Capital Offense

by Kathleen Antrim

  He hesitated then turned his attention back to the crowd. “Mr. Dunfey. I’m happy to answer your political questions, but when you insult my wife and me, I draw the line.”

  SIX

  Jack Rudly leaned against a fence pole to the side of the backstage area and watched two police officers escort Patrick Dunfey from the amphitheater. The sounds of camera shutters clicking told him what the lead story would be in the next clay’s paper. He turned to the stage as his father, William Rudly, the senior senator from Missouri, began his address.

  His dad captured the crowd’s attention with his usual enthusiasm and wit, and Jack smiled. Back in the states from a stint in Kuwait during Iraq ’s invasion, his schedule allowed for only a three-day visit home before heading to Iraq to interview Saddam Hussein.

  With time so short, his father had asked him to attend the fair. Bill Rudly claimed he needed an honest opinion on how his speech would be received by the press and insisted that only Jack could give an accurate assessment. Jack knew, of course, that his dad just wanted to spend as much time as possible with his son. and would have said anything to assure his company.

  The crowd applauded. The older Rudly’s blue eyes radiated an intensity and alertness that allowed him to size up situations and people with an uncanny accuracy. Even as mischievous young men. Jack and his friends never got away with a lie where Bill Rudly was concerned.

  Jack had inherited his father’s blue eyes and intuition, but his youthful indiscretions were his alone. He rubbed the small scar over his left eye, a reminder of a barroom brawl in Turkey. As an investigative journalist, he often found himself delving into the seamy side of life, and the ability to defend himself had become a necessity. So, at six-foot-two-inches and one-hundred-eighty pounds, he worked out regularly. Regardless of the physical challenges he posed for his body, however, sleep was an illusive commodity. Nothing seemed to curb his overactive mind.

  He swore that insomnia had forced him to become a journalist. While the rest of the world slept, he was wide-awake, keeping watch. Bill Rudly, however, didn’t agree with the practicality of this notion and disapproved of Jack’s career. This was the first in a long list of topics on which they disagreed.

  As the son of a foreign diplomat-turned-senator, Jack had grown up all over the world and spoke five languages, making him not only a valuable man in the field of foreign journalism, but also a person much sought-after by government intelligence agencies. For a man of Jack’s talent and contacts, these careers were easily integrated.

  Jack didn’t mind the special assignments, even though it meant that some of his stories never went any farther than Langley, but when it came to certain sectors of the world, his father objected. Iraq was one of these sectors. Jack reminded Bill that even if he wasn’t on the government payroll he’d still travel to places like Iraq to cover the news as a journalist, but his father detested the added risk to his son.

  Jack had spent six years in the Middle East. He not only spoke Arabic, but could assimilate into the culture. And his established contacts made his visits invaluable to the intelligence community.

  Bill Rudly pleaded with his son to reconsider this assignment. He knew that the U.S. would never tolerate Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait, that war was imminent. His pleading had turned to anger when Jack ignored him.

  Jack lit a cigarette. At thirty-five, it amazed him that his father still tried to tell him what to do. Yet, here he was looking for advice. Advice. Jack thought, the real reason for his visit. He’d been offered a position in the States with the Today news magazine. He didn’t mind giving up the extra assignments for the CIA, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to leave Associated Press. And although he knew his father would want him to take the safe option, he still needed a sounding board.

  Straightening from the fence post, Jack saw Carolyn Alden Lane and her father-in-law, Edmund Lane, walking toward him. They were in an intense discussion and didn’t see him as they approached. Edmund’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants. His white hair glistened in the sun.

  “This can’t continue to happen,” the senator’s wife was saying. “Something’s got to be done about Patrick Dunfey. He’s making too many waves too close to the election.”

  “You worry about Warner. I’ll handle Dunfey.” Edmund Lane said.

  Jack interrupted, “Hello. Carolyn.” He tilted his head toward the senior Lane. “Edmund.”

  Carolyn’s head snapped up. “Hello. Jack.” she said quickly, obviously embarrassed by the chance they had been overhead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. How rude of me.”

  Edmund shook Jack’s hand. “How are you, son?”

  “I’m fine. Just visiting my father for a few days before going abroad.”

  “How nice,” Carolyn said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here in Missouri, but I faithfully read your articles. Your coverage of the protest in Beijing was impressive. I wish I’d known you were going to be here. We could have had you speak.”

  “That’s nice of you. Carolyn. But I really wanted to keep this trip low-key.”

  Carolyn smiled in understanding. “I wish I could stay and talk longer, but unfortunately duty calls.” She extended her hand. “It was good to see you. Jack.” She turned to Edmund. “I’ll call you later.”

  They watched her walk away.

  “So, today we’re treated to speeches from our favorite senators,” Jack said. “I see Dunfey’s been giving Warner a hard time.”

  Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not your concern and certainly not the press’s concern either.”

  “Don’t worry, Edmund, this is strictly off-the-record,” Jack reassured him, surprised by Lane’s abrupt change in attitude. “I’m here for pleasure, not as a journalist.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. You Rudlys are all alike. Just remember, boy, you stick your hand in a badger hole, you’re liable to lose a finger, or worse.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Edmond ’s glare settled on Jack. “Take it any way you please. Just stay out of the Lanes’ business.”

