A Girl Undone (22 page)

“All I ask is that you take three sips.”

I made myself smile. “Sure, I can do three.” I took the first sip. Sour.

“Don’t swallow.” He touched my hand and I flinched. He pretended not to notice. “Let the wine sit on your tongue. What does it remind you of? Citrus? Apples? Pears?”

My answer didn’t matter, but appearing cooperative did. “Pears,” I said.

“See, not so hard.”

The chef came out with our salads, greens with blackberries, something he shouldn’t know I liked. It had to be a coincidence.

Hawkins started to talk about growing up in Montecito, and going to boarding school in Ojai. He asked me questions about what sports I played at Masterson and what classes I liked. It was bizarre, him acting like he wanted to get to know me when he knew I could barely stand him.

The feeling that Hawkins was up to something got stronger when the chef set down a plate of crusted mahi mahi. Three weeks before, Hawkins had forced me to sit through lunch with a bloody steak in front of me and wouldn’t let the chef remove it, but tonight?

“You seem confused,” he said.

“I thought you didn’t like fish.”

“I prefer fish to meat, actually.”

If you say so.
I cut into my fish as Hawkins peered at me.

“Oh,” he said, “you’re thinking about the lunch with the Biocure board. I serve beef, specifically five-hundred-dollar-a-pound Kobe beef, when I need to remind people I’m in control.”

That’s why he wouldn’t let the chef take away my plate. He needed me to know he was in control.

“But that is not what this evening is about,” he said.

“What is this evening about?”

“It’s about getting to know one another since our futures are firmly entwined.”

I took a second sip of wine and slid my glass away. All this posturing and pretending was pointless. I felt like it was time to get real. “Why do you want to be governor, anyway?”

Hawkins cocked his head, surprised I’d asked. He took a moment before saying, “You were probably too young to remember what it was like during the Scarpanol disaster.”

“I lost my mom. I remember way too much.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

I blinked. He’d apologized like a normal human being? Like he had
feelings.

“Your parents must have tried to shelter you from what was going on.” He swirled the wine in his glass before taking another swallow.

“Yes, they did.”

“It was chaos. America was falling apart. Millions of women were dying, but hospitals were shutting down, because there weren’t any nurses. The stock market tanked. The housing market collapsed. Men were rioting in the streets.”

“And?”

He set down his glass. “I survived. My companies survived, because I did not panic. I saved the jobs of sixty-three thousand employees while I watched Washington make one stupid mistake after another.”

“So, you’re smarter than everyone else.”

Jessop smirked. “I wouldn’t say everyone, but I remained clearheaded while our nation’s political leaders were led to make hasty and ill-considered decisions by the media and their precious donors and special-interest groups.”

The chef brought out chocolate mousse, another favorite of mine. This was not a fluke; Hawkins planned this. I took one bite, but the mousse was so rich, I thought I’d be sick. I set my hands in my lap while Hawkins ate quietly. He seemed to have something on his mind. I couldn’t help thinking how weird it was that when I asked him about being governor, he didn’t praise the Paternalists. In fact, he’d almost insulted them.

Hawkins wiped his mouth, then reached for my wrist. I jerked my arm away.
You think I’d let you touch me?

“I suppose I deserved that,” he muttered. He glanced at the shadows moving in the kitchen. “Our fortunes are now tied,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We took a risky and irrevocable step last night, you and I. Blackmailing a vice president is not a game we can afford to lose.”

My skin prickled. “And?”

“Great dreams require great risks, Aveline. Jouvert has always distrusted me, and what we did last night—”

“Why didn’t he trust you—I mean, before?”

“Because I don’t need his help the way his cronies do. I can pay for my own campaign, and Jouvert likes his political allies beholden to him so he can tell them exactly what to do.

“We must be careful about everything we say and do in public and in the media. We cannot have any more scandals. We need to keep the Paternalists happy and win this election. Otherwise—”

I saw Maggie hold up the banner.
I SURRENDER
. Saw her body slammed to the ground.

I shuddered. “Jouvert will have us killed.”

“I don’t think he’d go that far.”

Either you’re blind or you’re a fool to believe that.

