Deeps smacked the water so it sprayed in my face. "Marines!" I paddled away as he got to his feet. "Be in the dining room at seven!"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Hawkins' gym was deserted when I came out of the pool. I knew my face was probably still all over the news, but I hoped to find at least one story that would prove that Luke had reached the reporters.

I played with the elliptical controls, and discovered that the access code Deeps gave me worked every channel, as if he got how badly I needed news of the outside world to survive. It was my oxygen.

I muted the audio and clicked through twenty channels running stories on my dramatic return before the screen filled with a close-up of Jouvert. I shivered and wrapped my spa robe tighter over my wet racing suit.

Sunshine poured down on Jouvert's brown, sculpted face. He grinned a big bleached-white smile, and his green eyes crinkled at the edges as if he couldn't be happier.

Acid rose in my throat as I heard his and Sparrow's voices in my head, her murmured questions, and his arrogant, satisfied claim that he'd made the deal with the Saudis. Then I saw Sparrow lift the water bottle over her head and flick her lighter.

My knees went soft and I leaned against the machine. Sparrow should never have trusted me with her secret.

She sacrificed herself to get Jouvert's confession, and I'd traded it away to save my own life.

I reached to shut off the screen, but the camera pulled back, showing the crowd filling the open square that was edged with desert palms. The sky stretched clear and blue above the faded stucco storefronts. Jouvert was in Arizona or New Mexico-just hours from Denver.

My skin p.r.i.c.kled as the camera panned the crowd of men in baseball and cowboy hats, and my heart stopped when I saw a black cowboy hat with a big spray of feathers on the band. No. It can't be. I paused the controls. The man's head was dipped, his eyes hidden by the hat brim, so I clicked through the frames. Look up. Show me your face.

The camera moved on, but I couldn't. What if Luke hadn't met the reporters?

Maybe that was Streicker's plan all along. Get me out of the picture. Send Luke to meet a couple of fict.i.tious reporters, and when they don't show, Luke goes back to his original plan to kill Jouvert.

I tried to visualize the back of the van, anything that could have hidden a rifle, but I couldn't remember what was in it.

But Luke didn't need a rifle. He already had the gun he'd brought with him.

Or maybe Streicker had nothing to do with this, and Luke went rogue. Streicker wouldn't report that the van was stolen if Luke drove off with it. He wouldn't want the law snooping around.

Cold water trickled down my legs as I clicked through the frames, searching for the man in the black hat. He never reappeared, but I did learn the rally was in Phoenix.

The sky was dark outside, so the rally had to be long over, and Jouvert was safe. Otherwise, the story would have been the shooting.

I hoped I was wrong, thinking that Luke was stalking Jouvert, and that he'd met the reporters and was hidden high up in the Colorado Rockies. But I realized I'd never know if Luke was safe. The only way I'd hear about him was if he was arrested or killed or went through with his threat against Jouvert. Then the media would broadcast every gory detail.

The news ended, telling me I was late for dinner. Even if I didn't feel like eating, I had to show up for my first meal alone with Hawkins.

Upstairs, Elancio had labeled all the garment bags in my closet with tags that said "Political Donor Barbecue" and "Kern County Rally," but none said "Post-Retrieval Dinner for Two." I dug through the rack, until I found the least heinous outfit. A simple, dark blue dress that would almost have been cute-if it didn't make me look forty.

When I came down to the dining area, the lights had been dimmed. Hawkins was sitting at the far end of the long, cement table, a line of votive candles leading to him.

He stood up when he saw me. Instead of a steel-colored golf shirt or crisply pressed b.u.t.ton-down, tonight he wore a moss-green cashmere V-neck with nothing under it.

I swallowed and my stomach plunged. The candles, the outfit. He's trying to be romantic. I tried to smile, but couldn't, as I walked over to the place at his side that was set for me.

The open kitchen had disappeared behind a translucent panel, giving us privacy I didn't want. Hawkins' chef was a blur behind the amber-colored gla.s.s.

Soft music m.u.f.fled the sound of crashing waves, but the room shuddered faintly when a big one hit.

Hawkins drew back my chair. "You look very nice this evening," he said.

I held my arms close to my body, trying not to brush him. "Thank you."

Hawkins gave a short, embarra.s.sed smile that put my inner self on alert. "You never say my name. I'd like to hear you say it sometime. Jessop."

"All right. Jessop."

Hawkins poured me a gla.s.s of wine without asking. I didn't want to drink. I couldn't risk being vulnerable around him. "I don't like wine," I said.

"You must learn to tolerate it if you are going to be the wife of the next governor of California."

I crushed my napkin in my lap. The governor's wife. Right.

"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 cla.s.ses 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 gla.s.s 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 c.o.c.ked 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s. "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 p.r.i.c.kled. "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 embarra.s.s 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 sc.r.a.ped his dessert bowl clean. "We need each other now."