Fair Game (29 page)

“I had a little trouble with one of them last night,” Martin told him, yawning until his jaw creaked.

“So I gathered. It sounds like it was more than a little trouble. Let me have your version.”

“I came to the hospital with Capo and the Fair girl, and then later when I went to check on her they had this agent stationed outside her room and he wouldn’t let me in to see that she was okay.”

“And?” Rourke prompted him.

“And so I decked him and hid him in a closet.”

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line. “I suppose it was out of the question for you to take his word for it that the girl was all right?”

“She was my responsibility, and I wanted to see for myself.”

“Couldn’t you have handled it a little more diplomatically?” Rourke said, exasperated.

“I wasn’t feeling very diplomatic,” Martin answered testily.

“Okay, okay, forget about that. Get over to the local FBI office downtown first thing this morning and straighten it out. They want a statement on exactly what you saw last night when the Senator got it. They’re taking over the case.”

Martin sat up in bed. “What about me?”

“You’re out of it.”

“Wait a minute...” Martin began tensely.

“Forget it,” Rourke broke in brusquely, losing patience. “That’s all she wrote.”

“I see. One try, I blow it, and it’s over? No chance to follow through and get the bastard who did it?”

“It’s not like that, Tim. You didn’t blow anything. I told you in the beginning that if anything happened, the feds would take over. It’s procedure.”

“Don’t give me procedure, Gerry. I know when I’m being dumped for dead weight.”

“And you don’t give me any lip,” Rourke replied. “Do what I told you and then go to the hospital and check on Capo. I want a report by five p.m. today, and I want your carcass back in my office by tomorrow.”

The phone went dead in Martin’s ear.

He slammed the receiver into its cradle and lay still for several moments, thinking, before he got up to dress.

* * * *

Meg returned to the hospital a few hours later and was in the waiting room, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, when Lorraine Capo joined her.

“Tony’s in and out. The doctor says it will be a little while before he’s completely awake.”

Meg nodded. Their common tragedy had made them instant friends.

“He also told me the Senator’s daughter’s going home,” Lorraine added.

“Good.” Meg stood and stretched. “I’d like to make a phone call,” she said.

“Go ahead,” Lorraine answered. “I’m just going to be marking time until Tony wakes up again anyway.”

Meg walked down the hall to the wall of public phones. She had changed to slacks and a sweater, but she realized, almost laughing, that she was still wearing the peau de soie slippers that had matched her pink dress.

She needed to talk to Peter. She wasn’t sure if he was still out of town, but he must have heard about the Senator and perhaps had tried to contact her.

Maybe his office knew something.

She dialed the number on his business card and heard a series of bell-like tones.

“The number you have reached is no longer in service,” a mechanical voice said. “Please check the listing with your local directory.”

Meg broke the connection and tried again. Same response.

That was odd. Could his office have moved during the last couple of days? She dialed Ransom’s home number and, instead of getting his answering machine, she got the sound of incessant ringing until she hung up.

Coincidence? Ransom might have forgotten to put the machine on when he left home for his trip, but she had never known it to be disconnected.

Meg turned away from the telephone with a troubled expression. She was walking slowly back to the waiting room when Lorraine intercepted her.

“Tony’s awake, and he wants to talk to you,” she said.

Meg followed the other woman to Capo’s room. He smiled weakly at his wife, but his expression changed when he saw Meg.

“Make it fast. Don’t tire him out,” a nurse said as she pulled back the curtain around his bed. In her hand she held a basin that contained a stained, discarded dressing.

“Boyfriend,” Capo said thickly, looking at Meg.

The two women exchanged glances.

“Where... is he?” Capo added.

“What is he saying?” Lorraine asked.

Meg shrugged.

“New boyfriend, flowers. Where is he... now?” Capo insisted.

“He’s out of town,” Meg answered, catching on.

“Tell Martin,” Capo whispered.

“Why?” Meg asked.

“Tell Tim,” Capo repeated.

“Tell him what?” Meg asked.

Capo’s eyes closed.

“That’s it, ladies,” the nurse said, ushering them briskly back into the hall.

“What do you suppose he meant?” Meg asked Capo’s wife.

“He’s delirious,” Lorraine replied. “Don’t pay any attention. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Meg wasn’t so sure.

* * * *

By the time Martin got to the hospital later that day, Ashley had been discharged. He found out that Capo’s condition had improved slightly and talked to Lorraine, who told him that Meg had gone back to the hotel to pack before going on to campaign headquarters. Martin returned to the hotel also, and discovered that both women were already gone. The suites were empty, and no one would tell him a thing.

The message was clear. The FBI was now in charge, and he was, indeed, out of it.

Martin disregarded that message and drove his unmarked department car to the Fair estate on the outskirts of Harrisburg. He was stopped at the gate for a repeat performance of the scene outside Ashley’s hospital room, but this time he managed to elicit the information that Miss Fair was at the house and convinced the agent to call her.

The fed was an inexperienced kid and obviously afraid to do the wrong thing by turning Martin, a Philadelphia police lieutenant, away without checking.

“The maid said Miss Fair would like you to come up to the house, Lieutenant Martin,” the kid said, hanging up the gate phone in surprise and turning back to Martin.

“Thanks.” Martin got back into his car and the fed escorted him up the long, winding drive, bordered on either side by elm trees, to the front of the house. It was a huge brick colonial with a mansard roof and enameled double doors. A uniformed maid admitted them. The fed stepped back as Martin followed her through a marble-floored entry hall and into a walnut-paneled study on the left.

