"Here, switch with me," Jack suggested, tugging at the knot of his tie.

"No, yours is worse," Eddy said with characteristic candor. "Switch with me."

"Fuck you both and fuck the tie," Tate said. He flopped back in the airplane's plush seat. "Leave me alone." Resting his head on the cushion, he closed his eyes, effectively shutting out everybody.

Avery applauded him for telling them off, even though he had shut her out, too. Since the night in Houston when they had come so close to making love, Tate had taken even greater strides to keep his distance from her. That wasn't always easy because they had to share a bathroom, if not a bed. They went to ridiculous pains to avoid being seen unclothed. They never touched. When they spoke, they usually snapped at each other like two animals who had been sharing the same cage for too long.

Tate's even breathing could soon be heard over the drone of the airplane's engines. He could fall asleep almost instantly, sleep for several minutes, and wake up refreshedaa skill he had developed while in Vietnam, he had told her. She liked watching him sleep and often did so during the night when she found her mind too troubled to give over to unconsciousness.

"Do something."

Eddy had leaned across the narrow aisle of the airplane and roused her from her woolgathering. He and Jack were glaring at her like interrogators. "About what?"

"About Tate."

"What do you want me to do? Start picking out his neckties?"

"Convince him to let me retain that PR. firm."

"Don't you feel that you're doing an adequate job, Eddy?" she asked coolly.

Belligerently, he thrust his face close to hers. "You think I'm ruthless? Those guys wouldn't take any of your crap."

"What crap?" she shot back.

"Like your screening Tate's calls."

"If you're referring to last night, he was already asleep when you phoned. He needed the rest. He was exhausted."

"When I want to talk to him, I want to talk to him right then," he said, jabbing the space between them. "Got that, Carole? Now, about these professionalsa"

"He doesn't want them. He thinks they build a phony, plastic image and so do I."

"Nobody asked you," Jack said.

"When I have an opinion about my husband's campaign, I'll bloody well express it, and you can go to the devil if you don't like it!"

"Do you want to be a senator's wife or not?"

A silent moment elapsed while they collectively cooled their tempers. Eddy went on in a conciliatory tone, "Do whatever it takes to get Tate out of this rotten, short-tempered mood, Carole. It's self-destructive."

"The crowds don't know he's in a foul mood."

"But the volunteers do."

"Jack's right," Eddy said. "Several have noticed and commented on it. It's demoralizing. They want their hero on top of the world and radiating a lust for life, not moping around. Get him right with the world, Carole." Having concluded his pep talk, Eddy resumed his seat and went back to scanning his notes.

Jack frowned at her. "You're the one who's put him in this blue funk. You're the only one who can get him out. Don't play like you don't know how, because we all know better."

The heated exchange left Avery feeling frustrated and unable to do anything about a bad situation they clearly blamed on her.

It was a relief to land and leave the compact jet. She plastered on a smile for the crowd that had gathered to meet them. Her smile dissipated, however, when she spotted Van Lovejoy among the press photographers. He turned up everywhere Tate Rutledge went these days. His presence never failed to unnerve Avery.

As soon as it was feasible, she stepped into the background, where it would be harder for the lens of a camera to find her. From that vantage point, she looked out over the crowd, constantly on the alert for anyone looking suspicious. This crowd was largely comprised of media, Rutledge supporters, and curious onlookers.

A tall man standing at the back of the crowd arrested her attention, only because he looked familiar. He was dressed in a tailored western suit and cowboy hat, and she first took him for one of the oil men Tate was there to address.

She couldn't pinpoint where or when she had seen him before, but she didn't think he'd been dressed as he was now. She would have remembered the cowboy hat. But she had seen him recently, she was sure of that. The barbecue in Houston, perhaps? Before she could cite the time and place, he faded into the throng and was lost from sight.

Avery was hustled toward the waiting limousine. At her side, the mayor's wife was gushing like a fountain. She tried to pay attention to what the other woman was saying, but her mind had been diverted by the gray-haired man who had so adroitly disappeared an instant after they'd made eye contact.

As soon as the immediate area was cleared of the senatorial candidate, his entourage, and the media jackals, the well-dressed cowboy emerged from the telephone cubicle. Tate Rutledge was an easy target to follow through the airport. They were both tall, but while Tate wanted to be seen, the cowboy prided himself on his ability to merge into a crowd and remain virtually invisible.

