He gave a soft, short laugh. “You had Jack spooked. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it myself. I guess I’ve had too much on my mind to sweat the details.”
He placed his hands in the small of his back and arched it, stretching luxuriantly. “Well, I’ve got that drive ahead of me, and it’s getting late. I understand
your cast comes off tomorrow. That’s good. You’ll be able to move around better.”
Avery’s eyes clouded with tears. This man, who had been so kind to her, was going to hate her when he discovered the truth. Through the weeks of her
recuperation, he had unwittingly become her lifeline. Whether he was aware of it or not, she had depended on him for physical and emotional healing.
Now, she must repay his kindness by telling him three ugly truths: his wife was dead; in her place was a broadcast journalist who was privy to aspects of
his personal life; and someone was going to try to assassinate him.
Rather than eliciting his pity, her tears provoked him. He glanced away in irritation, and as he did, he noticed the newspapers stacked on the deep
windowsill. She had requested them from the deferential staff. They were back issues, containing accounts of the plane crash. Tate gestured toward
them.
“I don’t understand your tears, Carole. Your face looks great. You could have died, for crissake. So could Mandy. Can’t you consider yourself lucky to be
alive?”
After that outburst, he drew himself up and took a deep breath, controlling his temper by an act of will. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I
know you’ve suffered a lot. It’s just that you could have suffered a hell of a lot more. We all could have.”
He reached for the sports jacket he frequently wore with his jeans and pulled it on. “I’ll see you later.”
With no more than that, he left her.
Avery stared at the empty doorway for a long while. A nurse came in and helped her prepare for sleep. She had graduated from a wheelchair to crutches
for her broken leg, but was still awkward on them. Gripping them hurt he-hands. By the time she was settled and left alone, she was exhausted.
Her mind was as tired as her body, and yet she couldn’t sleep. She tried to envision the expression that would break across Tate’s face when he
discovered the truth. His life would undergo another upheaval, and at a time when he was most vulnerable.
The instant the word vulnerable formed in her mind, Avery was struck by a new and terrifying thought. As soon as she was exposed, she, too, would be
vulnerable to whoever planned to kill Tate!
Why hadn’t she thought of that before? When Avery Daniels, a television news reporter, was revealed, the culprit would realize his grave error and be
forced to do something about it. She would be as susceptible to attack as Tate. Judging by the deadly calculation she had heard in his voice, the wouldbe
assassin wouldn’t hesitate to murder both or them.
She sat up and peered into the shadows of the room, as if expecting her faceless, nameless nemesis to leap out at her. Her rapid heartbeats echoed
loudly against her eardrums.
Lord, what could she do? How could she protect herself? How could she protect Tate? If only she really were Carole, she
Before the idea was even fully developed, her mind began hurling objections, both conscientious and practical. It couldn’t be done. Tate would know. The
assassin would know.
But if she could keep playing the role long enough to determine who Tate’s secret enemy was, she could save his life.
Yet it was inconceivable to step into another woman’s life. And what about her own? Officially, Avery Daniels no longer existed. No one would be missing
her. She had no husband, no children, no family.
Her career was in a shambles. Because of one mistake one gross error in judgment she was deemed a failure by anyone’s standards. Not only had she
failed to live up to her father’s sterling reputation, she’d taken the glint off it. Working at KTEX in San Antonio was like being sentenced to years of hard
labor. While the station had a solid reputation for a market its size, and while she would be eternally grateful to Irish for giving her a job when no one else
would even grant her an interview, employment there was tantamount to banishment in Siberia. She was alienated from journalistic circles that really
counted. KTEX was a long step down from a network job and a Washington, D.C., beat.
But now, a sensational story had been dropped into her lap. If she became Mrs. Tate Rutledge, she could document a senatorial campaign and an
attempted murder from an insider’s point of view. She wouldn’t just be covering the story, she would be living it.
What better vehicle to launch herself back to the top echelon of broadcast news? How many reporters had ever been given an opportunity like this? She
knew scores who would give their right arm for it.
