Where There's Smoke (73 page)

We're booked on a ten o'clock flight to Washington tomorrow morning."

"I'm not going to Washington."

He had bent down o pick up his shoes.
 
Slowly he straightened.

"The hell you're not.
 
It's all arranged."

"Then unarrange it.
 
I'm not going."

"The President of the United States is scheduled to receive us in the Oval Office."
 
His face had become flushed.

"Extend him my regrets.
 
I won't be able to make it."

She headed for the bedroom.
 
Randall stormed off the sofa, grabbed her arm, and brought her around.
 
"You'll be there with me every step of the way through this, Lara."

"No, I won't, Randall," she averred, pulling her arm free.

"Frankly, I'm surprised you want to share the limelight.
 
When you left Washington, you were a cuckold, a laughingstock.
 
You're returning a hero.
 
You'll probably be invited to appear on all the TV talk shows, to write a book-there might even be a movie-of- theweek in your future.

Your credibility has been fully restored and once again you've got the ear of the president.
 
Why would you want me there, stealing a few rays of your spotlight and reminding everyone of that large, dark blot on your career?"

"To keep up appearances," he said with a cold smile.
 
"You are still my wife.
 
I'm willing to overlook your sleeping arrangements with Key Tackett.
 
After all, you thought I was dead."

"Don't assume that moral posture with me, Randall.
 
The martyred husband who continues to forgive his wayward wife."
 
Her words were laden with contempt.
 
"That's the pose you struck when photos of me being hustled from Clark's cottage hit the newsstands.
 
Little did anyone guess that you'd been having affairs almost from the day we married."

"I've never confessed to that," he replied blandly.
 
"You surmised it for your own benefit."

"I also surmise that you didn't live a celibate life in Montesangre.

If you were chummy with your guards, I'm certain they made arrangements for you."

"A very astute guess, Lara.
 
In fact I did enjoy a satisfying physical relationship while I was in captivity.
 
She was a beautiful girl, petite and delicate with ebony eyes.
 
She was pathetically willing to please me no matter what I asked of her.
 
She was hardly suited to guerrilla warfare, although she was dedicated to the cause and to her second cousin, Emilio Sanchez Peron.

"When he found out she'd become my lover, he had her disemboweled.
 
I believe he was jealous.
 
During their youth they'd been very close.
 
Or maybe he was afraid that her devotion to me would divide her loyalties.

Either way, he brought an end to a very gratifying Lara was sickened by the story and the cavalier manner in which Randall related it.
 
She said, "I should have divorced you before we went to Montesangre."

"Possibly.
 
But by then you were pregnant.
 
That made things difficult for you.

"Yes, because you threatened to take the baby away from me unless I stayed with you.

"I could have, too.
 
You were an adulterous wife, hardly a model parent.
 
What court in the land would have awarded custody of a newborn to Clark Tackett's whore?"

He'd posed the same question five years earlier.
 
She'd known it wasn't an empty threat.
 
Had she pursued a divorce and refused to go with him when he left the country, he would have exhausted every effort to win legal custody of the child.
 
She would have fought him to the Supreme Court, except for one major consideration-Ashley.

During the years most vital to her development, she would have been shuttled between them, more an object under dispute than a human being.

That would have made it almost impossible to raise a contented, well-adjusted child.
 
She hadn't wanted that for her baby.

"Your insults can't hurt me, Randall, because I don't love you.

You don't love me.
 
Why perpetuate this myth any longer?"

"Appearances are very important in my line of work," he said with exaggerated patience.
 
"You are garnish, Lara.
 
You always have been.

Most wives are.
 
The smarter and prettier they are, the better, but all are little more than what parsley is to prime rib."

Disgusted, she backed away from him.

"Your objections have been noted," he said in a condescending way that further infuriated her.
 
Then he smiled.
 
"Actually I find this new rebellious streak of yours rather exciting, but I'm tiring of it.

Save it for a more convenient time, hmm?
 
You'll follow me to Washington and stand meekly by my side just as you followed me to Montesangre and fulfilled your duties as my official hostess."

"The hell I will."
 
She confronted him defiantly and fearlessly.

"Because of the terrible ordeal you'd been through, I gave you the benefit of the doubt.
 
But your three years of confinement haven't changed you, Randall.
 
You're as selfish and manipulative as you ever were.
 
Maybe even more so because you now feel the world owes you for what you endured.

"I'm glad you're alive, but I want nothing to do with you.
 
Don't think you can persuade me otherwise.
 
It's over and has been for years.

"I went to Central America with you in exchange for Ashley.
 
I agreed to stay for one year following her birth.
 
