Her head pounded with throbbing pain, and she was barely cognizant of the opening remarks from Senator Seale, who chaired the investigative committee. Once again, Matt was being crucified for something he had not done. Matt no longer loved her because he thought she had divulged his secret to the senator. And Jim Cauley was constantly at his side, feeding him more lies about her. Now, as never before, Alanna began to understand why Matt had hated politics and the power associated with it. Alanna clenched one fist, pressing it against her chest as a feeling of suffocation overwhelmed her. She was intent on steadying her breathing, trying to calm her hammering heart.
Then something came together deep within her, and Alanna felt a calmness spreading out to all parts of her hot, trembling body. She was ill, but that no longer mattered. A new determination came into being within her. This time, a voice howled within her head, they aren’t going to get to Matt. I won’t let them. I’ll tell the truth and force them to close down the investigation because of conflicting evidence.
She heard Bauman’s cultured baritone voice listing the evidence against Matt. Desperately, she closed her eyes, pushing back the feeling of disorientation. She must be able to present her own evidence coherently in order to neutralize Bauman’s convincing delivery. Futilely, Alanna realized that it would be her word against the senator’s. It would mean the loss of her job…her status on the Hill…. But that no longer mattered. She had lost Matt’s love, and each time she allowed that thought to hit her, she wanted to die. Morosely, she remembered Paul’s droning words: “This is reality, Alanna, dreams don’t come true.”
Tears blurred her vision, and she took a deep, unsteady breath. She had had a dream come true. Matt had loved her. And because of that, she was prepared to lay her entire career on the line for him.
The morning dragged by with Bauman and Sullivan trading the spotlight as they pieced together the story of the relief effort. Each affidavit, each piece of evidence was duly filed with the senatorial committee. At lunch, Bauman quickly propelled her through the encroaching mob of reporters and led her into an empty chamber across the hall and out another door to an awaiting limousine. Her legs felt wobbly, and she gratefully fell back into the deep, cushioned seat, closing her eyes.
“You look terrible, Alanna,” Bauman muttered. “Think you’ll make the firing line this afternoon?”
She nodded, compressing her dry lips. “I’ll make it if it’s the last thing I do. Don’t worry.”
“You know that not every senator on this investigative panel is after Breckenridge’s career. You’re going to get some heat from Seale and Forester because they’re confirmed hawks.”
She gave him a fleeting smile. “I’ll give it my best shot,” she promised. But what I have to say may surprise you, she added silently.
* * *
Her heart wrenched with renewed agony as she reentered the chamber and saw Matt standing in the center of the room conferring with a Marine general. Again, he halted his conversation, lifting his chin to study her, his gray eyes quickly scanning her features. Alanna tried to choke down the desire to run into his arms. Oh God, his arms…. She felt Bauman’s fingers gripping her elbow.
“Alanna?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
If it hadn’t been for his bodily support, she might have lost her balance. Placing her fingertips on her brow, she forced a smile.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, “just the tension.”
“Dammit, you didn’t eat anything for lunch. You don’t look good at all. You’re going to be questioned closely late this afternoon,” he growled unhappily, leading her to the chair. “Maybe you ought to get to the doctor’s office or an emergency room after the session today. What the hell did you do, catch the Asian flu?”
She touched her chest. “Just a little lung congestion and a fever,” she murmured. “I’ll be fine, I took two more aspirin, and that ought to clear my head enough for what I’m going to do this afternoon.”
Bauman remained unconvinced. “The senator won’t like it if you’re not in top form. This is a lousy time to get sick. Damn.”
She slowly took the marked report out of her briefcase, thinking that if she dropped dead Bauman would be more worried about the loss of testimony than about her. So much for humanity, she thought bitterly, suppressing a cold growing rage within her.
By two-thirty Matt had completed his testimony, which contrasted sharply with Bauman’s presentation. Bauman, like a true lawyer, was taking objection when Thornton smiled wolfishly at the rest of his assembled panel.
“I think, Henry, it would help to hear from someone who was actually there, don’t you?” he suggested silkily, his gaze turning to Alanna.
She saw the gleam in Thornton’s eyes, and she sensed his barely controlled desire to twist the knife more deeply into his victim.
Bauman looked sharply to his right, studying her. “Well—of course, Senator,” he responded lamely.
Alanna sat on the edge of the chair feeling the glaring pressure of the spotlight. Thornton had jerked the string, and like a puppet, she was supposed to dance for him. She leaned forward, both hands planted on the table top, knuckles whitened. “There has been a grave injustice done here, Senator Seale, and I want to set the record straight.” She gulped hard, and then a torrent of words spilled from her lips. “Colonel Breckenridge has been implicated in this crime with falsified evidence. Someone at the senator’s office has taken my report, cut out substantial portions of it, and replaced them with outright lies!”
Bauman jerked the microphone from her. “Senators, I think you should keep the following in mind during Ms. McIntire’s further testimony. She spent twenty-four hours a day with Colonel Breckenridge down in Costa Rica. Not five hours or even twelve. But all day and all night. Unfortunately, we were unaware of their liaison at the time the report was handed in to us. Naturally, when additional information reached the senator’s office, he chose someone less—uh—biased to revise the report.”
