CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (22 page)

             
"Okay." Kate lingered still, and she sounded guilty and torn when she said, "I have to call Brad. This is a tragedy, but it's a story, too. He'll break me into tiny pieces if I don't."

             
"Do what you have to do."

             
She heard the tone in his voice, saw the way he half turned away. "This is the end, isn't it?"

             
He didn't pretend. "Yeah. It's a good thing this happened, because you and me together . . . that's stupid."

             
"I don't think it's stupid."

             
"We've got nothing in common."

             
"Since when did you become the voice of reason?" she asked bitterly. He tried to reply, say something else superficial and soothing, but she slashed the sounds with her hand. "You and me would be the best thing that ever happened."

             
Now
he pretended he didn't know what she meant. "Obviously, the reports are overrated. I'm not
that
good in bed."

             
Because she wasn't talking about sex. She was talking about the ties that bound them, and how making love would cement those ties.

             
"Yeah. Sure." She tugged her hand away from his.

             
He held it for a second too long. "Go call your mother. Tell her you're all right." Then he let her go. He watched her walk away, then turned his attention to the wailing police cars as they swung into the parking lot.

             
She'd be happier. He'd be happier.

             
It was better this way.

             
Softly, he heard Mrs. Oberlin say, "Lana, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry"

             
"Get me the car." George Oberlin put the phone down gently, oh so gently, and turned to Freddy. "I've got to go."

             
"Yes, sir." As George tried to shrug his way into his discarded dinner jacket, Freddy caught the collar and assisted. "I hope it's not an emergency, sir."

             
"Don't be ridiculous," George said angrily. "Why else would I go out at this hour?"

             
It was two-thirty in the morning. The anniversary guests were all gone. The caterers were still cleaning up and carrying dishes to their vans. Servants wiped up wine spills and moved closer so they could listen.

             
And George was livid. That stupid bitch he'd married had really done it now.

             
"Is there anything I can do to assist you, sir?" Freddy asked.

             
George wanted to snap at him. But he had a reputation for being calm in a crisis. It was a distinction that had served him well when it came to public appearances. "No, thank you, Freddy. This is something I have to do for myself. I'll let you know if I require aid."

             
He headed for the door, and somehow Freddy got there before him to open it, a courtesy that annoyed George so much he could scarcely breathe.

             
Then Freddy followed George down to the car and opened that door for him, too, and that almost sent George over the edge.

             
But it wasn't really Freddy who aggravated George. It was Evelyn. According to the cops, she'd tried to attack Kate Montgomery with a knife. Worse than that, it wasn't the first time she'd attacked Kate. Kate had been in fear for her life. She had had a stalker, and Teague Ramos had been her bodyguard. . . .

             
George bent to enter the car, then slowly straightened.

             
Of course. Now that they'd caught her stalker, now that they'd caught Evelyn, Kate would be done with Ramos.

             
"Senator?" Freddy hovered beside the door, uncertain what to do as George stared into space. "Did you forget something?"

             
"No. Instruct the chauffeur to take me to the police station, and hurry. My wife"—George managed to pretend to choke up as he loudly leaked the information he wanted the whole city to know—"has been arrested for violent behavior, alcohol and drug possession. I'm going to have to do something about her again, and I'll tell you, Freddy"—he put his hand heavily on the butler's shoulder—"this just breaks my heart."

             
"Yes, Senator, I can see how it would." Freddy stood stiffly beneath George's touch.

             
George risked a glance around. The servants crowded the porch. The caterers were standing beside their vans with their mouths open.

             
He seated himself in the car. Freddy shut the door. As the chauffeur drove away, George smiled a secret smile.

             
"I'm here at Ramos Security, where Teague Ramos, the man who keeps the Texas Capitol safe, directs his operation." Less than twenty-four hours later, Kate looked at the camera, then turned to Teague. "Mr. Ramos, with the experience of a Marine veteran and the expertise of a former Special Ops, does this assignment meet the challenges you've set yourself in your life?"

             
Teague met her eyes, but she saw no emotion there. No interest, no regret. It was as if they had never kissed, never lusted for each other. "Guarding the Texas Capitol is the kind of job security men dream of."

             
Kate signaled Cathy to turn off the camera, and the station tape took over. With the help of the editor at KTTV, Kate had put Teague's piece together. She put together a longer piece for the Sunday-morning show. For all intents and purposes, when this interview was over, she would be done with Teague.

             
While they waited for the film to finish, Teague joked with Cathy and talked with his secretary, Brenda, who watched the proceedings with awe.

             
This two-minute piece seemed to last forever as Kate stood beside Teague and pretended she didn't mind that she had explicitly offered herself to him—and that he had managed to resist her.

             
Humiliation burned in her, and she was afraid it showed in the heat of her cheeks. But she still had those stitches on her chin, so between those and the carefully applied foundation, most of the viewers wouldn't notice anything was amiss with her state of mind.

