Ann Cristy (Helen Mittermeyer)

by Tread Softly (lit)

  She was staring sightlessly down at the pieces of pen­cil in her hand when the phone rang. "Yes?"

  Todd Leacock spoke in her ear. "Have you got what we want, Cady?"

  "I need more time." She tried to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. "Rafe will be suspicious if I tackle him with this all at once. I have to move slowly or he'll know that something is wrong. I can't hurry Rafe into changing his mind on the bill." She held her breath.

  "All right, Cady." Todd's voice had a surly tinge. "But you don't have too much time. My friend tells me that some congressmen have already caucused on the environmental bill. Time to get moving, Cady."

  And who else but Bruno would tell you that, you rat, Cady thought, feeling her face twist with anger. She took a deep breath. "All right, I'll work on him."

  When she replaced the receiver, her hand shook. She hadn't realized it was possible for her to feel as much venom against another person.

  Bruno was jealous of Rafe! It was as though a light had gone on in her head. He hated Rafe because of the money and prestige that were Rafe's and could never be his! She could recall with great clarity the way Bruno had always looked at her husband—that hooded cobra look. Bruno's great chance had been when Rafe had had the accident. She felt sure now that Bruno would at some time have tried to run for Rafe's seat, with Emmett's backing. Bruno hated Rafe now, because he was well and Bruno couldn't take over his Senate seat. Cady pressed her hands to her mouth, feeling sick.

  When the phone rang again, she jumped, staring at the instrument as though it had turned into a tarantula. "Yes?"

  "Cady? It's Rob." His voice seemed to have an excited lift to it. "Cady, I think I hit pay dirt. It seems Greeley has been getting pretty desperate. He has a great deal of his own and his friends' money riding on the defeat of the environmental bill. He's really turning on the pressure on the Hill and has tried to put the screws on Emmett Densmore. Emmett balked at that, but it seems that Bruno Trabold is hand in glove with Greeley on this."

  Cady nodded as she listened, then proceeded to tell Rob what Trock had told her about the meeting of the two men at the Battle of Manassas marker and the pictures he took. She also told him about her conversation with Todd.

  "Cady, I think we're going to get them on this." Rob sounded almost gleeful. Then his voice changed. "If Rafe should find out, if somehow your marriage is jeopardized by all this, remember you always have me. I love you, Cady. And I think you could care for me."

  "Of course I care for you, Rob..." Cady looked up as the library door swung open. Her husband stood there, his eyes steel-blue and murderous. "Rob, I have to go."

  "Is it Rafe? Is he there? Cady, will you be all right?"

  "Yes, yes, I'll be fine. Good-bye." Cady replaced the receiver, not taking her eyes from her husband. "It's not what you think."

  "And what do I think?" The quiet menace in Rafe's voice filled the room. "I said once that I would never keep you if you decided that you wanted to go." The words fired from his mouth like bullets. "I've changed my mind. You're my wife and I'll see you and your lover—"

  Cady slapped the leather desk mat in front of her with both hands and jumped to her feet. "I don't have a lover!"

  "—in hell first. Now you damn well stay away from Rob Ardmore or I'll go to his office and take him apart in front of the whole House of Representatives."

  "You... you hooligan! How dare you threaten a con­gressman! Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"

  "I'm your husband!" Rafe shouted, anger propelling him further into the room as he threw down his coat and slammed the door in one angry motion.

  "All of a sudden you remember that!" Cady shouted back, wondering why they were doing this again. "What about all those times you left me alone to go to those damn parties? What were you then? A loving husband?"

  "You sent me to parties alone. You refused to accom­pany me. What did you want me to do?" he grated.

  "I sure didn't want you acting like the sultan of Wash­ington, going from bed to bed to bed." Cady's voice cracked she was so angry.

  "Cady." Rafe seemed to swell. "How dare you say such a thing to me? I was never unfaithful to you."

  "Liar!" Cady roared. Then she could have bitten off her tongue, longing to call back that hated word.

