Whitehorse (45 page)
Comments from the
Whitehorse
camp neither confirm nor deny that
Whitehorse
and Starr are to be married this week at an undisclosed location. When contacted late last night for his comments on the rumor, Senator Foster replied only, "Over my dead body."
Leah tossed the paper aside just as her pager went off.
She glanced at Jake as she reached for it. "For your information, I haven't agreed yet to marry Johnny. And furthermore, any decision I come to will in no way be determined by my father's feelings on the matter."
"Spoken like a true future politician's wife."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed.
The pager read:
Call home asap.
Leah returned to the office and grabbed the phone. It rang only once before Shamika picked it up.
"Is Val okay?" Leah asked.
"Val is fine. I'm not so sure about me. Listen to this, girlfriend."
A racket came over the phone, making Leah remove it from her ear momentarily.
Shamika returned. "Thirty minutes ago at least fifty newspaper and television reporters appeared on our doorstep with cameras and recorders. Seems the word is out that you and Johnny—"
"I just read about it in the paper."
"Well, so has the rest of the state, apparently. They're swarming over this place like a bunch of locusts. I've had to lock the windows and doors. I swear to God someone tried to shimmy down the chimney a few minutes ago."
"Have you heard from Johnny?"
"Not yet. If they're this bad here I can only imagine what they're like at his place. Oh, your father called. Three times. He didn't sound happy."
"I'll get there as soon as possible."
"Don't bother. If I were you I'd find a place to ride this one out. Let Johnny's people handle it. They're equipped for this sort of thing."
"What cave do you propose I hide in?"
"A very dark one. Gotta go. I think someone just fell off the roof."
"Great." Leah slammed down the phone. "I suppose this means I'll get sued."
"Problems?"
She looked around as Jake stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. "Problems, you ask? I'd say that's an understatement."
"No." He shook his head. "I'm telling you you've got problems. Two television crews just arrived. Unless you want your pretty face plastered all over
Inside Edition
tonight, I'd suggest you use that door and get the hell out of here." He pointed to the back entrance. "I'll stall them as long as I can."
"Mind telling me where I'm supposed to go? They're swarming all over my house. If I show up at Johnny's it's only going to add fuel to the fire."
He reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to her. "Casa Grande Apartments on
Grand Avenue
. Apartment
. It's not fancy but it'll give you a place to crash until Johnny can get the situation under control."
Grinning, Leah shook her head. "This is crazy."
"Did you think a relationship with Johnny Whitehorse would be anything else?"
"I didn't think. Period. Johnny's just Johnny to me. I have to remind myself that he's … not the same guy I fell in love with a lifetime ago."
"You could have done worse. You could have hooked up with a guy like me who's generally pissed off at the world, hasn't voted since I was twenty-two, and would rather spend Sunday afternoons with my arm up horses' asses than with family or friends. Now get outta here before I change my mind and toss you to the sharks."
Edwin Fullerman calmly adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat as Johnny paced to the window, peered through the curtains at the swarm of reporters gathered over the grounds, then turned on Edwin again.
"I swear to you, Johnny. I didn't leak the news of you and Leah. I wouldn't do that even if I was pissed because you fired me. Hell, you've fired me a dozen times over the last five years. I don't take those tantrums seriously. You calm down after a few days and I get my job back. You fire me. I kiss your ass. We shake hands and make up and that's that. Christ, if I went around blabbing my clients' confidences to the media there wouldn't be an entertainer in the business who would return my phone calls."
Johnny kicked a chair as hard as he could. It bounced off the wall and tumbled across the floor.
Jack entered the library from the adjoining office. "Leah's line is busy. The operator says it's off the hook. I tried the track and got hold of Jake Graham. He told me to, and I quote, 'Stick the phone up your butt, fella. The lady isn't here.' I identified myself as your employee, but seems he's gotten two dozen such 'employee' phone calls in the last hour."
Edwin sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. "I suspect this marriage thing is going to open up a very big can of worms regarding the issue with the senator and his involvement with Formation Media."
"Not to mention Dolores's death, if, indeed, he was involved with her death."
