"Because I love you. That's why I wanted to assume the role of your wife. I fell in love with you while I was still in the hospital. Before I could move or speak, I loved you.

"Everything I've told you is the truth. A threat has been made on your life. And yes, a chance for a terrific story presented itself to me and I took it,but. . ." Here she clutched his shoulders between her hands and appealed to him. "But I did what I did because I wanted to protect you. I love you and have from the beginning."

"Tate, they'rea" Eddy came barging in. "What the hell is going on in here? I thought you'd be dressed by now. They're tearing the place apart downstairs, waiting for you to put in an appearance. Everybody's gone nuts. Come on. Let's go."

Tate looked from his friend to Avery. "Even if I believed you," he said with quiet helplessness, "I don't have a choice."

"Tate, please," she begged, her voice tearing like paper.

"I don't have a choice."

He removed her hands and quickly finished dressing. Eddy coached him on whom to thank publicly. "Carole, you look like hell. Before you come downstairs, do something with your face," he ordered as he pushed Tate through the door.

Disobediently, Avery dashed after them. There were even more people in the suite now. Campaign workers had thronged the corridor and were forcing their way through the double doors to catch a glimpse of their hero. The noise was deafening. Somehow, over it, Avery heard Carole's name and turned in that direction.

Fancy squeezed through the squirming bodies. Inertia propelled her straight into Avery's arms. "Fancy! Where have you been?"

"Don't lecture me. I've been through bloody hell trying to get here. There's a guy out in the hall who's really pissed off because I welshed on a deal and another one named John who'sa"

"Was there anything in the box?"

"Here." The younger woman thrust the package at Avery. "I hope to God it's worth all the hell I've been through to get it here."

"Carole! You, too, Fancy, let's go!" Eddy shouted at them, waving them toward the door above the heads of the celebrants.

Avery ripped into the envelope and saw that it contained a videotape. "Stall them if you can."

"Huh?" Stupefied, Fancy watched her slip into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. "Jesus, is it me, or has everybody else gone fuckin ' nuts?" A total stranger dancedby and thrust a magnum of champagne into her hand. She took a long gulp.

Inside the bedroom, Avery inserted the tape into the VCR. She backed up toward the bed until the backs of her knees made contact, then sat down on the edge of it. Using the remote control, she fast-forwarded past the color bars to the clapboard. She recognized the station's call letters. Washington state, wasn't it? The reporter's name was unfamiliar to her, but the photographer was listed as Van Lovejoy.

Excitement churned inside her. Van had sent the tape to Irish's box, so it must contain something vitally important. After watching for several minutes, however, she couldn't imagine what that something might be. Was Van playing a joke?

The subject of the piece was a white supremacist and paramilitary group that had a permanent encampment located in an undisclosed spot, deep within the forested wilderness. On weekends, members would meet to plan their annihilation of everybody who wasn't exactly like them. It was their goal to eventually take over America, making it the racially pure, undiluted nation it should be.

Van, who to Avery's knowledge, had no political predilection, must have been alarmed by the ferocity of the hatred the organization espoused, for he had documented on tape the war games they played. He featured them swapping arms and ammunition, training newcomers in guerrilla tactics, and indoctrinating their children into believing that they were superior to everyone. They preached it all in the name of Christianity.

It was captivating video and the news hound inside her regretted having to fast-forward through it. She ran it at normal speed occasionally to make sure she wasn't missing the pertinence of the tape, but she couldn't find a single clue why Van had considered it crucial enough to mail.

His camera panned across a group of men dressed in military fatigues. They were armed to the teeth. Avery backed the tape up, then slowed it down so she could study each face. The commander was screaming swill into the receptive ears of his soldiers.

Van zoomed in for a close-up of one. Avery gasped with recognition. Her head began to swim.

He looked different. His scalp shone through the buzz haircut. Camouflage makeup had been smeared on his face, but it was instantly recognizable because she'd been living with him for months.

"That all men are created equal is a bunch of crap," the instructor ranted into the hand-held microphone. "A rumor started by inferiors in the hope that somebody would believe it."

The man Avery recognized applauded. He whistled. Hatred smoldered in his eyes.

"We don't want to live alongside niggers and kikes and queers, right?"

"Right!"

"We don't want them corrupting our children with their commie propaganda, right?"

"Right!"

"So what are we going to do to anybody who tells us we have to?"

The group, as one body, rose. Van's camera stayed focused on the participant who seemed the most steeped in bigotry and hatred. "Kill the bastards!" he shouted through his mask of camouflage makeup. "Kill the bastards!"

The door suddenly swung open. Avery hastily switched off the tape and vaulted from the bed. "Jack!" She covered her lips with bloodless fingers. Her knees almost refused to support her.

"They sent me back for you. We're supposed to be downstairs now, but I'm glad we have a minute alone."

