The Last White Knight

by Tami Hoag

  “What happened?” he asked. His eyes, sparkling with amusement, locked on Lynn’s. “She bit his hand and tasted blood?”

  Lynn fought a grin without success. She didn’t want to like Erik Gunther, but he was charming her just the same. Most men in his position would have been affronted by her lack of humility. Not this one. There was an unmistakable light of challenge in his eyes behind all that good humor. He was daring her to not like him, telling her he would win her over whether she wanted him to or not. “No,” she said. “I bit his hand and tasted … something else.”

  Erik laughed. “I’ve been in politics long enough to know it’s entirely possible. I’m a bona fide Type A, myself.”

  “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

  He tipped his head. “Touché, counselor. I’d hate to go up against you in a debate. If you could keep that temper in check, you’d probably rip me to shreds.”

  “I’m sorry, Senator. These days I’m afraid my temper is running on a real lean mix. It doesn’t take much to touch it off.” Lynn held her hand out to him in greeting and apology. “Lynn Shaw, twenty-nine, BA from the University of Minnesota. Care to check my driver’s license?”

  “I thought you’d say Notre Dame,” he said, nodding toward the peeling gold letters on the front of her T-shirt.

  “Souvenir from a past life.”

  Erik didn’t pursue it. It seemed a harmless topic to him, but he’d seen the shutters come down on those emerald-green eyes. He had somehow managed to step over a boundary line. Intriguing lady, Miss Lynn Shaw, he thought, noting the absence of rings on her left hand. A counselor with a temper and secrets in her eyes.

  He shook her hand the way he would have a colleague’s hand, but he held hers just a moment longer, just to see how she would react. She didn’t like it. He could feel her tension. She wanted to pull away, but she met his gaze and held firm. He added brave and stubborn to the list of adjectives that described her.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Shaw,” he said, releasing her.

  “And you, Senator.” Lynn broke eye contact with him, not at all comfortable with what she saw in his gaze. He was trying to read her and having too much success. “These ladies are Horizon House’s founders and directors,” she said, motioning to her bosses. “Martha Steinbeck and Lillian Johnson.”

  “Ladies,” he murmured with a polite nod.

  “I’m afraid you’re not catching any of us at our best,” Martha said. “Except Lillian. She always looks that way. Doctor’s-wife syndrome.”

  Lillian shot her a look, then turned back to Erik: “On behalf of all of us, Senator Gunther, I want to thank you for coming to our aid.”

  “That’s what you elected me for.”

  “Not me,” Lynn said with a cheeky grin. “I voted for Milner.”

  Erik lifted a brow in sardonic amusement. “Figures.”

  He wanted to ask her where Mick Milner was now in her hour of need, but the question was forestalled as Elliot Graham walked up to the group.

  “I feel it’s only fair to warn you, Senator,” he said, his face grave, his gaze locked on Erik, as if the Senator were now in charge of Horizon House. Graham’s son stood beside him, arms loaded with leaflets, brows pulled low in an expression that seemed more angry than somber. The kid was maybe sixteen, gangly and on the scrawny side, Lynn noted. He had nicked his chin in two places, shaving duck fuzz. “As chairman of Citizens for Family Neighborhoods,” the elder Graham went on, “I fully intend to proceed with these petitions.”

  Erik tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled benignly. “You do whatever you feel is right, Mr. Graham.”

  “It’s easy for you to come in here and plead their case, Senator,” Graham pointed out. “This isn’t your neighborhood.”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference if it were.”

  One corner of Graham’s mouth flicked upward. “Have you met the residents of Horizon House yet, Senator?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Meet them. Then tell me you wouldn’t mind having their kind living across the street from your family.”

  Lynn bristled, coming to the defense of her girls like a mother tiger for her cubs. “Just what do you mean, ‘their kind’?”

  Graham turned to her, looking down his nose at her with unmistakable disdain. “I think you know exactly what I mean, Miss Shaw.”