             
Yet she could eventually deal with humiliation. She wasn't sure if she could bear the knowledge that she would never know the ecstasy of being one with Teague. Watching him walk away would have been hell; never having him was worse.

             
She got the signal to start filming again. Looking into the camera, she finished the piece. "Teague Ramos is one of a rare breed, the man who stands between us, the common citizens of the United States, and anarchy. So next time you tour the Texas Capitol, smile and wave at the security cameras. The people behind them protect us every day."

             
The red light on the camera blinked off.

             
Kate unhooked her microphone from her jacket. She turned to Teague to help him, but he removed his microphone and handed it over before she could touch him.

             
"Thank you, Kate, for putting together such a great report." Teague offered his hand. "I'm sure this will make me a celebrity."

             
"A position to which I know you've always aspired."

             
They didn't shake. They looked at their joined hands.

             
Then Kate broke away.

             
Kate left Teague's office . . . for the last time.

THIRTEEN

             
With one ear, Kate listened to the anchorman on the ten o'clock news while at the same time she considered how pitiful her social life must be that she was cleaning her apartment on a Friday night. God knew she could have had a date. Dean Sanders had called repeatedly.

             
But she didn't want him. She wanted Teague, that rat. She hadn't seen him in three weeks, not since the five o'clock news where she had wrapped his story and he'd broken her heart.

             
She'd spotted his people at the capitol. They smiled at her, waved at her, spoke to her.

             
But he had used his stupid monitors to avoid her, as if that would make her stop craving him.

             
Or maybe—she brightened—maybe he avoided her because if he saw her, he wouldn't be able to resist sweeping her away and taking her to some isolated desert island with waving palms. He'd take her in his arms and do all the things she'd imagined rather than backing off just because he'd been interrupted by someone wanting to kill her. . . .

             
Poor Mrs. Oberlin. She'd been sent to a place where she could recover from her "nervous breakdown." Senator Oberlin had stopped Kate in the corridors of the capitol and apologized for the ordeal his wife had put her through. He had made excuses for Evelyn, the kind of excuses that made Kate's heart bleed. To all appearances, he adored his wife, yet she'd seen the tension between them at the party.

             
And why had there been no mention in the press about the incident at the dumpster?

             
When Kate had asked Brad that question, he'd shrugged and said senators' wives were always having problems. When she'd told him problems were different when they involved possible attempted murder, Brad had informed her she didn't understand and, as punishment, made her cover the social beat for a week.

             
She didn't ask Senator Oberlin. She knew that he wouldn't want to publicize his wife's sad, scandalous behavior.

             
But more than that, it didn't matter that she'd seen Mrs. Oberlin vomiting in the grass, that she'd witnessed the little sack of pills and smelled the booze. The things Evelyn had said strengthened Kate's sense that Oberlin was not to be trusted.

             
Kate fought her skittish agitation every day as George Oberlin sought her out. He gave her hints about what was happening in the Senate and about the bills, so many that she took the lead in the competition to break the most stories at KTTV and made Linda Nguyen hate her again.

             
Kate should have been ecstatic to achieve her goal so swiftly, and she would have . . . if it weren't for the lingering agony of Teague's rejection.

             
Now, recognizing the name spoken by the anchorman, Kate's head jerked around.

             
". . . found Mrs. Oberlin at the bottom of the stairs. Medical examiners declared her dead of a broken neck. They'll investigate to see if alcohol or drugs are involved. Mrs. Oberlin had just returned from her fourth visit to an exclusive rehab center." With that damning phrase, the anchorman turned to the meteorologist. "So, Marissa. What's this rumor I hear about strong thundershowers this evening?"

             
Kate stood in front of the television, hands loose, eyes wide.

             
Mrs. Oberlin was dead? Dead from falling down the stairs? The police were investigating possible alcohol abuse?

             
"Dear Lord." Picking up her jacket, Kate walked out of her house into the rain, and headed for Teague's place.

             
Teague heard the doorbell ring. Without looking out, he knew who it was. He'd seen the news report. He knew why she was here.

             
But before he left his study, he checked the front porch camera. There she stood, Kate Montgomery, scowling up at the lens.

             
So with the switch at the top of the stairs, he cleared the lock.

             
She opened the door and walked into his home. She looked up at him.

             
He looked down at her.

             
Outside, lightning flashed, and, after a pause, thunder rumbled.

             
"It's coming closer," she said.

             
She meant the storm.

             
Or did she?

             
He hadn't seen her for three whole weeks. But even dressed in worn jeans, a white T-shirt, and a silly pink pair of flip-flops, she was beautiful. Raindrops sparkled in her dark hair like diamonds in the night sky. Her face . . . he'd seen her face in his dreams, but his dreams hadn't conjured up the sweet curve of her cheek, the stubborn angle of her chin, the way she looked so alive, so vital. . . .