The Senator's Wife (43 page)

“I can’t believe it,” Ronnie gasped at the end. “He was one of Lewis’s best friends.”

“Yeah, well, apparently he wanted to be president
pretty bad. Politics does that to some people. Once they start getting power, they keep craving more.”

“I feel bad about Lewis,” Ronnie said softly. “He was a good man. He may not have been much of a husband, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

They were quiet for a moment. Christine Gwen was back on the screen, promoting the next night’s show with a tantalizing bit about the newest scandal
du jour
. Ronnie shuddered. She never wanted to go through that again.

“What’s the matter?” Tom looked down at her.

“I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Me too.” Tom’s arm slid out from behind her head. He picked up her hand and carried it to his mouth. “So tell me, Mrs. Honneker, what do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

Ronnie smiled at him. “I don’t know. Marla said she’s getting married.”

Tom pressed her hand to his cheek and kissed the palm. Then, still holding her hand, he looked at her steadily.

“I don’t have any money,” he said.

“You paid for the pizza,” Ronnie pointed out with a flickering smile. “You can’t be totally broke.”

“I’m serious.” Tom lifted his hand so that the big diamond Lewis had given her caught the light. “I can’t afford to give you anything even close to this.”

“I was married to a man who
could
afford to buy me that ring, remember? In fact he did buy it. And he bought me lots of other expensive jewelry, and lots of clothes, and he had three fantastic houses and so many cars I lost count and—”

“What are you trying to do, rub it in?” Tom asked, releasing her hand. Both arms stretched along the back of the couch, and he switched his attention back to the TV.

“I’m trying to remind you that I had a man who could give me all those things, and I wasn’t happy with him. Because I didn’t love him, Tom. But I love you.”

He looked sideways at her, and his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “You sweet-talkin’ thing, you.”

Ronnie smiled at him, and turned sideways so that she was lying against him. One hand rested on his chest. The other wormed around behind his back.

“You cried when you thought I was going to jail.”

Tom winced, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “You’re not going to keep reminding me of that, are you?”

“I might. If you don’t get to the point.”

“What point?”

“Where this conversation was headed when you informed me that you don’t have any money.”

“I just thought you should know that.”

“Okay, I know it. So go on.”

“Go on with what?”

“With whatever you were planning to say.”

“What makes you think I was planning to say anything?”

“Tom …” She narrowed her eyes at him. His arms came around her waist.

“Well—I was wondering where you’re planning to live. If you don’t have any better offers, you’re welcome to move in with me.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“Of course I understand from Dan that you’ll inherit
about a third of His Honor’s estate. That’s millions of dollars. You’re a rich woman, Ronnie.”

“So maybe I’ll buy a house.
You
could move in with
me.
”

Tom looked at her. He was smiling, but there was something at the back of his eyes that gave Ronnie pause. A kind of—pain.

“I love you,” he said.

Ronnie flicked the tip of his nose with a finger. “Now you’re getting there,” she said. “Go on.”

“Go on where?”

“You know where. Go on.”

He looked at her steadily for a moment. Ronnie met his gaze and shook her head at him.

“For goodness’ sake, Tom Quinlan, would you quit being so silly and just spit it out?”

He grimaced. “It’s you I’m trying to protect.”

“Well, quit it. I can protect myself perfectly well, thank you. I am crazy in love with you and if you don’t say what I think you were getting ready to say about fifteen minutes back, I am going to strangle you with my bare hands.”

He smiled, and tightened his hold on her. “You’re crazy in love with me, huh? Darlin’, I like the sound of that.”

“And I like the way you say
da-arlin’.
” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “It’s sexy.”

“Jesus, I love you.” He smiled down into her eyes, and suddenly the pain was gone from the back of his. “All right, Ronnie, I surrender: Marry me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes,
yes.
”

He kissed her. And then he stood up with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

As he laid her on the bed, a sliver of moonlight slanted between almost closed curtains and was caught in her ring. The resultant bright sparkle caught Ronnie’s attention. Then Tom loomed over her, and she looked up at him.

The glitter of the big diamond faded into insignificance, she thought, when compared with the light of love in his eyes.

