A Dangerous Dance (4 page)

She almost felt the thump as her feet connected with the wooden floor under the vanity. Only then did she allow herself to consider Remy's proposal. Even without the rosy glow of fantasy, it had merit, or was that despite it? Being attracted to him was a definite complication, but was it insurmountable?

In some ways, it would be like dancing on the head of a pin. She'd have to pretend she liked him, while not letting on she actually did like him. A single misstep in one direction and the plan failed, possibly fatally. A misstep in the other and she got her heart broken.

Okay, those were the risks.

On the other hand, Remy's plan had more potential for a successful outcome, even weighted with all those emotional components. If she was able to be cool and logical, which she granted, she wasn't in a position to know for sure, it had the potential to apply the most pressure—if Magus had been killed for political reasons. And if he hadn't?

Dorothy considered that possibility again, though she'd done it thousands of times before—and come to the same conclusion. It had to be political. Or why choose that time? Why wait until Magus was rising in the polls? Why wait until pundits were beginning to call him unstoppable?

She'd gone through his businesses with the proverbial fine tooth comb, looking for another motive and had come up empty. Magus, despite his ruthlessness, had pursued his businesses with an almost fanatical sense of ethics. Maybe he's always known he'd go into politics and didn't want to give anyone any fuel for scandal. After the breakup of his marriage, he'd lived the life of an esthete as far as she could tell. There'd been no bimbo eruptions on his entry into the political field or after his death.

Within his businesses, he'd treated his employees better than his only daughter. He'd believed that good treatment and good benefits paid off in spades. Only the unethical and dishonest had problems with him. Once she'd assured people she didn't intend to change things, the loyalty he'd built flowed to her. There'd been some jockeying for position after his death, but not as much as she'd expected. Magus had chosen to surround himself with people who were bright and intelligent, and top notch at what they did, ambitious to excel, but not into power for power's sake.

Maybe it was because of his years in Australia, that down-under Oz, that he was both colorful and down-to-earth. Somehow he'd managed to be both mysterious and accessible to those he worked with. Like her, they fell under his spell and were happy to be there.

When he began his campaign, he'd managed to connect in the same way with the voters he met as he traveled around the state. People loved him. It was as simple as that. And now Remy was willing to bet his freedom that they'd love her, too.

She looked down at her hands, spreading her bare-of-adornment fingers and studying them as if they belonged to someone else. Gone were the cracked and broken nails of the wait and the dry skin of too much immersion in harsh chemicals. The skin was smooth and soft, the nails manicured, meticulously cared for. She ran a finger along the fourth finger on her left hand, trying to imagine it with a gold band. She didn't have to try hard.

She looked up again, speaking aloud to her reflection, “Who are you fooling, Dorothy? You knew you were going to agree the moment he said it. You should run as far and as fast as you can. This could really hurt, but you've been hurt before and it didn't kill you.”

Of course, in the past she hadn't been baiting a killer.

* * * *

Remy suggested they do the interview from Oz. The atmosphere was great and it would seem more a part of the mystique that Magus had so enjoyed creating.

Dorothy was happy to agree. For her it meant putting off the moment when she'd have to emerge from seclusion and once again face the howl of a press corps on the hunt. For a short time after Magus's death, as new heir to his empire, she'd been a target of the press, but by being rigorously uninteresting, they'd faded away. For several years now, she'd only been covered by the business inclined press. Now she was preparing to not only be interesting, but to give the press beehive a giant whack with a stick. Smart. Real smart.

At least she'd know real fast, if Magus was still interesting, and by default, her.

“I don't understand why you're doing this,” Titus said, during a rare moment alone with Dorothy. “You hate the press.”

Poor Titus. He liked his world straightforward and above board.

“How did you ever get mixed up with Magus and Oz?” she asked, before she could stop herself. Because she was so private herself, she was careful of the privacy of those around her.

He looked startled for a moment. “Your mother offered me the job. We went to the same high school.”

She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd announced his parents were bugs. “I didn't know.”

