Captive of Fate (19 page)

*

In a state of shock, Alanna walked woodenly up to her apartment. Several copies of the
Washington Post
lay randomly piled near her door, and she froze as she saw the banner headline on one of them: Marine Hero Investigated. Relief fraud. Shakily, she scooped up the newspapers and unlocked the door before going inside. Throwing them all on the couch, Alanna ran to her phone. She leafed through her address book with renewed urgency, looking for Matt’s number. She broke out in a cold sweat waiting for an answer from his home phone. It rang and rang. In despair, she finally hung up, biting her lower lip until she tasted blood in her mouth.

Her mind whirled with renewed anguish. She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, and drew an unsteady breath. It was Thursday…. Her mind focused on the cabin up in Maine. What would Matt have done as soon as he found out about the investigation? Would he have flown north and stayed at the cabin? Alanna gripped the phone, and she desperately foraged her memory for John’s and Evelyn’s address. Contacting information, she finally got their number.

Evelyn answered. “Hello?”

Alanna gripped the phone tightly, her voice coming out in a tumult of anguished words. “Evelyn, this is Alanna. Please, for God’s sake, don’t hang up on me. I’ve got to find Matt. There’s been a terrible mistake—”

“Well—I—”

Alanna clenched her teeth. “Where is he, Evelyn? I’ve got to talk to him.”

Silence lengthened on the phone line, and Alanna held her breath. “I didn’t know about this, I swear,” she rattled on. “I was in Seattle for nearly two weeks. When I landed at the airport only a few hours ago, I found out. Please help me, I don’t want to lose him, Evelyn. I love him.”

Evelyn’s voice softened slightly. “He isn’t here, Alanna. I believe he’s at his home in McLean. At least, that’s where he was the last time John and I talked to him. What’s happened, Alanna? My God, we just can’t believe the horrendous stories that are being leaked out of Senator Thornton’s office. They’ve made Matt a scapegoat, and you’re supposed to be testifying against him next Monday.”

Pain lacerated her heart, and she fought back the tears. “We both thought that Senator Thornton was going to let my report die, Evelyn. This is as much a shock to me as it is to all of you.” A ragged sigh escaped her lips. “Give me Matt’s home address, will you? I’ll drive out there and see him. Somehow, I’ve got to make him understand I didn’t do this to him. There’s something strange going on. Thornton has lost one of my film canisters—the one with the film that will clear Matt. Oh God, I hope I have the time….”

“Alanna, I believe you,” Evelyn confided, her voice growing warm once again. “I told John you weren’t capable of doing something like that. I just instinctively knew it.”

Alanna’s stomach knotted at the mention of instinct. It brought back searing memories of her and Matt walking along the jungle trail discussing logic and intuition. And right now, all her instincts were screaming at her to get to Matt as soon as possible. She scribbled down his address and thanked Evelyn. Hurriedly, she left the couch and ran to her bedroom, throwing off her two-piece wool suit.

D
ressed in jeans, a long-sleeved blouse, and a light jacket, Alanna opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. As she ran to her car, rain slashed relentlessly at her face, the wind tugging at strands of her hair to lift it from beneath the collar of her jacket. Sliding into her Ford Mustang, she shakily opened a map of Virginia while the car warmed up.

She wasn’t the adventurous sort, and trying to negotiate the intricate street system of D.C. made her nerves fairly scream with a new level of impatience. Finally, she was on the main interstate, darkness falling more rapidly than usual because of the torrential rainfall.

It was near 9:00 p.m. when she finally found his home. It was a ranch-style house that sat on the outskirts of the city ensconced within a grove of pine, ash and elm trees. Her spirits were beginning to pick up as she drove slowly down the long asphalted driveway, moving past the split-rail fence. Her mouth grew dry when she realized that there was only one light on in the house. One car was parked in front of the double garage: a low-slung red sports car. Her palms grew damp, and her fingers became icy as she shut off the engine. She sat there gripping the steering wheel for a long moment.

Forcing herself out of the car. Alanna walked slowly up the concrete path, oblivious to the rain which was soaking her lightweight jacket. Her throat ached with unrelenting tension as she moved up to the small porch and knocked on the heavy oak door. She waited, nervously clutching her handbag. Again she knocked, only this time louder. The door was jerked open.

Alanna gasped, taking a step back, her eyes wide.

“You,” Jim Cauley said, his voice barely above a snarling whisper. He glanced over his shoulder and then stepped outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Alanna felt the rage emanating from Cauley and automatically stepped off the porch back into the rain. She blinked, the rain stinging her face. “Where’s Matt?” she demanded, her voice betraying her fear.

Cauley stood there, his hands resting tensely on his hips as he glowered down at her. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

The cold didn’t matter; she wasn’t aware she was trembling. “Jim, I’ve got to see him! There’s been a terrible mistake and I—”

“He made the terrible mistake by falling in love with you,” he hissed. “And you led him right over the edge. You’re the kind of woman that survives real well on the Hill, you know that? I warned him about you, and he said no, that you were sincere and not a spy for Thornton. I knew better. I saw right through your little ploy. Are you enjoying your new status up there? It must make you feel real good to know you’ve destroyed one of the finest men in the Marine Corps.”

