"Then work with me, not against me." Warmed to his topic, Tate pushed his plate aside and propped his forearms on the edge of the table. "I couldn't have done this alone. Hell, don't you think I know how dedicated you are to this?"

"More than anything in the world, I want to see you elected."

"I know that, Jack. You're my brother. I love you. I appreciate your doggedness, your self-sacrifice, and all the details you see to so I won't be bothered with them. I realize, probably more than you know, that I'm sitting on the white horse while you're down there shoveling up the shit."

"I never aspired to ride the white horse, Tate. I just want to be given credit for shoveling the shit pretty damn well."

"More than pretty damn well," Tate said. "I'm sorry we disagreed on that matter yesterday, but sometimes I have to go with my gut instinct, despite what you or anybody else is advising me.

"Would you have me any other way? Would I be a worthy candidate for public office if I could be swayed to go along with something because it would be the popular, expedient, and convenient thing to do, even though I felt strongly against it?"

"I suppose not."

Tate smiled ruefully. "In the final analysis, I'm the one baring my ass to the world, Jack."

"Just don't expect me to bend over and kiss it when I think you're wrong."

The two brothers laughed together. Jack was the first to grow serious again. He summoned the waiter to take away their plates and replenish their coffee cups. "Tate, as long as we're clearing theair. . ."

"Hmm?"

"I get the impression that things are better between you and Carole."

Tate glanced at his brother sharply, then away. "Some."

"Well, that's. . .that's good, I guess. As long as it makes you happy." He fiddled with an empty sugar packet.

"Why am I waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

Jack cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair. "I don't know, there's something. . ."He ran his hand over his thinning hair. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"Try me."

"There's something out of sync with her."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Hell, you sleep with her. If you haven't noticed it, then I must be imagining it." He paused, waiting expectantly for either a confirmation or denial, neither of which he got. "Did you see her talking to that TV guy last night?"

"What TV guy?"

"The one who did the camera work for the commercial we made at the ranch."

"His name's Van Lovejoy. He's covering my campaign for KTEX."

"Yeah, I know." Jack spread his hands wide and laughed dryly. "It just seemed strange that Carole made a point to speak to him during all that hoopla last night, that's all. She made a beeline for him as soon as she left the dais. He's not exactly her type." Tate quickly averted his head. "What I mean is. . ." Jack stammered, "he's not. . .hell, you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean." Tate's voice was quiet.

"Well, I'd better get back upstairs and light a fire under Dorothy Rae and Fancy. Eddy wants everybody congregated in the lobby, packed and ready to pull out by ten-thirty." He affectionately slapped his brother's shoulder as he walked past him. "I enjoyed breakfast."

"So did I, Jack."

Tate continued to stare sightlessly out the window. Carole had been talking to Van Lovejoy again last night? Why?

He hadn't told his brother that she had had a private conversation with the video photographer once before. For all her glib explanation, their conversation on the sidewalk outside the Adolphus had appeared furtive.

She'd lied her way around it that time. He'd known she was lying, but then he'd kissed her, she'd kissed him back, and he'd forgotten what had started the argument. Things had been going so well between them. Why did this dark cloud have to show up on the horizon?

Their sex had never been as good or as satisfying. It was hot, but it had always been hot. It was dirty, but it had always been dirty. Only now it was like having dirty sex with a lady, which made it even better. She no longer rushed the foreplay. She no longer chanted gutter jargon. She didn't scream like before when she pretended to come, but took catchy little breaths that he thought were infinitely sexier. And he would swear that her orgasms were genuine. There was a newness to their lovemaking, an essence of intrigue, almost like it was illicit. He was embarrassed to even think the cliche , but each time was like the first time. He always discovered something about her that he hadn't realized before.

She'd never been modest, never given a thought to parading around unclothed. Lately, however, she artfully used lingerie rather than nudity to entice him. Yesterday morning, when they'd made love on the parlor sofa, she had insisted that he pull the drapes first. He supposed her self-consciousness stemmed from the nearly undetectable scars on her arms and hands.

The maidenly shyness excited him. She seduced by withholding. He hadn't yet seen in the light what he caressed in darkness with his hands and lips. Damned if the mystery didn't make him want her even more.

