At first it was merely suspicion, wild and dreadful, based, she told herself, on pure imagination. Of course Drew would return her call. He loved her. Hadn’t he told her that just yesterday?

  Yet, as the hours passed, she became less convinced. She knew his schedule, as did the other aides. He was in and out all the time; no one meeting or appointment ever lasted more than half an hour, save those more binding committee hearings and, of course, the Senate floor debates and votes. Had he wanted to return her call, he would have already done so. Or sent word through one of the others as to when he might. But nothing—nothing had come through on her silent phone.

  When, by late afternoon, there was no sign of contact, she tried once more, one final time. Heart heavy, the receiver was as lead in her hand, falling instantly upon transmitting the news that the senator had left his office for the day. Blinded by the tears that flowed uncontrollably, she wandered around the house, stunned, hurt, aching for the love which had been, poignantly and with lightning speed, sabotaged.

  There seemed but one thing to do. Suitcases that had but barely been put away were now opened and filled once more. The clothes she had worn that morning to the hospital would do for the trip. Pure habit directed her from Simsbury to the airport, where she parked her car and headed for the ticket counter. Suddenly the choice faced her. Cleveland had been her original destination. But the flight to Washington left in twenty minutes; she could be on it as easily. Then she recalled the chilling tones of the Stans, the Leos, the Johns of the political world, and she knew that she could not bear to hear that same icy note from Drew. Heartbroken, she headed for Cleveland.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mary Abbott had been an angel, sending her devoted Hugh off by himself while she attempted to soothe her distraught daughter. With infinite patience and understanding, she listened as the story unfolded, from the very first meeting nearly four months ago in that tiny office at Trinity to the glare of the newspaper headlines the day before. In a way she had not done for years, she held Daran while she cried, soulfully and mournfully, until the tears were finally spent. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, they worked together to try to understand what had happened.

  None of it made sense. It seemed such a simple misunderstanding, that to have been turned into something as odious as it had been was ludicrous. For some unfathomable reason, someone had dug into Daran’s past, twisted the facts dramatically, and thereby set off a chain reaction. There were the obvious whos and whys. What bothered her most, however, was Drew. What had become of his love for her, if its basic trust could not survive a test such as this?

  Exhaustion took its toll at dawn, drawing Daran into a restless sleep from which she awoke, several hours later, as miserable as ever. The only gratification was her mother’s tireless presence, the best friends she had always hoped that one day they might be. For everything Daran might have resented in her childhood, Mary Abbott came through for her now.

  Yet all of their searching left them lost. Drew had to have known of the falsehood of the newspaper reports. He had always, and would always, make his own decisions; even the most ambitious of his aides knew that. Could it be possible that he suspected she may have intended to do something, when her outspokenness had first goaded him into seeking her out? Again it boiled down to that matter of trust.

  As the day wore on and Mary and Hugh prepared to go to a dinner at the Club, Daran was left to her own brooding. With the wearing off of the initial shock and a faint dulling of the excruciating pain she had felt earlier, two things became clearer.

  The first was that what had happened, as sketchily as she could outline it, had been very much what she had feared. Once before she had been singed by the political fire. Even given the differences, monumental as they were, between Bill and Drew, the surrounding forces were the same. Hadn’t she been skeptical of the unqualified happiness she and Drew had temporarily found? Hadn’t she had a premonition?

  The second was the nagging thought that, by running as she had to Cleveland, she had shown some guilt. What had prompted her to bypass that Washington shuttle to head to Ohio? The answer was not a hard one for a counselor, trained as she was, to discover. Loneliness. Thought of being without Drew, of having him taken from her so crassly, created such a pit of loneliness and despair that it had been an instinctive urge to return home, to the womb, as it were. Then it had seemed the only course. Now she wondered.

