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The corner of his lips jerked with a tiny spasm. "No."

"But you still don't trust me."

"Trust is earned."

"Haven'tIearned yours back yet?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hand and, with his index finger, traced the gold chain around her neck. "What's this?"

His touch almost melted her. Taking a real chance by revealing more skin than she ever had, she let the blouse slip from her hands to the floor. Her locket lay nestled in the cleft between her breasts, enhanced by the engineering of her sheer bra. She heard the sharp breath he took.

"I found it in a secondhand jewelry store," she lied. "Pretty, isn't it?" Tate was staring at the delicate gold piece with the hunger of a starved man for the last morsel of food on earth. "Open it."

After a moment's hesitation, he scooped the locket into his palm and depressed the clasp. The two tiny frames were empty. She'd removed the photographs of her mother and father and left them in Irish's safekeeping.

"I want to put pictures of you and Mandy in it."

He searched her eyes. Then he looked long at her mouth while rubbing the locket between his thumb and finger. When he snapped it closed, the sound seemed inordinately loud.

He laid the golden disk back into place against her breasts. His hand lingered. His fingertips skimmed the soft curves, barely maintaining contact with her skin, but where they touched, she burned.

Still touching her, Tate turned his head away. He was fighting a war within himself, attested to by the flexing of his jaw, the turbulent indecision in his eyes, his shallow breathing.

"Tate." Her plaintive inflection brought his gaze back to meet hers. On a whisper, she said, "Tate, I never had an abortion." She raised her fingertips to his lips before they could form an argument. "I never had an abortion because there never was a baby."

The irony of it was that it was the unvarnished truth, but she would have to confess to a lie in order for him to believe it.

This germ of an idea had been cultivating in her mind for days. She had no idea if Carole had conceived and aborted a baby or not. But Tate would never know, either. A lie would be easier for him to forgive than an abortion, and since that seemed to be the thickest barrier to their reconciliation, she wanted to tear it down. Why should she pay the penalty for Carole's sins?

Once committed to it, the rest of the lie came easily. "I only told you I was pregnant for the very reason you cited the other morning. I wanted to flaunt it. I wanted to provoke you." She laid her hands against his cheeks. "But I can't let you go on believing that I destroyed your child. I can see that it hurts you too much."

After a long, deep, probing stare, he broke contact and stepped back. "The flight to Houston leaves at seven o'clock on Tuesday. Will you be able to handle that?"

She had hoped her news would release a tide of forgiveness and suppressed love. Trying not to let her disappointment show, she asked, "Which? The early hour or the flight itself?"

"Both."

"I'll be all right."

"I hope so," he said, moving toward the door. "Eddy wants everything to go like clockwork."

On Monday evening, Irish summoned KTEX's political reporter into his office. "You all set for this week?"

"Yeah. Rutledge's people sent over a schedule today. If we cover all this, you'll have to give Dekker equal time."

"Let me worry about that. Your job is to document what's going on in Rutledge's campaign. I want daily reports. By the way, I'm sending Lovejoy with you instead of the photographer originally assigned."

"Jesus, Irish," the reporter whined. "What have I done to deserve him, huh? He's a pain in the ass. He's unreliable. Half the time he smells bad."

He continued with a litany of objections. He preferred to be paired with just about anybody over Van Lovejoy. Irish listened silently. At the conclusion of the reporter's petition, he repeated, "I'm sending Lovejoy with you." The reporter slunk out. Once Irish said something twice, there was no use arguing.

Irish had arrived at that decision several days earlier. Before he had even begun, the reporter hadn't had a chance in hell of changing Irish's mind.

Avery might not think she was in any imminent danger, but she was impetuous and headstrong and often made snap judgments for which she later paid dearly. He couldn't believe the mess she'd made for herself now. God almighty, he thought, she had become another woman! It was too late for him to talk her out of assuming Carole Rutledge's identity, but he was going to do all he could to see that she didn't pay for this impersonation with her life.