He had thought about her constantly yesterday. Prurient thoughts of her had intruded upon high-level discussions and impassioned speeches. Whenever their eyes connected, they seemed to be thinking the same thought, and that was how quickly they wanted the time to pass so they could go to bed again.

He had developed the curious habit of subconsciously knowing where she was at all times, gauging her distance from him and inventing reasons to touch her whenever she was close enough. But was she playing games with him? Was her modesty a sexual gimmick? Why did she have an unexplainable interest in this photographer?

On the one hand, Tate wanted immediate answers. But if answers meant having to give up the peace, harmony, and sex, he was prepared to wait indefinitely for an explanation.

FORTY-ONE.

Zinnia Rutledge stood gazing at the wall of framed photographs behind the credenza. She loved this office because of those photographs. She could have gazed at them for hours and never tired of it, though of course she never did. The memories they evoked were bittersweet.

At the sound of the door opening behind her, she turned. "Hello, Zee, did I startle you?"

Zee quickly blinked away the tears in her eyes and resealed her emotions in the vault of her heart. "Hello, Carole. You did take me by surprise. I was expecting Tate." They had planned to meet here at his office and go to lunch togetheraa special date, just the two of them.

"That's why he sent me over. I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news."

"He can't make it," Zee said with evident disappointment.

"I'm afraid not."

"There's nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Not exactly. There's been a labor dispute going on within the Houston Police Department."

"I'm aware of that. It's been in all the papers."

"Well, this morning things came to a head. An hour ago, Eddy decided that Tate should go down there, assess the situation, and make a statement. The latest poll shows that Tate is closing the gap. He's only five points behind Dekker now. This volatile situation in Houston presented a perfect forum for Tate to get across some of his ideas, not only on labor versus management, but law enforcement, as well. They're flying down in a private jet and should be back in a few hours, but lunch is out of the question."

"Tate likes to fly as much as his father," she remarked with a wistful smile. "He'll enjoy the trip."

"Will you accept a poor substitute for his company?"

The tentative invitation yanked Zee from her pensiveness. "You mean have lunch with you?"

"Would that be so terrible?"

Zee looked her daughter-in-law up and down, finding little about her appearance to criticize. Carole had refined her image considerably since her recovery. She still dressed with flair, but her emphasis was now more on style than sexiness.

Carole's flamboyance had always repelled Zee. She was glad it had been subdued. The woman inside the impeccable clothing, however, was still just as distasteful as the first time she'd met her.

"I'll pass."

"Why?"

"You never knew when to let something drop, Carole." Zee tucked her handbag beneath her arm.

"Why don't you want to have lunch with me?"

She had taken up a position in front of the door, barring Zee from making a gracious exit. "My heart was set on having lunch with Tate," shesaid."I understand why he had to cancel, but I'm disappointed and see no reason to pretend that I'm not. We have so little time together these days, just he and I."

"And that's what's really bugging you, isn't it?"

Zee's small body tensed instantly. If Carole insisted on a confrontation, Zee decided to give her one. "What are you implying?''

"You can't stand that Tate is spending more time with me. You're jealous of our relationship, which is stronger every day."

Zee gave a soft, scoffing laugh. "You would love to believe that, wouldn't you, Carole? You'd prefer to think that I'm merely jealous when you know that I was opposed to your marriage to my son from the beginning."

"Oh?"

"Don't act like you didn't know. Tate does. I'm sure the two of you have discussed it."

"We have. And even if we hadn't, I'd know you dislike me intensely. You don't hide your feelings very well, Zee."

Zee smiled, but it was a sad expression. "You'd be amazed at how well I conceal what I'm thinking and feeling. I'm an expert at it." Carole's gaze sharpened quizzically, putting Zee on alert. She composed her face and said icily, "You've made an effort to patch up your deteriorating relationship with Tate. Nelson is delighted. I'm not."

"Why not? I know you want Tate to be happy."

"Exactly. And he'll never be happy as long as you've got your claws in him. See, Carole, I know that all your loving ways are machinations. They're phony, just as you are."

Zee derived petty satisfaction from watching Carole's face become pale beneath her carefully applied makeup. Her voice was faint. "Phony? What do you mean?"

"Shortly after you married Tate, when I first began to notice a rift between you, I hired a private investigator. Cheesy, yes. It was the most humiliating experience I've ever put myself through, but I did it to protect my son.