Ashley was there, with her stepmother and a college-age stepbrother Martin recognized from pictures.

James Dillon was also present.

“What is he doing here?” Dillon said bitterly as Martin entered the room and Ashley came forward to greet him.

She was wearing a navy dress that made her look sapling slender, and her hair was drawn back behind her ears. A white bandage encircled her right forearm.

“I asked him here,” Ashley replied quickly.

“Hasn’t he done enough?” Dillon demanded of her. He turned to Martin. “The Senator is dead because of you. Do we all have to be reminded of that?”

Martin’s fists balled at his sides, and he took a step forward.

Ashley moved in front of him.

“My father is dead because he disobeyed Lieutenant Martin’s direct orders,” she said fiercely to Dillon. “If Dad had done as he was told, he would be alive right now.” Her face contorted, and she put her hand to her mouth.

Dillon looked from her to Martin, then turned away and strode from the room. The others moved to Ashley as if to comfort her, but she composed herself and said quietly, “I’d like to be alone with Lieutenant Martin, if you don’t mind. Would you please excuse us?”

Her tone was polite, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of authority. She spoke with the expectation of being obeyed, out of long habit, and they responded to her as if to royalty, withdrawing with murmured replies.

The instant they were alone Ashley rushed into Martin’s arms.

“Where were you?” she whispered desperately. “Where did you go? I needed you.”

“I didn’t know where you went when you left the hospital,” he replied, closing his eyes and burying his mouth in her fragrant hair. “I just took a chance and came here.”

“I left a message for you with one of those agents.”

“I never got it,” Martin said, suspecting what had happened to it.

“How is Anthony?” she asked, clinging to him, rubbing her cheek on the lapel of his jacket.

“Hanging on. A little better, actually. His wife was with him all night.” He held her off and looked into her face. “Did you talk to the FBI, tell them what you know?”

She nodded.

“But you didn’t talk to anyone else about it?”

“No.” She looked up at him. “Can you stay for the funeral?”

“I have to be back in Philly tomorrow.”

She searched his face. “I’m being selfish, I know, but your presence would have made it so much easier to bear.” Her eyes filled, and Martin drew her close, overcome by the scent and feel of her. He knew the timing was all wrong, he knew everything was all wrong, but he simply couldn’t hold back another second. The fear he’d felt when he saw the gunman aiming at her and his frustration at their separation overwhelmed him and he kissed her.

Ashley’s mouth opened under his, sweet beyond imagining. She responded avidly, giving vent to frustrated desire, affirming the life she’d come close to losing. His lips moved wildly to her throat, her hair, and she yielded, matching him caress for caress until he was breathing harshly and she could hardly stand without his assistance.

“Stay with me,” she said against his mouth. “Please stay with me here, now. Don’t leave me again.”

He looked down at her. “No more doubts, Ashley? I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what you want.”

“Oh, Tim, forgive me,” she murmured, turning her head to kiss his cheek. “I was acting like a child, worrying about trifles. This is what counts, what we feel for each other.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Everything else is unimportant, darling, I know that now. Last night put things in perspective for me. All I want is you.”

They heard voices in the hall, and Ashley drew back.

He followed after her blindly, his mouth moving inside the neckline of her dress.

“Will you stay?” she whispered, reaching up to cover his seeking lips with her hand.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

She released him and pressed a button on an intercom sitting on her father’s desk.

“Elsie, can you come to the study, please?” she said into it.

Martin heard a faint response.

“Go upstairs with Elsie, and I’ll get rid of the others,” she told Martin, turning to him again and kissing him lightly. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Seconds later, the maid knocked on the door.

“Elsie, please take Lieutenant Martin up to the green sitting room,” Ashley said.

The maid, who was well trained, responded with impassive politeness, leading the way.

As Martin passed Ashley, she murmured, “I won’t be long.”

Martin followed the maid up a grand curving staircase to the second floor. They went down a wide corridor flanked by doors on either side and carpeted with Oriental rugs. At the end of the hall, the maid turned the handle of a white-paneled door edged with gilt.

“Please wait in here,” she said, and turned away.

Martin entered, looking around at the room, which seemed like a set piece in a museum. A pale-green Aubusson rug complemented the leaf-green flowered wallpaper and cream-yellow silk drapes. He sat gingerly on the edge of a brocade love seat, wondering what he was doing in this mansion and if he had really just embraced the daughter of the house.

He felt like a sharecropper come to receive his percentage from the landed gentry.

But he could still taste Ashley’s kisses on his mouth, and so he waited.

Chapter 8

ASHLEY WALKED into the living room, where her stepmother and stepbrother were talking in subdued tones. They both looked up as she entered.

“You’ll have to go without me this afternoon,” Ashley said. “I’d like to stay here, if you don’t mind. We won’t be finalizing the funeral arrangements until tomorrow, so I don’t think my presence today is necessary.”

Her two companions exchanged glances.

“Ashley, James has left,” her stepmother said in a puzzled tone. The older woman looked drained by her recent ordeal; she was carefully made up, as always, but cosmetics could not conceal her pallor or the contrasting dark shadows under her eyes.

“I see,” Ashley said neutrally.

“I’m sure he understands that you’re upset,” Sylvia continued uncertainly.

“Ash, this policeman,” her son Charles interrupted, glancing at his mother,