IN THE BACK OF KATE’S MIND, she wondered what would happen if she didn’t go back to work. She had her laptop in the backseat, her overnight bag in the trunk, and Buster the Wonder Dog asleep on the heated passenger’s seat of her Volvo. The weather was cold but sunny and she had a full tank of gas. What if she simply e-mailed in her resignation and took off for parts unknown?
Even though her thoughts were full of wanderlust and escape, she automatically headed north when she reached the interstate. But just north of Richmond, she made a last-minute decision to take the long way home. In fact, it wasn’t even the long way home, but the wrong way home.
But I’m not running away, she told herself.
She couldn’t even call it the scenic route, but there was something along this particular detour she needed to see. Hopefully it would help her make up her mind.
During her term as governor, Emily had spearheaded a highway program that resulted in the much-lauded I-995 Tollway, bypassing the always-clogged I-95 corridor through Washington, D.C. Using the toll road, Eastern seaboard traffic could avoid the worst of the Beltway traffic and connect back to I-95 closer to Baltimore.
When a barge broke loose a couple of months ago and clipped one of the bridge supports, federal inspectors realized that substandard materials had been used in the building of the bridge. Charles Talbot, Emily’s opponent in the presidential race, had probed deeper into the problem and uncovered the fact that most of the companies who had won the various highway construction bids had been owned by one or more holding companies controlled by members of the Benton family. The disclosure had shocked Kate, who had known nothing about the Benton involvement in any construction contracts.
This was the ammunition Talbot had planned to use to destroy Emily’s campaign, until Kate explained to him how the American public might be much more appalled if they knew the extent of the cover-up he himself had created.
When it came to comparing a few contract irregularities to a cold-blooded murder, it was like comparing apples to bowling balls.
And now Kate was driving her car on the very evidence of Emily Benton’s guilt.
When she reached the first tollbooth, Buster didn’t wake up until the woman at the window commented on what a good-looking dog he was and returned a Milk-Bone with Kate’s change. That got his attention. At the second tollbooth, Buster sat up in great hopes of a treat and was rewarded with yet another biscuit. By the time they reached the tollbooth for the bridge, Buster strained against his doggy seat belt in hopes of pushing past Kate to reach the expected treat.
Any other day, she might be annoyed by his antics, but today, the normality of his reactions helped to alleviate some of her tension. He was a wonderful constant in her life, demanding affection, returning it with equal vigor, and only requiring a few snacks along the way to keep him happy.
When they reached the bridge stretching across the Potomac, she pulled off the road and parked at a scenic overlook. She’d been there many times before, soothed by the lapping waters of the river, the underfoot crunch of mussel shells lining the shore, and the deep throaty whistles of the passing barges. Until she’d been slapped in the face with Emily’s nepotistic connection to its construction, the toll road and bridge had represented the height of Emily’s success. It was a project conceived, coordinated, and completed in a very short span of time, its success flying in the face of those who said it could never be done. Not only had the project been executed in an incredibly short length of time, but it had come in early and under budget.
Now, though, Kate looked at the bridge with a much more jaundiced eye. Exactly what other under-the-table deals had Emily participated in to make this bridge happen? Had she applied undue pressure on the Maryland officials to secure their cooperation? maybe a little blackmail or a few greased palms in the right places? What else had Emily managed to do without Kate even knowing?
Everything else or nothing more?
She and Buster followed the beaten path from the parking lot to the river’s edge. A cold wind pushed against her as if trying to propel her back up the slope and away from the cold water.
Glancing down the picket fence of bridge supports, Kate easily spotted the newly repaired pillar, its surface whiter than the others. She couldn’t help but remember Emily’s breezy explanation of why she’d secretly sidestepped rules against nepotism and allowed her family to bid and win many if not most of the highway construction contracts.
“See what happens when you hire a subcontractor outside of the family? We subbed out to a smaller firm and they’re the ones who substituted cheaper materials and pocketed the difference.”
But it was Emily’s second statement that revealed the heart of her family’s agenda and gave hope to Kate: “Had we known, we would have taken it over ourselves. We would have gladly lost money rather than build an unsafe bridge, especially on Virginia soil.”
The evidence, as Kate understood it, seemed to bear out Emily’s statement.
Buster struggled against the leash, trying to tug Kate toward the water.
“Forget it, Buster. It’s freezing cold.” She shivered, her thin jacket providing little protection against the wind whipping off the Potomac. A barge whistle sounded, causing Buster to gleefully howl as if returning a call of friendship.
Kate scooped up the dog, brushed the damp soil from his feet, and trudged back up the slope toward her car. It had been a mistake to come here, she decided. She already knew that Emily had no problem with doing the wrong thing for the right reasons . . . for what she considered the right reasons.
Kate worked slowly up the slope, battling a sudden gust of wind, slippery footing, and a struggling dog who wanted down —now. On top of everything, she felt the cell phone in her pocket vibrate.
As she juggled Buster, the lock remote, and the car door, she decided to let the phone go to voice mail. By the time she finally got both Buster and herself into the car and out of the elements, the phone had stopped vibrating.
A moment later, it chimed, indicating she had a voice mail. She punched in the code and put it on speakerphone.
Nick Beaudry’s accent was a bit deeper than usual, probably because he’d been back home in Louisiana for several weeks.
“Um . . . hey, Kate, this is Nick.”
A shiver coursed through her and she had no idea whether it was pleasure or apprehension.