Alanna felt the explosion of disbelief around her, and she fell back against the chair, one hand across her mouth. Whispers flew through the room, and then suddenly she heard Matt’s voice slice through the buzz of speculation.
“Mr. Bauman, I don’t know who gave you that information, but your conclusions are erroneous and unforgivable under the circumstances.”
The room hushed immediately, and Alanna jerked her head up, staring at Matt in stunned disbelief. He was angry, his gray eyes stormy and narrowed. Her heart raced as he glanced at her for a brief, melting second.
Bauman shrugged eloquently. “It may be unforgivable, Colonel, but it is true.”
“Under the circumstances,” Matt snarled, “she had no choice, and neither did I. Senators, I received orders to take Ms. McIntire up to San Dolega immediately. We drove part of the way, then hiked the last five miles to the village and arrived at nightfall. The area was completely destroyed by earthquake, and if it hadn’t been for my own equipment, we both would have spent the night out in the rain. The fog had us socked in, and there was no transport available. As it was, we did spend the night in the same tent together.”
“Colonel,” Bauman chided, “we have a sworn affidavit that you also spent other nights together, including the time you were searching for those crates.” He picked up the papers. “It’s all here, senators, the three policeman have sworn to what I’ve just said.”
“Again, Mr. Bauman, it was an unfortunate necessity since we were out in the middle of a jungle. But to suggest that Ms. McIntire’s testimony is worthless because of our supposed indiscretion is ridiculous.”
Senator Seale looked down at Alanna with new interest. “And what do you have to say about all this, Ms. McIntire?”
She pulled the microphone from Bauman, glaring at the attorney. Her throat ached with tension. “Senator Seale, there is something even more disturbing about this investigation,” she blurted out unsteadily. Dizziness washed over her, but she forced the words out. “I had taken two rolls
of film with me to that meadow where the crates were discovered. On the first roll were four photos of the meadow itself. On the second roll were photos of the colonel and the police investigating the ten crates that had been broken open. I had pictures of each crate number, and none of them, I repeat, none of them corresponded with the numbers on supplies intended for San Dolega. We found out later that they had been stolen from a shipping dock by three men who are political enemies of Costa Rica. They had trucked those crates to an area where the supplies could be utilized by Guerrillas in Nicaragua.” She gulped hard, glanced at Thornton’s reddening face, and then rushed on in a breathless voice.
“As you can see, there are only five photos with this report, and the story I got from the Senator’s staff is that the second canister of film was not found with the material that I turned over to them upon my arrival home.”
Seale gave Thornton a look of triumph. “It’s obvious if you only had four photos from that one canister, Ms. McIntire, that only four pictures should be here with us today. Is that not correct?”
An icy feeling was spreading through her body, and she felt lightheaded. Of course! They had to have the other canister in order to have produced a fifth photo! Seale was smiling broadly, and she nodded. “That’s correct. Furthermore, I’ve underlined sections of my report that have been changed or deleted to reflect badly upon Colonel Breckenridge. The few supplies being stolen from San Dolega were tracked down by the colonel when we flew back to San Jose. The Costa Ricans responsible for the theft are now in jail.”
She felt Bauman’s fingers gripping her elbow, and pain raced up her arm. Half turning, she jerked away from him. Not to be outmaneuvered, Bauman took the microphone.
“Senator Seale, we still have irrefutable evidence that Colonel Breckenridge has a bank account in San Jose with considerable money in it—money that was gained by selling stolen medical supplies.”
“Mr. Bauman, I think that we have evidence that will disprove your allegation,” Matt thundered. He looked up at Seale. “With your permission, Senator, I’d like to supply you with the signature on my supposed bank account and my true signature. I flew down to Costa Rica last week and investigated the bank account and gathered evidence to prove it is not mine.” He handed them to an aide who took them up to Seale.
Alanna held her breath, her gaze fastened on Matt. He had been down in Costa Rica last week! She gasped. Cauley had lied! Matt hadn’t been home at all when she had driven over to talk with him. Her heart wrenched with new-found agony when she realized Matt was defending her despite the fact that he thought she had told Senator Thornton about Tim’s death.
Seale was analyzing the signatures intently. He raised his eyebrows, nodding his head. “Senators, I’ve just been handed a sworn statement by one of the most widely recognized graphologists in the United States, and it appears that Colonel Breckenridge did not open that bank account in Costa Rica. Take a look.”
Thornton blustered. “Let’s get on with it! I want to know why my boy’s death was covered up by the Marine Corps.”
Alanna forced herself to move, gripping the microphone with both hands. “No! The reason for this hearing was to investigate the theft of medical supplies from San Dolega.” She no longer cared about anything. Her breathing was uneven, and she gasped to find sufficient air to inhale. “Senator Seale, I appeal for your help in vindicating Colonel Breckenridge. He is innocent! The real investigation ought to center around those other photos and why they weren’t introduced as viable evidence.”
