Close to You Page 11

  "Delightful." George was talking about that sneer on Ramos's face, not Dean and Kate's acquaintance.

  Evelyn touched his sleeve, recalling him to his duty. So he introduced their guests to the quivering pile of sagging skin and trembling bones that was his life's mate. "This is my wife, Evelyn, my love and the reason I'm blessed enough to be able to give this anniversary party." Turning to Evelyn, he saw the glazed shock on her face as she gazed at Kate, and he squeezed her hand warningly—and hard.

  "Wel-welcome," she stammered. "Mr. . . . Mr. Ramos. Mr. Sanders."

  "Call me Dean," Sanders said heartily.

  "Yes. Thank you, Dean. I will." Evelyn transferred her attention to Kate. "You . . . here. Welcome, Miss Montgomery." As if she were in a daze, she raised her hand and stroked Kate's cheek with her fingertips. "I've been watching you on the television. It's amazing how much you look like your mother. Like—" George's elbow made contact with her ribs. She broke off with a gasp, and the words rushed out on a single breath. "Thank you for coming to our anniversary party."

  Their anniversary wasn't for four months, but no one knew that except George and Evelyn. A lot of glittering presents had made their appearance, despite the invitation's No gifts, please, and he didn't want to have to explain that his wife was an alcoholic and didn't remember the date of their anniversary. Especially not with reporters around. He glanced in at Linda Nguyen from KTTV and Maxwell Estevez from KTRQ. They had a tendency to check on every little slipup, and it wasn't that hard to discover the true date of their marriage.

  Although—George transferred his attention to Brad Hasselbeck—he had insurance there. Brad Hasselbeck badly wanted to stay on George's good side, and he did as he was told when he was told. Right now, George was happy with Brad for moving so swiftly to bring Kate to the station.

  Brad had better hope George stayed happy.

  "Your twenty-fifth anniversary!" Kate said. "How wonderful to be married for so long. Congratulations, Mrs. Oberlin."

  For so long? George and Evelyn had been married thirty-two years, ever since he'd realized the unattractive eighteen-year-old's family owned land and wealth in Hobart County and had convinced her to elope. He'd told Kate twenty-five years because he thought it made him sound younger, but to a girl Kate's age, even that was too much. He should have said . . . it didn't matter what he should have said.

  She was young. He was more mature. Women her age married men his age all the time.

  "Your silver anniversary. That's great!" Dean smiled widely and turned to Kate. "My parents just celebrated their thirty-fifth."

  "Incredible," Kate murmured.

  Her gaze was on that Mexican Ramos, who took Evelyn's trembling hand and bowed over it. "Twentyfive years is indeed a reason for celebration. Congratulations, Mrs. Oberlin." He glanced at George. "You, too, Senator."

  Evelyn's southern belle persona had taken a battering over the years, but she donned a gracious smile and gestured toward the doors that opened into the gallery "Won't you go on in and join the other guests? Ah, Freddy"—the butler made his appearance—"please find Miss Montgomery, Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Ramos some champagne."

  As Freddy escorted Ramos, Sanders, and Kate into the gallery, Evelyn sagged as if her knees had given way. It was funny how much she feared her husband. George had never laid a hand on her, but somewhere along the line she'd slowly turned into this trembling bowl of Jell-O --Jell-O mixed liberally with vodka.

  "Stand up." George grabbed her arm. "Smile. You knew she was coming."

  "I didn't . . . I didn't know." Evelyn sounded as if she were dying. "You didn't tell me."

  He'd had the butler handle the invitations, and George hadn't told her, but he didn't let that change his answer. "Yes, I did. You must have been drunk. Again."

  "You didn't tell me." She jerked her arm away, and it must have hurt because he'd been pinching it hard. "I would have remembered that. You didn't." Turning her back on him, she unsteadily walked away.

  "Evelyn," he called in his coldest, most deadly tone.

  She stopped. She didn't turn, but she stopped, a slender figure dressed in pristine white velvet.

  "Remember—no drinking tonight." He made sure his voice reached her and only her. "Or I'll make you sorry."

  Turning, she stared at him, her eyes glowing with anguish. "I'm already going to burn in hell. I warn you, George, I'm not going to let you get away with this again."

