Ecold, or Mr. Hamilton, would like us to remove you from the premises we'll be saying goodbye."

The deputy c.o.c.ked an eyebrow toward Donna, then turned to the doorway. Bill appeared as if on cue. His handsome face was set in a dutifully concerned expression.

"No, of course we don't want that," Donna said, holding her hand out.

"Bill?"

Bill slipped past the deputies to stand beside Donna. His arm went around her shoulders. She was so small in the crook of his arm. He laid eyes on Tara and her face burned scarlet. He looked triumphant. He looked powerful, as he had wished he could be.

"Yes, you do," Tara said icily, accepting defeat.

"You don't want me here, so I'll go."

"Tara, I don't understand all this." Donna turned her face into Bill's chest. He put his hand in her hair, a comforting gesture.

"Why are you doing this to us?"

Tara walked close to Donna, almost touching her.

"I am not doing anything that Bill didn't ask me to. Maybe he's the one who can't figure out what he wants."

The deputies pa.s.sed a glance. Tara had their attention.

She stepped forward once more, sanctioned by the hesitation.

"You retained me as your attorney to help you, didn't you? Then let me help you."

The deputies' ears p.r.i.c.ked. Little watchdogs waiting to see if there actually was anything interesting going on here.

"Things have changed, Tara," Bill said quietly with a small smile.

"Donna and I are getting married.

She's gonna need me here, with her. I got me some thinkin' to do, Tara. But I don't think you have to worry none."

"Maybe you're right. I shouldn't worry anymore at all."

Without another word Tara left Donna Ecold's home, walked across the porch, and climbed into her Jeep. Turning the key, the engine came to life.

She threw the gear into reverse and, with her arm over the backseat, spun the wheel. The car bolted, overcompensated when she pushed the shift into drive, then tore down the desert road. She was anxious to get back to the city. She had one more stop to make before she went home.

"The polls aren't looking good, Woodrow. I don't know what else you want me to say. We knew this was going to be tight from the very beginning.

But with all this controversy, I don't know anymore."

Sandy Parker sat back and tossed his pencil on top of the papers spread out over Woodrow Weber's desk. He'd done his best. Couldn't make the numbers look any better no matter how he ma.s.saged them and he couldn't change history-which was exactly what it looked like Woodrow was going to be.

"I don't understand this, Sandy. I've poured money into radio spots in the last few weeks, I've gone to every group that's asked me to speak, and I'm not gaining proportional points even in the short term. It may still be early, but after all this damage control there should have been a change for the better this week. Chris is slime for doing this to me."

"That's politics." Sandy picked up the pencil again and ran it through his fingers.

"That stinks."

"Look, Woodrow. I think it's time we back off from this strategy. We won't try to explain it anymore.

You won't address it. You're going to stand up in front of people and say that you've already discussed the matter. Period. We'll look better than Chris. We'll look cla.s.sier."

"We'll get killed."

"It's the only alternative strategy. Unless we can get something tight on him and give as good as we're getting, I don't see any other way."

Woodrow sighed and pushed his gla.s.ses up on his nose. He glanced at his campaign manager, who was studiously considering the poll results. For a minute Woodrow thought of telling Sandy about Tara. There might be a percentage in committing her client. He'd like to explore the possibility anyway.

He hadn't talked to Tara in over a week, so he had to a.s.sume she was going to hold out until she got what she wanted.

"Woodrow?"

Charlotte stood in the doorway. She was as good a reminder as any that compromise shouldn't be a part of the Circle K equation. He would hold tight a little longer.

"Yes, Charlotte?" He smiled.

"Would you and Sandy like something to eat?

I've got cookies, cake. I could make some sandwiches."

Charlotte came into the room quietly and put her arm around her husband's waist. She pulled him close and lay her head on his chest as she smiled at Sandy. Sandy envisioned her face plastered all over the city on posters. She was a blessing. He smiled back at her.

"I've gotta go. Charlotte, but thanks anyway." He looked at Woodrow.

"Want me to leave these?"

"Sure, I'll go over them again later."

"I'll see you out. Sandy." Charlotte held out her hand to usher him to the door. She gave a backward glance to Woodrow and knew it had been bad. So she walked quietly to the door, beginning her goodbye as she pulled open the door.

"Tara!" Surprised, Charlotte stepped back.

"Where's Woodrow?"

Tara was in the house before Charlotte could say another word. Sandy moved to the side, knowing better than to offer his h.e.l.lo. Tara looked like a hornet.

"He's in his office in the back, but ..." Tara walked past Charlotte, ignoring Sandy. Charlotte was on her heels.

"Tara, he's busy right now, and I don't think we should disturb him.