  She took a step toward him, her gaze locked on his face. She wanted him to say it, to put a name to what he thought of girls who had made mistakes with their lives. She wanted him to say it so she could feel justified in slapping that holier-than-thou look off his face. But it wasn’t Elliot Graham who cooperated. It was his son.

  “Sluts.”

  The word was barely spoken aloud, just a whisper of sound, but it brought Lynn up short. The venom in it shocked her. Young Graham’s cheeks colored as all eyes turned toward him. His father wheeled on him with a furious look.

  “E.J.!” he barked.

  The boy gaped at him. “But, Dad—”

  “We’re going home,” Graham said in a tight, low voice that boded ill for his son. He grabbed the boy by one arm and steered him roughly toward the sidewalk.

  An itchy silence descended on the group as they stood watching the Grahams hustle across the street.

  “My God,” Lillian muttered, her voice laced with disgust.

  Martha just shook her head.

  Erik was more interested in watching Lynn than the Grahams. The boy’s remark had upset her in a way that seemed out of proportion to the situation. The color her temper had brought to her face had washed out, leaving her pale. She covered it admirably by rubbing her forehead as if to shield her eyes, then made an acerbic comment to divert attention from herself.

  “I’ll bet he has to do extra pages in his Hitler Youth workbook tonight.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Her head jerked up and she stared at him as if he’d just asked her how she liked her sex. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “I have a little headache. It’s nothing.”

  Martha rolled her eyes. “Like being hit with a sledgehammer is nothing.”

  “I’m fine,” Lynn repeated in a tone that declared the subject closed.

  She’d lived with migraines for twenty years. She knew the routine by now. This one hadn’t decided whether it would stay or not. If she got some medication into her system quickly enough, she would be all right. If she didn’t, she would be violently ill and unable to function for a few hours. Either way, she didn’t much care for Erik Gunther to know about her problem. She didn’t want him getting any closer than an emotional arm’s length away. He was here for his own reasons, and when he left he wouldn’t be taking any part of her with him.

  “Thank you again for dropping by, Senator,” she said, kneeling to gather up the utensils. The quicker they gave Gunther enough praise to bask in and allowed him to make his obligatory promises, the quicker he’d be gone. The quicker he was gone, the quicker she would be safe from those all-seeing blue eyes of his. “We appreciate whatever support you can give us.”

  “I’ll help any way I can,” Erik said.

  He dropped to one knee on the cracked pavement and reached for a spaghetti spoon, his fingers brushing over Lynn’s as she drew her hand away. She gave him a good poker face, but her eyes betrayed her. They watched him with a kind of caution in their depths that only served to intrigue him more. The lady was trying to give him the brush-off. She was in retreat mode. And yet there was the faint, but unmistakable, crackle of attraction in the air between them. The contradiction was irresistible to him.

  A slow smile spread across his face. You’re not getting rid of me yet, Miss Shaw. He lifted the spoon and tapped it against his chest. “I live to serve.”

  Her eyes watchful, she reached out for the spoon and snatched it away when he offered it, like a wild creature venturing near enough to accept a treat but not near enough to be touched. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  �
�Maybe we could discuss it in more detail. Say, over dinner?”

  Lynn shook her head. “I don’t think—”

  “Great idea, Senator!” Martha bellowed, ignoring the murderous glare Lynn shot her. “The Mongolian beef is on the way. We can all sit down and have a chat.”

  “Maybe the senator doesn’t like Mongolian beef,” Lynn said tightly.

  “The senator would eat an old boot with catsup right about now.” Erik pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out for Lynn. “How about it, counselor? Break fortune cookies with me?”

  Lynn arched a brow. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Do you really want one?” he challenged softly.

  Martha and Lillian had already started for the house. No witnesses. Not that they had been any help while they’d been standing there, Lynn thought. They had seemed impervious to the undercurrents, to the subtle ritual of male advance and female retreat that had been going on right in front of them.

