ELEVEN

NICOLAE HAD THOUGHT he finally detected fatigue in the eyes of Leon Fortunato until they got on the subject of the spirit world. He wasn’t ready to dump his whole story on the Italian, but he told him enough that Leon would know they were both on the same page.

Still, he wanted to get back to the other subject. Maybe this was the route. “You have a spirit guide?” Nicolae said. “A contact?”

“I believe I do,” Leon said. “He has never steered me wrong yet. Every impression I get seems solid. Even his leading me to you.”

“You discussed our meeting with a being in the netherworld?”

“I consult the spirits for everything.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say I came with great anticipation.”

“Now let me ask you this, my friend,” Nicolae said. “Is there any length to which your spirit guide might tell you to go that would make you uncomfortable, make you hesitate, make you resist?”

“No!”

The answer was so immediate and forceful that Nicolae flinched. “Indeed?”

Fortunato made a fleshy fist. “Some things are solid, and you just know. Like you knew what to do about your competition.”

Now this was getting eerie. “My competition?”

“You think you didn’t get Mr. Tismaneanu’s attention?”

“Sorry?”

“I thought you eschewed cat and mouse,” Fortunato said. “You’re trying to tell me that your former employee’s unfortunate demise was coincidental?”

Carpathia’s mind was reeling. He had to hold out the possibility that this had all come from Planchette. Rule out all conventional explanations before giving credence to a man’s intuition. He was tempted to excuse himself for a bathroom break and get Planchette on the phone.

“No one told me this,” Fortunato said, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Told you what?”

“Oh, very good. Deny as long as you can. If we have a future together, Nicolae—and I’d like to think we might—don’t sit there and look me in the eye and with a straight face tell me that your accountant jumped to the enemy ship and then was accidentally killed within days. Do you think Emil Tismaneanu believes that?”

Nicolae couldn’t hide his smile. “I hope not.”

That made Fortunato laugh. “I hope not too. It should be rattling in his brain all during the campaign for the lower house, wouldn’t you say?”

“You know about that too.”

“That you have not hidden. And I can help you win. My first bit of advice is on the house. Trumpet your military exposure, which begins soon. Then run as a dove.”

This was uncanny. How could they think so similarly? Was it possible they shared the same spirit guide?

Nicolae stood, finally feeling he needed a bed. “Normally I would play it safe with a new acquaintance,” he said. “But I must ask you flat-out. How far would you go to ensure my victory over Emil Tismaneanu?”

“How far would you want me to go?”

“As far as necessary.”

“As far as, shall we say, Ion?”

Carpathia stared at him. “What if that was my request?”

Fortunato stood and stretched. “I need to beg your leave,” he said. “But let me say this. My response to your requests—any requests—will be determined by how deeply I believe in my client and his cause.”

Rayford sounded asleep, and he had never been good at faking it.

Irene slipped out of the hotel-room bed and sat by the window, staring at the streetlights. So this was how it was going to be. Well, at least there was some closure, some sense of satisfaction in even knowing that. She could quit banging her head against a brick wall and hoping for better. On the other hand, she hated herself for failing at this yet again.

Irene couldn’t wait to talk with Jackie. What was she supposed to do with all this? That part in the Bible about the husband being the spiritual authority and the head of the home was misunderstood even when both spouses were believers, she knew. But what about when the man was not a true believer? Was she supposed to obey him?

Irene knew she could never do something she believed was against the will of God, even if Rayford commanded it. But he wasn’t that type. He didn’t browbeat her, didn’t bully her. He simply told her how it was going to be, and she could do what she wanted in light of that, except he really didn’t want her to go to New Hope.

Well, if he was going to have everything his way on Sundays, Irene was going to insist that Chloe be in Sunday school and church with her every week until she left for college. And if they paid for college, they should be able to expect her to live by their rules there too. That was unlikely, she knew. She could worry about that later.

So Irene was going to be a golf widow. And what kind of marriage could she expect from here on out? Her husband pegged her a religious nut. How attractive could that be? He was out and about all the time with beautiful young flight attendants on every flight. She wasn’t about to lose him to them, no matter what.

Maybe it was time for self-examination. Was there a way she could be faithful to Christ without so alienating her husband? What if she accepted his decision and more than resigned herself to it? What if she helped get his equipment ready, had his clothes laid out, reminded him of things she’d read about the weather or upcoming tournaments? What if she skipped a Sunday morning once in a while to watch him play in a special event? That would knock his socks off.

She heard him stir, then turn. He reached for her and found her gone. “Irene?” he said.

“I’m here,” she said. “I love you, Rayford.”

“You do?”

“You’re a stubborn old creep, but I love you.”

“Well, thanks. You’re a Bible-thumpin’ door-to-door evangelist, and I love you too.”

“Do you really, Rafe?”

“I do. I like being married to you and want to stay married to you. I’ve remained faithful to you and plan to keep it that way.”

“That means a lot to me.”

“I mean it, Irene. Now come back to bed.”

She joined him and they lay there in the darkness, Irene staring at the ceiling. “What if I learned to play golf?” she said.

“What?”

“How long would it take me to get good?”

“I’ve been playing all my life, and I’m still no good.”

“You know what I mean. How long, if I took lessons, until I would quit embarrassing myself and you would let me play in mixed matches?”

“Mixed matches? I didn’t even know you knew what those were. Thing is, it could take forever, and I don’t think your heart is in it. I appreciate the effort, but you wouldn’t be doing it for you. You’d be doing it for me, and that would never work.”

Irene sighed. Can’t blame a girl for trying.