We were only weeks away from the deadline when she was killed.
 
I lost her anyway," she said with rancor.
 
"Now that she's dead, your threats are worthless.

You have no bargaining power because I've already lost everything that was valuable to me."

"What about Tackett brother number two?"

"You can't harm Key."

"No?"
 
he asked silkily.
 
"Reading between the lines, I'd say he held his brother in very high regard.
 
Think about it, Lara."

The threat was very subtle, but very real.
 
She schooled her features not to give away her alarm.
 
"You wouldn't say anything to him."

He laughed.
 
"Just as I guessed.
 
He doesn't know.
 
It's still our little secret."

She regarded him for a moment, then snickered.
 
"This time, Randall, I'm calling your bluff."
 
She moved toward the bedroom but at the door turned back.
 
"I don't give a damn what you do so long as you stay away from me.
 
Go to Washington.
 
Make headlines.
 
Rub elbows with the president.
 
Become a celebrity.
 
Have all the affairs you want.
 
The divorce I threatened you with years ago is going to become a reality.

I'm filing for it immediately.
 
And from now on, if you want a response, address me as Dr.
 
Mallory.
 
I won't answer to your name.

She slipped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Chapter TWENTY'-Siy nellen shielded her eyes from the sun as she impatiently kept a lookout for the pimp-mobile.
 
When she spotted it turning off the main road, she cried, "Mama, he's here!"

Key had called from the landing strip to notify them that he'd just flown in and would be home shortly.
 
The evening before, he'd called from Houston.
 
"The prodigal has returned.
 
Kill the fatted calf."

Janellen hadn't gone to quite that extreme, but she'd told Maydale to prepare a special dinner.
 
Key was alive and well!
 
He was back!

She skipped down the steps and planted herself directly in the path of the approaching Lincoln, forcing him to stop.
 
Flattening her hands on the hood, she smiled at him through the windshield, then ran to the driver's side and launched herself into his arms as he alighted.

"Whoa, there!
 
Watch those cracked ribs."
 
He regained his balance and gave her a hug, then held her at arm's length.
 
"Damn my eyes!

You look gorgeous!"

"I do not," she coyly protested.

"I know gorgeous when I see it.
 
What's new?
 
Something."

"I got a haircut and body wave, that's all.
 
In fact I was under the dryer at the beauty parlor when somebody thumped on it and pointed at the TV.
 
They were doing a news bulletin about you, Dr. Mallory, and her husband leaving Montesangre and returning home via Colombia.
 
When I saw y'all on that screen, my heart nearly stopped."

His smile faltered.
 
"Yeah, it's been an eventful week."
 
Then tweaking her cheek, he said, "I like the new hairdo."

"Mama hates it.
 
She said it's too frivolous for a woman my age.

Do you think so?"
 
she asked worriedly.

"I think it's sexy as hell."

"Why, thank you kindly, sir."
 
She bobbed a curtsy.

"Hmm.
 
You've learned to flirt, too."
 
He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head as he eyed her up and down.
 
"Is there something going on that I should know about?"

"No."
 
Her answer had been too quick and too emphatic.
 
If her cheeks looked as hot as they felt, her brother would know instantly that she was lying.

"Cato's still sniffing, huh?"

She tried to keep from smiling but was helpless to contain the joy that infused her at the very mention of his name.
 
It conjured up memories of the hours they'd spent necking in the parlor late at night, arguing in whispers over the rightness and wrongness of their romance she advocating the former, he the latter planning on a future that she insisted they had and he insisted they didn't.

For all their quarrels about the nature and life span of their affair, it was an affair.
 
Short of having it consummated and being with Bowie twenty-four hours a day, Janellen couldn't have been happier.

That happiness was transparent, especially to her intuitive brother.

He broke a wide smile.
 
"He'd better treat you right.
 
If he doesn't and I hear of it, I'll chase him down, tear off his nuts, and feed them to a dog.
 
You can tell him I said so.

"I wouldn't tell him any such thing!"
 
she declared.
 
"It'd be unladylike."
 
Then she laughed at her private joke, remembering the shocking vocabulary she'd used with Bowie to assure that she got his attention.
 
She didn't regret it.
 
It had worked.

Linking arms with Key, she turned him toward the house.
 
"You must be exhausted.
 
I had Maydale put fresh linens on your bed.
 
You can climb between them as soon as you've had dinner and a long, hot bath."

When he came to a sudden standstill, Janellen glanced up.
 
Jody was watching them from the porch.
 
She looked very well.
 
Apparently the doctors had been alarmists after all, and, as usual, Jody had been right.
 
She was getting better in spite of their dire prognosis.