Avery propped herself up, using the TV set behind her for support. Beyond Jack's shoulder she noted that the parlor was deserted now. Everyone had left for the ballroom downstairs.

He advanced on her. "I want to know why you did it."

"Did what?"

"Came on to me like you did."

Avery's chest rose and fell on a single, life-or-death breath. "Jacka"

"No, I want to know. Dorothy Rae says you never caredabout me, that you only flirted with me to drive a wedge between Tate and me. Why, damn you? I nearly ruined my relationship with my brother.Inearly let my marriage fall apart because of you."

"Jack, I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "Truly I am, buta"

"You just wanted to make me look like a buffoon, didn't you? Did it elevate your ego to humiliate Dorothy Rae?"

"Jack, listen, please."

"No, you listen. She's twice the woman you are. Have you noticed how she's quit drinking all by herself? That takes characterasomething you'll never have. She still loves me, in spite ofa"

"Jack, when did Eddy first come to work for Tate?"

He swore beneath his breath and shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. "I'm spilling my guts here anda"

"It's important!" she shouted. "How did Eddy talk himself into the job of campaign manager? When did he first appear on the scene? Did anyone think to check his qualifications?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You know as well as I do that he didn't talk himself into anything. He was recruited for the job."

"Recruited?" she repeated thinly. "By whom, Jack? Whose idea was it? Who hired Eddy Paschal?"

Jack gave her a blank stare, then a quick shrug. "Dad."

FORTY-NINE.

The Corte Real was a lovely facility but a poor selection to host Tate Rutledge's victory celebration because it had only one entrance. Between a pair of massive Spanish doors and the ballroom itself was a short, narrow passageway. It formed an inevitable bottleneck.

The newly elected senator was propelled through that channel by a surge of family, friends, and supporters, all raucous, all jubilant over his win. Television lights created an aura around his head that shone like a celestial crown. His smile blended confidence with humility, that mix that elevated good men to greatness.

Tate's tall, gray-haired observer weaved his way toward the decorated platform at the opposite end of the room from the entrance. He elbowed aside media and Rutledge enthusiasts, somehow managing to do so without drawing attention to himself. Over the years, he'd mastered that kind of maneuver.

Recently, he had wondered if his skills weren't getting rusty. He was almost certain Mrs. Rutledge had picked him out of the crowd on more than one occasion.

Having thought of her, he suddenly realized that she wasn't among the group following Tate toward the dais. Incisive eyes swung toward the entrance. Ah, there she was, bringing up the rear, looking distraught, obviously because she'd become separated from the rest of the family.

He turned his attention back to the charismatic young man, whose appearance in the ballroom had whipped the crowd into a frenzy. As he climbed the steps of the dais, balloons were released from a net overhead. They contributed to the confusion and poor visibility.

On the stage, Rutledge paused to shake hands with some of his most influential supportersaamong them, several sports heroes and a Texas-bred movie actress. He waved to his disciples and they cheered him.

Gray Hair dodged the corner of a bouncing placard that nearly caught him on the forehead and kept his eyes trained on the hero of the hour. In the midst of this orgy of celebration, his face alone was grave with resolution.

Purposefully, he continued to move steadily forward, toward the platform. The pandemonium would have intimidated most, but it didn't faze him. He considered it a nuisance, nothing more. His progress was undeterred. Nothing could stop him from reaching Tate Rutledge.

Avery arrived breathless at the door of the ballroom. The walls of her heart felt as thin as a balloon about to burst. The muscles of her legs were burning. She'd run down twenty flights of stairs.

She hadn't even attempted to take an elevator to the hotel's mezzanine level but, together with Jack, who'd only been told that his brother's life was in imminent danger, had dashed for the stairs. Somewhere in the stairwell, Jack was still trying to catch up with her.

Pausing only a fraction of a moment to draw breath and get her bearings, she madly plunged through the crowd toward the dais. Wall-to-wall bodies formed a barricade, but Avery managed to plow through it.

She saw his head rise above the throng as he took the steps leading to the platform. "Tate!"

He heard her shout and swiveled his head around, but he missed seeing her when someone on the temporary stage grabbed his arm and began pumping his hand enthusiastically.

Avery frantically sought Eddy and found him positioning Nelson, Zee, Dorothy Rae, and Fancy in a semicircle behind the podium. He then motioned Tate toward the speaker's stand, where a dozen microphones were mounted and ready to amplify his first words as a newly elected senator.

Tate moved toward the podium.

"Tate!" It was impossible for her to be heard over the blaring band. At the sight of their hero, the crowd had gone mad. "Oh, God, no. Let me through. Let me through."

A blast of adrenalin strengthened Avery's flagging energy and rubbery legs. With no regard to courtesy, she kicked and clawed her way forward, batting aside drifting balloons.

