"You will do more as-" Ms. A caught herself. "In the future."

"You mean when I'm the governor's wife."

"Yes."

Her believing in me was ridiculous. "But I won't have any power to change things."

"You already do, you just don't realize it."

We heard footsteps in the hall, and moved apart as Deeps came around the corner. "Everything okay back here?"

"Yes, sorry!" Ms A said brightly. "We got to gossiping. Silly us."

Deeps escorted us back to the kitchen. The photographers had cleared out, and Jessop and Ho were waiting with Ramirez. Ms. Alexandra took the folded ap.r.o.n and pressed it into my hands. "Something to remember us by. You're a model for these girls, you know."

I clutched the ap.r.o.n to my breast. What was I a model of, really?

Hawkins crushed my hand in his as we walked back to the car, where Ramirez thanked us again for the generous donation of the teachers' salaries. I got in the back seat and Hawkins climbed in after me. Hawkins was silent as Deeps pulled out of the gates. "Avie's trending," Ho announced. "I know we didn't plan that stunt with the teachers, but the numbers are moving."

Hawkins stared ahead with focused intensity as he pressed the control that raised a clear panel between us in the back and Ho and Deeps up front. I set the ap.r.o.n down and slid my hands under my legs. So much heat was radiating off Hawkins, I felt it across the seat.

"The next time you have an idea, you will come to me and ask me what I think. I am the man in this relationship," he said, punching the seat with a finger. "And you will not make me look like a lovesick puppy to the press."

I stared at the folded ap.r.o.n. I am not for sale. "I'm sorry. I thought I was supposed to champion the cause. Wasn't that why you brought me here?"

"When you are in public, you stay on script. That is what you agreed to. You want to champion some idea, you do it in private, but when we are in public you cannot-"

"Okay, okay. You're right. I should have asked you about the teachers."

We rode in silence for a little while. I could feel Jessop start to cool down.

"You should sue Masterson's placement office," I muttered. "They should have told you I'm not very good at doing what I'm told."

"They did tell me, but Adam was convinced your resemblance to my mother would more than make up for that."

My breath caught. "You didn't pick me?"

"No, Adam selected the candidates. Frankly, I was leaning toward 'Christy' from Westridge."

I sat there, stunned. If Adam Ho hadn't chosen me, none of this would have happened. My life would have been totally different. "So, you Contracted me because Adam Ho told you to?"

Hawkins rubbed his thumb over his chin, and a mile went by, maybe two, before he said, "It was the look you gave the camera in your placement portrait."

I remembered silently daring the photographer to get a good shot as he posed me for the mandatory photo.

"You seemed-challenging. Someone who'd keep me interested. But no one bothered to mention your relationship with Yates Sandell before I signed the Contract."

I heard all kinds of things in his voice, anger, bitterness, betrayal. He thought he'd been tricked. "The thing with Yates. It just sort of happened. Dad didn't know."

"Yes, well, the damage is done." He rubbed his fingers over the emblem on the ap.r.o.n. "You were right about those girls needing an ESL teacher. Ramirez wouldn't have sprung for the expense."

It was a compliment.

"Why did you bring them to the orphan ranch instead of taking them home?"

"Because their families wouldn't take them back. The village would shun them for being impure."

I couldn't quite figure out if what he'd done was good or bad, because it was both.

"You can't save the whole world," he said, touching the control that lowered the divider. "You can only make it incrementally better. I'm open to discussing your ideas, but don't spring them on me in public again."

Ho looked at us over the seat.

"How's the story trending?" Hawkins asked.

"She's a star! s.e.xy, compa.s.sionate, everything you'd want in a First Lady."

Governor's wife. Ms. A's words echoed in my head. "You will do more in your role-" As First Lady.

Maybe Ms. A was right, that I had power to change things, to make a difference in peoples' lives. And maybe that was how I could live with myself and what I'd done. I would atone.

37.

The next morning the Secret Service arrived, and Deeps escorted me down to the dining room to meet them. I slowed as I walked through the main room, trying to size up what was going on. Two men in dark suits and white shirts had removed the large Ortiz painting from the wall and were examining the back.