He shrugged. “I expect it's all in the file Magus kept on me.”

“I expect it is,” she said, tacitly letting him know she'd never read it. The real truth was, she'd never thought of reading it. Titus was just there, like Magus's ghost. But now that was changed. He'd been in high school. With her mother. He'd been a teenager. Amazing. “Your parents...”

She let the question trail off, in case it wasn't welcome.

“They died just after I graduated. So I went into the Navy.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

That wasn't what she meant, but she let it stand. She knew what it was like to have wounds poked at. “Do you know why...?”

Again she hesitated, as his brows lifted in polite inquiry.

“...my parents separated. Why he never tried to contact me?”

His cool, closed gaze softened. “I was his bodyguard, not his confessor.”

“Did he have one? A confessor?” She kept hoping that she could get some of her questions answered, but he shook his head.

“Not that I ever saw.”

“I guess my parents had that in common,” she said, unable to stop the hint of bitterness that colored her voice. It seemed that her parents’ secrets would always stand between her and her memories of them.

Titus looked like he was going to say something, but was diverted by a discreet beep from his cell phone. He looked at the message, then at her. “We have more company.”

“Who?”

“Bubba Joe Henry.”

“Really?”

Bubba wasn't his real name, of course. That was Robert Joe, but half the men in the South were Bubbas, Dorothy had found. The trick was keeping them all separate, hence the “Joe” add-on. What made this particular Bubba's arrival interesting was his position of her list of possible suspects.

“Do I have time to see him before the interview starts?” She looked at her watch, trying to do the math in concert with her racing thoughts.

Titus nodded. “You still have something over half an hour.”

“Let him in, then. I'll see him in the sitting room.” Pity the library was taken. She'd liked to have seen him with Magus's face in the background. She resisted going to the long windows that overlooked the drive where he'd arrive and instead seated herself on an elegant velvet couch. In the past, this had been the room where the ladies of the house received their guests, so it was an overtly feminine room, while still managing to be quite impersonal. Dorothy knew she'd never taken possession of it, during her short time here and it appeared her mother hadn't either. Or her presence had been swept away when she left. It would have been nice to have something of her mother here, something that would help her build a bridge between the past and the present that included her mother. Sometimes it felt as if she'd not just died, but been erased from Dorothy's life without a trace. Other than some old snapshots, she had nothing. Anything of value had been sold to pay medical bills.

She heard footsteps in the hall and straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. As Bubba Joe entered, she rose to her feet, her head tilted as she waited to see how he intended to play the scene.

He stopped in the doorway, his gaze drifting around the room before settling on her. He was a tall man, with a ruddy face and light, wavy hair that some women seemed to find attractive. Dorothy had never seen the appeal, finding his ready smile a bit too practiced for her taste and too much calculation behind his light, blue eyes. She'd heard he had charm, but she appeared to have been born armored against it. She'd also heard that he saw the governor's mansion as a path to the White House. He wouldn't have liked Magus forging ahead of him, using up his window of opportunity to power.

He'd come alone, thank goodness. His wife was the coldest fish Dorothy had ever met. Thin and pale and ruthlessly determined as any man around, Suzanne Henry was also rumored to be charming and intelligent. Not to mention AC/DC in the bedroom. There was the stink of scandal about them both, but nothing ever seemed to stick to them, not unlike another famous presidential couple.

Bubba Joe and Magus had maintained the appearance of a friendship, but he'd disappeared pretty quickly from Dorothy's life after the funeral. She knew from the file, Magus didn't trust him and would have done what he could to block him from ever running for office. She also knew Bubba Joe didn't like being thwarted. Oddly enough, he hadn't moved to fill Magus's position ten years ago. Ten years was a long time to put ambition on hold. He hadn't wasted the time, though. He'd held a couple of offices in the state house and senate, avoiding any national service so he could run as an outsider when the time came.

An outsider. A man who'd never held a job and been on the public payroll his whole life. It was a crazy business, she decided for the millionth time.