This book is dedicated, as always and with
much love, to my husband, Doug,
and our sons, Peter, Christopher, and Jack.
It also commemorates the births of my nephews,
Michael Chase Johnson, on September 23, 1996,
and Trevor James Johnson, on February 24, 1997,
as well as that of my honorary nephew, Justin Read
Colepaugh, on July 7, 1996
.

Dell Books by Karen Robards

GHOST MOON
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
THE SENATOR’S WIFE
ISLAND FLAME
HEARTBREAKER
HUNTER’S MOON
WALKING AFTER MIDNIGHT
MAGGY’S CHILD
ONE SUMMER
NOBODY’S ANGEL
THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN
FORBIDDEN LOVE
SEA FIRE

Karen Robards is the author of twenty-three books. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, their three sons, and a sizable menagerie.

Read on for an excerpt from

THE LAST VICTIM

by Karen Robards

Published by Ballantine Books

CHAPTER ONE

If Charlie Stone hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid, she would have died.

But in the random way the world sometimes works, the seventeen-year-old did drink several big tumblers full of Goofy Grape generously mixed with vodka, courtesy of her new best friend Holly Palmer. As a result, she just happened to be in the utilitarian bathroom off the Palmers’ basement rec room, hugging the porcelain throne when the first scream penetrated her consciousness.

Even muffled by floors and walls and who knew what else, it was loud and shrill and urgent enough to penetrate the haze of misery she was lost in.

“Holly?” Charlie called, lifting her head, which felt like it weighed a ton and pounded unmercifully.

No answer.

Okay, her voice was weak. Probably Holly hadn’t heard her. Probably the scream was nothing, Holly’s little brothers fighting or something. Seeing that it was around two a.m., though, shouldn’t the eleven- and thirteen-year-olds have been asleep? Charlie had no idea: she knew nothing about tweenie boys. God, she should have followed her instinct and just said no to the booze. But as the new girl in Hampton High School’s senior class, Charlie hadn’t felt like she was in a position to refuse. From the first day of school, when they’d found out they were sharing a locker, sweet, popular Holly had taken Charlie under her wing, introduced her around. For that, Charlie was grateful. The veteran of seven high schools in just over three years, Charlie knew from bitter experience that there were a lot more mean girls out there than nice ones.

A late August Friday night in this small North Carolina beach town meant the movies. Four of them had gone together. The other two had moms who were reliable about picking their daughters up after. When Charlie’s mom hadn’t shown (typical), Holly had invited her to spend the night. They’d wound up sneaking out to meet Holly’s boyfriend, Garrett—a total hottie, who had to work till midnight, which was past Holly’s curfew—and go for a ride in his car. Since he’d had a friend with him—James, not quite as hot as Garrett, but
still—
it had actually worked out pretty well, except for the whole toxic Kool-Aid thing.

They’d driven to the shore, plopped down in the sand, and shared the concoction Garrett had mixed for them while they talked and watched the waves.

The good news was, Charlie might actually have gotten a bead on landing her own boyfriend. The bad news was, as soon as Garrett had dropped them off and they’d crept back down to the basement where supposedly they’d been watching TV all along, Charlie had had to rush straight to the bathroom. She’d been in there for what felt like forever, being sick as a parrot.

She’d be lucky if Holly ever invited her over again.

The second scream definitely did not come from one of the boys. High-pitched and shattering, it smashed through the ordinary sounds of the babbling TV and humming air-conditioning and thumping dryer in the next room like an axe through Jell-O. The fear in it was enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Charlie’s neck. Until it abruptly cut off, she forgot to breathe. The ensuing silence pulsated with … something. Tension, maybe. An electric kind of heaviness. Shooting to her feet, she swiped her long brown hair back from her face with one hand and headed for the door. Knees weak, battling a disorienting attack of the woozies along with the worst taste ever in her mouth, she grabbed the cold-from-the-air-conditioning brass knob.

“Teach you to ignore me …” The words were followed by the sharp sound of a blow. It was a man’s voice, low and deep. Mr. Palmer? Had he found out they’d snuck out?