  She looked up at Erik Gunther, Lillian’s white knight, and wondered just how tarnished that armor of his might be underneath that beautiful facade. He had a spotless record, but she was too worldly-wise to go by that. Politics was a game of favor-trading. Just what favors would Senator Gunther expect for helping her? She didn’t want to find out, but the truth was, she needed his help more than she needed to be rid of him. The old adage about politics making strange bedfellows drifted through her mind, and Lynn pushed it aside, ignoring both the image it conjured and the unwelcome wash of heat that came with it.

  Disregarding Erik’s hand, she rose, clutching her kitchen utensils to her chest. “I guess I’ll take my chances, Senator.”

  He gave her a slow smile that seemed wise and warm, as if he alone held the answer to one of life’s great secrets, and Lynn felt her heart roll over in her chest like a trick poodle as he said, “I guess we both will, Counselor Shaw.”

  “So, where are your residents?” Erik asked as he set his plate aside. He addressed the question to no one in particular, but his gaze fell on Lynn.

  They sat at opposite ends of the coffee table in matching country-blue overstuffed chairs. Lynn picked at a grain of rice on her plate, fighting the urge to rub her head. The medication she had taken was keeping her migraine in check, but Erik Gunther’s presence kept it from disappearing altogether. The knot of pain throbbed dully above her eye. The sexual tension in the room seemed a palpable thing to her, but Lillian and Martha, ensconced on the sofa together, seemed oblivious to it.

  “They’re back at the other house,” Martha said, scanning the contents of the small white boxes on the coffee table. She selected snow peas and mushrooms and deposited a heap of it on her plate.

  Erik lifted a brow, his gaze still on Lynn, as if he thought he might will her to speak to him. “Unsupervised? Is that wise?”

  Graham’s remark about “their kind” was still too fresh in Lynn’s mind for her not to react. She straightened a little in her chair and gave him a cool look. “Horizon House is a home, Senator, not a prison. We don’t keep the girls under watch twenty-four hours a day.”

  He didn’t flinch. His gaze remained steady, warm, searching, curious, trying to find a way beneath her armor even while he kept the conversation to the topic at hand. “I think with all the controversy you’re generating it might be prudent to make an exception to that rule. Purely precautionary, you know.”

  “Cover our tails?” Lynn said dryly.

  He smiled that soft little secretive smile that hinted at amusement and wisdom. “So to speak. Imagine what might happen if some of Graham’s demonstrators decided to set up a picket line outside the other house. It could be a very unpleasant situation for your girls and a potential public relations nightmare for the home.”

  “Well, no one would know more about looking good to the public than a politician.”

  “Senator Gunther makes an excellent point, Lynn,” Lillian said with a note of censure in her voice. “It’s important for the girls to know we trust them, but the stakes are too high for us to take chances right now.”

  The argument was logical and practical. Lynn probably would have made it herself if Erik Gunther hadn’t come up with it first. She simply didn’t like having him intrude on her territory—not in the physical sense, not in the psychological sense. She was tired and frustrated and in pain, and every feminine warning system she had was on red alert. The combination tended to make her snappish.

  She could feel Gunther’s eyes on her, looking for things she didn’t want to reveal, and her instinctive response was to run. But she wouldn’t do that. She had spent enough of her life running to know it never solved anything. Besides, the watchfulness of the senator’s gaze reminded her too much of a wolf. She had the unnerving feeling that if she ran he would automatically give chase.

  “Lillian will be taking me back to the other house,” Martha said calmly. “I’ll be staying the night there while Lynn keeps watch over our stuff here. I think the girls will be all right until after I’ve finished my tea.”

  Erik nodded. “You’re probably right, Mrs. Steinbeck. Graham’s people didn’t seem too fired up when they left here.”

  “Thanks to you, Senator.” She lifted her teacup in salute. “And call me Martha. I haven’t been Mrs. Steinbeck in such a long time I probably won’t answer to it.”

