Читать книгу Pulse Points - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 7

“I don’t approve.”

Tanner Hart gave his attorney, friend and political advisor an off-center smile that bordered on sarcasm. “Thanks for your support.”

“What did you expect?” Jack Milstead countered, his round, fair-skinned features etched in a frown that drew attention to his shiny pink cheekbones.

Tanner stretched his lean, taut body as far back in the small chair as it would allow, searching for a more comfortable position. In between working all hours of the night, he’d vented his frustrations on his gym equipment at home; he suspected he’d overdone it.

He and Jack had decided to meet in a coffee shop instead of one of their offices for their weekly get-together. Since he hadn’t slept much, he needed some strong stuff to jump-start his day.

This place was one of his favorite haunts, a small, privately owned and operated coffee shop. The smell of flavored coffees and fresh baked breads and pastries always made his mouth water. Thank goodness it wasn’t all that frantic this morning. They had found a table in the back, and for the moment, the area belonged to them.

“No way can I give such a foolhardy stunt my blessings,” Jack added, a pulse leaping in his jaw. “Not at this stage of the game, anyway.”

“Are you about to lecture me, Jack?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Tanner curbed a sigh. How could he tell his friend to give it a rest, that he knew what he was doing? But crossing Jack was no easy feat, not when he thought he knew best. And most of the time he did, Tanner conceded. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Milstead, he wouldn’t even be in the race for the Texas Senate.

Jack lived for politics, though he’d never had the desire to run for office himself. “I work best behind the scenes,” he’d told Tanner, “grooming young men like you to run this great state.”

In his late sixties, Milstead was a self-made man who had gotten into the nursing home business at the right time and was now a millionaire several times over.

Tanner had met him and his wife, Sissy, and son, Ralph, before he’d married Norma. They had been old and dear friends of hers. He and Jack had hit it off immediately and in turn had become friends. Tanner guessed he admired and respected him more than anyone else he knew. Holding on to his approval was terribly important to him.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?” Jack demanded, leaning forward, his eyebrows drawn together in a fierce frown.

Tanner fingered his tie, feeling the humidity as though he were outside. Or perhaps it was his mentor’s intense scrutiny that made him uncomfortable. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, and probably not great timing, but I felt it was a necessary evil.”

“For a man without any political experience, but who’s entering the final leg of the race, you just don’t go firing your ad agency.”

“Why not?” Tanner asked, his deep voice even and cool.

“Because it could spell political suicide, that’s why.”

“I disagree,” Tanner said with vigor, though his confidence did erode somewhat under Jack’s piercing gaze. Still, he defended his actions. “The agency wasn’t doing Jack-shit.” He broke off with another grin. “No pun intended, of course.”

Jack flapped his hand, then ran it though his thick graying hair and on down to his mustache. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Anyhow,” Tanner continued, his tone once again abrupt and all business, “it’ll work out. Besides, it’s a done deal. The Randolph Agency in Dallas is history.”

Jack’s scowl didn’t lessen. “Well, done deals can be undone. In the political world that’s an everyday occurrence.”

“But not in my world.” Tanner’s tone was rigid. “I make a decision, I stick to it. Just like I’ve stuck to the issues that I feel passionate about.”

That last pointed remark brought a flush to Jack’s already heated features, and he cursed. To date, issues had been the only bone of contention between the two men. Jack had wanted to have a large say in Tanner’s platform. And Tanner had indulged him up to a point. But then, he’d had to step in and take charge, realizing that it took fire in one’s belly to win big. In order to start that fire and get it roaring, Tanner had to stick to his own convictions.

“All right, I’ll keep my mouth shut and hope you know what you’re doing. What does Irene say about it?”

Irene Sullivan was his campaign manager who had hired the agency in the first place.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told her.”

“My guess is she’ll shit a brick.”

“Probably. Maybe then she’ll feel better.”

Jack grunted. “Funny. Actually, she’s the one you needed to dump. She’s too much in-your-face, too ballsy to suit me. I don’t know how the two of you keep from butting heads on a daily basis.”

“We have our moments,” Tanner said, “that’s for sure. But overall, she does a good job. She has a mind like a steel trap, and you know how well-traveled she is in the political arena. That adds to her value.”

“How ’bout the fact that she’s a looker? Are you telling me that doesn’t fit into the equation?”

“I’m not screwing her, Jack, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I bet it’s not from lack of trying on her part.”