"Come join us, Avie," Hawkins called from the dining room. He was tense, but trying not to show it.

Two more agents in the same dark suit/white shirt uniform sat at the table with Hawkins, Ho, and the chef. The agents weren't huge guys, not anywhere near the size of Deeps, but their seriousness weighed down the air.

Hawkins glanced back and forth between the agent across from him and the two handling his precious Ortiz. "I have gloves your colleagues can use."

"Don't worry, Mr. Hawkins," the agent said, "we have extensive experience examining valuable furnishings and artwork."

Hawkins frowned as the agent placed a recording device in the center of the table.

A younger, blonder agent, Agent Brisbane, directed me to the seat beside him. He had the same close-cut hair, clean-shaven face, and sungla.s.ses in his breast pocket as the others. "Please place your hands on the table so I can fingerprint you."

I laid my hands on the cold cement top. In the kitchen, someone was opening and closing the drawers and cabinets. The alarm system pinged, indicating that someone else was opening a door or window to the outside.

Agent Brisbane splayed out my fingers, and rolled them across the ink pad. My scalp began to p.r.i.c.kle. Keep calm. They're not here for you. They're here to prep for Jouvert's visit.

A voice came through Brisbane's communicator. "Entering Mr. Hawkins' bedroom," and I jerked, sending the ink pad scooting into my lap.

Oh s.h.i.t. I left the hanging in my room. If the feds noticed it was missing from Maggie's office in Vegas, they might be looking for it.

"Sorry." I set the ink pad back on the table.

Agent Brisbane handed me a towelette. "Happens all the time."

Sweat pooled in my armpits as I listened to agents move through the halls. The lead agent checked everyone's IDs, and then asked for a list of regular visitors to the house, the electrician, plumber, landscaper, grocery delivery guy, anyone we expected on the grounds before Vice President Jouvert's visit.

Ho began listing people. When he got to Sigmund Rath, Agent Brisbane nodded. "Yeah, I know Sigmund. He's a regular on the D.C. party circuit."

Holy-I squirmed in my seat. Brisbane meant the real Sigmund Rath, not the ex-showgirl-turned-spy who was due to show up soon. I had to warn Sig, but I didn't have a phone.

Deeps stood back with his arms crossed like the agents' questions were no big deal, but I saw him quietly size up the men. I wondered if he was thinking what I was, that this visit was a cover for their real mission: to find and destroy the incriminating tape of Sparrow and Jouvert.

If they did, Jouvert would be home free, and he could do whatever he wanted to Hawkins and me. I stared at Deeps until he met my eyes. Where's the tape? Is it around here?

Deeps ignored me.

Then the agents asked for the names of the suppliers for the Signing: the caterer, florist, musicians, tent rental. I picked at my nails under the table, dying to get upstairs and deal with the hanging. "Can I go?"

The head guy nodded yes, and I was halfway out of my chair when another agent said, "What about Luke Stanton?"

For a second, I didn't move, but then my instinct kicked in. I finished getting up. "What about him?"

"You became acquainted with him in Salvation, Idaho."

"Barely."

My stomach tightened like a fist. Everyone was watching me. The agents like they'd pounce if I twitched or stammered. Ho like he expected me to screw up and blow open the story we'd concocted. Hawkins like-I didn't even know how to read what was on his face.

"We maintain a list of individuals who we believe may pose threats to government officials. Mr. Stanton is on that list."

Luke isn't just a person of interest. He's a suspect!

A bead of sweat rolled down my side. I dropped my shoulder, and started checking my hair for split ends. "And?"

"Can you confirm the physical description we have of Mr. Stanton: Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes, nineteen years old, height six three to four, weight two hundred seventy-five pounds?"

Luke was tall, but no way he weighed 275. I gave the agent a sulky stare. "Yeah, I guess. I dunno. He's big like him," I said, pointing to Deeps.

"And did you ever witness Luke Stanton express anger with the federal government or any of its officials?"

