Where There's Smoke (72 page)

"Why didn't they kill you for real?"
 
Key asked.

"I assume they wanted to keep me as a trump card.
 
Had the U.S. decided to send troops into Montesangre, as they did into Panama, they could have used me as a hostage."

"So why were you released now?"

"That's simple, Lara.
 
They're starving.
 
Montesangre relies entirely on imports for virtually everything.
 
Under the embargo enforced by the United States, and adhered to by the nations who are either allied with or fearful of us, their resources were quickly exhausted.

Frankly, I'm amazed that they've held out this long.
 
They probably wouldn't have if Perez were still their leader.
 
They would have relaxed their political position long before now without someone as ruthless as Emilio at the helm.
 
He's made himself into a demigod."

"What are you, president of his fan club?"
 
Key asked caustically.

"Certainly not," Randall coldly countered.
 
"He was my jailer for three years.
 
However, I've witnessed firsthand the suffering of the Montesangrens.
 
I have tremendous sympathy for them and wish to help their plight.
 
For all his ruthlessness, Sanchez is the best hope for pulling the country together, feeding the hungry, ending the chaos, and establishing some semblance of order.
 
And, putting personal considerations aside, I must admire his tenacity.

"He's inordinately determined and patient.
 
Using your venture to release me was a brilliant stroke of ingenuity.
 
He knew the humaninterest value of this story, knew it would gain the attention of the American people.
 
It's his invitation to the United States to reopen diplomatic dialogue."

"That's the message he gave me to deliver.
 
Why use his ace in the hole?"

Randall smiled as though amused by Key's naivete.
 
"He knew I would have more credibility in Washington than a cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy."

"Of course you are."
 
His eyes slid over Key's jeans and boots, making plain his low opinion of them.
 
"The only difference is that you ride airplanes instead of horses.
 
Otherwise, you're a range bum.

Even your brother thought so.

Key lunged for him, but Lara stepped between them.
 
Putting her back to Key, she angrily faced Randall.
 
"Clark thought no such thing!
 
He loved Key very much."

Randall smiled and said softly, "I bow to your superior knowledge of whom and what Clark loved."
 
He extended his hand.
 
"We really must go, darling.
 
Ready?"

Disregarding his proffered hand, she moved stiffly toward the door.

Sensing that Key wasn't following, she turned to him.
 
"Coming?"

She panicked.
 
The only thing that would hold her together during this press conference was knowing that Key was beside her.
 
He couldn't lend her physical support, of course, but she'd relied on his strong presence to bolster her.

Gauging by the resolve in his expression, she knew arguing would be futile, but still she had to try.
 
"You're expected."

"They'll just have to be disappointed.
 
The newspapers are hinting that I took you to Montesangre to rescue him."
 
He hitched his head toward Randall.
 
"That's not why I went, and I'm not going to pretend that it was."

"They'll think you're only being coy, Mr.
 
Tackett."

Key glared at her husband.
 
"I can't control what they think.
 
The only thing I have any real control over is myself, and I'm not going to be carrion for a flock of vultures with cameras.
 
If you want a quote, write that one down."
 
Looking at Lara again, he said, "You don't have to go either.
 
No one can force you."

She fought the magnetic pull that would have drawn her to him.

There were so many things to say, so many explanations to make, but in order not to cause more damage than had already been done, she had to remain silent.

Naturally she was glad that Randall hadn't died a brutal death.

She celebrated his release from a long and hellish captivity.
 
From a very selfish viewpoint, however, his deliverance couldn't have come at a worse time.
 
Randall had been liberated, but her imprisonment was just beginning.

Tears filled her eyes.
 
One rolled down her cheek.
 
Seeing it, Key started to say something, but obviously thought better of it.
 
They gazed at each other in mute misery.

"Well, well," Randall said around a dry little cough.
 
Not knowing that he was echoing Lara's thoughts, he said, "It appears that the husband's resurrection from the dead has come at an inopportune time."

She quickly turned away from Key.
 
"As you said, Randall, we're going to be late.
 
Let's go.

He held up his hand to forestall her.
 
"They'll wait.
 
This, on the other hand, demands immediate attention."

"There is no this."

"You always were a terrible liar, Lara."
 
He chuckled.
 
"Out of deference to the shock you've sustained, I haven't imposed my marital rights these past few nights.
 
It's a good thing I didn't.
 
Undoubtedly I would have found your bedroom door locked."

She gave him a fulminating look but said nothing.

He laid his finger lengthwise against his lips and fixed an appraising gaze on Key.
 
"He's such a contrast to Clark, I'm amazed you find him attractive.
 