“Little Dorothy, all grown up,” he said, his tone as warm as if they'd parted yesterday as dearest friends. “You look amazing.”

Dorothy figured he'd play the hypocrite. At least he was going to spare them both a fake explanation of why he hadn't called. He strode forward, grasped both her hands and raised them toward his mouth for an almost kiss, and then planted a real kiss on either cheek, leaving her feeling like she needed another shower. She stepped back just enough to forestall any of the groping she'd heard he was famous for, and then gestured toward the seating, the movement general enough to let him pick his own chair.

“Please.”

No surprise when he picked a wing-backed, throne-like one.

“You look wonderful.” He made the compliment sound vaguely lewd. He rested his ham-like hands on the delicate sides of the chair and gave her a reproachful look. “Back in town three days and you didn't call.”

Nothing like going on the attack to prevent having to explain. He was good, but she'd been tutored by Magus.

“No.” She smiled at him, before adding with facile friendliness, “I'm afraid I haven't much time. I'm doing an interview in twenty minutes.”

A slight, quick frown drew his brows together and an ugly look flashed in his eyes before he reapplied his genial mask. The smile kept its edge, however. “So the rumors are true. You are considering a run for governor.”

“I'm afraid I promised Remy Mistral an exclusive on that question.”

This time his smile didn't crack, but Dorothy felt an aura of menace filter into the room. That he didn't like to be thwarted was, apparently, an understatement.

“I backed off before, Dorothy, but I'm not this time. Magus was...well, the Wizard. But you're no wizard. You'd do better to throw your support behind someone who can win. It's...safer.”

“Magus didn't teach me to play it safe.” Dorothy hesitated. “I'm surprised you waited so long to run. I rather expected you to already be moving on from the governor's mansion.”

“Suzanne felt the time wasn't right,” Bubba Joe said. “As you know, there is an ebb and flow in politics. Or perhaps, you don't.” He tried to leer and sneer and failed at both.

The hair on her arms rose in warning. This was not a man to underestimate. Dorothy forced a smile. “How is Suzanne?”

“She's fine.” He hesitated, shifting in the chair. “You went up to Angola, I hear.”

“You have good sources.”

“Naturally.” He licked his thick lips. “And now Vance is dead. Doesn't that tell you something?”

“It tells me that the past isn't dead. That there are still secrets to find and expose.”

“You should let the past...and Magus...rest in peace.”

“Neither seems willing to oblige. Can't you feel him here? I know I do.” She'd poked the tiger. Now maybe she could spook him.

“You're a wealthy young woman. You could walk away.” He sounded firm and almost kind, but spoiled it by looking around uneasily. “There's the whole world to spend it in. He can't make you—”

“Oh, but he can. He is. Don't you think I've tried to stay away?” She hadn't expected to go this direction, but it felt right. And it was a huge hoot. Until the room turned cool, as if Magus himself were trying to be heard. She saw Bubba Joe stiffen, his gaze darting around the room as if afraid that Magus were going to appear. Maybe he would. Magus had always had a sense of humor. She rose to her feet, as if she were half specter herself. She paced to the fireplace, then turned to look at Bubba Joe. “Do you think he knows now who hired Vance to kill him?”

Bubba Joe jumped to his feet, the ruddy color draining from his face like from a sink.

“Did you have something you wanted to tell me?” she asked.

“I came here because Magus and I were friends. One hears...things. Nothing definite, but things. It's not safe for you to do this. Magus, if he is...well, he should know better. Care more about you!”

“I expect the dead can't be much different from what they were in life. He always managed to pay back the good and bad, didn't he?”

She could see the struggle on his face as he regained control of himself.

“Suzanne was wondering if you'd have dinner with us some time this week?”

Her presence would start rumors of support, even if she didn't offer it. It was a clever move on Suzanne's part. “My schedule is rather full right now, but I'll let you know if something opens up.”

It wasn't what he wanted and it was clear he hated to leave without something. She rose, to emphasize that the conversation was over.