  George laughed with genuine amusement. "Oh, my darling, I'm trembling with fear." As if she could ever hurt him.

  Then he realized—she hadn't been so careful about her voice. People had heard her. They stared. Then they looked away, and a few of the braver or more ignorant souls tittered.

  Kate was deep in conversation with Dean, and she seemed not to notice, but Ramos turned his head and listened, and in his stillness it seemed he was weighing each word.

  George burned with fury. He'd worked too hard to be a part of this society to be disgraced by his alcoholic, psychotic wife. He smiled a brave, pained smile, willing to sacrifice his image as a happily married man. After all, he wouldn't be married to Evelyn for much longer. He'd already discussed divorce with his lawyer and, more important, with his campaign manager.

  Moving into the great room, he took a glass of water; he wanted his abstinence to be noted. He smiled, spoke, worked his way through his guests toward Kate. He wanted to talk to her, to step between her and Ramos and see if he was imagining that sexual attraction between them.

  He wasn't. He knew what he felt, what he saw. But he had to be sure.

  It didn't matter that Kate had a date who never left her side. Ramos watched Kate as if she were a diamond and he a thief, and that comparison was more apt than George cared to consider.

  Spying his chance for information, George moved unnoticed to Brad Hasselbeck's side. "An interesting couple—Teague Ramos and your new reporter."

  Brad jumped as if George had discovered his guiltiest secret—which, by coincidence, George had. George had a tendency to find out people's secrets. He found it made them malleable and easily influenced, and in the case of a police chief, a fellow legislator, or the head of a television station, that kind of influence was worth its weight in gold.

  "Senator Oberlin! I didn't hear you." Brad assayed a weak smile. "Lovely party. Lots of potential news stories here."

  "Go and do your worst." George waved an expansive hand. "Maybe you could give me a little information about Kate Montgomery"

  Brad swallowed audibly. "Sir?"

  "How did she come to meet Ramos?" George smiled, all teeth and fangs.

  "Kate?" Brad glanced at his reporter. "I thought she was dating that Dean Sayers."

  "Sanders." George dismissed Sanders without a qualm. "But she arrived with Ramos in tow, too. Why?"

  "She . . . oh, it's not what you think." Brad chuckled.

  George didn't join him.

  Brad got serious in a hurry "What I'm trying to say is—she's got a stalker. Ramos is her bodyguard."

  "A stalker." George's gaze drilled into Brad's. "What do you mean, a stalker?"

  "Did you see the, um, cut on her chin? She's got bruises all over. She's had her tire slashed and some more vandalism, and someone in a car tried to run her over." Perspiration beaded on Brad's forehead. "Yes, sir, it's definitely a stalker."

  George backed Brad toward the corner beside the floor-to-ceiling fireplace. "And you didn't inform me?" After the strings he'd pulled to get her hired?

  "I got her the best bodyguard in town, sir, and gave them a reason to be together. She's doing a story on him." Brad beamed with anticipation. "It's a great trade-off."

  "I don't want a trade-off, I want her to be safe."

  "Ramos doesn't lose clients, sir."

  "Right." Ramos didn't. George knew that.

  "And I've got a responsibility to the stockholders of KTTV to make a profit."

  Brad was right there, too. He wouldn't do George any good if he got fired. "All right. K
eep me updated. I want to know who this scum is."

  "The one who's stalking Kate?" Brad sounded smart, smug, almost as if he were laughing at George.

  With venial intent, George stared at Brad.

  Brad stopped smiling. "Yes, sir. The one who's stalking Kate."

  George caught Ramos watching the scene with amusement, pity . . . and interest. George didn't need Ramos sticking his nose into his business. Ramos had a reputation for being inquisitive and thorough, and maybe he wanted to bang Kate, but that didn't lessen George's interest in her. Quite the opposite. This was his chance. His last chance.

  Things were going to be different this time.

  TEN

  Teague stood against the wall, watching the action at the party, and thought that Oberlin must be the biggest fish in the pond.

  The police chief was there. So was the county sheriff. So were Texas Supreme Court judges.

  Senators gathered in the corner and spoke in whispers.

