“I dare anything,” Joshua countered.
“Not anymore. She’s my wife, and therefore my responsibility.”
“Dammit, man, act responsible then!”
Grasping Joshua’s arm, Chris pulled him into the corridor. He told Emily’s father about Salem’s warning and the steps he’d taken to protect his wife. He finished, saying, “I’ve done all I know how to do. If there’s something else, then please let me know what it is.”
Joshua shook his head, closing his eyes. “You’ve done what you could.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “When you called me it was like déjà vu, after that moron tried to kill her because she wouldn’t respond to his online marriage proposal.”
“Don’t, Joshua. Just be thankful that she’s going to be okay.”
“The baby?”
Chris smiled. “He’s fine.”
“That’s good.”
“Did you tell Aunt Vanessa?”
“I couldn’t. Not yet.”
Resting an arm over Joshua’s shoulder, Chris stared down at the floor. “Tell her Emily had an accident and that she’s going to be okay. As soon as they release her, I’m going to arrange for her to be taken to Las Cruces. I’ll bring her back after there’s no threat of further bleeding and her bruises fade.”
“Thanks…son.”
* * *
Emily was whisked out of the hospital two days later, after the attending physician confirmed that she was no longer in danger of hemorrhaging. Salem Lassiter flew up from Las Cruces to take her back with him. Chris kissed her bruised face tenderly, then watched the small plane as it lifted off.
* * *
Emily lay on a chaise in the Lassiters’ family room, watching the televised debate. Pride swelled in her chest at her husband’s intelligent responses to the questions from three network journalists. He had a natural gift for communicating effortlessly.
William Savoy did not fare as well. He exhibited an awkwardness that usually made the viewing public uncomfortable. He stammered and stuttered and, on two occasions, lost his temper. The debate ended with the score Delgado one, Savoy zero.
Sara rose to her feet, applauding. “He was magnificent.”
Running her tongue over a healing split lip, Emily nodded slowly. “Awesome.” She attempted to push off from the chaise but froze. A slight contraction gripped her lower abdomen.
Salem stared at her. “Are you all right?”
Rubbing her belly, she breathed in and out through her parted lips. “I felt a contraction.”
Sara crossed the room and sat down on the foot of the chaise, reaching for Emily’s hands. “I can’t wait to see my nephew.”
“You’re not the only one who’s impatient. I’m beginning to feel like a beached whale.”
“You’re a lot smaller than I was in my eighth month.”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “I’ve gained fourteen pounds.”
“I gained twenty-four overall,” Sara admitted.
Salem stood up. “Well, ladies, I’m off to bed.” He walked over and kissed his wife, then Emily. “Good night.”
Sara stared at her best friend and sister-in-law. She bit down on her lower lip as she surveyed Emily’s battered face. The swelling was fading over her left eye, her split lip was healing, but the purple bruises on her jaw and chin were constant reminders of the vicious attack.
“Why do you think that man attacked you?”
Emily shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she lied smoothly. She hadn’t told anyone about her attacker’s warning. Mind your business about the dead hooker. She would remember his threat to her grave.
He had to be talking about Bettina, and she wondered if the man who’d killed her also wanted Emily dead because he thought she knew too much. But she didn’t know too much. In fact, she’d only gathered the small pieces of information her informant had deigned to feed her.
She heard a male voice from the television and peered around Sara to see Governor Bruce Savoy, offering his comments about the televised debate, claiming that both candidates were highly intelligent and had demonstrated that they were aware of the problems facing the citizens of the state.
Closing her eyes, Emily listened to the cadence of his speech, trying to figure out why his voice was so familiar. Her eyes opened, widening. Now she knew. It was the governor’s distinctively gravelly voice she had heard in the room in the country club the night Bettina was shot.
It was Bruce, not William, who had gotten Bettina pregnant. And it was Bruce whom she had seen, not William. While William had strolled around the first floor, greeting and thanking his supporters, Bruce waited upstairs for his mistress.
Her heart was pumping so loudly, Emily was certain Sara could hear it. She had to make contact with the governor. She had to confront him and hear his side of the story. Had he shot Bettina, or did she actually shoot herself?
Swinging her legs slowly over the side of the chaise, she planted her feet on the floor. “I’m going to bed, Sara.” Leaning over, she hugged her. “Thanks for everything.”
Sara returned the hug. “Love you, Emmie.”
“Love you back.”
She stood up, a hand going to the small of her back as she made her way slowly out of the room. The way she felt, she doubted she would last until Election Day.
Chapter 35
October 18
Santa Fe
Emily returned to Santa Fe after spending twelve days in Las Cruces, recuperating from the parking garage assault. Chris flew down the morning following his first debate to be with her. He campaigned in his hometown for several days, coming back to Sterling Farms each night. At last they were able to experience what it meant to be a married couple when they took up residence at one of the cabins on the property that had been built for live-in employees of the farm.