  "I never lied to you." Rafe's face was the color of putty, his lips rock hard as they formed around the words. He spun on his heel and left the room.

  "Rafe... oh Rafe, don't go," Cady whispered as she heard him take the stairs two at a time.

  * * *

  Cady had another sleepless night. Twice she rose and went to the door between their rooms, wanting to tell him what happened. Twice she reached the door, leaned against it for a few moments, then retraced her steps to bed.

  The next morning she felt as if she'd just placed last in a marathon. She stumbled out of bed and into the shower. Only when she was gasping and beginning to turn blue did she step out and dry herself. She sighed as she dressed in lavender corduroy jeans and vest and went down for coffee. Hopefully she would hear more from Trock today. She had the uneasy feeling that she couldn't put Todd off for too long.

  She stopped open-mouthed when she walked into the morning room and saw Rafe still at the table, the paper in front of him, a coffee cup in his hand. He leaned over and filled her cup from the silver pot, then rose to hold out her chair, his face impassive.

  "Sit down, Cady."

  "I thought you would be gone."

  "No doubt." Rafe shook his paper, then lifted the coffee cup to his mouth. "We're invited to Durra for dinner tonight. I accepted for both of us." He held up his hand as she glowered at him. "Before you tear into me, let me explain that it's just the family. It's not a political gathering of any kind. My father pointed out that we haven't been to Durra since my recovery. He feels it's about time we all had dinner as a family."

  "I see." She took a sip of the scalding brew, burning her tongue. She reached for the water glass, trying to soothe the pain. "And will Bruno be there?"

  Rafe frowned at her. "I don't know. Maybe." He shrugged. "You shouldn't let Bruno bother you. He has nothing to do with us anymore. Ignore him."

  "Bruno is rather hard to ignore," Cady muttered, wish­ing she could tell Rafe just exactly how hard it was. She had a horror of her husband ever seeing the box of pic­tures locked away in her file cabinet.

  Rafe pushed his plate aside, making Cady's brow crease as she noticed how little he had eaten. When he lit one of his cheroots, the crease in her forehead deep­ened.

  "Trock doesn't like you smoking those."

  "Trock—I haven't seen the man in a couple of days. Where has he been? I looked for him in the gym last night and again this morning."

  Cady stared at her husband, feeling her neck redden. "I suppose he must have a life of his own."

  Rafe gazed at her through the curl of smoke. "I sup­pose. I haven't seen Graf, either. Did Trock take him along?" He looked down at the sleeping Hobo lying at his feet and missed the start that Cady gave at his words.

  "Ah.. .he could have. The dog likes to ride in the car."

  "Yes, I suppose." He pressed the cheroot, not even half-smoked, into the ashtray and rose to his feet. "So I'll assume that we'll be going to Durra?"

  "Ah... yes."

  "Well, then... have a good day." Rafe stopped next to her chair.

  Cady looked out the window, afraid if she met Rafe's eyes she would dissolve into tears, sink to her knees, grab hold of his legs and beg him not to throw her away when he saw the horrible pictures of her. "You have a nice day, too."

  She heard him smother an oath as he left, and she began to tremble.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cady dressed that evening like a somnambulist. Even the cold shower she had stood under for fifteen minutes didn't lift her spirits.

  Todd had called her that afternoon. His demands had increased. Now they wanted Rafe to throw his weight behind more defense spending. It hadn't taken Cady long to see through t
hat ploy, since she knew Emmett and Bruno and their friend Greeley had oil interests in the Middle East and Africa. Speculation drilling on the Dark Continent was expensive, not just the equipment but also the mercenary army they felt they must maintain to pro­tect themselves against insurgents who attacked them at every turn. If they involved the United States government in their quarrels, it would certainly lessen the personal expense. She wanted to scream at Leacock that she knew whom he was working for and what they were after. Somehow she had managed to keep cool and not show her fury at his attempted manipulations. Somehow she had managed to fob him off again with excuses that Rafe had to be handled with kid gloves or he would discover what they were doing and have no compunction about bringing the whole sordid mess into the open.