“I was just calling to congratulate you and M. I know how much stress y’all been under the last few days or so.” He paused to laugh. “Stress. That’s a pretty mild description of what’s been goin’ on, isn’t it? Well, anyway, I wanted to talk to you because I’ve received a job offer and . . .” He hesitated and his accent waned a bit as if he made a conscious effort to slip back into a Washington mind-set and tongue. “Well . . . I’d like to talk it over with you, get your take on it, if possible. If —if you don’t want to call me back, that’s okay. I know you’re going to be really busy these next four years and . . .” There was an audible sigh. “Call me back if you have time, and if you don’t, I’ll understand completely. Completely,” he repeated with emphasis.
Kate stared at the phone. Should she call him back or forget she ever got his message? Part of her whispered that he was trouble.
First off, he was Emily’s ex-husband, and to say the Beaudry-Benton union had been acrimoniously ripped apart was putting a positive spin on their breakup. Kate had never seen a more vitriolic dissolution of a marriage. Nick had made a drunken spectacle of himself in the governor’s mansion at a big event; Emily called his bluff despite the very public setting; and then he’d celebrated the news by participating in a debacle that ended in his arrest for DUI, assaulting a law enforcement officer, two counts of lewd conduct, and two charges of solicitation of prostitution.
Second, he’d been Charles Talbot’s deputy campaign manager, pulled into the oppositional camp solely because Nick knew all about the various Benton secrets and hot buttons.
But despite all that, the newly sober and reborn Nick had played fair. Having rediscovered his faith and renewed his sense of honor, he never dipped into his past with Emily to pull out any dirty laundry or cheap tricks. Even when Charles Talbot secretly planned to release damning evidence about the Benton family involvement in the highway construction bids, Nick alerted Kate so, at the minimum, the Benton camp wouldn’t be caught unaware.
But as if the indignity of being fired wasn’t enough, he received a beating at the hands of unidentified attackers sent by Talbot as a warning to others who might “betray” the campaign.
However, after what he’d done to play fair and even help Emily, he deserved Kate’s thanks if not her friendship. What had helped to cement her acceptance of his change of heart and soul had been the wide inconsistencies her investigators turned up in the reports of his drunken escapades. The facts strongly suggested that the charges had been manufactured by one or two overly enthusiastic officers, eager to please close friends of a very angry governor of Virginia.
A woman scorned . . .
Kate hit the redial option.
Nick answered promptly. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Kate. Sorry, my dog, Buster, wouldn’t let me get to the cell phone in time to answer it.”
“Thanks for calling back. Is this a good time? I mean if you’re busy, or —” he softened his voice as if not wanting to be overheard on either end —“if she’s around . . .”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not in D.C. I’m on the road back from seeing my parents, but I’d stopped so that Buster could go kick a tree.” She glanced at her dog, knowing he wouldn’t mind her slight embellishment of the truth. He was busy, checking the seat for Milk-Bone crumbs. She didn’t want to tell Nick exactly where she was or admit to the muddled state of her conscience.
She conjured up a false sense of cheer. “So what’s going on?”
“Like I said, I just wanted to congratulate you . . . and Emily. After witnessing how low Talbot was willing to go, I really do believe the better candidate won.”
She couldn’t help herself from automatically rising to the bait. “Better candidate, but not right candidate?”
“Time will tell. But from what I hear, the one thing that everyone agrees on is that she’s chosen the right chief of staff. Congratulations for that. You’ll be great.”
“Thanks.” Rather than let him dwell on a tender topic, she deftly changed the subject. “You said something about a new job. Are you going back into state politics?”
“Not quite.”
“Going back to practice law, then?” She suddenly had visions of Nicholas Beaudry, gentleman attorney, standing in some steamy Louisiana parish courthouse and imparting legal wisdom in a big, booming voice.
His deep South upbringing slipped into his words. “That neither. I was hoping maybe we could talk about things. I need some advice. I don’t want to get caught up again where someone thinks they can use me to upset or shake up or otherwise distract M.”
“You have a job offer?”
“Yeah, and a pretty good one, I think. What’s the chances of us getting together and talking?”
“When?”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“You’re back? In D.C.?”
He released a sigh. “Yeah. I decided I wouldn’t let Talbot run me out.”
She thought about the time she’d spoken to him right after he’d been attacked by someone from the Talbot camp. Nick had tried to gloss over it, but she later learned the beating had been more severe than he’d let on, requiring overnight hospitalization.
“Is that wise, Nick?”
“Probably not. But now I have friends in high places.”
Since he couldn’t possibly mean Emily, Kate realized he meant her. That is, if she accepted the position. . . .
After a minute of discussion, they decided that a private meeting would be better. There was no use in deliberately feeding the Washington rumor mill. Kate squeezed her eyes shut when she made what she considered either a very brave or a very foolish offer.
“Why don’t you just come to my house? That is, if you don’t mind Buster hanging around us. We’d have more privacy there than if we met someplace in town.”
“True. Sounds like a plan to me. Tell you what —I’ll bring dinner. You like Chinese food? Better yet, does Buster?”
Sudden apprehension filled her. How had their simple powwow transformed into a dinner date? This was so not a good idea. But she was unsure how to back out of it. Left with no other choice, she assured Nick that she loved Chinese food and gave him directions to her place. Hopefully she had enough time to get home and clean up before he arrived.
Once she disconnected the call, she tossed the cell phone on the seat next to Buster.
“Next time, you answer it, okay?” Then she leaned her head against the steering wheel and sent up a brief but heartfelt prayer.
“Lord? Please don’t let me make a big mistake.”