They had agreed to contact each other through his post office box if telephoning proved risky. He had given her his extra key to the box. Fat lot of good that would do her if she needed immediate help. That safety net was no more substantial than a spiderweb , but she had refused his offer to loan her a handgun.

The whole cloak-and-dagger routine made him nervous as hell. Just thinking about it made him reach for his bottle of antacid. These days he was drinking as much of that stuff as he was whiskey. He was too old for this, but he couldn't just stand by, do nothing, and let Avery get herself killed.

Since he couldn't be her guardian angel, he would do the next best thing—he'd send Van along. Having Van around would no doubt make her nervous, but if she got into trouble while on the campaign trail, she'd have somebody to run to. Van Lovejoy wasn't much, but for the time being, he was the best Irish could do.

TWENTY-FOUR

The first glitch in Eddy's carefully orchestrated campaign trip occurred on the third day. They were in Houston. Early that morning Tate had made an impassioned breakfast speech to a rowdy audience of longshoremen. He was well received.

Upon their return to the downtown hotel, Eddy went to his room to answer telephone calls that had come in during their absence. Everyone else gathered in Tate's suite. Jack buried himself in the morning newspapers, scouring them for stories relating to Tate, his opponent, or the election in general. Avery sat on the floor with Mandy, who was scribbling in a Mickey Mouse coloring book.

Tate stretched out on the bed, propping the pillows behind his head. He turned on the television set to watch a game show. The questions were asinine, the contestants frenzied, the host obnoxious, but often something that inane relaxed his mind and opened up new avenues of thought. The best ideas came to him when he wasn't concentrating.

Nelson and Zee were working a crossword puzzle together.

Eddy interrupted the restful scene. He barged into theroom, as excited as Tate had ever seen him. "Switch that thing off and listen."

Tate used the remote control to silence the TV set. "Well," he said with an expectant laugh, "you've got everybody's attention, Mr. Paschal."

"One of the largest Rotary Clubs in the state is meeting at noon today. It's their most important meeting of the year. New officers are being sworn in, and wives are invited. Their scheduled speaker called in sick this morning. They want you."

Tate sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. "How many people?"

"Two-fifty, three hundred." Eddy was riffling through the papers in his briefcase. "These are top businessmen and professionals—pillars of the community. Oldest Rotary Club in Houston, its members have lots of money, even in these depressed times. Here," he said, thrusting several sheets of paper at Tate, "this was a hell of a speech you gave in Amarilio last month. Glance over it. And for God's sake, get out of that chambray and denim and put on a conservative suit."

"This crowd sounds more like Dekker people."

"They are. That's why it's important that you go. Dekker's made you out to be a kid with his head in the clouds, at best, or a wacko liberal, at worst. Show them you've got both feet on the ground and that you don't have horns and a pointed tail." He glanced over his shoulder. "You're invited, too, Carole. Look your charming best. The women—"

"I can't be there."

Everyone's attention abruptly shifted from Eddy to her, where she still sat on the floor with Mandy, holding a selection of crayons in her hand and a picture of Donald Duck in her lap. "Mandy's appointment with Dr. Webster is at one o'clock today."

"Crap." Tate plowed his hand through his hair. "That's right. I'd forgotten."

Eddy divided his disbelieving gaze between them. "You can't even consider throwing away this opportunity. We're up one point in the polls this week, Tate, but we're still trailing by a dismal margin. This speech could mean a lot ofcampaign dollars—dollars we need to buy TV commercial time."

Jack tossed his folded newspaper aside. "Make another appointment with this doctor."

"What about it, Carole?" Tate asked.

"You know how hard this one was to come by.Iprobably wouldn't be able to get another one for weeks. Even if I could, I don't believe it would be in Mandy's best interest to postpone."

Tate watched his brother, father, and campaign manager exchange telling glances. They wanted him to make a speech to this influential crowd of Rotarians, and they were right. These conservatives, staunch Dekker supporters, needed to be convinced that he was a viable candidate and not a hotheaded upstart. When he looked down at his wife, however, he could feel the strength behind her calm gaze. He would be damned either way he went. "Christ."