  Jack stared dumbfounded as Edmond strode away.

  “What did he want?” Bill Rudly said as he approached.

  Jack turned toward the sound of his father’s voice. “I’m not sure. He was fine one moment, and when I asked about Dunfey, he got testy. Did you have a run-in with him?”

  “Just the usual politics.”

  “Didn’t sound like the usual politics. This sounded personal. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing that concerns you. Don’t worry about it.” The senior Rudly started for the car, parked directly behind the amphitheater in the VIP lot.

  Jack followed. “I am worried about it.”

  Bill stopped. “I don’t want you anywhere near those people, do you understand? You have no idea who you’re messing with. They’ll not take kindly to your investigations, and I don’t want you hurt. End of discussion.” He swung around abruptly and continued on to the car.

  Surprised, Jack paused, then caught up a moment later. “Look, either you fill me in, or I’m on the case, which could cause us both some embarrassment.”

  Bill Rudly opened his car door and lowered himself into the seat behind the steeling wheel. He’d given his driver the day off in order to have private time with his son. “I do my best to respect your career. I expect you to respect mine. I repeat: discussion over.” He pulled the car door closed leaving Jack to walk to the passenger’s side and get in.

  “No way,” Jack said angrily. “You know I respect your career, but this doesn’t fall into that category. We’re talking about the Lanes and a threat that was tossed in my direction. I deserve an explanation.”

  Bill rubbed his forehead in agitation. “There’s corruption in that family. I’m sure of it. And it’s poisoning Missouri. I won’t say any more than that.” He turned the key in the ignition.

  “What happened between you and Edmund Lane?”

&nb
sp; “Edmund knows I’m on to them. That’s why he’s got his dander up. I told him I wouldn’t let him and his cohorts use the political system for their own agenda. He didn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. Edmund’s not used to any opposition, let alone back talk.”

  Bill moved the gearshift to reverse and placed his arm on the back of the seat. “When I’ve got something substantial I’ll let you know.”

  Anger flashed across Jack’s features. “I’m your son, for God’s sake. Not some member of the press who you have to watch your words around.”

  “This has nothing to do with your profession.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t trust me because I’m a journalist. You’ve made that abundantly clear, and you can’t pass up an opportunity to let me know it.”

  “Believe what you want, but the truth is that I’m not comfortable discussing this with you, or anyone, until I have concrete evidence. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Let’s leave it at that.” Bill backed the car out of the parking space. “I don’t want to fight with you over the Lanes. They cause me enough grief as it is.”

  Jack met his father’s gaze, hesitated, then nodded. Years of diplomatic service had ingrained his father with discretion. Jack had seen this stance before, and knew there was no point in pushing. Bill Rudly would talk when he was ready. But what the hell was going on? His father had never refused to discuss political matters with him before.

  After five miles of silence, Jack spoke. “I’ve gotten a job offer.”

  “Is it more sane than your current position?”

  “Probably by your standards. It’s with Today news magazine. I’d be a senior correspondent here in the States.”

  “What about your special assignments for the CIA?”

  “That would be over.”

  Bill Rudly smiled. “Take it.”

  “I was hoping for more of a discussion, like: Have you considered the change in lifestyle? Are you ready to settle down? Will you miss the excitement of cutting-edge news?”

  “Domestic issues can be cutting-edge.”

  “You know what I mean. The AP’s been good to me.”

  “Your job at the AP was meant to prepare you for an opportunity like this.”

  “I know. This is a plum job, the pay’s extraordinary, it’s packed with prestige, and it’s the right career move. But I feel like I’m selling out, leaving the front lines of journalism for a cushy position in the States.”

  “You’re not selling out, you’re glowing up. With a job like this you could find a nice girl, settle down, and start a family. It’s the responsible thing to do.” Bill glanced over at Jack. “Whatever happened to that girl you were dating?”

  “Katherine Seals?”

  “That’s her.”

  “It didn’t work out.” Pain caught in his throat. He was surprised that losing her still hurt. Or maybe it was the circumstances that didn’t sit well. She thought he was a bastard, and maybe she was right.

  “What happened? If I remember correctly, you were quite taken with her.”

  “You know my hack record.” A bitter note crept into Jack’s voice. “When it comes to women, I’m a screw-up.”

  “Like your marriage?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Jack clenched his jaw.

  “She got drunk and wrapped herself around a tree. How’s that your fault?”

  “Dad!”

  “That was more than ten years ago. It’s time you got over it.”

  “Let’s drop it.” This was not the conversation he’d envisioned. His father had a knack for digging up truths that were better left buried. Of course, he’d heard the same complaint about himself.

  “You were both just kids. you shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. And now you harbor some distorted sense of guilt.”

  “It was my job to help her. I was her husband, for God’s sake.” Jack stared out the window. He’d been selfish. He’d been concentrating so hard on making a name for himself in journalism, he’d ignored her drinking problem. He’d let her down. And he’d never forgive himself for it. “Some things you never get over.”