“How did we get off on this topic of conversation anyway?” Tanner lost his patience. “I can and will handle Irene, keep the bit in her mouth, if need be. So don’t worry.”

“As long as she does the job,” Jack mumbled, “I guess that’s all that matters.”

Tanner sipped on his coffee. “Like it or not, her strategy, along with yours and lots of others, has turned me into a viable candidate.”

“Not a damned easy task, either,” Jack muttered with a fleeting grin.

Tanner tightened the harsh planes of his face. “No one knows that better than me. I’ll never forget that day you approached me and asked if I was interested in politics. I thought you’d lost your mind.”

“That fateful day wasn’t all that long ago, my friend,” Jack mused, taking a drink of his coffee.

“It seems like forever. What with trying to jockey my business and my leap into politics, I often wonder what hit me. At times, it’s almost driven me over the edge.”

“Firing the Randolph Agency was apparently one of those times.” As if sensing Tanner was about to fire back, Jack raised his hand in a token of peace. “Sorry, didn’t mean to resurrect that dead horse.”

“Good, because you’re right, it’s dead. What you don’t know is that I’ve had to continually kick butt behind the scenes on practically everything they’ve done—media ads, slogans, posters, letters. You name it. But the real pisser has been the name recognition factor, key to my beating an incumbent. You’ve drilled that into me from day one. Somehow I never got that point across to that agency.”

“In defense of them, you’re a perfectionist and a hands-on kind of guy. That makes you hard to work for and with. I don’t see that changing with another agency.”

Tanner shrugged before a grin tugged his lips downward. “True, but I’d still like for someone else to do the grunt work, especially with this new project I’m working on.”

Since he was a longshot for the senate seat in District 2, it wouldn’t be wise to let his lucrative developing company suffer. It was his success in the business world that had been the springboard for this venture into politics, an asset that had escaped him until Jack had approached him.

Like he’d told Jack, keeping both his company and his political career afloat hadn’t been easy. They had consumed him. He was either working or campaigning 24/7. Not a bad thing, he guessed, especially since his wife’s death he had no one to go home to. Work had become a panacea for his loneliness.

“Have you thought about getting someone to mind the company store, so to speak?” Jack said into the short silence. “I don’t need to remind you what a formidable candidate Buck Butler is.”

“As in ruthless as hell.”

“That goes with the territory.”

When Tanner didn’t respond, Jack went on, “Sometimes I don’t think you have the stomach for politics.”

Tanner scowled. “Now’s a hell of a time to tell me that.”

Jack chuckled. “You’re honest to a goddamn fault, Hart.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t, because Butler’s sure as hell not. He’s conniving and determined. And in the political arena, that can be a winning combination.”

Tanner leaned inward and jabbed his friend with brown eyes that had turned black with anger. “So are you trying to tell me something, Jack? That you’re sorry you supported me?”

“You know better than that,” Jack said, clearly backtracking. “I’m just keeping you on your toes, that’s all. Readying you for the grueling months ahead.”

“We’ve been friends long enough for you to know that I can punch below the belt with the best of ’em. And will if I have to.”

That was true. You couldn’t grow up the way he had, in and out of the foster care system because his mother’s love for the bottle far outweighed her love for him, and not learn a few underhanded tricks. He’d done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, had his share of battle scars, but he’d learned from his mistakes, or so he hoped.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jack was saying. “Maybe you won’t have to stoop to his level and can hold to the high road. With your good looks, easy smile, razor-sharp mind and iron will to succeed, you just might whip Butler up-front and center instead of in the trenches.”

“Only time will tell,” Tanner responded in a suddenly tired voice.

“So do you have another agency in mind? Maybe a local one this time. The Parker firm would’ve been a good choice if that Parker woman hadn’t gotten killed in that parking garage.” Jack paused, his expression turning grim. “I still can’t believe that happened. What could that woman have possibly been involved in that cost her her life?”

“I have no idea,” Tanner said, “but it’s an awful thing. That’s one funeral I have to attend.”

“You knew her, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tanner acknowledged offhandedly, pointedly peering at his watch. “As much as I’d like to stay and shoot the shit, I’ve got to go. I have meetings lined up the rest of the day.”

Jack reached for the bill. “The coffee’s on me. You keep me posted.”

Tanner stood. “That goes without saying.”

The strong smell of coffee still filled his nostrils long after Tanner got back to his office in a plush complex on the west side of town. The affluent side, he reminded himself with a smirk of sorts, thanks in part to Norma Tisdale, his deceased wife.