He's had a terrible day."

Tara whirled on Charlotte, surprising and intimidating her in her own home. For that, Tara felt a twinge of regret. She took a breath and calmed herself.

"Charlotte, I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't stop in for a chat. I'm sure Woodrow will fill you in on the details and that's his prerogative. But right now, I've got to see him."

Tara was gone, leaving Charlotte and Sandy stunned in her wake. Down the hall she threw open Woodrow's door and slammed it behind her.

"Do you want me to stay?" Sandy asked.

Charlotte shook her head, "No, thanks."

"Looks like Woodrow has his hands full, huh?"

"More than you know," Charlotte answered, then murmured her goodbyes.

In the kitchen Charlotte poured herself a cup of tea, decided that wasn't what she wanted at all, and dug in her purse for her pack of cigarettes.

Even that wouldn't do it. So Charlotte sat at the kitchen table listening to raised voices.

Tara's voice drowned out Woodrow's and Charlotte cringed.

Charlotte left the kitchen table when she heard the door of Woodrow's office open again. She was waiting in the living room when Tara appeared looking drawn and pale, moving slower than when she'd come in. As she pa.s.sed, Tara put a hand out, but Charlotte stopped her, taking her arm and pushing it away before she could be touched.

Startled, Tara looked up and she saw a person she didn't know. There was an edge about Charlotte.

Her smile was gone, replaced by a grim mouth that lacked definition without her signature pink lipstick.

"Don't ever do that again, Tara," Charlotte said, and the order was more unnerving because it was delivered without emotion.

"Don't ever walk into my house and go past me as if I don't matter.

Don't ever come here on the warpath looking for my husband. He deserves more respect than that, and so do I."

"I'm sorry. Charlotte," Tara apologized cautiously, deciding against the hundred other things she'd like to say. Quietly, she went out the door knowing Charlotte was watching through the leaded gla.s.s. When she was sure Tara was leaving, Charlotte went to Woodrow's office. She stood in the doorway.

"I'm sorry I didn't stop her, Woodrow," Charlotte said, happy to see he looked no worse than before Tara had come.

"What did she want?"

"There was some trouble tonight. She thought her friend had been hurt.

She says it's my fault."

Charlotte walked into the room and sat in the leather chair in the corner. It was the only place that wasn't covered with campaign materials. From this angle he did look tired. He sounded it too.

"Is this about the Circle K killer?" Charlotte asked.

"One and the same." Woodrow ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.

"Jeez, my neck is tight. Do you mind?" Charlotte shook her head and smiled, doing as he asked. She kneaded the muscles that ran across his shoulders and waited until he was ready to talk again.

"Charlotte, I just don't know what to do. I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt. I couldn't live with myself if her friend had been killed."

"You wouldn't be responsible, Woodrow. Tara knows what she has to do, and so do you. She's the one with all the information. She's the one who should use it wisely."

"I'm not making it easy for her," Woodrow admitted.

"It shouldn't be easy. Someone has to have backbone, Woodrow. I'm proud that you're not caving in."

Woodrow sat up straighten "Really?

"Really," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek, letting her arms wind round him.

"Remember, Woodrow, you're a public servant. You have considerations that transcend the personal. Tara's never been in the position of being responsible for anyone but herself. Her scope of loyalty has always been focused on herself, her father, her friends.

She's never had to work for the good of the whole.

I'm not sure she could."

"You're right." He patted her hand.

"I've done what I can. There isn't any more I can do at this point. It's a pity. I think I could do a lot of good if I could bring that guy in. Not just for myself, Charlotte. I know you understand that." Woodrow slid away from his wife, feeling better because of her.

"Let's go upstairs."

"That's a good idea. It's been a long day," Charlotte said. They held hands as they walked up the stairs toward the bedroom. At the landing, Charlotte paused.

"You know, Woodrow, I have a funny feeling things are going to get better for you real soon."

Woodrow squeezed her hand in thanks. But she knew he didn't believe her. She also knew that he should.

Tara was on his doorstep. Again. Without an invitation.

Again. The place was dark, but that was to be expected. It was later than she'd imagined.

She was hungry. She was tired. She was humiliated.

But she wasn't worried anymore. She wouldn't be that. Donna had made her bed, let her lie in it.

Tara rang again, cupped her hands, and blew on them. The door opened. She grinned, hoping she didn't look pathetic. Ben smiled back. He obviously hadn't been expecting visitors.

"You're ruining my social life, Limey."

"Guess you're starting to feel used, huh, Crawford."

"What the heck, let's see how much I can take."

Ben whirled his wheelchair back and smiled.

Tara stepped through the door gratefully.