  Worst of all, Dean Sanders was headed his way, champagne glass in hand, a hearty smile on his lips.

  Teague muffled a groan. Okay. So Kate was afraid of the passion between them. So she'd brought in a decoy. But did it have to be open-faced, genial, unsuspecting Dean Sanders with his upper-crust Texas background, his position in a posh law firm, and his weekend job providing free legal assistance to female immigrants who were being abused by their husbands? Teague should have hated him, but it was impossible to hate Dean. Teague could see meeting him for a beer at the sports bar and watching a game. Dean was one of those rare, genuinely nice guys.

  "Hey, Teague, you're looking dry. Do you want a drink?" Dean waved his champagne glass.

  "No, thanks. Not while I'm working."

  "Oh. Right. Right." Dean glanced around guiltily. "I forgot. You're working."

  "Yes." Teague folded his arms behind his back, doing a good imitation of hired muscle.

  "I shouldn't drink, either. I've got to drive home." Dean put his half-filled glass onto a passing tray. "Do you think Kate could ride with me?"

  Drive Kate home? Not a chance. "I'd prefer if she rode with me." The expression on Dean's face made Teague add, "But we'll follow you to your house first."

  Dean squared his shoulders. "Do you really not care if Kate dates someone else?"

  "Kate Montgomery is a job." Teague's gaze sought her in the crowd, and when he didn't find her, he moved until she was visible. He'd always been able to protect the client and at the same time take care of himself and his social life. But here, with Kate, the only social life that interested him was one with Kate. She moved like a red silk flame, and, if he didn't know better, he would say she wore no underwear beneath the gown. He did know better. Damn it. That spangle in her dark curly hair caught the light and sparkled almost as brightly as her blue eyes, and those diamonds in her ears called attention to her long neck . . . and that made him want to kiss her right under the jaw and work his way downward. . . .

  She seemed oblivious to him.

  "She really is great, but she's not paying much attention to me." Dean quickly added, "Not that I'm complaining, but usually a first date involves a little more face-to-face time."

  So she was oblivious to Dean, too.

  Yet jealousy clawed at Teague's gut. She smiled with shy eagerness, talked with genuine interest, shone with inner beauty. He wanted all that eagerness, that interest, that beauty focused on him.

  "She's doing the groundwork that might pan out into a story." And why the hell was Teague comforting Kate's date?

  "Of course she is. I should have realized that." Dean took a glass of Perrier and sipped it. "And what do I know about dating, anyway? This is the first date I've been on in ten years, since I met my wife. But I'm over her now. I'm ready for a woman like Kate."

  It said wonders for Teague's control that he managed not to kick the shit out of Dean, and that only because Dean so wasn't ready for a woman like Kate. She'd ride over the top of him, and Dean would count himself privileged to be part of the asphalt.

  "Hey, Ramos." Brad Hasselbeck strolled up, clutching a bourbon and Coke and reeking of cigarettes smoked on the terrace. Keeping an eye cocked at Dean, he asked, "How's the story going? Is Kate getting close to"—he glanced at Dean, and his voice dropped significantly—"wrapping it up?"

  "Her date knows about the stalker, Hasselbeck."

  "I won't tell a soul." Dean placed his hand on his heart.

  "Okay, then." Hasselbeck shrugged. "When are you wrapping this investigation up, Ramos?"

  "Shouldn't you be asking about Kate's safety instead?" Teague turned cold eyes on the news director.

  Hasselbeck exploded with exasperation. "My God, is everybody obsessed with Kate's safety? I've got a job to do, and it isn't easy explaining to my bosses in Florida that the new girl I hired is off-line and unusable because she's got stitches in her chin."

  Teague took his arm. Said, "Excuse us," to Dean. Moved to a quiet corner and asked, "Who else is interested?" The question wasn't idle. He wanted to know who was asking about Kate, and why.

  "Everybody knows she's the new reporter," Hasselbeck said. "They like her news stories. They want to know how she got hurt. All I've done all evening long is answer questions about Kate Montgomery."

  "I'm trying to find her stalker so she can go back to work, and you're not a lot of help." Teague's gaze sought Kate as she spoke with the socialite Winona Acevedo, who was laughing animatedly and gazing—oh, hell, they were both gazing at him.

