everyone if we stopped seeing each other." Silently, Sam sent him mental telepathy messages to forgive her when she came back to him after the election in November, with his baby in tow, and told him the truth about Mitch, the blackmail, the threats, the pregnancy. . ..

"You're breaking up with me?"

"I am."

Jack turned to look out the dark window of the limousine. He said nothing for a very long time but eventually turned back to Sam. His face now exhibited that politician's mask she hadn't seen in months. It was like he'd shut a door in her face.

"Answer one question for me, Sam."

She nodded.
Please don't ask me if I love you. Yes, I love you. Of course I love you. Please don't make me lie about that!

"Why?"

Sam felt her eyes well with tears. Her body began to tremble. She had no idea how to lie to Jack. It wasn't in her. "It's very complicated, but I just don't think I'm ready for this kind of commitment. I'm so sorry."

The hurt Jack felt was so intense that it showed through his mask for just an instant. He scooted away from her slightly and looked out the window again. He didn't say a word to her for the rest of the drive.

Jack gave the most lackluster speech Sam had ever heard. He couldn't seem to muster enthusiasm for much of anything, except getting out of there and heading home. Half the audience of state and municipal employees left before he stopped talking. When he was walking off the stage, Sam heard him tell the moderator that he was "trying to fight off something."

"The flu?" she'd asked.

"A real bad case," he'd said.

Sam found herself solo in the limo for the ride back. She had no idea how Jack planned to get home. Sam couldn't remember when she'd been this sad and had trouble separating what was nausea from what was heartache. It all roiled together in a mess of emptiness, agitation, exhaustion, and deep loneliness.

She dragged herself up the stairs and fell into bed in her dress. The next morning she awoke to find Dakota playing trucks in the bed next to her, and she had just enough time to throw up and take a shower before Monte arrived to drive her to her doctor's appointment.

The same obstetrician had delivered all three of Sam's children and was shocked to see how Dakota had grown. But the real shock came later, when Sam lay on an ultrasound table in a cool, dark room and the monitor showed two beating hearts instead of one.

"What am I going to do?" she cried, yanking at her hair. "Everything is falling apart! All my plans are ruined! Don't you understand how this could destroy my life?"

"Oh, shut up, Christy," Brandon said, crossing his legs and putting an arm over the back of her couch. "You can be such a drama queen sometimes. Why don't you come over here and sit down?"

It suddenly occurred to Christy that inviting Brandon to her home wasn't exactly the smartest thing she'd ever done. But where else were they going to have this conversation? Yes, Brandon had a legitimate reason to visit her at work, but Christy had taken a couple days off. All the stress had given her a zit right on the tip of her nose. And besides, the fewer times Brandon was seen going into her office, the better.

"I can't sit down. I'm too pumped up on coffee. I even smoked a cigarette this morning out on my balcony. I'm a wreck. If we don't find Mitch Bergen in the next week, my life is over."

"You still look beautiful to me."

Christy stopped pacing her living room and glanced down at Brandon's wide, congenial face staring up at her. Then she scurried over to the large mirror over the breakfront and stared at herself. She looked like hell. Her hair was tangled and she had dark circles under her eyes and that zit was now roughly the size of Krakatoa. Brandon must be off his nut.

In the mirror, she watched him come up behind her. Then she felt his arms go around her waist and he pulled her tight. She knew she must truly be at the nadir of her existence if this felt good to her. Christy closed her eyes and leaned back against his sturdy body. She sighed.

"Where's your bedroom?" Brandon whispered roughly.

She straightened her left arm and pointed down the hall. Maybe if she didn't use actual words she could pretend she'd misunderstood him, that she thought he was asking for directions to the bathroom.

Christy allowed him to pull her down the hallway and into her bedroom. She allowed him to back her up until she fell onto the bed. She allowed him to climb on top of her and kiss her.

God help her, but Brandon Miliewski was a really good kisser. She felt a hot rush of need spread through her body.

"Mind if I get my handcuffs out of the car?" Brandon asked her.

"Maybe some other time," Christy said. She closed her eyes, kept her hands to herself, and pretended it was Jack who was making love to her. That was the only thing that ever got her off.

"I'm having a stroke. An embolism. A coronary. Maybe all three. I need a break."

Stuart stumbled out of the racquetball court and chugged from his bottled water, and Jack took the time alone to adjust his knee brace, lean back against the battered wall of the racquetball court, and slide all the way down to the hardwood floor. He draped his forearms over his knees and breathed deep.

This had been the worst couple of weeks of his life. The pain he'd experienced after his injury had been of the physical variety, and it was easy for him to understand. All he had to do was survive the initial slam, have surgery, do rehab, and take pain medication, then repeat the cycle until it was done. Sure it was a bitch to live through, but it was simple to understand.

The kind of pain he was feeling now was much harder to get a grip on. It was elusive. It wasn't confined to one part of his body. It originated in his heart and spread everywhere. Even his toenails ached. He couldn't sleep. He was losing his lead in the polls because he'd been barely functioning. Every time he saw Sam or had to stand next to her and smile for a photo, he felt like he was dying inside. She looked sad, too. More than sad. She looked ashamed. She looked exhausted.

