Private Passions

by Rochelle Alers

  He had given her only six days, but she would be ready. “Yes.”

  “Good luck, Emily.”

  She flashed her famous smile. “Thank you.”

  “How do you feel?” he asked as she pushed to her feet.

  “Wonderful.”

  “When’s the baby due?”

  “Election Day.”

  “Do you know the baby’s sex?”

  “Yes. It’s a boy.” The Kirklands and Sterlings were overjoyed that she was carrying a boy.

  “Congratulations. A man always needs a son to carry on the family name.”

  “How right you are,” she said softly.

  Her step was quicker, lighter when she retreated to her office. She had been given the opportunity to face Savoy again. This time they would be in front of the camera together. Picking up a pen, she began making notations on a lined pad. Even though she hadn’t been covering either of the candidates’ campaign, she had followed it closely, viewing every bit of video she could.

  She looked forward to questioning the man who’d nearly derailed her career.

  * * *

  Emily stared at the screen, listening intently to William Savoy’s response to a question about the regulation of drug prices. The ringing of the cell phone on the table beside her shattered her concentration.

  She picked it up, pushing the Talk button. “Hello.”

  “I have something for you.”

  It was her mysterious informant. It had been months since she’d heard from her. “What is it?”

  “Meet me at the church.”

  “At what time?” She glanced at her watch.

  “In ten minutes.”

  “That’s impossible. It’ll take me ten minutes to get out of this building and retrieve my car.”

  “Ten minutes, Miss Kirkland.”

  “Wait!”

  The call was disconnected.

  Shutting off the monitor, Emily returned to her office and gathered her purse. The elevator came only seconds after she rang the bell, and she prayed it would take her directly to the lobby without stopping. Her prayers were answered, and she quickened her pace, holding the underside of her belly. A slight pain radiated along the muscles in her groin.

  She knew ten minutes had already passed when she eased the seat belt over her swollen body. Her contact had probably already left the church.

  It had been months since she’d driven beyond the speed limit, but a rush of excitement made her reckless. Shifting into a higher gear, she took a corner on two wheels, then sped down a one-way street. Twenty-two minutes after the call, she pulled into the church’s parking lot.

  The church was empty, except for a cleaning man pushing a dust mop over the marble floor and a tiny woman kneeling at the altar. Emily sat where she’d been directed the first time, staring straight ahead. She waited for what seemed an eternity until she felt a presence behind her. This time her nose detected the scent of a woman’s perfume.

  “You’re late,” the voice said accusingly.

  “I told you that you didn’t give me enough time.” It was the same woman who’d called her. “Where’s the guy?”

  “That’s none of your business, Miss Kirkland.”

  Emily swallowed back an angry retort. “What do you want to tell me?”

  “Bettina Gibson was sleeping with Savoy. It was his baby she was carrying.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Ask me another question and I’m gone.”

  “Act snotty with me and I’ll be the one walking out of here,” Emily countered. She waited several seconds, then said, “There were rumors that Savoy was sleeping with another woman who was also pregnant with his child when she killed herself. Is there any truth to that rumor?”

  “It’s true. Her name was Grace Clark. She was a model who was married to a Navajo doctor.”

  Closing her eyes, Emily let out an audible sigh. The woman had just confirmed the fact that Salem’s first wife was carrying William Savoy’s child when she committed suicide.

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  The woman leaned close enough for Emily to feel her moist breath on the back of her neck. “I want you to go public with what I just told you.”

  She curbed the urge to turn around. “I can’t. Not without proof.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d be sued for slander.”

  “Doesn’t it matter that Bettina’s dead?”

  “Of course it matters. Remember, I was the last one to see her before she was shot.”

  “I’ve given you enough information, Miss Kirkland. It’s up to you to figure out what to do next.”

  “Give me something else to go on. Anything.”

  There was a strained silence before the woman spoke. “He goes either way.”

  Emily took several seconds to register the statement. “Are you saying he’s bisexual?” She waited and waited for a response but encountered silence. Then she turned and saw a petite figure walking quickly out of the church. She caught a glimpse of a dark, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and a black or navy-blue baseball cap that concealed her hair color. The only thing she knew for certain was that the woman was of European descent. Her coloring was very fair.

  She lingered in the church, stopping to light a candle and to say a prayer for Bettina’s departed soul. Walking slowly out of the church, she tried to sort out what she’d just been told. Bettina had been sleeping with Savoy and he had gotten her pregnant. But was he sleeping with Bettina and men at the same time?

  Pondering his bisexuality triggered memories of another incident from the past. Sara Sterling was once engaged to a man who had disclosed his bisexuality, sending her into a maelstrom of doubt and mistrust.