For such a large man, he moved with grace and ease. His carriage alone commanded respect from anyone who happened to fall into his path. At the car rental office, the clerk was exceptionally polite. His bearing seemed to demand good service. He laid down a credit card. It had a false name on it, but it cleared the electronic check system it was run through.

He thanked the clerk as she dropped the tagged key into his hand. "Do you need a map of the area, sir?" "No, thank you. I know where I'm going." He carried his clothes in one bag, packed efficiently and economically. The contents were untraceable and disposable; so was the rented sedan, if that became necessary.

The airport was located midway between Midland and Odessa. He headed toward the westernmost city, following the limousine carrying Rutledge at a safe, discreet distance.

He mustn't get too close. He was almost certain Carole Rutledge had picked him out of the crowd while her husband was shaking hands with his local supporters. It was unlikely that she had recognized him from that distance, but in his business, nothing could be taken for granted.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

A king-size bed.

"I don't envy the women of Texas. Like the women of every state in this nation, they're faced with serious problemsaproblems that require immediate solutions. Daily solutions. Problems such as quality child care."

Even as Tate waxed eloquent at a luncheon meeting of professional women, his mind was on that one large bed in the room at the Adolphus Hotel.

After landing at Love Field, they had rushed to check in, freshen up, and make the luncheon on time. The hectic schedule hadn't dimmed his one prevalent thought: tonight he would be sharing a bed with Carole.

"Some corporations, many of which I'm pleased to say are located here in Dallas, have started day-care programs for their employees. But these companies with vision and innovative ideas are still in the minority. I want to see something done about that."

Over the applause, Tate was hearing in his mind the accommodating bellman ask, "Will there be anything else, Mr. Rutledge?"

That's when he should have said, "Yes. I'd prefer a room with separate beds."

The applause died down. Tate covered his extended pause by taking a sip of water. From the corner of his eye, he could see Carole looking up at him curiously from her place at the head table. She looked more tempting than the rich dessert he had declined following lunch. He would decline her, too.

"Equal pay for equal work is a tired subject," he said into the microphone. "The American public is weary of hearing about it. But I'm going to keep harping on it until those who are opposed to it are worn down. Obliterated. Banished."

The applause was thunderous. Tate smiled disarmingly and tried to avoid looking up the skirt of the woman in the front row who was offering him a spectacular view.

While they had scrambled to get ready in the limited time allowed, he'd caught an accidental glimpse of his wife through a crack in the partially opened bathroom door.

She was wearing a pastel brassiere. Pastel hosiery. Pastel garter belt. She had a saucy ass. Soft thighs.

She had leaned into the mirror and dusted her nose with a powder puff. He'd gotten stiff and had stayed that way through the wilted salad, mystery meat, and cold green beans.

Clearing his throat now, he said, "The crimes against women are of major concern to me. The number of rapes is increasing each year, but the number of offenders who are prosecuted and brought to trial is lamentably low.

"Domestic violence has been around as long as there have been families. Thankfully, this outrage has finally come to the conscience of our society. That's good. But is enough being done to reverse this rising trend?

"Mr. Dekker suggests that counseling is the answer. Toward reaching a final solution, yes, I agree. But I submit that police action is a necessary first step. Legal separation from the source and guaranteed safety for the victimsamost frequently women and childrenais mandatory. Then and only then should counseling and reconciliation be addressed."

When the applause subsided, he moved into the final fervent paragraphs of his speech. As soon as this meeting concluded, they were scheduled to go to a General Motors assembly plant in neighboring Arlington, to mingle with the workers as they changed shifts.

After that they would return to the hotel, watch the evening news, peruse the newspapers, and dress for the formal dinner being held in his honor at Southfork . And late tonight, they would return to the king-size bed.

"I'll be expecting your support in November. Thank you very much."

He received an enthusiastic standing ovation. He signaled for Carole to join him at the podium. She took her place beside him. He slid his arm around her waist, as expected. What wasn't expected was the thrill he got from having her that close, feeling small and feminine against his side. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him with what appeared to be admiration and love.

She could put on a hell of an act.

It was almost half an hour later before Eddy was able to separate them from the adoring crowd that was reluctant to let them go. The September heat struck them like a blast furnace as they exited the meeting hall.

"Jack is holding a call for me back there," Eddy explained as he herded them toward a car parked at the curb. "Some glitch about tonight. Nothing serious. We'll follow you out to the assembly plant. If you don't leave right now you won't make it in time. Know where it is?"