His attack transformed her fear into galvanizing anger. No one had ever spoken to her with such hatred. Alanna took a step forward.

“Look, Cauley, I don’t care how much you hate me. Matt loves me, and I love him. I don’t give a damn how much you dislike me. I don’t care if you think I was a spy. I’m here to see Matt, and I intend to do that one way or another.”

He glared at her darkly, his blue eyes narrowed pinpoints of malevolence. “He’s sleeping,” he snapped.

“Then wake him up. I’m not leaving,” she said with chattering teeth. She wrapped her wet arms across her chest.

Cauley wavered for an instant, as if mentally reviewing his options. “Look, dammit, he’s passed out. I got here about an hour ago, and he was drunk as hell, trying to drink the pain away.” His voice lost its steely edge, and his shoulders slumped downward. “He’s dead to the world. Why don’t you let him have these few hours of peace, because when he wakes up he’ll go through the same hellish pain all over again.”

A lump grew in her throat. Pain…oh, God, the anguish Matt must be feeling. “Over—over the indictment?” she ventured.

Cauley snorted. “You’ve hurt him in the only way possible. I saw him go through this same kind of hell when Rachel died. Jesus, you’ve destroyed him emotionally by telling Thornton—”

A strangled cry erupted from her. “I’ve said nothing to the senator! I love Matt, for God’s sake.”

The officer shook his head, looking beyond her, his mouth set in a grim line. “Yeah, and he used to love you once. But that’s all over now.” He glanced down at her, tiredness evident in his voice. “You’d better go, there’s nothing else to say. I don’t know how you can live with yourself after what you’ve done to Matt.”

Alanna clenched her hands, anguish in her tone. “Cauley, tell him I was here. Ask him to call me when he gets up. I still love him! I don’t want to lose him. Please…”

“Yeah, sure! See you Monday at the hearing,” were his parting words.

She stood there another minute before she could think coherently enough to move out of the rain. Chilled and shivering, she slid into the Mustang, digging unsuccessfully in her purse for the keys. Hot tears rolled down her face, falling silently onto the wet fabric of her jeans. Somehow, she found the keys in the darkness. Vision blurred, Alanna backed the car out of the driveway and onto the street. Her mind was numb with shock and outrage. Matt no longer loved her. He believed she was going along with the senator’s plan to implicate him. And she was sure Cauley was using the situation to make the final rend in their relationship. Shakily, she tried to concentrate on driving in the gloomy downpour. The windshield wipers moved steadily back and forth, and she drove home in a state of shock.

Alanna stumbled into her Georgetown apartment near midnight. Shivering with cold, she ran a tub of hot water and tried to soak out the feeling of sickness invading her heart and body. Crawling into bed, she curled up into a fetal position, feeling feverish and nauseated. Closing her eyes, she let her body tremble every few seconds with another shudder. Inwardly, she wanted to die. There was no life without Matt. No joy. No love….

She rose before dawn Friday morning, feeling sluggish and lethargic. A depression worse than any she had ever known swamped her. Three different times she had picked up the phone to call Matt, and three times she had lacked the courage to do it. She knew Cauley would be there and would intercept the call. Cauley had probably also neglected to inform Matt that she had driven out to see him. Rubbing her pale features, she finally got off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee.

At six-thirty the phone began ringing. She flew across the living room, thinking it might be Matt calling. Instead, it was only the first of a series of reporters and newsmen inquiring about the investigation Monday morning. By ten, Alanna was experiencing a degree of anxiety she had never felt before. She was torn between taking the phone off the hook and angrily telling the reporters to leave her alone. But if she did take it off the hook, Matt might not be able to get through. To take her mind off the dilemma, she dressed and tore open the packet Senator Thornton had given her at the office.

Her stomach tightened into a huge knot as she read with disbelief the report she had submitted to Thornton after returning from Costa Rica. Paragraphs had either been deleted or changed to implicate Matt. She read the report slowly, making notations where she knew the material had been changed. Examining the black and white photos, she saw with remorse that one of the crates had been taken from the wrong angle, so that the lettering was unreadable. It was the only one featured in the pictures. Matt was leaning over the crate, and her heart squeezed with anxiety. What would the other senators think when they saw it? Would they believe she had caught him in the act of stealing the supplies?

By noon her temperature had risen dramatically, and she was feeling ill and weak. Gathering up the annotated report, she dressed in a pair of woolen slacks and a warm sweater and slipped on her winter coat. The weather was ugly outside, with rain falling in a steady drizzle as she drove to the Hill. Alanna ignored all the social amenities once she arrived at the office and went directly to Peggy’s desk. The secretary looked up.

“What are you doing in here? I thought Senator Thornton gave you the day off.”

“I have to talk to him, Peggy.” Her voice shook with barely controlled anger.

“Well—”

Alanna looked toward the closed door of Thornton’s office. “Right now,” she grated.

“He’s out to lunch, I’m afraid,” she answered briskly, arranging a stack of papers.