He's certainly not as polished as his older brother.

Still, he does emanate a hot-blooded, animalistic quality that I suppose a woman like you would find appealing."

"I'm not deaf and dumb, you son of a bitch," Key said.
 
"If you've got something to say, say it to me directly."

"All right," he said pleasantly.
 
"Didn't you feel the least bit foolish fucking a woman known nationwide as your brother's whore?"

Even Lara couldn't have stopped Key then.
 
He sidestepped her and encircled Randall's throat with his hands.

"Key, no!"
 
She tried to pry his fingers off Randall's neck, but they were unyielding.
 
He backed him into the door; Randall's head made connection with a solid thunk.
 
Frantically, he clawed at Key's fingers, but they squeezed tighter.

"Please.
 
Key!"
 
she cried.
 
"Don't make matters worse!
 
Don't make me another tabloid headline!"

Her shouted plea registered.
 
She saw him blink rapidly as though to dispel a fog of rage.
 
When her words sank in, his fingers began to relax.
 
He released Randall with an abrupt gesture of contempt.

Randall recovered himself and, with a semblance of dignity, straightened his coat and necktie.
 
"I'm glad cowboys no longer carry six-shooters.
 
I could be dead."

Key was still breathing hard and looking dangerous.
 
"You talk about Lara and me that way again, and l'll kill you."

"How chivalrous," Randall said scornfully.
 
He turned to her.

"Well, Lara.
 
For the final time, shall we go?"

Key rounded on her and gripped her by the shoulders.
 
"You don't have to do what he says."
 
He gave her a little shake.
 
"You don't."

"Yes, I do, Key."
 
She spoke quietly but with steely conviction.

At first he was incredulous.
 
Then his bafflement turned to anger.

She watched his face grow taut with fury.
 
She knew he wouldn't understand her decision, and she couldn't explain it.
 
So she had no choice but to withstand his disgust.

He released her, turned on his heel, yanked the door open, and stalked out.
 
Hopelessly, she watched him go.

"I thought it went very well, but after all that talking, I could stand a drink."
 
Randall slipped out of his suit jacket and carefully laid it across the back of a chair as he moved to the bar.
 
"Want something, darling?"

"No, thank you.

He mixed a scotch and soda and smacked his lips appreciatively after the first sip.
 
"One of the many things I missed during my captivity."

Sitting on the sofa, drink in hand, he unlaced his shoes.

"You're subdued, Lara.
 
What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?
 
I'm fair game and this is the first day of hunting season."
 
She rounded on him.
 
"I hate being put on display, and I bitterly resent you for forcing me to reopen my life to public scrutiny."

"You should have thought of the consequences before you finagled Key Tackett into taking you to Montesangre."

"I tried every other resource I knew of before asking Key.
 
He was my last hope.
 
I've explained why I went.
 
Why I had to go.

"And your noble motivation was duly noted by the press.
 
You were quite effective when you described the mass grave.
 
You'll probably be nominated for Mother of the Year."
 
He took another sip of scotch.

"I honestly don't know why you're so upset."

"Because to even recount the incident at the cemetery is an invasion of my privacy, Randall.
 
And while my motives were pure, the reporters' weren t. They were only politely interested in the events of our trip, and the ruthless despot, El Corazon, and what effects your release might have on foreign policy.

"What they really wanted was dirt.
 
Why did you team up with Senator Tackett's brother, Mrs. Porter?"
 
Does Key Tackett resent the role you played in Senator Tackett's downfall?"
 
Was his death a suicide?"

How did you feel when you discovered your husband is still alive, Mrs.

Porter?"
 
What kind of questions are those?"

"Profound, I would say."
 
With deceptive calm, he set his drink on the coffee table.
 
"How do you feel about your husband's return from the dead, Mrs.
 
Porter?"

She avoided his goading glance.
 
"I prefer being addressed by my professional name, Randall.
 
I've been Dr.
 
Mallory for a long time.

Mrs.
 
Porter' has negative connotations for me."

"Yes, like the fact that you're married," he said with a snide laugh.

"You aren't very lucky, are you, Lara?
 
It was so damned untimely for you to fall in love.
 
And with Clark's brother, no less."
 
He threw back his head and laughed harder.
 
"The irony of it is so rich."

She refused to give him the satisfaction of denying or confirming his assumption.
 
Her relationship with Key, which was indefinable even to herself, was none of Randall's business, except insofar as she was still legally his wife.
 
Emotionally, she hadn't felt conjugally linked to him since before that disastrous weekend in Virginia.

He finished his drink.
 
"It's getting late.
 
We'd better get some rest.