You murdered his parents! He has every right to be angry!

"Uh, him personally? There were a lot of people in that church, and they were really upset. So I can't tell you what he said or didn't say."

"I recognize that you may not know the answer to this question, but are you at all aware of whether Luke Stanton is an expert marksman?"

I saw Luke firing in the snowy field and Streicker cheering him on. "No," I said, "I have no idea."

The agent paused the recorder. "Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Reveare. We don't need you anymore."

"Okay." I turned just as he said, "Mr. Hawkins, your house is monitored for audio and video, correct?"

My body tensed so it felt like my muscles were knotted under my rib cage. I walked away, listening hard.

Hawkins started to answer, but Deeps interrupted. "Sir, let me handle this. The entire structure is monitored, but the level varies by room."

"We'd like to review the last three months."

I scuffed my flip-flops across the floor, pretending I couldn't care less what they were saying while inside I fought not to panic. If there was a tape of Hawkins and me talking about blackmailing Jouvert ...

"We don't retain the files," Deeps said. "We clear them every morning."

Deeps had to be lying. As Hawkins' loyal man, he'd say anything to keep incriminating data out of the feds' hands.

Back in my room, I wound the wall hanging around my waist, then put a shirt on over it, and stuffed Mom's letters inside. I was zipping on my hoodie when there was a rap on the door.

"Miss Reveare, we'd like to come in."

Two agents held the door while I slipped by. Jessop and Ho were still talking to Agent Brisbane and the other man downstairs as I went out the double doors. I didn't see anyone in the garage, so I darted up the steps to the parking circle.

Two black SUVs dominated the pavement. If Sig saw them when he opened the gate, maybe he'd realize who they were and turn around before the feds intercepted him. But what if he thought they belonged to the event crew working on the Signing?

I had to make sure Sig didn't go inside the house, and I had to tell him the feds were closing in on Luke.

I headed through the scrub toward the grove. From there I'd be able to see the gate, but stay out of sight. The only person who ever came out there was Hawkins, and right now the agents were keeping him busy inside.

I hurried down the dusty path in my flip-flops, wishing I'd remembered to wear boots. Please, no snakes. Please, no snakes.

But as I reached the grove, I slowed. The atmosphere here felt different, sacred almost. Towering eucalyptus formed a loose circle that tailed off near the cliff, and I stopped to take in the bronze statue of a woman atop a granite pedestal in the middle of the clearing. The crushed leaves below my feet gave off a pungent scent.

From where I stood, the woman was in profile. Her hair was twisted in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and she gazed at something beyond the trees. Hawkins' paintings of slaughtered chickens and melting abstract bodies repulsed me, but this woman drew me to her.

I walked up until I was only a couple feet away. She felt like a real person, because even though she was pretty with high cheekbones I envied, she had a small b.u.mp on her long, slender nose, and her chin jutted out just a little bit too much.

She was seated as if she was relaxing on the ground with one leg stretched out in front of her. Her elbow rested on her bent knee and a broad-brimmed hat like hikers wear hung from her hand. She looked like she'd stepped off a trail to take in the view, and she looked like you could ask her anything.

I ran my hand down her sleeve, releasing a yellow cloud into the air. When I stepped around to the front, I saw the name Livia Dufort cut into the granite pedestal along with the words "The earth has music for those who listen. Shakespeare."

"Born May 10, 1975-Died October 30, 2007."

Livia died from Scarpanol. Or maybe not, but she was only thirty-two, so the chances were- I circled around, wondering who she was, because she wasn't Hawkins' sister, whose name I knew started with m. Plus, Livia didn't look like anyone I could imagine with Hawkins.

Not his girlfriend and most definitely not his fiancee. "The earth has music for those who listen"? That wasn't a Jessop Hawkins philosophy.

But for some reason, Livia Dufort was buried here.

On the back of the pedestal, I spied a small bronze plaque and crouched down in the dust. Dirt was caught in the raised bronze letters, making it hard to read. "Livia by Marielle Hawkins."