Matt’s voice rose about the gathering pandemonium. “Senator Seale, I would also offer this photocopy of a receipt from a local photograph service. The receipt is for developing two rolls of film with a total of twenty-four pictures. The signature on the order is Senator Thornton’s secretary’s. The date the secretary left these photos to be developed corresponds to the date Ms. McIntire turned over the initial report to the senator. I believe some explanation from his office is necessary on this small but important point.”
Bauman was offering protests, and Sullivan had leaped to his feet. The banging of the mallet striking the hardwood base sounded like a pistol shot through the confusion of exclamations and cries.
“Let’s call a recess,” Seal droned. “I think it appropriate for this investigative committee to discuss the need for further testimony. Gentlemen, shall we retire to our chamber and look at our options in light of this new evidence?” He slammed the mallet down again, emphasizing his point.
Chapter Fifteen
A deluge of reporters, television cameras, and commentators descended upon Alanna. She sat helplessly entrapped by the crowd of newspeople. Bauman elbowed his way past, throwing her one last glaring look. Sullivan muffled an oath, shoving his way clear so that she sat there alone.
Numb and confused again by fever, she felt the grip of a hand on her arm. Stupidly she looked up. Up into the face of Matt Breckenridge. Her lips parted, and tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
“Come on,” he urged. “Can you stand?”
Blindly she rose, a feeling of utter weakness making her lean heavily against his strong body as he made a path for their exit. Once inside a small side room, he closed the door, locking it behind him. Alanna stared up at him, lips parted, unable to say anything. How could she? What could be said to salvage their destroyed relationship?
“Here, sit down before you fall down,” he ordered tightly, guiding her to a straight-backed chair. She sat, and he knelt down on one knee, touching her hot, fevered cheek. “You’re burning up,” he growled, searching her face worriedly. “I knew there was something wrong. Damn. Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Alanna reached out, gripping his arm. “Matt—I never said anything to Thornton,” she croaked, tears blinding her vision. “They—they said that you told them about us sleeping together in Costa Rica and you wouldn’t return my phone calls, and when I came to see you—”
He looked at her sharply as he rose. “What are you mumbling about?”
“That—Cauley said you—”
“That’s a damn lie! Come on, you’re ready to faint. Just hold on, Alanna.” He helped her to stand, his mouth a thin, compressed line. “Hang on, Babe,” he whispered tightly, “and we’ll get this straightened out between us.”
She sobbed quietly, burying her head against his shoulder, incredibly weak. “Oh Matt,” she chocked, “I love you…. I never said any of those horrible things. They tried to blackmail me and—”
“Hush,” he ordered. “No matter what happens, Alanna, just know that I never stopped loving you for an instant. Not one second.”
* * *
She was only vaguely aware of the reporters when Matt led her to the awaiting dark olive green car. Lying back against the seat, she closed her eyes, allowing the fever to take her into a semi-delirious state. The motion of the car and the warmth of Matt’s arm holding her tightly against him lulled her to sleep.
At the hospital Matt never left her side for a moment. She had a fever of one hundred and three degrees, and they promptly gave her antibiotics. Afterward, on a bed in the emergency room, she weakly sat up when the doctor left.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Matt demanded, putting a restraining hand on her arm.
She gave him a confused look. “Home.”
“There will be a million reporters sitting on your doorstep waiting for you, Alanna.”
She searched his stony features. “Where then?”
“My home…. Our home.”
“But—”
He shook his head, a slight smile curving one corner of his mouth. Taking her into his arms, he pulled her tightly against him. “You’re very sick, honey. You need rest, and you need someone to take care of you for a while. I want you home with me. You stay here, and I’ll get your coat and the prescription. Promise you won’t leave?”
She muffled a sob against his chest, aware of his hand stroking her unbound hair. “Never….”
It was raining when they left the hospital, and Alanna found herself exhausted by the drive to McLean. At some point, she rested her head against Matt’s broad shoulder and fell asleep immediately. He gently woke her, guiding her from the garage into the rambling brick home. Leaning tiredly against him, she let him take her into the master bedroom.
The room was large and airy with another antique brass bed, delicately carved oaken dressers, and beveled glass mirrors on the closet door and the bureau. Royal blue curtains were drawn aside to allow the natural light from the sun to filter through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. An enormous Boston fern graced one corner.
Matt took off her coat and made her sit down on the bed. She unbuttoned the blouse and skirt, slipping out of them. Matt brought over his large, thick, terry cloth robe, wrapping her warmly within it, and then drew a tub of streaming hot water. She loved his thoughtfulness and reached out, catching his hand as he brought in a bath towel from the other room.
“I’ll be all right,” she urged, squeezing his fingers and offering a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m just a little tired.”
He observed her critically, standing in front of her with his hands resting casually against his lean hips. “You should see yourself. Your skin looks so damn translucent I can practically see your bones. And the darkness is coming back to your eyes, which means a fever.” He pressed his cool hand against her brow, pursing his lips. “Just as I thought. Time for another round of antibiotics.”
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