She smiled wanly. Her right arm hadn’t been required of her, but she had given her face, her name, and her own identity already. Saving a man’s life and
getting a career boost would be repayment enough for such an indignity. And when the truth finally came out, no one could accuse her of exploitation. She
hadn’t asked for this chance; it had been forced on her. She wouldn’t be exploiting Tate, either. Even above her desire to restore her professional
credibility, she wanted to preserve his life, which had become precious to her.
The risks involved were astronomical, but she couldn’t name a single ace reporter who hadn’t stuck his neck out to get where he was. Her father had
taken daily risks in the pursuit of his profession. His courage had paid off with a Pulitzer prize. If he was willing to risk everything for his stories, could less
be expected of her?
However, she realized that this had to be a rational business decision. She must approach it pragmatically, not emotionally. She would be assuming the
role of Tate’s wife and all that the relationship implied and entailed. She would be living with his family, constantly observed by people who knew Carole
intimately.
The enormity of the challenge was intimidating, but it was also irresistible. The consequences could be severe, but the rewards would be worth any price.
She would make a million mistakes, like writing with the wrong hand. But she’d always had a knack for thinking on her feet. She would talk her way out of
mistakes.
Could it work? Could she do it? Dare she try?
She threw off the covers, propped herself on her crutches, and hobbled into the bathroom. Beneath the glaring, merciless fluorescent lighting, she stared
at the face in the mirror and compared it to the photograph of Carole that had been taped to the wall for encouragement.
The skin looked new, as pink and smooth as a baby’s butt, just as Dr. Sawyer had promised. She peeled her lips back and studied the dental prostheses
that were duplicates of Carole Rutledge’s front teeth. She ran her hand over the close cap of dark hair. No scars were discernible, unless one looked very
closely. In time, all traces would fade into invisibility.
She didn’t allow herself the luxury of sadness, though regret and homesickness for her own familiar image tugged at her heart. This was her destiny now.
She had a new face. It could be her ticket to a new life.
Tomorrow, she would assume the identity of Carole Rutledge.
Avery Daniels had nothing else to lose.
ELEVEN
The nurse gave her a satisfied onceover. “You’ve got wonderful hair, Mrs. Rutledge.”
“Thanks,” Avery said ruefully. “What there is of it.”
During the seven days that Tate had been away, she had fully regained her voice. He was due to arrive at any moment, and she was nervous.
“No,” the nurse was saying, “that’s my point. Not everybody can wear such a short style. On you, it’s a knockout.”
Avery glanced into the hand mirror, plucked at the spiky bangs on her forehead, and said dubiously, “I hope so.”
She was seated in a chair with her right leg elevated on a footstool. A cane was propped against the chair. Her hands were folded together in her lap.
The nurses were as aflutter as she over Tate’s imminent arrival after being out of town for more than a week. They had primped her like a bride waiting for
her groom.
“He’s here,” one of them announced in a stage whisper, poking her head around the door. The nurse with Avery squeezed her shoulder. “You look terrific.
He’s going to be bowled over.”
He wasn’t exactly bowled over, but he was momentarily stunned. She watched his eyes widen marginally when he spotted her sitting in the chair, wearing
street clothes Carole’s street clothes which Zee had brought her several days earlier.
“Hello, Tate.”
At the sound of her voice, he registered even more surprise.
Her heart lurched. He knew!
Had she made another blunder? Did Carole have a pet name she always addressed him by? She held her breath, waiting for him to point an accusing
finger at her and shout, “You lying impostor!”
Instead, he cleared his throat uneasily and returned her greeting. “Hello, Carole.”
Through her finely fashioned nose, she exhaled thin little wisps of air, not wanting to give away her relief by expelling the deep breath she’d been holding
for so long it had made her chest ache.
He came farther into the room, and absently laid a bunch of flowers and a package on the nightstand. “You look great.”
“Thank you.”
“You can talk,” he said with an awkward laugh.
“Yes. Finally.”
“Your voice sounds different.”
“We were warned of that, remember?” she said quickly.
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect the…” He made a motion with his fingers across his throat. “The hoarseness.”
“It might eventually fade.”
“I like it.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. If things between them had been what they should have been, he would be kneeling in front of her, skimming her new
face with his fingertips like a blind man, marveling over its smoothness, and telegraphing his love. To her disappointment, he maintained a careful
distance.