  Emily searched her memory for his name. Eric Thompson! Sara ended their engagement, and they had attended different law schools. Sara went on to become an assistant U.S. attorney in New York, while Eric had become a partner in a prestigious law firm in Las Cruces. He had also dabbled in politics, running unsuccessfully as an alderman from his district.

  An expression of satisfaction showed in Emily’s eyes.

  * * *

  Emily returned to her office and called an administrative assistant to bring her a telephone directory for Las Cruces. Within fifteen minutes, she had located the law firm.

  She identified herself and the television station’s call letters, saying, “May I please speak to Mr. Eric Thompson.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Thompson is out of town.”

  “When do you anticipate his return?”

  “Next week.”

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Thompson to schedule an interview,” she half lied. “May I leave my name and number, just in case he calls in?”

  “Of course.”

  Emily hung up, hoping she would be able to gather enough evidence to implicate William Savoy in Bettina’s murder. She thought about contacting Vincent McGrady with her new information, but decided against it. She’d wait until after she spoke to Eric Thompson.

  * * *

  She walked into her office early the next morning to a ringing telephone. She picked up the receiver before the call switched over to her voice mail.

  “Emily Kirkland.”

  “Miss Kirkland, Eric Thompson. I was told you called my office looking for me.”

  Massaging the middle of her back, she eased her bulk down into a chair. “Yes, that’s true. I don’t know whether you remember me, but—”

  “I remember you, Miss Kirkland,” he interrupted. “You’re Sara Sterling’s friend.”

  “She’s now Sara Lassiter,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, that’s right. What can I do
for you?”

  “I’d like to meet with you so we can talk privately.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s a very personal matter.”

  There was a moment of silence. “How personal, Miss Kirkland?”

  She decided to be direct. “Alternative lifestyles. Not yours, but someone you’re familiar with.”

  “Do you actually expect me to talk about someone else’s lifestyle?”

  “Yes, I do, Mr. Thompson.”

  He laughed softly. “You’re really ballsy, aren’t you, Miss Kirkland?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Thompson. I happen not to have that particular body part.”

  He laughed again. “I like you, Emily.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Thank you, Eric.”

  “When and where do you want to meet?”

  “It’s your call.”

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I had a glass of juice and oatmeal.”

  “I know a place that makes the best waffles in the state. I can pick you up at your office.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Tell me where you want me to meet you.”

  Eric gave her the address of the restaurant, and she told him she would meet him there within twenty minutes.

  She’d just hung up when the phone rang again. It was Grant Carsons, Chris’s campaign manager. He wanted to meet with her to go over some of the topics she intended to cover in the upcoming debate. Checking her daily planner, she scheduled a meeting for four that afternoon.

  Chapter 34

  It was the first time Emily Kirkland had seen Eric Thompson in ten years. She had to admit that time had been very kind to him. Tall, slender and exquisitely attired, she recognized what had drawn Sara to him. Classically handsome, he exuded breeding and power.

  She registered his surprise when his startled gaze dropped to the swell of her belly under a tent-styled navy blue knit dress she had paired with matching sheer hose and a pair of low-heeled leather slip-ons.

  He cupped a hand under her elbow. “I didn’t know you were in the family way.”

  “Not too many people are aware of it because I haven’t been in front of the cameras this year.”

  “How much more time do you have before d-day?”

  “Six weeks.”

  He raised his thick black eyebrows. “You don’t look that far along.”

  “It’s the dress.”

  He led her into the restaurant and they were shown to a table in a corner. “I hope you don’t mind sitting here? It’s the only spot that lends itself to a modicum of privacy.”

  She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

  Eric seated Emily, then sat down opposite her. She looked different from the last time he’d seen her in person. Her face had changed. Her eyes reminded him of Sara’s, except that hers were lighter, clearer.

  Emily waited until Eric placed their orders. She leaned as close as her stomach would permit her. “I’ve heard rumors that William Savoy likes to work both sides of the aisle.”

  Eric’s expression did not change. “Who told you that?”

  “Someone. I don’t know her name.”

  “You don’t know her name, yet you’re asking me about William Savoy because of something she said? Why, Miss Kirkland? Why do you think I would know about Savoy’s sexual proclivity?”

  “I know why Sara broke her engagement to you.”

  “Because I told her that I preferred men?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sara was wrong and you’re wrong. I’ve never been with a man.”

  “Then why did you tell her—”

  “I told her what I needed to tell her to get her to break the engagement,” he said, interrupting her.

  Emily’s shock was apparent when her jaw dropped. “You deliberately lied to her?”

  Running a large, manicured hand over his clean-shaven face, Eric nodded. “I was sleeping with Sara and another woman at the same time. I thought I was very careful, but she came to me with the news that she was pregnant. Suddenly I was faced with a dilemma. I was engaged to one woman, while another was pregnant with my baby. I decided to do the right thing, end the engagement and marry the other woman. But everything backfired, because the next day the other girl fell down a flight of stairs and miscarried. Within a matter of hours I’d lost the only woman I’d ever loved and a baby. So if you’re asking me if I’m gay or bisexual, the answer is no.”