  “Are you sure you won’t come with us, dear?” Her mother stood at the door to the kitchen, where Daran sat, alone, curled on a low window seat. “The Foxes will be here very soon, but you could still change and come. They’d all love to see you.” There was a hint of mother coaxing child, as had been Mary’s wont, in the words, a luring lilt in the tone. A pitiful semblance of a smile was Daran’s only response to the memory.

  “No, Mother. You go ahead. You’ve been wonderful to sit with me like this all day.”

  Her mother walked farther into the room to stand by Daran. “There has to be some explanation, Daran. I know what you think of us political creatures, but you are one too. And you always have a rational explanation for everything you do.”

  Sarcasm edged Daran’s words. “Rational is one thing; appropriate is another. I think I may have blown it, flying out here as soon as the fur began to fly. But—” her amber eyes looked beseechingly up at her mother’s kind face “—why didn’t he return my calls?”

  “What calls? I never got any calls!” The sound of the deep voice, agitated and weary, brought both heads, mother’s and daughter’s, to the door.

  Daran bolted from her seat. “Drew!” It was a whispered exclamation of disbelief at this latest turn. Frozen to where she stood, she merely stared at the vision at the door. He was tired, though properly groomed, as she would have expected. Age seemed to have etched another five years on his features since she had seen him two days ago. The lines around his eyes and his mouth were more distinct, the tension gripping the bridge of his nose unmistakable. The strides that brought him into the kitchen and toward the two women were measured tautly.

  “Mrs. Abbott, I’m Drew Charles.” His introduction was formal, as was the hand that reached to clasp hers for a minute. The clenching of his jaw told of his attempt at restraint. So he had believed at least part of that malicious gossip!

  The pain that shot through Daran’s chest nearly robbed her of her breath. His fury was in check, but nonetheless real. As tears gathered at the backs of her eyes, the urge to flee gripped her once more. She darted toward the door, only to be stopped short by the force of a steel clamp on her arm.

  “You wait for me!” he seethed, the gray of his eyes cold and merciless. Then the expression grew milder as he turned to Mary Abbott. “Daran will be returning to Washington with me as soon as she can get her things together. She has a lot of explaining to do for this little stunt!”

  Then, as she had so gratifyingly done during the last day, Mary Abbott came to Daran’s aid. “Now just a minute, Senator. This is my daughter, and I think you’d better begin by taking your hand off her. You’re hurting her.” Later Daran would be able to laugh at the spirit her mother had shown. Now, however, she was only thankful that the hand slowly slipped from her arm. So engrossed was she in a massage of the bruised area that she missed the hint of a smile that twitched at the corners of Drew’s mouth.

  “Thank you.” Her mother went on, chin lifted by her momentary sense of power. “Now perhaps you would tell me exactly what you have in mind for my daughter?”

  Though somber, Drew’s anger had waned. For a long moment he turned to stare at Daran, his gaze as unfathomable as the ocean depth. Then he addressed her mother. “I’ll be more than happy to do that while your daughter packs. A plane is waiting, not to mention the taxi outside.”

  Daran had no intention of going anywhere with Drew, considering his mood. But she was more than glad, at that moment, to escape the room. The sight of such fury directed at her by the man she loved to distraction was more than she could bear. Within minutes she had taken refuge in the sunporch at the other end of the house, where she sank into a corner hammock and hugged her stomach protectively. She did not even have the strength to ponder the content of the discussion going on in the other room. A gasp of mixed emotions slipped through her lips as the slam of a car door and the turn of an engine filtered across the yard, through the trees, and into the private screened enclosure in which she sat huddled in misery. So he had left …

  “Okay, Daran. Let’s go!” He hadn’t left. That must have been her parents leaving—deserting her. What next?

  Slowly she shook her head. “I’m not going back to Washington, Drew. I didn’t want to go there in the first place. It was a mistake. I knew it would be. You talked me into it then,” she spat out in weak accusation, “but you won’t do it now.”