Chris wanted her to go on medical leave from the station and remain in Las Cruces with his family, but she reminded him that her doctor was in Santa Fe.
However, when she awoke on October 15, her contractions were so strong that she called Richard Adams to inform him that she would not return to work until after the birth of her child. Two days later, three large cartons were delivered to her home, bearing gifts from the employees at the station. She opened the cartons to find every conceivable item she would need to care for a infant: disposable diapers, lotions, shampoos, a bathtub, undershirts, socks, blankets, crib sheets, one-piece rompers, sweaters, caps, terry-cloth robes and tiny towels.
Her parents had set up a nursery at their home because she’d planned to stay with them after the birth of the baby. She and Chris couldn’t be certain where they would reside until after the election.
Governor Savoy’s voice continued to plague her even though she didn’t want to believe he was the one responsible for Bettina’s death. The elder Savoy’s personal life was impeccable. Married to the same woman for forty-five years, father of three, grandfather of two, there was never a hint of any impropriety or scandal in his past. On the other hand, she was certain that it had been Bruce’s voice she’d heard in the room at the country club.
Picking up the telephone, Emily dialed the number of Governor Savoy’s office. It took twenty minutes, but she was finally connected to his personal secretary.
She gave the woman her name, saying that she was calling from KCNS. She was placed on hold, then told that the governor would call her back. Much to her surprise he did call her, and when she heard his voice she knew with a 99 percent certainty that it was Bruce Savoy who had been in that room with Bettina.
“Governor, I’d like to meet with you to discuss a personal matter.”
“How personal Miss Kirkland?”
“Extremely personal, sir.”
“Would yo
u like to come to my office? I can have my secretary schedule a time when it will be convenient for both of us.”
“I’m sorry, Governor Savoy, but that won’t be possible.”
“What would be possible, Miss Kirkland?”
“A neutral place.”
There was a moment of silence before he replied. “Name the place.”
“There’s a small motel outside town. It’s only a few miles from the airport. If it’s possible, I’d like to meet you there tomorrow morning at ten.” She gave him the name of the motel.
“Okay, Miss Kirkland. I’ll meet you at ten.”
“Governor?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to come alone.”
“I never travel without my state police escort.”
“This time you will, Mr. Savoy. I think it’s incumbent on you that you follow my wishes.” She had stressed the word, reminding him that his tenure would end in less than three months.
“Okay, Miss Kirkland. I’ll come alone.”
“I’ll register under another name. Ask the desk clerk for Miss Gibson.” She smiled when she heard his labored breathing.
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
“Goodbye, Miss Kirkland.”
Emily hung up, unable to believe what she’d just orchestrated. She sat on the middle of the bed, stunned by her boldness. She reached for the telephone again and dialed Vincent McGrady’s cell phone number. She left a message on his voice mail, telling him where he could find her the following morning at ten.
* * *
Emily woke up the following morning to a cold rain. She prepared her breakfast as usual, showered, then dressed for the weather. Pulling on a pair of black tights and an oversized tunic, she pushed her feet into a pair of black leather rubber-soled loafers. A short raincoat and a baseball cap completed her casual attire. The raincoat had deep pockets—large enough to hold a palm-sized tape recorder without being detected. It was half past nine when she drove her Corvette out of her housing development and headed for the motel.
She alternated turning on and off the car radio. When she couldn’t stand the silence, she turned it on again. At 9:50 a.m. she pulled into the parking lot of the small motel. It was a popular place for couples who required a few hours of private time together. Rumors were rampant that the establishment’s personnel were more tight-lipped than the CIA.
The young woman at the desk never made eye contact with her as she asked for a room. She placed two twenties on the counter, signed E. Gibson in the register, and picked up a key for a room with a view of the back parking lot.
She found the room after she’d taken a wrong turn. Not bothering to sit, she checked her watch. It was ten.
Minutes later, there was a light rap on the door. “Miss Gibson?”
Emily crossed the room, peered through the security eye, and saw the distorted face of the governor of New Mexico. He’d sought to conceal his identity with a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap. She released the lock and opened the door. Her green eyes darted down the hall. It appeared he had come alone.
“Please come in, Mr. Savoy.”
Bruce Savoy could not believe an obviously very pregnant woman had gotten him to meet her in one of the seediest motels in the city. However, he had to admit that Emily Kirkland was one of the most beautiful mothers-to-be he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Please sit down, Governor.”
He inclined his head. “You first, Miss Kirkland.”
“I’d rather stand, thank you.” Standing helped her deal with the contractions that seemed to come and go without any regularity.
The tall, elegant politician sat on a straight-backed chair. He removed his glasses and cap.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked directly.
Resting her hips on a table nailed to the wall, Emily studied his composed features. He and his son did not look alike. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her raincoat, she pressed a button, activating the small recorder.
“Bettina Gibson.”
“What about her?”
“I know you were sleeping with her.”
Bruce Savoy’s expression did not change, but a throbbing vein in his forehead was an indictor that she had hit pay dirt.