Charlie froze, her hand still on the knob. She could see herself in the mirror over the sink. Average height, maybe a little too plump. Her face, cute, round, currently rosy from her mostly futile attempts to tan, had gone utterly white. Her blue eyes were the approximate size and shape of golf balls. The yellow T-shirt she wore with jeans looked neon bright in the drab space. Tonight there would be no blending in to the background for her. Earlier, standing out was what she had wanted. Her yet-to-be-proven theory was that, unlike birds, brilliant plumage on girls helped to attract boys. Whatever, James had seemed to like her.

“Don’t go anywhere,” the man said. At the ugly note in his voice, Charlie let go of the knob and took a step back. Pulse pounding, she stared at the raw wood panel. The tiny bathroom with its plain white toilet and sink and unpainted concrete block walls seemed to shrink as she stood there. There was no window, no way out except through that door.

Her heart thudded so hard she could feel it knocking in her chest.

A moment later the unmistakable creak of the door to the rec room told her it was being opened. She didn’t hear it shut, but then she didn’t hear anything after that. No footsteps, no voices. What was happening? Was he gone? Where was Holly?

All Charlie knew for sure was that she wasn’t about to just open that door.

Instead she dropped to her knees and tried looking beneath it, through the crack between door and floor.

The overhead light was still on, just like it was when she’d run for the bathroom. She could see the rug, a tan kind of Aztec print laid down over the concrete. She could see two legs of the coffee table, and a sliver of the tan leather couch. And Holly’s feet. Yes, definitely Holly’s feet, bare like her own. Slim and tanned, toenails painted bubblegum pink, poking out from beneath the fashionably raggedy hems of her jeans.

Judging from their position, Holly was lying on her side on the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

Charlie wet her lips. Something bad had happened. Something was really wrong.

Even as Charlie watched, Holly’s toes curled, straightened, curled again. Then Charlie heard a moan, low and drawn out. Her stomach bunched into a big knot. The moan came from Holly, no mistake about that. Whatever had gone down, Holly was hurt. She needed help. Had her dad beaten her up?

Mr. Palmer—Ben, all Holly’s friends called him, although Charlie, who’d only met him twice, hadn’t quite gotten there yet—was a lawyer. He seemed nice, not like the type who’d hit his daughter, but in Charlie’s experience of men, you just never knew.

The door to the rec room was open, she could see that much. There was no sign of the man, no sound from him. In her gut Charlie felt he was gone.

Standing up, Charlie took a deep breath. Then slowly, carefully, she eased open the door.

Just a crack. Just enough to see.

As she had thought, Holly lay on the floor, on her side. Her taut, tanned, cheerleader-worthy midriff was visible from the top of her hip bones to halfway up her rib cage because her hot pink tee was pulled way up. It was pulled way up because her arms were raised above her head in the most awkward-looking position ever. Charlie’s heart stuttered as she took in the silver bracelets circling Holly’s wrists, recognized them as handcuffs, and registered that Holly was handcuffed to the black plumbing pipe that rose along the room’s concrete block outer wall.

Oh, my God
.

Holly’s dad hadn’t done
that
.

A swift glance around assured Charlie there was no one else in the room. So nervous she almost vibrated with it, Charlie hesitated. But what else could she do? Pulse racing, she flew to her friend’s side, nudging the coffee table out of the way, careful not to make a sound. Holly’s eyes were closed, she saw as she crouched beside her. Blood trickled from a cut just above her temple. The thread of bright scarlet sliding along Holly’s cheekbone horrified Charlie almost as much as the two strips of gray duct tape plastered over her friend’s mouth.

Oh, God. Oh, no. What do I do?

Panic tightened her throat, but she did her best to force it back. Cold sweat prickled to life around her hairline, beaded her upper lip.

“Holly.”
Charlie’s whisper was urgent. She grabbed Holly’s arm, shook her. Whatever had happened, this was something way outside her experience. Way outside her ability to deal with. Casting terrified glances over her shoulder, she frantically felt the smooth metal handcuffs, felt the cool strength of the chain linking them, felt the solidity of the iron pipe they were wrapped around. No way were they coming off without the key. Her friend’s hands felt warm, but they were limp and almost colorless except for the pink of her nail polish.
“Holly, wake up.”