  Fully believing her, he took a different approach. Without a word, he left the porch, going back into the house. Within minutes he returned, her suitcase and purse in one hand, grabbing her arm with the other. “Let’s go. You can change on the plane.”

  Her protest was fully expected and met by the same steel front. “Look, I’ve never abused a woman, and I don’t intend to begin now,” he growled, half-dragging her to the door. “Your mother will be calling you tomorrow morning in Washington. I gave her the number of my condominium. Now let’s get a move on. The pilot is waiting.”

  “I’m not going to your condominium!”

  With deafening thunder, both of voice and eye, he turned on her, towering ominously. “Shut up, Daran! So help me, you’ve pushed me to the limit. Now keep still!”

  It was not so much fear as a sudden lethargy that sapped her strength to resist. The ride to the airport was a silent one. Eyes glued to the window, she avoided those that studied her so closely, drawing prickles at the back of her neck with their intensity. Once aboard the airplane, she changed into a skirt and blouse, donned high heels and make-up, tugged her hair mercilessly into a tight bun away from her face, and resumed the identity of Dr. Daran Patterson, child psychologist. There was an impersonality about her professional side which suited her now, though whether the tentative shell of composure that accompanied it would last long, she wasn’t sure. Throughout the flight Drew sat before her, excusing himself only for intermittent breaks to use the telephone in the cockpit.

  “I can’t go anywhere,” she snapped sarcastically, when the gray gaze became an irritant. But he merely continued to stare at her, searching and punishing in turn.

  The evening hour saw her ushered into Drew’s office, where, to her chagrin, the three people with whom she had spoken briefly and abortively on the phone the day before sat, suddenly more alert with her appearance.

  “Thank you for coming over,” Drew greeted them, firmly escorting Daran to a seat by the window, farther from the others than the desk, behind which he now took refuge. “There’s something that has to be clarified. And I’d like to do it now.” The others nodded their heads as though there had been some choice in the matter; in fact, they either had to show up or they would have been shipped out in the morning. Daran waited, apprehension gnawing at her insides much as the gypsy moth caterpillars had gnawed at the huge maples beyond her Simsbury door last spring. Was she to be confronted on her part in the alleged bribery scheme before these others? Willing a poise she far from felt, she crossed one knee over the other, smoothed her skirt, and calmly folded her hands in her lap. With a sharp look in her direction to assure her attention, Drew began.

  “John, I understand that Daran called me yesterday. Did you take that call?”

  For the first time since she had known John Hollings, he squirmed. “It was absolutely a madhouse here yesterday, Drew. There were so many calls—”

  The gray eyes narrowed. “Did she call?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why wasn’t she put through to me?” His voice held a challenge that his administrative assistant was fast to meet.

  “You were on the phone or out of the office most of the day yourself.”

  The line of Drew’s chin squared in anger. “Why didn’t I receive any message that she called?”

  “Come on, Drew. She was the last one you wanted to hear from—”

  The tall man rose from behind his desk, fists clenched, voice booming. “And who told you that?” Then, as quickly, he gained control of himself. In the instant his torrid gaze passed to the next face, that of Leo Alteris. “Did you speak with Daran at any point yesterday?”

  Leo glanced quickly at John for encouragement but found none. “Yes. She, ah, called several times. I thought I left a message. Perhaps, in the uproar, it was misplaced…”

  At that moment, Daran could have spit. It was bad enough that Drew was verifying her own claims before these people. For an instant, she recalled the time, several weeks after she had arrived in Connecticut, when the teller at the bank had refused, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the line of people behind her, to honor her out-of-state check. This, however, was even more humiliating. And to hear John, then Leo … misplaced, hah!

  “Perhaps…” was Drew’s murmured echo as he turned to the last of the trio, the petite receptionist. “And what about you, Cindy? Do you recall speaking with Daran yesterday?”