  Rafe was late coming home that night, but that wasn't unusual these days. It seemed he spent a great deal of time avoiding her.

  Cady looked in the mirror, surprised to see that she was dressed and had all her makeup on. She studied the deep gold silk dress whose antique finish was only one hue deeper than her hair. With it she decided to wear the amethyst necklace and earring set that Rafe had bought for her when they had returned from their honeymoon twelve long years ago. The settings for the pale purple drop earrings were an antique gold almost the shade of her dress, a sheath with no adornment except its dramatic, almost off-the-shoulder neckline. Her heels were a light tan kid with medium heels and sling backs. She had a change purse in matching kid hanging from a chain. This she slung over her shoulder.

  She stiffened when she heard Rafe moving around in his room. It wasn't until she could hear the shower that she left her own room and descended to the library. She knew it was childish, but the less she saw Rafe, the less guilt she felt about the pictures and the underhanded methods she, Rob, and Trock were employing to set things right.

  She walked to the hidden bar in the bookcase, pressed the switch, waited for the doors to swing open and the light to come on, then poured herself some Riesling over ice cubes. She was sipping the sharp wine when the phone rang. The buzzer sounded twice, signaling that it was for her. She picked up the desk phone.

  "Cady? I hope this isn't a bad time to call, but I've discovered something that might help us."

  "Just a moment, Rob." Cady set the phone down and closed the door. "There. I won't be able to talk long. Rafe will be down in a minute. What is it?"

  "The man I have digging into things has come up with a little item that will interest the voters of New York. It seems our friend Bruno Trabold is equal partners with one Silas Greeley—our lobbyist Greeley—on a land deal on the Hudson River. They stand to make a great deal of money if a proposed nuclear power plant is built on said site."

  "The rat! The double-dyed rat," Cady muttered into the phone. "That Judas." She took a deep breath. "I wonder if my father-in-law knows that his fair-haired boy is feathering his own nest."

  "My informant sees no evidence that Emmett is in­volved in this, and I asked him specifically if there was a connection." Rob seemed to be reading from some­thing. "Cady, if you can just hold them off for a few more days, I think we may be able to nail the whole nasty bunch. If we're lucky, we'll be able to do it without those damn pictures ever having to surface."

  "I hope so, Rob. Thank you so much for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."

  Cady replaced the phone as her husband pushed the door open wide.

  His face was a gray mask of fury. A muscle jumped under his left eye; his hands clenched and unclenched. "You tell Ardmore for me that if he calls here again, I'll break his damn neck. And you stay away from him." His voice was like sandpaper rubbed on slate.

  Cady lifted her chin, hoping her face gave no hint that her insides had turned to jelly. "Rob is a friend of mine— a good friend. If you don't like my friends calling me here at your home—"

  "This is your home, too," Rafe thundered, his teeth bared.

  "—then I'll move to where my friends can feel free to call me." Cady felt as though her skin were quivering loose from her flesh.

  "Don't you ever speak like that again!" Rafe ground the words at her. "You're not leaving me."

  Relief at his words almost caved her in, but she lifted her chin still higher, not wanting him to know how tear­fully grateful she was that he didn't want her to leave. "Then don't you dare dictate to me who should call me here. I don't tell you whom you should speak to. Don't tell me."

  "And would you like it if I had women calling here?" Rafe shot back at her.

  "What do you mean, if? They have called," she fired in return.

  "That's a damn lie! No woman ever called me here after we married."

  "That's the lie," Cady snapped, fighting against the wobble in her voice. "Lee Terris called here more than once asking for you." Her lips pressed together as she regretted the words. The last thing she wanted was for Rafe to discover the hurt that lay like a heavy weight deep inside her.

  Rafe stared at her, shaking his head. "Why would Lee call here? We have nothing to talk about. The only times I've seen Lee have been when I went to Durra to see my father."