As usual, he was wearing jeans. They were pressed and creased, but old and soft enough to glove his lower body. Avery didn’t want to be trapped by her
own feminine curiosity, so she resolutely kept her eyes above the lapel of his sports jacket.
The view from there was very good, too. Her gaze was almost as penetrating as his.
She nervously raised her hand to her chest. “You’re staring.”
His head dropped forward, but only for a split second before he raised it again. “I’m sorry. I guess I really didn’t expect you to ever look like yourself again.
And … and you do. Except for the hair.”
She gave a little shiver of joy because her ruse had worked.
“Are you cold?”
“What? Cold? No.” She recklessly groped for something to divert him. “What’s that?”
He followed her nod to the package he had carried in with him. “Oh, it’s your jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” Her bubble of happiness burst. She swallowed with difficulty.
“What you were wearing the day of the plane crash. The hospital called the law office today to remind me it was still in their safe. I stopped there on my
way here to pick it up. I kept forgetting about it.” He extended the envelope to her. Avery stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake and was just as
loath to touch it. Seeing no way to avoid it, however, she took it from him. “I didn’t take the time to inventory the contents,” he said, “but maybe you should
now.”
She laid the envelope in her lap. “I will later.”
“I thought you’d want your things back.”
“Oh, I do. It’s just not very comfortable to wear jewelry right now.” She formed a fist, then slowly opened it, extending her fingers. “My hands are almost
back to normal, but they still get sore. I think I’d have trouble slipping my rings on and off.”
“That would be a first, wouldn’t it? For your wedding ring, anyway.”
The harsh words took her aback. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, either, she noted, and was tempted to point that out in Carole’s defense, but she
curbed the impulse. If Carole had removed her wedding ring for illicit purposes, as he’d insinuated, the subject was best avoided for now.
Tate sat down on the edge of the bed. The hostile silence stretched out. Avery was the first to break it. “Did the trip go as well as you had hoped?”
“Yeah, it was fine. Tiring as hell.”
“I saw you on television nearly every night. The crowds seemed enthusiastic.”
“Everybody was pleased with the response I got.”
“All the political analysts are predicting that you’ll win the primary by a landslide.”
“I hope so.”
They lapsed into another silence while each tried, without much success, to keep from staring at the other. “How is Mandy?”
He gave a dismissive shrug. “She’s fine.” Avery frowned doubtfully.
“Okay, not so fine.” He stood again and began pacing the length of the bed, his boot heels making crescent impressions in the carpeting. “Mom says
she’s still having nightmares. She wakes up screaming nearly every night, sometimes even during her nap. She moves around the house like a little
ghost.” He extended his hands as though reaching for something, then closed them around nothingness. “Not quite there, you know? Nobody’s getting
through not me, not the psychologist.”
“I asked Zee to bring her to see me. She said you had told her not to.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think it would be a good idea for her to come when I wasn’t here.”
She didn’t press her luck by asking why. It might spark another argument she wasn’t yet equipped to handle. “I miss her. Once I’m at home, she’ll do
better.”
His skepticism was plain. “Maybe.”
“Does she ever ask for me?”
“No.”
Avery lowered her gaze to her lap. “I see.”
“Well, what do you expect, Carole? You only get back what you give.”
For a moment their eyes clashed, then her hand came up to her forehead. Tears filled her eyes. She cried for the child who hadn’t had enough of her
mother’s love. Poor little Mandy. Avery knew how it felt to be deprived of a parent’s attention. That’s why she justified pretending to be Mandy’s mother
when, initially, she had felt Mandy would profit from being told of Carole’s demise immediately.
“Aw, shit,” Tate said beneath his breath. He crossed the room and lightly rested his hand on the top of her head. His fingers worked their way through her
stubby hair until the pads were gently massaging her scalp. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Mandy’s going to get better much better.” After a
moment, he said, “Maybe I should go.”
“No!” Her head snapped up. Tears still drenched her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“It’s time I did.”
“Please stay a while longer.”
“I’m tired and cranky from the trip not good company.”
“I don’t mind.”