  “So you chase bullets on these insane assignments,” Bill shook his head.

  Jack glared at his father. “My guilt has not directed my career.”

  “The hell it hasn’t. And it’s about time you recognized it and got on with your life for the right reasons.”

  SEVEN

  Warner mingled with the crowd, adrenaline pumping through his veins. This was his specialty, and he savored the adulation.

  He focused on the people reaching for his hand. gave each a firm grip and a light shake, adding, “Thanks for coming out today. It’s good to see you.” These were people who, in their adoration, made him feel confident that he would win his bid for re-election.

  He patted the shoulder of a young constituent. “Nice to meet you.” Warner spotted Carolyn, then lost her in the crowd. He liked her to witness his popularity with the voters. He was a star. Their star. By God, he thought, this was just the start.

  He caught another glimpse of Carolyn.

  Accompanied by a trooper, she was talking to the governor’s wife.

  Warner turned as Harry Masterson, the trooper who’d driven them to the fairgrounds, approached. Together, they made their way out of the crowd and over to the side of the stage.

  “ Mrs. Lane asked me to tell you that she’s going home with the governor and his wife. She said, she knows you’ll want to stay longer,” Harry reported.

  “That’s fine,” Warner replied. They often split up at events. He also knew Carolyn would take this opportunity to schmooze with the Governor. Politics was about relationships and no one understood this better than Carolyn. “Stay with her until she leaves.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Warner moved back into the crowd, shaking hands and conversing a bit more before working his way to the backstage area. The crowd dissipated, and a police officer escorted Warner to his car in the VIP parking area. Warner relaxed in the front seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes while waiting for Harry to return. He reached into the breast pocket of his sport coat. Son of a bitch, the note from Cindy was gone.

  He heard someone try the door handle and turned to see who it was. Carolyn.

  Shit, Warner thought. Had she found the note when she laid out his clothes that morning? It would be like her to wait to discuss it. He opened the door. “I thought you’d left.”

  “I did, but I came back. The governor and his wife have invited us to have dinner with them this evening.”

  “Fine, fine.” He looked out the rear window of the car. The parking lot was empty, except for the governor’s car, which idled by the gate.

  “What time is good?”

  “Anytime you want.” He felt like a sprinter, his heart pounding harder with each passing second.

  “Let’s see.” She looked at her watch. “It’s five-fifteen now, and it’ll take an hour to get home. I’ll tell them seven-thirty.” Carolyn studied his face. “Are you okay? You look shaken. I hope Dunfey isn’t getting to you.”

  “No, no. Dunfey’s nothing. I can handle him. I appreciated your support though. That hand-holding thing you did was perfect.” He wondered if she knew about the affair.

  “Hey, if you can’t count on your wife, who can you count on?” she smiled.

  Warner saw the emotion lurking behind her bravado. Apprehension turned to pain and embarrassment. She knew.

  “It’s been so long since we’ve talked,” Carolyn said. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go home with you and send them on without me.”

  “Harry’s going to be awhile. He’s talking to some buddies. I told him I didn’t mind waiting, but I don’t want to hold you up. You go on ahead, and I’ll see you at seven-thirty.” He ran his fingers through his hair. His hand was shaking. He didn’t want to deal with this now.

  Carolyn’s gaze dropped to the floorboards. “I, I need to
talk to you. Please.”

  Damn, he never dreamt that it would come to this. “Fine.”

  Carolyn told the driver of the governor’s car she’d changed her plans, then took the seat beside Warner.

  “I found the note.”

  His throat constricted in pain. Words were lost to him.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Please. Let’s start over. We could get counseling. We can try harder. I’ll try harder.” She moved toward him and kissed his cheek.

  Thrown off balance, he moved away. He’d expected screaming and rage, not pain and remorse.

  “Please.” she said, then kissed him again and nuzzled his neck. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together.”

  As when she’d tried months ago, he felt no physical response.

  “Let me love you.” she pleaded. “Let me fix us.” Tears streamed down her face.

  “Don’t do this.” he said. He knew his body wouldn’t respond. The abortion had killed his attraction to her both mentally and physically. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t understand it himself. With any other woman he functioned normally, but his wife was dead to him.

  Boldly she reached for him, not comprehending his meaning, refusing to be pushed aside.

  “Stop,” he choked out.

  Desperately she kissed his lips, his neck, and moved lower.

  Warner grasped her shoulders and held her from him. “Back off!”

  Eyes wide, she met his gaze.

  His own tears overflowed. “I can’t.” he whispered.

  Carolyn sat back, narrow lines marred her forehead. Her gaze searched his face. “I don’t understand. Do you love her? Is that why?”

  A hot flush puddled in his cheeks. “No.” This was torture. How do you tell your wife that you can’t get it up with her? “Do I have to spell it out?” He shook his head. “I can’t – ” his voice broke, “with you.”

  Carolyn stared at him. Confusion dulled the sparkle of her brown eyes. Then her eyebrows arched as comprehension replaced incredulity. “Or you just don’t want to try?”