"The papers this morning were already rehashing the casino fiasco and the fact that you won't let it die. If, as you say, you located Rainwater's source, proving that Foster is up to his earlobes in dealings with Formation, then he or she better get the guns ready."
The phone rang. Jack left the room to answer it. He returned shortly, his face white. "Better turn on the television. The DA is making a statement."
The walls of Jake's apartment were stark white—not a solitary object to break the monotony of being surrounded by bright glare. The furnishings, however, were as plush as money could buy: rich brown leather wraparound sofa and chairs with ottoman; marble-top credenza with carved mahogany legs—eighteenth-century French antique, Leah surmised—Oriental carpets, a scattering of bronzes, and a few potted tropical plants. There were unpacked boxes stacked in a kitchen that looked as if it had rarely, if ever, been used. Curious, Leah peeked inside the refrigerator to discover a quart of milk, a six-pack of Mexican beer, and a molding chunk of sharp cheddar cheese from a cheese store at the local mall. The freezer was totally empty.
Leah paced the immaculate apartment, checking her watch every few minutes and attempting to call Shamika, then Johnny, to no avail. The lines were constantly busy. She flopped on the sofa with a huff of exasperation, and closed her eyes.
So much for work.
So much for spending a lazy Sunday afternoon on a hammock with her son, or binging on popcorn and laughing at a black-and-white Godzilla with Oriental eyes that had apparently attained its black belt in karate.
So much for harboring the slightest inkling that she could marry Johnny Whitehorse and walk off into the sunset like any other blushing bride who had married the love of her entire life. Johnny was not just any Joe Blow. They would not live happily ever after in a little white cottage surrounded by a picket fence. Not if the media had anything to do with it.
And not if her father had anything to do with it.
When she opened her eyes again, the room had turned semidark. A small lamp glowed on a nearby end table. The smell of food and the rattle of pans in the kitchen made her sit up and frown in confusion.
Jake exited the kitchen in that moment, a glass of Zinfandel in each hand. "It's about time you woke up." He placed the sweating glass of wine on the table beside her. "Hope you like Chinese and tofu. I don't eat meat." He grinned. "I took a chance that you would still be here and figured you'd be as hungry as I am. I'm afraid my fridge doesn't offer much in the way of nutritional supplementation, unless you like cheese two months beyond its expiration date."
She gave him a sleepy smile and tried to read her watch.
"Eight-thirty," Jake said, dropping into a chair. "Food's ready when you are."
"I should call home."
"I already have. Your friend Shamika says things have quieted down, though she won't guarantee there's not someone still stuck in the chimney."
Leah relaxed back on the sofa and reached for the wine. "I probably shouldn't on an empty stomach. One glass of this and I might be tap dancing on your eighteenth-century French credenza."
"Ah, a fellow antiques enthusiast."
"I learned a great deal from my mother. On summer breaks she would take me to
New Orleans
to visit her parents and we'd scour the antiques shops looking for certain collector's pieces." She sipped the chilled wine, then grinned. "You don't strike me as a man who gets his thrills from stumbling over bargains in musty old antiques shops."
"My parents owned an antiques shop. My summers were spent abroad, mostly in
England
, going from estate sale to estate sale buying up antiques and bringing them back to sell in the States. It's how I got into veterinary medicine, as a matter of fact. Our summer home was right down the road from a racetrack. While my folks were bargaining for deals I was tagging along behind the track vet, driving him crazy with questions."
She studied her surroundings. "Nice apartment. I take it you haven't been here long."
"A year."
Leah raised her eyebrows and glanced again at the blank walls.
Jake laughed. "Okay, I admit to a certain hesitance over hanging pictures and cluttering furniture with dust catchers. All that shouts too much of permanence. As my ex-wife will attest, I'm not a permanent kind of guy. Must be the gypsy in me. Stay in one place too long and I get itchy feet."
"I suppose you could pass as a gypsy. Tie a bandanna around your brow and wear a large hoop earring in your left ear."
"Been there and done it already on the Harley I bought after the wife decided I was too mercurial in my moods. I think she called it my mid-life crisis."
"Was it?"