  Normally he wouldn't care if his former lover met the woman he was trying to get in the sack, but right now he wanted to walk over, grab Kate by the wrist, and drag her away.

  "What about the story?" Hasselbeck asked.

  "She's been taking notes and filming for the last three days. I'd say she has enough for ten stories. But what do I know?"

  "That's right." Hasselbeck brightened. "There's one thing you don't know anything about, and that's television news."

  "Too true." It didn't matter that he hadn't got her in bed. He shouldn't want her right now while she was his client and danger stalked her. He needed to get this job done, to get away from Kate before she could entangle him any further in her web. "I'd say if we haven't flushed out the stalker by tomorrow, we should let her run the story and see if the attacks are related to the broadcasts."

  "Good." Hasselbeck beamed. "Unless there's a disaster that requires coverage, I'm blocking you in for Friday. Let's get this thing done."

  "Yes." Teague looked across the room at Kate.

  She seemed to feel his gaze on her, and she met his eyes. Her lashes drooped. She smiled with such implicit invitation, Teague took a step before he realized it.

  Stopping himself, he repeated after Hasselbeck, "Yes, let's get this thing done."

  He needed to concentrate on business. He needed to remember where he came from. What he'd done. The gray shadows of the past started to envelop him, and for the first time in his life, he encouraged them . . .

  In his mind, his mother's voice started: Goddamn it, Teague, you little bastard . . .

  Then Kate did something Teague never could have anticipated. She slid her palm down her hip, smoothing the red silk until the thin material was taut against her skin.

  Heat flashed through him, burning all the old memories away.

  "Hey, look." Hasselbeck waved his drink toward the door. "Governor Grant!"

  "What?" Teague stared at Kate, tried to catch his breath.

  "Man, you got to give it to Oberlin," Hasselbeck said enthusiastically. "He gives a party, and they all come."

  "Um-hm." Teague wasn't paying attention as the governor of Texas, his wife, and his whole entourage swept in the door.

  Kate looked . . . it looked as if . . . but no. That was impossible. She would never do as he had demanded. She' would never leave off her thong.

  She would sure as hell never tell him in the middle of a party when he could do nothing about it. That would be too cruel a revenge for his ul
timatum.

  Her eyelids fluttered up; she looked at him with the sultry invitation of a temptress. And she mouthed: No panties.

  This time nothing could keep him from her side. Date or no date, Teague did not leave her alone for the remainder of the long, boring evening.

  "With Evelyn at his side, George has proved to be an exemplary senator, leading Texas through difficult waters to our current prosperity." Governor Grant stood on the bandstand with George and Evelyn at his side. "But not only politics has benefited from George and Evelyn's union. Evelyn has made the education of the state's youngest and poorest citizens her objective, and with George's fund-raising assistance, she has started the L'il Texans' Pre-School Program, benefiting underprivileged children throughout the state."

  George smiled his best genial smile and pretended as if he gave a crap what the pompous windbag of a governor had to say. He didn't. He wanted everyone to go home. He had planned this party as a chance to chat with Kate, to take her on a tour of his home, to show off his art and his gentility. The evening he had planned as a triumphal kickoff to his marital campaign had become a stultifying nightmare.

  "Here now to present the Oberlins with a plaque commemorating their accomplishments is the chairman of L'il Texans, Carol Murphy!" The governor stepped away to allow Carol to heft herself up on the stage.

  "Senator Oberlin, because of your belief in our solution to a serious problem in the state and your willingness to use your connections to raise money as well as contribute generously yourself, and because of Mrs. Oberlin's personal hands-on approach to early childhood education, we'd like to present. . . ."

  Carol finally wound down and presented the plaque. George and Evelyn posed with her for the photos, then George indicated that everyone should quiet down. "I was proud to be the man who escorted Evelyn to the prom twenty-five years ago, and I'm more proud now to know her compassion and caring. Let's all toast my

  wonderful wife, Evelyn Oberlin!" He lifted his glass and saw the tears sparkling on her eyelashes.

  Because she really did believe in education for poor kids, and she really was grateful he helped raise the money for the program. Why wouldn't he? It looked damned good to the public.