“Given what I just said, we need to talk about Yates Sandell.”

Nausea climbed my throat. “Why?”

“Are you still in love with him?”

How dare you ask me about Yates?

“You know how foolish that is.”

I stared at a red stain in the cement and shook my head.
I refuse to talk about him with you.

“He’s facing trial for kidnapping alongside Father Gabriel, and Gabriel
will be convicted.
The evidence is overwhelming.”

Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.

“We could have a life together if you would give up your unyielding devotion to him.”

“Are you kidding me?” I balled up my napkin and threw it down on the table. “That’s not how love works! I can’t stop feeling what I feel!” I shoved my chair back from the table and began to walk away.

“Given that you still love Yates, how far would you go to save him?”

I turned around slowly. “What?”

“What would you be willing to do to set Yates free?”

I stood there, meeting Hawkins’ gaze, but not saying a word. Then he crooked his finger, telling me to come closer, and I obeyed.

No matter what Hawkins asked me to do, I wouldn’t betray my love for Yates. I’d stay true to him.

Hawkins took my hand, and I fought the urge to shake him off. “What if I could get the charges dropped against Yates?” he said.

“What would I have to do?”

“You commit a hundred percent to appearing to be my loyal, supportive spouse. On the select occasions when we are in public together, you will clap and cheer for me, hold my hand and kiss me for the cameras.”

I had to give Hawkins credit. He knew the deal I couldn’t refuse. One half threat, the other seduction. “Is that it?”

“You promise that you will not embarrass either of us by attempting another escape.”

“All right.” What was the point in trying when I’d never succeed?

“You promise to do everything that I ask.”

“Everything?” I shook my head. I couldn’t, not if it meant—

“Relative to the campaign,” Hawkins added, clearly annoyed he’d had to say it.

All Hawkins was asking for was cooperation. To play the part. I didn’t have to believe in the cause, just to look as if I did. And after what I’d done with Sparrow’s tape, I couldn’t pretend I was so honest or moral I wouldn’t do it.

“Yes, if you help Yates, I promise to do whatever you ask to help you get elected.”

Hawkins let go of my hand. He picked up his spoon and scraped his dessert bowl clean. “We need each other now.”

I’d tried to stay true, but I walked out of that room feeling like I’d betrayed Yates in a way he’d never understand. I couldn’t let him sit in prison, not when I had the power to get him out. What did it really matter if I campaigned for Hawkins? I was his legal prisoner. I was never getting away from him.

I’m doing this to save Yates, I tried to tell myself. If he’s free, he can fight for everyone’s rights. I can’t. I’m done. My fight is over.

29

The next morning, Deeps burst in. “Wake up, Avie. You have to get up now.”

I opened one eye. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Deeps held up a tablet, the screen blazing with a shot of me in Luke’s arms at the Pocatello Princess Dance. “Avie’s Secret Lover!” screamed the headline.

“Oh holy—” I whirled out of bed. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

“Mr. Hawkins and Adam Ho are waiting for you in his office. I wouldn’t bother getting dressed.”

I should have known at least one of those girls at the dance was snapping pics. Once she saw me on the news, she went right to the tabloids, hoping to cash in.

I grabbed my robe and headed for Hawkins’ office, knowing he’d give me hell. But right now, I didn’t care about Hawkins. I cared about Luke. The media would dig in, trying to find out who he was. And Hazel McAllister would probably offer up everything she’d seen. I could not let the feds track Luke down through me.

Ho greeted me with a nervous glance. The tablet with its lethal revelation was propped on the desk.

Hawkins gazed out the window, a crystal paperweight in his hand. “Who in the hell are you with in that photo?” He gripped the glass ball so hard his fingers looked like claws. “Tell me the truth. Now.”

The room was electric with Hawkins’ rage, and I stood there, mouth open, but nothing came out. I had to protect Luke, but I didn’t know how.

Ho got between me and Hawkins. “Avie, we need to deal with this situation. We need you to be completely forthcoming.”

“Goddammit!” Hawkins pitched the paperweight at the floor and I jumped as it shattered. “Who is that!”

Hundreds of glass slivers littered the stone. “It’s Luke Stanton.”