"OffI-30, right?" Tate shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it into the backseat of the rented car.

"Right." Eddy detailed the directions. "You can't miss it. It'll be on your right." He glanced at Carole. "I'll call you a cab back to the hotel."

"I'm going with Tate." She slid beneath his arm into the passenger seat.

"I thinka"

"It's okay, Eddy," Tate said. "She can come with me."

"She'll stick out like a sore thumb. That's no ladies' club out there."

"Tate wants me there and I want to go," she argued.

"All right," he conceded, but Tate could tell he was none too pleased. "We'll catch up with you shortly." He closed Carole's passenger door and they sped off.

"He never passes up an opportunity to make me feel like a useless appendage, does he?" she said. "I'm surprised he approved of you marrying me."

"He didn't have a chance. We couldn't track him down, remember?"

"Of course I remember," she said crossly. "I only meant. . .oh, never mind. I don't want to talk about Eddy."

"I know he's not one of your favorite people. Sometimes his nagging can be a real pain in the ass. But his instincts are rarely wrong."

"I trust his instincts," she said. "I'm not so sure I trust him."

"What's he ever done to make you mistrust him?"

She averted her head and gazed out the windshield. "Nothing, I guess. Lord, it's hot."

Leaning as far forward as the seat belt would allow, she pulled off her suit jacket. Beneath it was a matching silk blouse. Beneath that, her breasts filled up the lacy yellow brassiere he'd seen while peeping through the bathroom door.

"You were brilliant, Tate," she remarked. "Not condescending or patronizing. They wouldn't have condoned that. As it was, they were eating out of your hand." She glanced at him sideways. "Especially the one in the bright blue dress on the front row. What color were her panties?"

"She wasn't wearing any."

The blunt retort knocked the props out from under her. She hadn't been expecting it. Her teasing smile evaporated. Again, she turned her head forward and stared through the windshield.

He could tell she was wounded. Well, that was fair, wasn't it? He'd been nursing this ache in his groin for days. Why should he be the only one to suffer? An imp was sitting on his shoulder goading him to make her as miserable as he was.

"I avoided the abortion issue. Did you notice?"

"No."

"I didn't know what to say. Maybe I should have called you to the lectern. You could have given us a firsthand account of what it's like."

When she faced him, there were tears in her eyes. "I told you I'd never had an abortion."

"But I'll never know for certain which time you were lying, will I?"

"Why are you being this way, Tate?"

Because there is aking-size bedin our room, he thought. Before I share it with you, I've got to remind myself of all the reasons I despise you.

He didn't say that, of course.

He took the cloverleaf at the highway interchange at an indiscriminate speed. Once again onastraightaway, he speeded up even more. If it hadn't been for some quick thinking and daredevil driving, he would have overshot the exit.

There was a delegation waiting for them at the gate to the automotive plant. Tate parked a distance away so he'd have time to collect himself before having to be civil. He felt likeabrawl. He wanted to slug it out. He didn't feel like smiling and promising to solve labor's problems when he couldn't even solve his own marital dilemma. He didn't want any part of his wife exceptthatpart, and he wanted it with every masculine fiber of his body.

"Put your jacket back on," he ordered her, even though he was removing his tie and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"I intend to," she replied coolly.

"Good. Your nipples are poking against your blouse. Or is that what you had in mind?"

"Go to hell," she said sweetly as she shoved open her car door.

He had to give her credit. She recovered admirably from his stinging insults and conversed intelligently with the union bosses who were there to greet them. Eddy and Jack arrived about the time the shift changed and the doors of the plant began to disgorge workers. Those coming to work converged on them from the parking lot. Tate shook hands with everyone he could reach.

Each time he glanced at Carole, she was campaigning just as diligently as he. She listened intently to whomever was speaking with her. As Eddy had said, dressed in her yellow silk, she did stick out in this crowd. Her dark hair reflected the sunlight like a mirror. Her flawless face didn't distance people, but attracted women workers as well as men.

Tate looked for something to criticize, but could find nothing. She reached for dirty hands and gave them a friendly shake. Her smile was unflagging, even though the crowd was rambunctious and the heat unbearable.

And she was the first one to reach his side when something struck him and he went down.

TWENTY-NINE.

Avery happened to be watching Tate when his head suddenly snapped backward. Reflexively, he raised his hand to his forehead, reeled, then fell."No!"