  Of the three, the girl was the only one with the courtesy to lower her head in token remorse. “Yes. I took down her number, but…”

  “… but never gave it to me?” he prodded, his voice low and steady. When the young girl shook her head, Drew pulled himself up to a greater height. “Thank you. You’ve answered my questions perfectly. I only wish I hadn’t had to ask them. Now—” He lowered his own head and took a deep breath, turning his back on the group to face his desk. In profile as Daran saw him, there was a sense of defeat written over his features. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak with Daran alone. John, please wait for a minute.” Only when he heard the door close quietly behind the other two did he turn, his face a rigid mask of composure. Hands thrust in his pockets, she could not see their tension.

  “This is far from over, John. You know that. I’ve never been as disappointed in my staff before. But we’ll discuss that more tomorrow. I’d like you to go out there now and set up a press conference for—” he checked his watch “—an hour from now, at ten o’clock. I’ll have a statement to make at that time.”

  John shook his head in doubt. “I’m not sure if they will appreciate the sudden—”

  “I don’t really give a damn about the press. Do it! If they don’t like it, that’s their problem. They don’t have to come, if they want to risk missing the story.” Cynicism was something she had never heard before in his tone; the eyes that had not strayed from his face for more than an instant in the last half hour now widened. As the boom of his voice slowly dissipated, John Hollings made his fast exit. Only then did Daran look away, suddenly fearful of what was to come next.

  A deep silence penetrated the room for long moments before he spoke. “You’re very quiet. Have you nothing to say for yourself?” The voice was rich yet sober, soft yet demanding. Daran’s was a weak offering by comparison.

  “What is there for me to say? I have so little idea of what’s going on here or why, or what you want from me, for that matter.” When she dared to lift her eyes, the ones which speared her from his perch on the edge of the desk constricted her breathing. His distrust, his disdain was made even worse by the pity now etched in his expression.

  His voice was drained of all anger when he spoke. “Tell me what you are thinking, Daran.” It was a command, for all its soft intonation. For what seemed an eternity, she debated ignoring it, fearing that to obey would be to magnify the misery, the humiliation, the pain she felt already. But the eyes that had locked into hers gave silent threat. Slowly she began.

  “I’m thinking of all the things I should have told you weeks ago, things about my past I couldn’t quite face myself.” On the verge of divulging what none but her parents knew, she wavered.

  “Go on.” The voice that urged her to continue was marked with patience. Tearing her eyes from his, she stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the lights of the city beyond.

  She cleared her throat and swallowed. “I was married, once, nearly six years ago. It was a disaster—six months of misery. His name was Bill Longley. He was from Ohio also. We met at a fund-raiser; my parents went to many and I often went with them. Bill and I dated for years. The night of my wedding I discovered that I was married to … to … ah, it doesn’t matter. We were divorced after those six months; he has been paying alimony ever since. The money goes into my bank account every month; I have never touched it!” Whirling around, her eyes begged that he believe her. “He went on, three years ago, to win a seat in the House of Representatives. I hadn’t seen him since the divorce until that night, after the bill passed the floor vote, when we went out to celebrate…” Her voice trailed off and she sought silence for the split second it took her to realize that there was still more to be said.

  “I never, never had any part in a scheme to influence you!” Her words fell against the top of the sandy head, bowed now, hiding his expression. But her own ire had been piqued. “I didn’t want to have anything to do with you to begin with. Life in the political arena with Bill, even though it was all local in Ohio, was brutal enough. When I fell in love with you, I thought that maybe, together, we could buck the system. I was wrong, wasn’t I?” She was trembling now as she faced him, being swept by the minute deeper into the vortex of her own torment.

  “I was naive and stupid! But I never expected you to believe that story! How could you have thought that I was capable of doing something like that?” Her screams were abruptly cut off by the startled expression on his face when he lifted it to her gaze. But the fire of emotion, in full flame now, drove her on once more. “I thought you loved me! In my book that implies some basic trust. You chose to believe that shoddy journalistic—”