“You know nothing of the sort, Miss Kirkland.”
“Don’t lie to me, Bruce.” Emily deliberately stressed his name. “Not only were you sleeping with Bettina, but also Grace Clark-Lassiter. It was you who got them pregnant.” Her green eyes narrowed. “Why? Why would you, a married man, sleep with a woman without using protection? Certainly you understood the risks.”
Crossing his legs, Bruce tried to appear unaffected by the journalist’s accusation. She couldn’t prove anything. “You’re speculating, Miss Kirkland.”
“Am I? If I’m speculating, then why did you agree to meet me?”
“Curiosity.”
“Wrong, Bruce. You’re more than curious. You came because you’re not certain how much I know about you. You’re uncertain whether I’ll go public about your double life. A life that includes you sleeping with young men and women.”
He jumped to his feet, eyes wild with fear. “No!”
Emily pressed her attack. “Yes, Bruce. I know about that, too.”
“That’s too bad, Miss Kirkland, because you’ll never walk out of here to tell anyone.”
She straightened, removing her hands from her pockets. “Why did you do it?” Her voice was soft, coaxing. “Why did you shoot Bettina?”
“I didn’t shoot her. We were struggling with her gun and it went off.”
Her eyes widened. “Her gun?”
He nodded. “Yes. She came to me a week before she died, telling me that she was pregnant and that she wanted me to leave my wife and marry her. She told me if I didn’t, she would expose me.”
“How?”
“By going to the newspapers.”
“To tell what?”
“That I liked…liked having…”
“Come on, Bruce, let’s not be shy. We’re both adults.”
“I liked… I couldn’t do it unless there was a third party present.”
Emily’s eyebrows shifted with this disclosure. “You mean you liked a ménage à trois?”
Walking over to the window, the highest elected official in the state stared out at the parking lot. “I’d watch them together.” His voice trailed off. “After he left, I would have her.”
Shaking her head, Emily felt a surge of pity for the middle-aged man. “What role did your son play in this?”
Spinning around, he glared at her. “None! He has nothing to do with any of this.”
“But I was told that he was seen with Grace Clark-Lassiter on several occasions.”
“That’s because he was bringing her to me.”
Any compassion she’d felt for the man fled. “You used your son to cover up your adulterous affairs?”
“Billy would do anything for me. I would do anything for him.”
“It’s over, Governor Savoy. You’ve destroyed two lives and who knows how many others?”
He walked toward her. “You say it’s over, Miss Kirkland, and that’s true. It’s over for you. There is no way I’m going to let you walk out of this room with the information I’ve just given you. Something like this would destroy my boy’s chances of becoming governor.”
“Your boy is finished. He’s an accessory in a homicide. He knows you shot Bettina Gibson but has deliberately chosen to conceal it.”
Reaching into an inner pocket in his jacket, Bruce pulled out a small automatic handgun. Tilting his head at an angl
e, he leered at her. “I want to thank you for telling me to come alone, Miss Kirkland, because no one will know that I’ve been here. I’m going to do what the worthless piece of garbage couldn’t do that day he met you in the garage.”
Emily’s blood ran cold in her veins when she realized what he’d said. He meant to kill her. It was he who had hired the thug to beat her up in the garage. Within seconds she saw her life flash in front of her. She didn’t want to die—not yet.
She wanted to see her son born, live with her husband, celebrate holidays with her parents, family and friends. She wanted to live out her dreams.
She moved backward, the table stopping her retreat. Could she make it to the door before he shot her? Her fingers inched behind her, closing on a solid object. Its shape revealed that it was a ceramic dish or ashtray.
Emily knew she had to buy time or she would never make it out of the motel room alive. “You said you were struggling with Bettina for the gun and it went off. That’s accidental homicide. I’m certain if you tell the police your story, you wouldn’t be charged with her murder.”
Bruce moved closer. “Sorry, Miss Kirkland, I’m not swallowing it. I’m not going to do anything that will jeopardize my son’s chance to succeed me.”
He leveled the gun at her chest at the same time the fingers of her right hand closed around the dish. Moving as quickly as her bulk would permit her, she hurled the heavy object at him. It struck him on his cheekbone and landed on the carpeted floor with a dull thud. His finger on the sensitive trigger squeezed, the sound of a bullet exploding in the small space.
Emily raced to the door. Bruce stood stunned, blood pouring from a gash in his cheek. She opened it and ran smack into a broad chest. Screaming, she pounded the chest, trying to escape.
“Emily! Stop! It’s me.”
She stared up at Chris. Closing her eyes, she tried to stop the world from spinning dizzily. “Chris,” she moaned.
“It’s all right, baby girl. You’re safe.”
Plainclothes officers rushed into the room as he eased his wife down to the floor, holding her close to his heart. He’d gotten there in time. A smile curved his mouth when he felt the kicking of his son in her womb against his middle.
Private Passions Page 32
