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 h.e.l.l. 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 h.e.l.l are you with in that photo?" He gripped the gla.s.s 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."

"G.o.ddammit!" Hawkins pitched the paperweight at the floor and I jumped as it shattered. "Who is that!"

Hundreds of gla.s.s 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.l.u.tty 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 gla.s.s 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 a.s.sistant/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 h.e.l.lo. 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."

Sigmund quizzed me for an hour in front of Hawkins and Ho, always focusing on the facts of who I'd met, what I'd called myself, what interactions I'd had with people in Pocatello. Hawkins bristled when he heard me describe how Luke was driving when the Retrievers picked me up. But no one asked why Luke and I were headed to Colorado.

Then Sigmund sketched out the strategy: demonstrate that the person who took the photo mistook me for the girl at the dance by creating a false ident.i.ty. Birth certificate, marriage license, online presence.

Ho was taking notes and throwing out questions. Hawkins uncrossed his arms.

"We can fix this in twenty-four to thirty-six hours," Sigmund said. "But Avie's reinvention could take months."

"We don't have months!" Hawkins said. "The primary's in June."

"I understand your frustration, but we can transform this scandal into millions of dollars of free public relations."

"How?" Ho said.

"Aveline is a curiosity. She's the girl who came back. People will look at her and see the young lioness that Jessop Hawkins has tamed."

My stomach clenched. Only a few weeks before, Hawkins had told me he looked forward to taming me.

"You mentioned limiting Avie's public appearances," Sigmund went on, "but hiding her in Malibu is a waste. Voters want a look at the most intriguing young woman in the country. Put her on the stage, and they'll flock to your rallies."

Ho and Hawkins exchanged glances. Hawkins didn't love the idea, but Ho did. "We can make it work, Jessop."

"How are the plans progressing for the Signing?" Sigmund said.

"We're on target for December twenty-third," Ho said.

"Nine days. Good."

Good? Helen is playing her part too well. Why isn't she trying to delay?

Hawkins scowled as Ho ticked off the items that were being finalized: guest list, caterer, music, tent and decorations, security, remote parking, publicity. The vile dress I'd been fitted for weeks ago that the designer said I should wear without panties.

"You're inviting Vice President Jouvert, of course," Sig said.

"Jouvert rarely attends events for Paternalist candidates," Hawkins said. "He's careful about who he's seen supporting in public."

"Jouvert will come," Sig insisted, "given the likelihood you'll be the next governor. He needs California voters if he wants to be the next president."

Hawkins and Ho traded a look. "Fine," Hawkins said.

I didn't understand why Sigmund insisted that Jouvert be invited, but clearly Hawkins and Ho hadn't clued him in that we'd just blackmailed Jouvert.

Sigmund checked his Piaget. "We should discuss Aveline's cause."

"Her cause," Ho said, his tone completely dismissive.

I leaned forward, wondering what Sigmund had up his sleeve, when he wagged a finger, telling me to keep still.

"Your ultimate goal is for Jessop Hawkins to become president of the United States, is it not?" he asked Ho.

"Of course."

"First Ladies are defined by the causes they promote. Think Laura Bush and literacy or Hillary Clinton and universal health care. The media excitement over Aveline's return won't last forever, and the right cause can brand her as First Lady material."

Ho's eyes flicked back and forth like he was reading polling results, and he tossed Jessop a nod before saying, "What do you suggest?"

"Orphans. Jessop led the effort to create the nation's orphan ranches. Having Avie stand by his side and defend the innocent will cast her as mature and maternal. A young woman devoted to the future of the country."

My skin began to p.r.i.c.kle. Sigmund had some grand plan, and it probably included me spying for the revolution. He was going to be disappointed to find out that my days as a revolutionary were over.

Sigmund gave me a long, hard once-over. "Bring in a stylist you trust," he said. "And get her hair back to its original color. Then we'll work on wardrobe and interviewing skills. Once we get the Pocatello incident behind us, we need to get her out there."

Then Sigmund took in Hawkins. "I don't know who's responsible for developing your public persona, but if you will excuse my saying so, they have failed to counsel you effectively."

I stifled a smile as Hawkins narrowed his eyes at Sigmund. "You find fault with my style?"

"Intimidating. Hard-edged. Superior. Your style fits a CEO, but voters don't elect candidates who intimidate them. They elect people they like. If you wish, I can suggest some simple changes, hair, wardrobe, accessories, to increase your likability factor."

Hawkins gave Sigmund a look that could melt steel. "I'll consider the offer."

"Very good." Sigmund stood up. "Adam," he said to Ho. "Let's get to work."

Jessop eyed me as if he expected me to stay. I sat taller in my chair.

Once we were alone, he said, "I need to know that you were telling me the truth when you said you weren't romantically involved with Luke Stanton."

I was relieved I didn't have to lie. "No. He helped me, because of his mom."

"You really don't know where he is?"