A wave of dizziness swept over Alanna, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she planted her feet apart to steady herself. “When will he be back?”

Peggy took her time in consulting his appointment book. “Oh my, I forgot. He’s taking part in a vote up on the Hill this afternoon. After that he and his wife are flying down to North Carolina to stay with Representative Benton over the weekend.” She gave Alanna a weak smile. “Sorry.”

It was almost impossible to think rationally due to the fever. “Who worked on the final preparation of the hearing report, then?”

“Why, I believe the senator’s two attorneys.”

“Bill Sullivan and Henry Bauman?” she demanded, frowning.

“Yes, I believe so. Why?” she asked sweetly, fixing a saccharine smile on her mouth.

*

Alanna wearily leaned against the door of her apartment, physically exhausted by the short trip to the Hill. She dropped the briefcase near the couch and shrugged out of her damp coat. Going to the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and swallowed two aspirin. Determined to get in touch with Matt, she returned to the couch, dialing his number.

The phone rang eight times before Alanna reluctantly set it back down into the cradle. Tears gathered in her eyes. She slipped off her shoes, lying down on the couch and sobbing softly. Her body shook with spasms as the pent-up frustration and anxiety flowed from her. A horrible sense of dread washed over her when she analyzed the situation. Various sections of her report were missing or changed, and the film which would vindicate Matt had disappeared. She had never trusted Bauman; there was nothing she could put her finger on, but the feeling was a strong one. She had worked closely with him and Sullivan before, and a new sense of spiraling dread made her already nauseated stomach churn even more.

Finally rising, Alanna took a hot bath and climbed back into bed, exhausted. As sleep came, she thought of Matt and how much she loved him. Each time Jim Cauley’s words rang in her mind, a new flow of tears streaked down her cheeks. “He used to love you once,” Cauley had said. Gripping her pillow with renewed anguish, she gave in to the exhaustion and slept.

*

She awoke late Saturday morning with the phone ringing. Stumbling blindly out of bed, Alanna made it to the living room. She coughed heavily, a deep rattle in her chest as she picked up the receiver. Her heart thudded with despair when she discovered it was another nosy reporter calling.

Alanna slammed the phone down. She had another coughing attack, gripping her chest and gasping for breath. She felt hot again and decided to take more aspirin. After making coffee, she phoned Matt’s house.

“Hello?”

Her heart sank. It was Jim Cauley. Taking a deep breath she said, “This is Alanna. I want to speak to Matt.”

“He isn’t here,” came the terse reply.

“Where is he?”

“Over at the Pentagon with General Green preparing his opening statement for Monday. Why don’t you quit trying to reach him, he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Alanna gasped softly, gripping the phone. “No—that isn’t true! Didn’t you tell him I drove over to talk with him?”

“I did, and he said he doesn’t want to see you. Is that plain enough for you, Ms. McIntire?” The line suddenly went dead, and Alanna shakily lowered the phone from her ear, staring at it. A tidal wave of anguish slammed into her, and she dropped the receiver, a cry breaking from her lips.

*

Monday morning dawned, funeral-pyre gray in color. The freezing drizzle continued. The clouds were a turbulent, angry mass, and the wind rose and fell erratically. Alanna woodenly went through the motions of dressing in a dark navy blue wool suit and white silk blouse, barely conscious of pinning her dark hair back into a severe chignon at the nape of her neck. She had fought the cold all weekend, but she felt even worse now. On Sunday she had tried to concentrate on the report, memorizing passages that were incorrect. A heaviness pressed against her chest, making breathing difficult. She looked into the bathroom mirror. Her jade eyes were dark with torment, sunken against the paleness of her features. Two pink fever spots showed on her cheeks, and bruised shadows were visible beneath each of her eyes, making her appear haggard and drawn. Even her mouth was thinned, the corners pulled in, indicating the severity of emotional pain that she was experiencing. Alanna was too exhausted to put on much makeup and chose a pale pink lipstick for her mouth. In less than two hours she would see Matt. Her brows moved downward at the thought, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes. No, she mustn’t cry. Not anymore. Every time she whispered his name or pictured him in her mind, her heart wrenched with new-found pain. A chill shot through her, and Alanna felt deathly cold. Picking up her navy blue jacket, she slipped it on.

At exactly nine o’clock she arrived at her office and grimly moved toward the Senator’s door. Peggy smiled cheerfully as Alanna walked by her desk.

“This is your big day, Alanna. Just think, you’ll be on every national newscast by this evening giving your testimony. Aren’t you excited?”

Alanna barely gave her a glance as she strode into Thornton’s office. He was meeting with the two attorneys and a number of other aides when she entered. A knife of dread twisted in her stomach. Thornton looked ecstatic, laughing and smiling genially with Sullivan and Bauman. Compressing her lips into a single line, Alanna walked silently up to the group of men, her briefcase tightly clenched in her left hand.

“Senator, may I speak to you alone for a minute?” she asked, her voice husky with strain.

All three men turned simultaneously. Thornton eyed her critically for a second, frowning.

“Are you all right, Alanna? You look pale.”

She waved it off. “Just a chest cold, nothing more.”