He shook his head.
Valiantly, she masked her immense disappointment. “I’ll see you out then.”
She reached for her cane and placed her weight on it as she stood up. But her nervously perspiring hand slipped on the crook and caused her to lose her
balance.
“Christ, be careful.”
Tate’s arms went around her. The manila envelope fell from her lap onto the floor, but neither noticed. His arm supported her back, and his strong fingers
aligned with her ribs beneath the soft weight of her breast.
As he inched her toward the bed, Avery clung to him, curling her fingers into the cloth of his jacket. She deeply inhaled his scent- clean but outdoorsy,
fragrant but masculine, with a trace of citrus. His strength permeated her and she imbibed it like an elixir.
She acknowledged then what she had avoided acknowledging during the long, torturous days he had been away. She wanted to become Mrs. Rutledge
so she could be close to Tate. Based on the misery she’d felt during his absence and the joy she’d experienced when he had entered her room, that was
no less valid a reason than the others. At least, it was just as strong.
He eased her onto the side of the bed, and gingerly touched the thigh of her injured leg. “That was a multiple fracture. The bone’s still not as strong as
you’d like to think.”
“I guess not.”
“We were right to decide you should stay here until after the primary. All that activity would be too much for you.”
“Probably.”
Her reply was qualified, because when Zee had told her that had been the decision reached without her consent or consultation, she had felt abandoned,
like a family embarrassment that had been hidden away, out of the public eye.
“I can’t wait to come home, Tate.”
Their heads were close. She could see her new face reflected in the pupils of his eyes. His breath wafted over it. She wanted to be held. She wanted to
hold him.
Touch me, Tate. Hold me. Kiss me, she wanted to say.
For several heartbeats he seemed to be considering it, then he pulled back.
“I’ll go now,” he said gruffly, “so you can rest.”
She reached for his hand and clasped it as tightly as she was able to. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For… for the flowers and… and for helping me back to bed.”
“That’s nothing,” he said dismissively, pulling his hand free.
She made a wounded sound. “Why do you always refuse my thanks?”
“Don’t play dumb, Carole,” he whispered testily. “Your thanks don’t mean anything to me and you know why.” He said a curt good-bye and left.
Avery was crushed. She had hoped for so much more out of their reunion. Her fantasies of it hadn’t been anything like the grim reality. But what could she
expect from a husband who obviously didn’t care a great deal about his wife?
At least he hadn’t detected her lie. From a professional standpoint, she was still on firm ground.
She returned to the chair and picked up the envelope, pried open the metal brad, lifted the flap, and shook the contents into her hand. Her wristwatch was
no longer ticking the crystal had been shattered. A gold earring was missing, but it was no great loss. The item that was most important to her wasn’t
there. Where was her locket?
Then she remembered. She hadn’t been wearing her locket when the accident had occurred. Carole Rutledge had had it.
Avery slumped against the chair, lamenting the loss of that treasured piece of jewelry, but she roused herself immediately. She would mourn the loss later.
Right now, she had to act.
A few minutes later, a nurse at the central station glanced up from the keyboard of her computer terminal. “Good evening, Mrs. Rutledge. Did you enjoy
your visit with your husband?”
“Very much, thank you.” She handed the nurse the envelope. “I have a favor to ask. Would you please mail this for me tomorrow?” The nurse read the
address Avery had printed on it. “Please,” Avery pressed, before the nurse could ask any questions.
“I’d be glad to,” she said, though she obviously found it a strange request. “It’ll go out in the morning’s mail.”
“I would rather you not mention this to anyone. My husband accuses me of being too sentimental as it is.” “All right.”
Avery handed her several folded bills, pilfered from the generous allowance Tate had left with her before his trip. “That’s enough money to cover the
postage, I believe. Thank you.”
That represented another severance with Avery Daniels. She returned to the room assigned to Mrs. Carole Rutledge.
TWELVE
In stocking feet, Irish McCabe went to his refrigerator for another beer. He pulled off the tab and, as he sipped the malty foam from the top of the can,
inspected his freezer for dinner possibilities. Finding nothing there that was a better option than hunger, he decided to do without food and fill up on beer.