When he’d married her his senior year in college, many an eyebrow had raised in that small college town. She’d been ten years his senior and from a very prestigious and wealthy family. He, on the other hand, had been a nobody who’d been raised on the wrong side of the tracks.

The two weren’t supposed to mix. But they had and very well, too. He knew Norma had died a happy woman despite the pain she had suffered from her heart condition. He had no regrets, having been faithful in his care of her to the day she died. She had rewarded him by leaving him the bulk of her estate. That had been seven years ago.

During those years, he had used the money wisely, and at the age of forty, he was a wealthy man in his own right. And while he seemed to have it all—looks, wealth, power—there was something missing from his life.

Love. He loved no one and no one loved him.

Even so, he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He simply buried himself in his work. For now, and maybe forever, that was enough.

You’re fucked.

Those words were like a litany inside his skull. He stopped his pacing and placed his middle fingers against his throbbing temples and pressed. Long after he’d removed the fingers, the pounding continued. He needed a fix badly in order to get hold of himself. Pushing the panic button wouldn’t do him one ounce of good. It would only serve to bring about his downfall.

He wasn’t sorry he’d killed her. The bitch deserved exactly what she’d gotten and then some.

He was just sorry he might’ve gotten caught. Might. That was the key word, the word he’d clung to during the hours since he’d committed the act, since he’d bolted from the parking garage and disappeared into the shadows.

She had seemed to come out of nowhere. If he’d had one more minute, he could’ve made a clean hit and getaway. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail, only to have her mess it up. He’d entered the garage long before Shirley had made her appearance and waited. Alone and silent, he had been confident his plan would come off without a hitch.

Dammit, it almost had, too.

Afterward, with his heart beating out of his chest and his teeth knocking together, he’d driven to his sister’s house instead of his. He’d unlocked the door and walked in, only to pull up short. Flora had rolled her wheelchair to the table and was drinking a glass of milk.

“Sorry, sis, I thought you’d be in bed,” he said for a lack of a better explanation, “or I would’ve knocked.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” She angled her head to one side, her greasy, gray curls bobbing with her. “But it doesn’t matter, or I wouldn’t have given you a key.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, feeling his heart settle back in rhythm. He should be kicked for coming here, for perhaps involving her and further endangering himself in the process. He couldn’t remember his mother, and his father was dead. His sister was his only living relative, and following the auto accident that left her chained to a wheelchair, he’d done all he could to better her situation. But he could only go so far and no farther. Some things she would not allow him to do, like move her to a larger, nicer place.

The house, so tiny it was stifling, was a battlefield between filth and illness. Dusty old newspapers and magazines littered the threadbare linoleum floor. Roaches feasted on the leftovers in the dishes cluttering the cabinets. The smell of stale piss overpowered the air-fresheners he’d placed in the light sockets.

“What happened?”

Flora’s scratchy voice pulled him out of his daze. Nothing out of the ordinary, sis. I just shot a woman and killed her. No big deal.

“You look like shit.”

Color stung his face at the scorn in her voice. “I had a bad day at work,” he muttered.

“I have a feeling it’s more than that. Have you been drinking?”

He took a deep shuddering breath. “I wish.”

“There’s some beer in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Beer, hell. He needed something much stronger, but he couldn’t tell her that. “Uh, maybe later.”

She gave him another odd look. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be all right. I just stopped by to check on you.”

“You’re lying,” she said in a cracked voice. “But that’s okay. I’m used to it.”

His temper sparked, but he didn’t fire back. No matter how much he did for her, it was never enough. She had become an embittered, shriveled up old woman with an ax to grind.

“I’m going to bed. Lock the door behind you.”

“Thanks, sis.” His words were coated in sarcasm. “I know I can always count on you.”

She gave him another long look, then wheeled herself out of the room. He didn’t know how long he stood there, the creak in the wheels sending a chill through him.

It was only after he heard the wailing of a siren in the distance that he moved. He fled Flora’s house and drove down every country road he knew. Finally exhaustion forced him to his rented mobile home.

Now, as he continued to pace the floor, he peered at the clock on the secretary in the den. If she’d seen him, he would have been arrested by now. The fact that he hadn’t was a good sign. Suddenly he stopped pacing, feeling his muscles uncoil.

He’d done himself right by waiting, by gambling that she hadn’t seen his face. He threw his head back and laughed. Quite possibly he’d pulled off the perfect murder. His laughter grew in volume. After all, he had an insurance policy.

He knew her.