  “All right, Martha.” Erik nodded. “And I’d like it if you would all call me Erik. I’m not much for standing on ceremony with friends.”

  Lillian and Martha beamed smiles at him. Lynn watched him, her gaze steady and slightly wary, like a she-wolf who was too intelligent to turn down his help but was not about to drop her guard and let him get too near. Erik wondered where she had come by that much caution, wondered if it was politicians in general she didn’t trust or him in particular.

  “What do you think our chances are for staying here, Erik?” Lillian asked.

  Tearing his thoughts and his gaze away from Lynn, he took a sip of his tea and set the dainty cup down on its saucer on the coffee table. “Hard to call. It’ll depend on how tenacious Graham’s group is, and how shrewd. They’ve promised to put pressure on the church. They could try for an injunction against you, demand a community viability study, but they should have done that before now. The nearer you are to actually residing here, the less likely a judge is to prevent you from moving in.” His gaze skimmed the living room and the hall beyond, taking in a fair amount of furniture and boxes piled in precarious-looking stacks. The old house still had an empty feeling to it with its blank white walls, but it wasn’t far from being made into a home. “They can’t challenge you on any zoning ordinance. They can call for a new ordinance against group homes of this type in residential neighborhoods, but even if they succeeded with that, they couldn’t touch you. An ordinance of that type only applies to what happens after it goes on the books.”

  “You’ve done your homework, Senator,” Lynn murmured.

  Erik met her gaze, letting her know without saying a word that he’d caught her deliberate use of his title. He had taken that boundary away; Lynn had put it back. He let it be for the moment.

  “I’m interested in more than just getting my picture taken while supporting a cause,” he said evenly. “I wouldn’t have come here tonight without knowing all the facts.”

  “I thought you said you came here from the golf course.”

  He flashed her a grin. “I may insist on fighting my own battles, but I don’t have any trouble asking my staff to do the legwork.”

  She conceded the point with a tip of her head, then went back to the real issue. “If Graham’s group has no legal recourse other than getting the church to kick us out, then are we home free?”

  “No. They can make it so unpleasant for you to live here that you’ll want to leave.” Erik leaned forward and settled his forearms on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. “From what I saw tonight, that’s a real possibility.”

  Lynn put her plate down, her meal virtually untouched.
One winged brow lifted. “Isn’t that called harassment?”

  “Not as long as they have a permit to demonstrate and don’t trespass on private property or break any laws,” Erik said, thinking she would have made a great queen with that look. “Democracy is a great system but it can be a real pain in the fanny sometimes. Graham and his followers are entitled to freedom of speech. You may not like or agree with anything they say, but you can’t stop them from saying it unless it’s slanderous.”

  Sluts. The word came back to Lynn like a memory from a bad dream. Erik Gunther’s face faded from view as images of the crowd on the lawn came back to her. She knew what it was like to feel unwanted, unwelcome. So did her girls. Their faith in humanity wasn’t going to be restored if they were subjected to that kind of ridicule day after day. And that was what her job was all about—restoring their faith in people, making them feel welcome and loved, coaxing them back into the mainstream before they became so alienated they could never fit in. But people like Elliot Graham stood in her way, spreading venom to everyone around him until she and her girls were surrounded by a moat of it, more isolated than ever.

  “Well, nothing else is going to happen tonight,” Lillian declared. Lynn started from her trance, catching the worry in her boss’s eyes. Lillian may have liked to play the cool sophisticate, but inside she was marshmallow—a mother hen with swan’s plumage. Even as she addressed herself to their guest, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from patting Lynn’s hand, which gripped the arm of the chair. “And we have no way of knowing the future, so we might as well not worry ourselves too much before the fact.”

  “Maybe we can see the future in the senator’s tea leaves,” Martha said with a wry smile. She hefted herself forward on the couch and reached for Erik’s cup.

  He looked at her with skeptical surprise. “You read tea leaves?”