Where There's Smoke (77 page)

"My wife and I have had very little time alone since our return.

I'm sure you can understand."

After some good-natured snickering, they reloaded their Betacams and microphones into their vans and left.
 
Many honked and waved as though bidding goodbye to a chum.

Now dusk was gathering outside, but Lara hadn't turned on the lamps in her office.
 
The semidarkness was more in keeping with her mood.
 
It also hid the dark circles beneath her eyes.

Knowing she would never see Key again, she had cried herself into a stupor following his angry departure the night before.
 
He'd left hating her.
 
Her sense of loss was wrenchingly painful and came close to how she'd felt when she regained consciousness in Miami and realized that the terrible nightmare she'd had was indeed real.

Finally, sometime around 2:00 A. M she garnered the wherewithal to make her way to bed, where she'd lain awake until dawn.
 
She'd spent the day packing her belongings, working feverishly between lapses of immobilizing depression in which her hands were rendered useless and she stared vacantly into space through dry, gritty eyes.

The gloaming made the office feel cozier, warmer, safer, a refuge for her abject despair.
 
She had come to like Dr. Patton's paneled walls and masculine furniture and wished she could look forward to years of enjoying this office.

"It's so provincial," Randall observed as he dropped onto the leather love seat.

"The equipment is modern."

"I'm talking about the whole setup.
 
It's not like you at all.

He didn't have a clue as to what she was like.
 
"Sick people aren't confined to cities, Randall.
 
I could have had a good practice here."

She folded down the flaps of a cardboard box and sealed it with duct tape.
 
"That is, if I'd been given a decent chance to cultivate one."

"Tackett territory."

"Indisputably."

"I'm curious about something."
 
He crossed his legs with the negligent elegance of Fred Astaire.
 
"Why in God's name, when you had the whole continent to choose from, did you elect to practice here?

In Texas of all places," he said with obvious distaste.
 
"Why pick the town where you'd be most despised?
 
Do you have a bent toward masochism?"

She had no intention of recounting for Randall the last three years of her life.
 
In fact, she had no intention of letting him stay beneath her roof.
 
Before sending him away, however, there was one thing she wanted him to know.

"It wasn't easy for me to pick up my career where it left off," she began.
 
"Even though I had been badly injured and had lost my child and my husband to a bloody revolution, people were slow to forgive.

I was still considered Clark's bimbo.

"I applied for staff positions at hospitals all over the country.
 
Some even hired me on my credentials alone before linking Dr. Lara Mallory with Mrs. Randall Porter, whereupon I was sanctimoniously asked to resign in the best interests of the institution.
 
This happened a dozen times at least."

"So you finally decided to hang out your shingle.
 
I suppose you used my life insurance money for financing.
 
But that still doesn't explain why you chose to practice here."

"I didn't buy the practice, Randall.
 
It was deeded to me free and clear.
 
By Clark."
 
She paused for emphasis.
 
"It was one of the last official things he did before his death."

It took him a moment to assimilate the information.
 
When he did, he sucked in a quick breath.
 
"Well, I daresay.
 
He was buying absolution for his sins.
 
How touchingly moral."

"I can only guess at his motivations, but yes, I think he felt he owed me this."

"Now I suppose you're going to present me with a bill.
 
What do I owe you for accompanying me to Montesangre?"

"A divorce."

"Denied."

"You can't deny me anything," she said vehemently.
 
"Key and I saved you from imprisonment in that miserable place!
 
Or have you already forgotten?
 
Has your instant fame wiped your memory clean?"

Gradually a smile spread across his face.
 
It was as patronizing as his tone of voice.
 
"Lara, Lara.
 
So naive.
 
After all you've been through, you still fail to see beneath the surface, don't you?
 
Hasn't experience taught you anything?
 
Where there's smoke .
 
. . and so on."

His hand made a lazy circular gesture.
 
"Haven't you learned to look beyond appearances and see things as they really are?"

"You've made your point, Randall.
 
What the hell does it mean?"

"Do you honestly think that you and that hotheaded pilot precipitated my release?"

His voice had become soft, sibilant, and smug.
 
It caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.
 
She had a premonition of dread.

"What are you saying?"

"Put on your thinking cap, Lara.
 
You passed medical school with flying colors.
 
Surely you can figure this out."

"In Montesangre "Yes," he said encouragingly.
 
"Go on.

"Emilio .

"Very good.
 
What else?
 
Stretch your clever little mind."

The mental barriers were opaque, but once she broke through them, everything was crystal clear.
 
"You weren't his prisoner at all."

He laughed.
 
"Good girl!
 
I hate to sound unappreciative, but don't credit yourself with saving my life.
 