  Emily’s eyes paled. “You low dog! You lied about your sexuality to get out of marrying Sara.”

  He flashed a wry smile. “You don’t think I’m sorry for what I did?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then you’re wrong, Emily.”

  She placed her napkin on the table. “I think I just lost my appetite.” She picked up her handbag and walked out of the restaurant.

  If she’d turned around, she would have noticed a man sitting at a nearby table move over to claim the chair she’d just vacated.

  * * *

  Emily’s temper had cooled down by the time she left for her appointment with Grant Carsons at Chris’s Santa Fe campaign headquarters.

  She plucked a parking stub out of the machine, then waited for the wooden arm in the underground parking garage to go up. It lifted, and she drove up a steep ramp, downshifting to keep from rolling backward. The garage was nearly filled to capacity. She finally found a vacant space on the top level.

  Pocketing her keys, she walked a short distance to the elevator that would take her back down to street level and the entrance to the high-rise office building.

  She pressed the button for the elevator. Before the doors opened she felt herself jerked backward. Too frightened to scream, she turned and swung her shoulder purse at her attacker. It hit him in the face, causing him to release his grip on her neck. Within seconds he grabbed her again; however, she had retrieved her keys from the hidden pocket in her dress and aimed for his eyes.

  She found her mark and he bellowed in pain. Struggling to make it into the elevator before he came at her again, she raised her knee, aiming directly for his crotch. Her knee smashed into his delicate organs, but instead of doubling over in pain he came at her, enraged. His large, hamlike hands caught the back of her dress and he jerked her savagely, causing her to lose her balance. She fell, her hands cradling her belly to protect her unborn child.

  She felt the heat of his breath through the opening where his mouth was visible through a ski mask when he leaned over her. She watched helplessly as he seemed to draw back his hand in slow motion.

  “Mind your business about the dead hooker,” he hissed. He slapped her with an open hand and repeated his warning twice more, punctuating each one with a hard slap that left her head roaring with the rush of blood.

  “Hey, buddy! What are you doing?”

  The sound of another male voice ended her torture and she heard her attacker running away. She knew her eyes were swelling rapidly when she tried opening them to focus on the face looming above her.

  “Chris Delgado,” she whispered. “Get Chris Delgado.”

  “Hold on, lady. I’m going to get help.”

  * * *

  Grant Carsons looked at the clock for the umpteenth time. It was after four, and Emily Kirkland was late.

  Chris walked into Grant’s office, a tie hanging loosely from the collar of his shirt. “Is she here yet?”

  “No.” The single word mirrored Grant’s frustration.

  “It’s not like Emily to be late.”

  “Well, she is,” Grant snapped.

  A volunteer rushed into the office. “Someone attacked Emily Kirkland on the roof of the garage. The police are all over the building
.”

  Chris raced out of the room, pushing the young man aside. He hadn’t realized how fast his heart was pumping until he pushed open the door to the stairwell and jumped down three and four steps at a time to reach the building lobby. Perspiration soaked his shirt as he sprinted to the stairwell that led to the parking garage roof.

  His heart felt as if it was going to explode in his chest when he saw a phalanx of uniforms bending over a body on the concrete floor.

  He moved closer, but a strong hand stopped him. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Roaring in rage, he shoved the officer aside. His action caused several others to reach for the guns on their hips. One of the officers recognized him.

  “Senator Delgado.”

  They all froze, staring at him as he stepped forward, staring down at his wife’s motionless form.

  “Is…is she all right?”

  Emily heard his voice and opened her eyes. She managed a sad smile. “Chris.”

  He went to his knees, his fingers touching her bruised face. “Hold on, kid. We’re going to get you some help.”

  Her lids fluttered wildly. “The baby. Am I losing the baby?”

  Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “No.” Curbing the urge to touch her stomach, he held her hand, his thumb caressing the ring he’d put on her delicate finger. He turned his desperate eyes on one of the officers. “Where the hell are the EMTs?”

  The question hadn’t left his lips before the sound of sirens drowned out his words. Mumbling a silent prayer, Chris hoped they weren’t too late. The color staining his wife’s dress was blood.

  * * *

  Chris sat at Emily’s bedside, holding her hand as she slept. She had been rushed into emergency surgery. The medical team had successfully stopped her bleeding.

  He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find his father-in-law standing in the doorway. Releasing her hand, he rose slowly to his feet and stepped out of the room.

  Joshua gave him a cold look. “What happened to her, Christopher?” He moved closer. “She’s your wife,” he said between clenched teeth. “You are supposed to protect her.”

  “How dare you come here and preach to me about protecting her?”