  "Ah, yes, good old Durra, party house par excellence. Naturally you would see her there."

  "Damn it, Cady, I meant I saw her there when I visited my father's home, not when I partied."

  "For God's sake, don't try to explain Durra to me. I haven't got a devious enough mind to understand that setup." She gulped down the rest of her wine, glad that the ice had diluted it. She watched Rafe stare at the glass, then back at her face.

  "You rarely drink anything," he said.

  "You and your family will probably drive me to al­coholism," she snapped. "Shall we go? I doubt there's sufficient wine in all of California and New York together to dull my nerves enough to stand an evening with your family." She sailed past him to the front door.

  "I might find agreement with you there," Rafe pro­nounced dryly, holding the door for her, then taking her arm to lead her to the car.

  At any other time the drive through the edge of Mary­land hunt country with its stone fences and rolling green hills would have entranced Cady, but as usual just the thought of going to Durra was enough to start her stomach rumbling and her attention centering on the ordeal of a dinner with the Densmores.

  "Cady, would you like to stop somewhere and get something to eat just to stop your stomach from growl­ing?" The amusement in Rafe's voice annoyed her.

  "Sorry." She pressed her hand on her abdomen. "No, I don't want to stop." It rumbled again.

  Rafe reached over and pressed his hand flat on her stomach, pushing her own out of the way. His fingers kneaded the slightly curved area above her lap.

  She felt stiff at first, wanting to push away his hand, but she had neither the inclination nor the strength to do so. Soon the growling stopped, replaced by the noiseless rumble of sensations deep within her. She bit her lips to keep from pleading with Rafe to stop the car and make love to her right there beside the highway.

  Rafe kept his hand on her the rest of the way, the heat from it penetrating right to her backbone. He lifted his hand only after they had left the highway and turned onto the meandering lane that would take them through the gates of Durra, up the crushed-rock drive to the colon­naded house that stood on a knoll overlooking beautiful fields. Today there were only a few horses to be seen, but Cady leaned forward to get a better look.

  "Would you like to ride after dinner, Cady?"

  "How long are we staying?" she asked warily.

  Rafe shrugged. "Who knows? If it gets boring, we'll leave right after we eat."

  Cady turned to look at him. "You'd do that?"

  "I would." Rafe let the car come to halt on the circular drive, then turned to her. "I won't let my family bully you ever again, Cady. I think I told you that."

  "Yes, you did. Thank you for that, Rafe." Cady turned away, fumbling at the latch on the door, not wanting him to see the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

  "
Cady? Cady, wait." He put his hand on her shoulder, but she wouldn't turn to look at him. "Cady, can't we try again? We had something good..."

  "Your family will be waiting, Rafe." Cady wrenched free, hearing his muttered oath behind her as she almost leaped from the car. She couldn't tell him that she wanted to be his sole love, that she not only wanted to try again, she wanted to try forever. But what if he saw the pictures? What would he say? How could she bear the contempt in his eyes. Suspicious of Rob Ardmore as Rafe was, how could she hope he would believe that the pictures were merely cleverly faked?

  She skidded to a halt in front of the door just as Samson opened it. Samson was a fixture at Durra. He had been a prizefighter in his younger days. His real name was Kieron O'Malley, and he had come from the same section of Ireland as Emmett's people, County Cork. He had retired from the fight ring many years ago, but his professional name, Samson, had stuck, and that was how all visitors to Durra referred to him. He was one of the few people at her father-in-law's home whom Cady felt comfortable with.

  "Lady Cat'leen, how are you? Come in. If it ain't his lordship roight behind you. Rafe, boyo, how are you?" Samson laughed as he crushed Rafe's hand in his and the two of them stood there squeezing for all they were worth. It was a foregone conclusion that Samson's ham­like hands would win, but, Cady noted with satisfaction, Rafe held his own, making Samson's color rise. "Spal­peen!" He used the Gaelic slang invective with a grin. "You're stronger, that's for sure." He turned to look at Cady.