Jack finally caught up with her. "Carole," he panted, "what do you mean Tate's life is in danger?"

"Help me get to him. Jack, For God's sake, help me." He did what he could to create a furrow through the crowd. When she saw a space opening up in front of her, she jumped into the air and frantically waved her arms. "Tate! Tate!"

Gray Hair!

He was standing near the edge of the dais, partially hidden behind a Texas state flag. "No!" she screamed. "Tate!"

Jack gave her a boost from behind. She stumbled up the steps, almost fell, caught herself. "Tate!"

Hearing her cry, he turned, wearing his glorious smile, and extended his hand. She rushed across the platform, but not toward Tate.

Her eyes were fixed on his enemy. And his were on her. And the sudden realization that she knew about him caused his eyes to crystallize.

As though in slow motion, Avery saw Eddy reach into his jacket. Her lips formed the word, but she didn't know that she actually screamed "No!" as he withdrew the pistol and took aim at the back of Tate's head.

Avery lunged for Tate and knocked him aside. A millisecond later, Eddy's bullet slammed into her, throwing her into Tate's unsuspecting arms.

She heard the screams, heard Tate's bellowing denial that this was happening, saw Jack's and Dorothy Rae's and Fancy's blank expressions of horror and incredulity.

Her eyes connected with Nelson Rutledge's the same instant Eddy's second bullet struck him in the forehead. It made a neat hole, but its rear exit was messy. Zee was showered with blood. She screamed.

Nelson's face registered surprise, then anger, then outrage. That was his death mask. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Eddy leaped from the dais into the crowd of hysterical spectators. The Lone Star flag fluttered. A man stepped from behind it and fired his previously concealed weapon. Eddy Paschal's head exploded upon impact.

It was Zee's voice that Avery heard from afar.

"Bryan! My God.Bryan!"

FIFTY.

"I thought it would be best if we all met together like this, so I could clarify everything to everyone at once."

FBI Special Agent Bryan Tate addressed the somber group assembled in Avery Daniels's hospital room. Her bed had been elevated so that she was partially sitting up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. A bandage covered her left shoulder; her arm was in a sling.

The othersaJack and his family, Zee and Tateawere sitting in the available chairs or leaning against the walls and windowsills. All kept a wary distance from Avery's bed. Since Tate had disclosed her true identity to them, she had become an object of curiosity. After the tragic events of the night before, Mandy had been taken to the ranch and left in Mona'scare.

"All of you experienced what happened," Bryan Tate said, "but you don't know the reasons for it. They're not easy to talk about."

"Tell them everything, Bryan," Zee said softly. "Don't leave out anything on my account. I want them,needthem, to understand."

Tall and distinguished, he was standing beside her chair, a hand on her shoulder. "Zee and I fell in love years ago," he stated bluntly. "It was something neither of us predicted or wanted, particularly. We didn't set out to make it happen. It was wrong, but it was powerful. We eventually surrendered to it." His fingers flexed on her shoulder. "The consequences were far-reaching. They culminated in tragedy last night."

He told them how he had returned home from Korea a few months ahead of his buddy Nelson. "At his request, I checked on Zee periodically," he said. "By the time Nelson got home, the relationship between Zee and me had grown way beyond friendship or simple mutual attraction. We knew we loved each other and would have to hurt Nelson."

"Ialso knew I was pregnant," Zee said, reaching up to cover Bryan's hand with her own. "Pregnant with you, Tate.Itold Nelson the unvarnished truth. He remained calm, but laid down an ultimatum. If I went with my lover and his bastard child, I would never see Jack again."

Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled at her older son. "Jack, you were still a toddler. I loved you, something Nelson knew very well and used to his advantage. When I vowed never to see Bryan again, he said he forgave me and promised to rear Tate as his son."

"Which he did," Tate said.

His eyes locked with Bryan's. The man was his father, though he'd never met him before last night. And the man he had known and loved as his father had been gunned down right before his eyes.

"I didn't know about Nelson's ultimatum," Bryan said, continuing the story. "I just got a note from Zee saying that our affairaand I couldn't believe she'd given it such a shoddy nameawas over and that she wished it had never happened."

Despair had prompted him to volunteer for a dangerous overseas mission. When his plane mal-functioned and began spiraling down toward the ocean, he actually welcomed death, since he'd just as soon die as have to live without Zee. Fate intervened, however, and he was rescued.

While recovering from the injuries he had sustained, the FBI approached him. He had already been trained in intelligence work. They proposed that Bryan Tate remain "dead" and start working for them undercover. That's what he'd been doing for the last thirty years.

"When I could, I came to see you, Tate," he said to his son. "From a careful distance, never getting close enough to risk running into Nelson or Zee,Iwatched you play football a few times. I even tracked you around the base in Nam for a week.Iwas at your graduation from UT and law school. I never stopped loving you or your mother."