His head whipped up. “The son? You said you’d barely met him. You lied to me!”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Son of a— You were lovers, weren’t you?”

“No. We were just traveling together. We never—we pretended we were married, that’s all—” I refused to count the kiss Luke and I shared in our final hour together.

Hawkins held up his hand for me to stop. “Where’s Luke Stanton now?”

“I don’t know. We got separated in Fort Collins.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not! Your Retrievers snatched me when Luke was paying for gas. I don’t know where he is.”

Ho glanced back and forth between Hawkins and me. “The crisis management expert should be here in a few hours,” Ho said. “Why don’t we break until he arrives?”

Hawkins adjusted his watch. “Fine. We’ll reconvene when he gets here.” He was done looking at me, but I didn’t know if I should move until Ho gave me a nod.

I backed out of the room and scurried down the hall as quietly as I could. Deeps passed me with a broom. “You’ll want to stay inside,” he said. “The press is back.”

30

Hawkins summoned me when the crisis manager arrived. I swept through the garment bags in my closet. Ho hadn’t sent me instructions, but I knew I needed an outfit that said “Innocent.” I found a black skirt that hit me mid-knee and a blush silk blouse that covered me from my slutty neck to my shameless arms.

When I came out of my dressing room, a news chopper buzzed over the ocean, cameras trained on the house. Deeps positioned himself between me and the windows as he led me down to the indoor pool. “We set up in here to prevent those cameramen from getting a shot.”

Hawkins and Ho sat at the sleek aluminum and glass table with the crisis manager, whose back was to me. He was African American, taller than Hawkins or Ho, and his silver gray suit fit his body like it had been cut for him. He stood up as I walked in. “Aveline,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Sigmund Rath. Senator Fletcher sent me.”

My heart skipped a beat.
Helen?

It couldn’t be.

When I’d last seen her in Vegas, Maggie’s assistant/costume designer/coconspirator had just shaved her head, styled herself in a man’s suit, and set off to sabotage the casino elevators.

But Sigmund’s expression was wrong for Helen. His brows were too full, and his closely cropped hair was salt-and-pepper not siren red.

I managed to shake Sigmund’s hand, and mutter hello. I glanced at Hawkins and Ho as I sat down, wondering if they’d tuned in to my surprise, but they weren’t even looking at me.

“Avie, may I call you Avie?” Sigmund said.

“Yes.” I peered into Sigmund’s face.

“You may call me Sig, if you like.”

“Sig.”

“My job is to ensure that the Jessop Hawkins candidacy is not defined by this event and to reinvent its future.”

“I understand.” Maybe in my panic I’d confused him with Helen, but the small mole by his left eyebrow…?

“Our immediate goal,” Sigmund continued, “is to distance you from this seemingly incriminating photograph, but our long-term goal is to reinvent you as a young woman who embodies Paternalist values.”

I felt loopy, like I’d crossed into a parallel universe where everything was the opposite of the reality I knew, where Helen was Sigmund, and Sigmund intended to make me into everything Helen hated.

“Avie, are you listening?” Sigmund tapped my hand.

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. You want to distance me from the photo.”

“Jessop confirmed that you are the girl in the photo with Margaret Stanton’s son, Luke.” Sigmund held my gaze, and suddenly I knew, and there was so much we wanted to say, but couldn’t.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I need you to describe exactly where you were and what you were doing when this photo was taken so we can create a credible alternate narrative to explain it.”

My fingers played with the pleats on my skirt. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt. The people who helped me are innocent.”

“No one who helps a fugitive is innocent,” Hawkins snapped.

Sigmund paused for a moment, before saying, “Let’s focus on the task at hand. Avie has been cleared of those charges. Our attention must be on rebranding her as the young woman whose concern for protecting innocent children led her to escape from the church in which they were being used as a human shield by the terrorist Margaret Stanton.”

Hawkins rubbed his thumb across his watchface. “Very well.”

“We will not expose the people who helped you, Avie,” Sigmund promised. “That will not work to anyone’s advantage. Instead, we will create a narrative that exposes how the person who gave the media that picture was mistaken.”