Whenever he tried to talk to her, she said the same thing. "
I'm doing what I know is best for both of us
," and not a whole lot more. She'd done a bang-up job avoiding him while still managing to be present for every appearance or event at which she was needed. Jack knew she wasn't telling him something. It just didn't feel right. She'd shut herself off to him, and without that light—that radiance he'd discovered in her—he couldn't see well enough to put one foot in front of the other.

At first, Jack wondered if some of his misery was just due to the fact that before Sam no woman in his life had ever dumped him. He'd always been the dumper and never the dumpee. But he knew all this agony couldn't come from a battered ego. His whole fucking heart was broken. For the first time in his life, Jack understood what that expression meant.

The emptiness reminded him of the disappearing act Marguerite pulled on him when he was a kid. Back then, Jack would spend hours in the secret room of his dad's Sunset Lane office, playing army men with a flashlight, while his dad conducted business. No one ever knew Jack was back there.

Where was he supposed to hide now? He was winding down the primary phase of a $3 million campaign for the U.S. Senate. He was stuck. He was in this. There was nowhere to go.

Jack laughed softly to himself, spinning the handle of his racquet in his hand. It amused him to recall how he'd explained to Sam that he'd just been going through the motions before he met her, that he felt dead inside before she came into his life. Well, it was ten times worse now that he'd lost her. He'd once joked that she was such a pipsqueak that she could never hurt him. How wrong he'd been. Sam's love had become so crucial to his existence that when she took it back Jack took a hit harder than anything the angriest three-hundred-pound lineman on earth could dish out.

"You all right? Am I being too hard on you with my serve?" Stuart laughed at his own joke and Jack tried to smile. "Seriously, Jack. What the hell is wrong with you lately? Whoever tried to blackmail you hasn't resurfaced and he probably won't, so I hope it's not that."

"It's not."

"You do realize Kara's tripping, right? She says you won't talk to her about anything, either. The whole staff is worried you're losing your edge."

Jack shrugged. "Could be."

"You've got to get it back."

"Don't know if I can, Stu."

Stuart slid down the wall right next to Jack. "Look. I'm going to ask you something and it may piss you off, but hear me out, OK?"

Jack nodded.

"Remember when I told you back in November that getting involved with Sam Monroe would be the stupidest thing you ever did? Well, listen, if that's what's bumming you out, forget I ever said that. She's really a fabulous woman and, truth be told, I think you two make a great couple. I've seen you look at her sometimes like you were in love. I've never seen you like that before, Jack—ever. And hey, you can tell me to go to hell if you want, but I'm just giving it to you straight."

"I appreciate that."

Stuart grinned. "So, did I hit on something? Are you and Sam. . .you know. . .involved for real?"

"Nope," Jack said, standing up. "When's Marguerite supposed to get into town?"

"Thursday." Stuart frowned at him, well aware that Jack had changed the subject for a reason, and scrambled to a stand as well. "I've booked her into the Ritz until the Wednesday after election night. She said she's ready to do whatever you need her to."

Jack nodded. "Let's wrap up this game, then. We've got to go over my notes for the last debate."

He saw Stuart give him a sideways glance and prepare to ask him something else, only to think better of it at the last second.

Smart, smart man.

"We're almost done, gang. Tonight is the last debate. Then tomorrow is the election, and remember, Kara wants you guys at the big victory celebration. Have you picked out what you'd like to wear so I can double-check it?"

Sam set out a plate of homemade peanut butter cookies, determined to get her children through the next two days with a cheerful heart even if it killed her.

Sam still had so much to do. She had to find a rental house for them to move into in about two weeks, because buying a house was now out of reach. Both Lily and Greg wanted to continue at Park Tudor next year, so she'd like to stay in the Meridian Kessler or Broad Ripple neighborhoods, and that was going to be pricey. And the place had to be big enough for a total of five children plus a dog. Yeah, right. The market was flooded with those.

She also had to set up her work schedule with Marcia so that she could start booking clients. The dream of not going back to the salon was a joke now. She still hadn't decided what to do with Dakota and even considered slinking back to Mrs. Brashears with the new, potty-friendly version of her child, in the hopes that a combination of trust fund cash and begging would get him back into the Wee Ones Academy.

She found it ironic that since Mitch had stolen her stipend, his fifty-thousand-dollar check was the only thing that would keep them afloat. And, not for the first time, she wondered why a man desperate enough to steal from his own children would have bothered to make that payment in the first place. There was only one answer, of course—Mitch didn't make the payment. Someone else did. And when Sam started going in that direction, her imagination went wild.

After the polls closed tomorrow night, she'd get to the bottom of it. If she could somehow get ahold of that tape and destroy it, she could tell Jack everything long before the November election, improving the odds that he'd find it in his heart to forgive her.