Pulse Points

That was exactly what she’d done. That day they had worked out terms of a contract and Kasey had made the move. Now, six months later, she was sowing what she had so hastily reaped. She should have known when something appeared to be too good to be true, it usually was.

Like she’d told Gallain, she had been assured by Shirley that the agency was solvent and thriving. Shortly after her arrival in Rushmore, the sure thing Shirley had dangled like a carrot hadn’t borne out.

Hence, Kasey had felt betrayed once again by someone she trusted. She had been in the process of weighing her options, but now, with Shirley’s sudden demise, her options were clear. She had no choice but to close the floundering agency and seek work elsewhere.

Kasey’s emotions suddenly surged and that queasy feeling returned to her stomach. What had seemed so wonderful and challenging had turned into a hideous nightmare that showed no signs of ending.

Beside her the phone rang; she flinched. When she checked the caller ID and saw who it was, her bleak situation suddenly brightened. It was her son Brock calling from Waco where he was a freshman at Baylor University.

“Hey, darling, I’m so glad you called,” she said to her son, her voice breaking.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

She should’ve been more careful. Since his dad’s death, she had forgotten how Brock had matured far beyond his eighteen years and how intuitive he had become where she was concerned.

“No, but it hasn’t been one of my better days.” Although she loathed the thought of telling her son what had happened, she had no choice. She didn’t want him to hear the gory details of Shirley’s death and her innocent involvement from some other source.

“What happened?” he demanded in such a manly, take-charge tone that tears gathered in her eyes.

These last few months, he had been the force that had kept her from sinking into a dark hole of despair.

“Shirley was murdered tonight,” she finally said.

“Holy shit!”

She probably should’ve protested his choice of words, but she didn’t, especially when she agreed with his assessment of the situation. “There’s more, Brock. I saw it happen.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered again. “I’m on my way home, Mom.”

Suddenly she panicked, the blood in her veins turning to ice. “Don’t you dare.”

“Why not?”

He sounded shocked and offended and well he should. She couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d discouraged him from coming home. Never was she more content and happier than when he was asleep in his bed under her roof. Now, more than ever, nothing would right her upside down world like the sight of her son and the chance to give him a big hug.

Under the present circumstances, however, she couldn’t allow herself that luxury.

“I’m afraid, that’s why,” she admitted without hesitation. “I don’t want you involved in any of this.”

“Ah, that’s not going to happen.”

“I know that, son. Still, I think it best you stay away from me for a while.” She paused. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

She paused as hot tears scalded her face, having just voiced her worst fear.

Three

“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.