My's-year plan,' as I like to think of it, was about to be realized in any event.
 
Your comical misadventure with Key Tackett was merely a fortuitous development that Emilio and I used as our catalyst.
 
It made the denouement so much more convincing."

Lara stared at the man to whom she was legally married and knew she was looking into the eyes of a madman.
 
He was perfectly composed, exceedingly articulate, and dangerously sly, the most frightening portrait of a villain.

"It was all a hoax?"
 
she whispered.

Randall left the leather love seat and came to stand close to her.

"Following that morning in Virginia, I was despised in Washington.

Clark had powerful allies, including the president.
 
He was no doubt embarrassed over Clark's conduct, but he stood by his protege'.
 
To a point, anyway.

"At Clark's request, he appointed me ambassador and called in favors in the Senate to have my approval rushed.
 
On the surface, I accepted graciously, humbly, like they had done me a bloody favor.

Actually, I despised it as much as you, knowing that it was a legal form of banishment.

"No sooner had I arrived at my post than I began to devise ways of returning to Washington a hero.
 
Emilio was a bright boy who had his own ambitions, which were fulfilled with Perez's death."

"Murder."

"Whatever.
 
Together, we contrived a plot that would give each of us what he wanted.
 
My escape' had to be carefully timed and fully capitalized upon.
 
Once I returned to the U.S rather than harboring a grudge toward my captors, I would insist on being reassigned to Montesangre, reopening the embassy, and reestablishing diplomatic relations with the new Imperceptibly, Lara was edging toward the telephone.
 
"Emilio's regime."

"Precisely.
 
Upon my advice to the president, Emilio's government would soon be acknowledged.
 
With the endorsement of the United States, he'd have absolute control of his republic.
 
I'd be credited with restoring peace to a hostile nation which could be strategic in fighting the drug wars.
 
After a suitable time, my endeavors surely would be rewarded either with a plum appointment abroad or in Washington.
 
A far cry from the cuckold, hey?"

"You're crazy.

"Like a fox, Lara.
 
It's been well thought our, I assure you.
 
After years, the realization is unfolding even better than anticipated.
 
What I need now is a loving wife to round out my image as a exemplary diplomat.

"So, darling, you will remain faithfully and meekly by my side, smiling at the press, waving to the crowds, until I say otherwise.

Don't even think of doing anything to jeopardize this."

She began to laugh.
 
"You're a traitor with delusions of grandeur, Randall.
 
Do you honestly think I'm going to participate in this traitorous's-year plan' of yours?"

"Yes, I think you will," he replied calmly.
 
"What choice do you have?"

"I'll blow the whistle.
 
I'll tell them about Emilio's brutality.
 
I'll call-" "Who would believe you?"
 
He shook his head sadly over her delusions.
 
"Who would trust anything said by the woman caught in adultery with Senator Tackett?
 
You have no more credibility now than you did that morning we left his cottage."

He indicated the telephone she'd been inching toward.
 
"I can see you're itching to call for help.
 
Go ahead.
 
You'll only make a laughingstock of yourself.
 
Who's going to believe that a U.S. ambassador started a revolution which was contrary ro the interests of the country he served?"

Started a revolution'?
 
What do you mean?
 
The revolution started when.
 
. . when our car was.
 
. . No, wait."
 
She held up her hand as though to ward off a barrage of confusing thoughts.
 
They were crowding her mind so quickly she couldn't arrange them.

"You're slipping, my dear," he said silkily.
 
"The mental sluggishness must come from living on the frontier.
 
Think, now.
 
I said five-year plan.
 
It took root when we reached Montesangre, not when I was kidnapped."

Her heart began to beat faster; she clutched her throat, which had suddenly gone dry.
 
Something was just beyond her grasp.
 
Something she should remember.
 
Something The truth struck her with the impact of a bullet.
 
The fog lifted from her memory and those forgotten instants immediately preceding the ambush were replayed in slow motion in her mind.

She was playing patty-cake with Ashley in the backseat.
 
The car approached the intersection.
 
As it slowed down, armed men rushed forward, surrounding it.
 
The driver was shot and slumped forward over the steering wheel.

She cried out.
 
Randall turned to look at her.
 
"Goodbye, en."

Unafraid, he smiled.

Her breath rushed out in a gust.
 
"You knew!"
 
she screamed.
 
"You and Emilio arranged the ambush on our car!
 
You had our daughter killed!"

"Shut up!
 
Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?"

"I want the whole world to hear me.

He struck her across the mouth.
 
Talking rapidly, quietly, he said,

"You fool!
 
I didn't intend for the child to be killed.
 
The bullets weren't meant for her."