"I could go to the psychologist's office with Carole," Zee offered. "Tate, you make your speech. We can fill you in later on what the doctor has to say about Mandy."

"I appreciate the offer, Mom, but she's my daughter."

"And this could mean the election," Eddy argued, raising his voice.

Jack stood and hiked up the waistband of his pants, as though he was about to engage in a fistfight. "I agree with Eddy one hundred percent."

"One speech isn't going to cost the election. Dad?"

"I think your mother had the most workable solution. You know I don't put much stock in shrinks, so I wouldn't mind a bit going to hear what this one has to say about my granddaughter."

"Carole?"

She had let the dispute revolve around her without contributing anything to it, which was uncharacteristic. As long as Tate had known her, she had never failed to express her opinion.

"They're both terribly important, Tate," she said. "It has to be your decision."

Eddy swore beneath his breath and shot her a glance of supreme annoyance. He would rather her rant and rave and fight to get her way. Tate felt the same. It had been much easier to say no to Carole when she was being obstreperous and inflexible. Lately, she used her dark, eloquent eyes to express herself more than she used a strident voice.

Whatever his choice, it would be met with disapproval. The deciding factor was Mandy herself. He looked down into her solemn little face. Even though she couldn't have understood what the controversy was about, she seemed to be apologizing to him for causing such a fuss.

"Call them back, Eddy, and graciously decline." Carole's posture relaxed, as though she'd been holding herself in breathless anticipation of his answer. "Tell them Mrs. Rutledge and I have a previous engagement."

"But—"

Tate held up his hand to ward off a barrage of protests. He gave his friend a hard, decisive stare. "My first obligation is to my family. I was guaranteed your understanding, remember?"

Eddy gave him a hard, exasperated stare, then stormed out. Tate couldn't blame him for being pissed. He didn't have a child. He was responsible to no one but himself. How could he possibly understand divided loyalties?

"I hope you know what you're doing, Tate." Nelson stood and reached for Zee's hand. "Let's go try to calm down our frustrated campaign manager." They left together.

Jack was just as agitated as Eddy. He glared at Carole. "Satisfied?"

"Enough, Jack," Tate said testily.

His brother aimed an accusing finger at her. "She's manipulating you with this good-mother routine."

"What goes on between Carole and me is none of your damned business."

"Ordinarily, no. But since you're running for public office, your private life is everybody's business. Whatever affects the campaign is my business. I've devoted years to getting you elected."

"And I appreciate everything you've done. But today I'm taking an hour off for my daughter's sake. I don't think that's asking too much, and even if it is, don't give me an argument about it."

After casting another hostile glance at Carole, Jack left the suite, slamming the door behind him.

She came to her feet. "Is that what you think, Tate? That this is just a good-mother routine?"

The hell of it was that he didn't know what to think. Since his first sexual conquest at age fifteen, Tate had exercised control over all his relationships with women. Women liked him. He liked them in return. He also respected them. Unlike most men to whom romantic encounters came easily, his friends among the female sex numbered as many as his lovers, although many in the first category secretly lamented that they'd never joined the ranks of the second.

His most serious involvement had been with a San Antonio divorcee. She sold commercial real estate, very successfully. Tate had lauded her success, but didn't love her enough to compete with it for her time and attention. She had also made it clear from the beginning that she didn't want children. After a two-year courtship, they had parted as friends.

Jack did most of the hiring and firing at their law firm, but when Carole Navarro had applied, he had solicited Tate's opinion. No living man could look at Carole impassively. Her large, dark eyes captivated his attention, her figure his imagination, her smile his heart. He had given her his stamp of approval and Jack had put her on the payroll as a legal assistant.

Soon, Tate had violated his own business ethics and invited her out to dinner to celebrate a case the jury had found in favor of their client. She had been charming and flirtatious, but the evening had ended at the door of her apartment with a friendly good-night handshake.

For weeks, she had kept their dates friendly. One night, when Tate had withstood the buddy system as long as he could, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. She had returned his kiss with gratifying passion. They made a natural progression to bed, and the sex had been deeply satisfying for both.