"The investigator was a repulsive individual, but he did an excellent job. As you've no doubt guessed by now, he provided me with an extensive portfolio on you before you became a legal assistant at Rutledge and Rutledge."

Zee could feel her blood pressure rising. Her compact body had become an incinerator, fueling itself on her hatred for this woman who had, with the cold calculation of a KGB infiltrator, dazzled all the Rutledge men and duped Tate into loving her.

"I don't believe I need to detail the disgusting contents of that portfolio, do I? God only knows what it omits. Only let me assure you that it encompasses your checkered stint as a topless dancer. Among your other careers," she said as an aside, giving a delicate shudder.

"Your various stage names were colorful but unimaginative, I thought. The investigator stopped digging before he discovered the name you were given at birth, which isn't important anyway."

Carole looked as though she might throw up at anymoment. Her difficult swallow could be heard in the silent office, vacant except for the two of them. Tate's secretary had gone to lunch.

"Does anyone else know about this. . .this portfolio? Does Tate?"

"No one," Zee replied, "though I've been tempted on many occasions to show it to himamost recently when I realized that he's falling in love with you again."

Carole drew a soft, whistling breath. "Is he?"

"Much to my dismay, I believe he is. In any case, he's enchanted. Probably against his better judgment. He's falling for this new Carole, who's emerged as a result of the plane crash. Maybe the next name you assume should be Phoenix, since you've risen out of the ashes."

Zee tilted her head to one side and considered her adversary for a moment. "You're an extremely clever young woman. Your transformation from skid row topless dancer into a lady charming enough to be a senator's wife was quite remarkable. It must have taken an enormous amount of planning, studying, and hard work to bring about. You even chose a surname enshrined on the walls of the Alamoaa Spanish name. Very advantageous for the wife of a political candidate in Texas.

"But this most recent change is even more incredible than the first because you seem to believe in it yourself. I could even think that you're sincere until I compare what you were like the morning of the crash to what you're like now, with Tate, with Mandy." Zee gave her head a negative shake. "No one can change that drastically, no matter how clever she is."

"How do you know I haven't changed out of love for Tate? I'm trying to be what he needs and wants."

Shooting her a look, Zee moved her aside and reached for the door."I know as well as I know my own name that you arenotwhat you want us to believe you are."

"When do you plan to expose me?"

"Never." Carole flinched with surprise. "As long as Tate is happy and content with you, I won't disillusion him. The folder will remain our secret. But start hurting him again, Carole, and I assure you I'll destroy you."

"You can't do that without destroying Tate, too."

"I don't intend to make it a public disclosure. Showing the portfolio to Tate would be sufficient. He wouldn't let a whore, even a reformed one, rear his daughter. It's intolerable to me, too, but I have no choice at this point. Rarely are we given real choices."

A look of sheer desperation came over Carole's face. She closed her hand around Zee's arm. "You can't ever tell Tate. Please, Zee, please don't. It would kill him."

"That's the only reason I've resisted so far." Zee wrested her arm free of the younger woman's touch. "But believe me, Carole, if it came to seeing him suffer through a scandal temporarily, or living in misery for the rest of his life, I would spare him the latter at any cost."

On her way out, she added, "I'm sure you'll search for this dossier I have on you. Don't bother destroying it. There's a duplicate in a private safe deposit box, which can be opened only by me, or, in the event of my death, Tate."

Avery unlocked the front door with her key and stepped inside the house. "Mona? Mandy?"

She located them in the kitchen. The cheek she pressed against Mandy's was cold. She'd driven all the way from San Antonio with the car windows down. Her face had been flaming after her unsettling encounter with Zee. The cool air had also warded off the nausea she experienced every time she thought of Carole Navarro's incriminating history.

"Is the soup good, darling?"

"Uh-huh," Mandy replied, slurping up a spoonful of chicken and noodles.

"I didn't expect anyone home for lunch, Mrs. Rutledge, but I can fix you something."

"No thanks, Mona. I'm not hungry." She shrugged out of her coat and sat down in one of the chairs at the table. "I could stand a cup of tea if it's not too much trouble, please."

She nervously wrung her hands until the housekeeper set the steaming cup of fragrant tea in front of her, then folded her bloodless fingers around the mug.

"Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Rutledge? Your cheeks are flushed."

"I'm fine. Just chilled."

"I hope you're not coming down with the flu. There's a lot of it going around."