On his way back into the living room, he picked up the stack of mail he’d dropped on the table when he had come in earlier. While idly watching a TV
game show, he sorted through the correspondence, culling junk mail and setting aside bills.
“Humph.” A puzzled frown pulled together salt-and-pepper eyebrows when he came across the manila envelope. There was no return address, but it bore
a local postmark. He unfastened the brad and wedged his index finger beneath the flap. He upended the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap.
He sucked in a quick breath and recoiled, as though something foul had landed on him. He stared at the damaged jewelry while his lungs struggled for air
and his heart labored in his chest.
It was several moments before he calmed down enough to reach out and touch the shattered wristwatch. He had immediately recognized it as Avery’s.
Gingerly he picked it up and tentatively investigated the gold earring he’d last seen decorating Avery’s ear.
Quickly coming to his feet, he rushed across the room to a desk that he rarely used, except as a catchall. He pulled open the lap drawer and took out the
envelope he’d been given at the morgue the day he had identified Avery’s body. “Her things,” the forensic assistant had told him apologetically.
He remembered dropping her locket into the envelope without even looking inside. Up till now he hadn’t had the heart to open it and touch her personal
effects. He was superstitious. To paw through Avery’s belongings would be as distasteful to him as grave robbing.
He’d had to empty her apartment because her landlady had insisted on it. He hadn’t kept a single thing, except a few photographs. Her clothes and all
other usable items had been donated to various charities.
The only thing that Irish had deemed worth keeping was the locket that had identified her body. Her daddy had given it to her when she was just a kid, and
Irish had never seen Avery without it.
He opened the envelope that had been in his desk all this time and dumped the contents onto the desk’s littered surface. Along with Avery’s locket, there
was a pair of diamond earrings, a gold bracelet watch, two bangle bracelets, and three rings, two of which comprised a wedding set. The third ring was a
cluster of sapphires and diamonds. Together it added up to a hell of a lot more than Avery’s jewelry, but it wasn’t worth a plug nickel to Irish McCabe.
Obviously, the pieces belonged to one of the other crash victims, possibly to one of the survivors. Was somebody grieving its misplacement? Or had it
even been missed?
He would have to check on that and try to get it back to the rightful owner. Now, all he could think about was Avery’s jewelry the watch and earring that had
been delivered today to his post office box. Who had sent them? Why now? Where had they been all this time?
He studied the envelope, searching for possible clues as to its sender. There were none. It didn’t look like it had come from a municipal office. The printed
lettering was rickety and uneven, almost childish.
“Who the hell?” he asked his empty apartment.
The pain of his grief over Avery should have been blunted by now, but it wasn’t. He dropped heavily into his easy chair and stared at the locket with misty
eyes. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb like a talisman that might make her miraculously materialize.
Later, he would try to solve the mystery of how her jewelry had become switched with that of another crash victim. For the present, however, he only
wanted to wallow in the morass of his bereavement.
“I don’t see why not.” “I told you why not.”
“What would be wrong with me going down to Corpus Christi with you when you go later this week?”
“It’s a business trip. I’ll be busy setting up rallies for Tate.”
Fancy’s mouth drew into a petulant pout. “You could let me tag along if you really wanted to.”
Eddy Paschal looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Guess that gives you your answer.”
He switched out the lights at campaign headquarters. The property was located in a shopping center and had previously been a pet store. The rent was
cheap. It was a central location, easily accessible to just about any point in the city. About its only drawback was the remnant odor of caged pets.
“Why are you so mean to me, Eddy?” Fancy whined as he used his key to secure the dead bolt. “Why are you such a pest?”
Together they walked across the parking lot to his parked car, a serviceable Ford sedan that she privately scorned. He unlocked the passenger door and
opened it for her. As she got in, she brushed the front of her body against his.
As he rounded the hood on his way to the driver’s side, she noticed that he’d recently gotten a haircut. The barber had clipped his hair too short. Topping
her list of Eddy “redos” was his car. Second was his barber.
He slid in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The air conditioner came on automatically and began filling the interior with hot, humid air. Eddy
made a concession to his fresh-out-of-the-bandbox appearance by loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar button.
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