Tracie Peterson Read online

  “Do you get up this way often?” Harry asked.

  “No, this is the first time in about two years,” Cara admitted, feeling a strange warmth in her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed in a long time and it was most embarrassing to find herself doing it just now. “Do you?” she asked, hoping to dispel the scrutinizing look he was giving her.

  “I’m here quite a bit,” he confessed. “I’m a pilot and bodyguard for the governor.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Harry’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “That should be my line.”

  Feeling a bit awkward, Cara smiled. “I guess I’d better go.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Maybe.”

  Six

  Bob Kerns barely paid attention to the drone of the evening news. He had spent the better part of two days wading through the previous election’s campaign materials. To his chagrin, most everything Ed Glencoe had promised to do, he had done. And he’d done it well enough to gain the favor of his constituents. Bob was just about to call it a night when the television flashed a picture of Glencoe. Kerns turned up the volume just as the scene moved to a local hospital.

  “Governor Glencoe was released from the hospital today after a short observation stay. It was determined that a bout with the flu caused the governor’s collapse while in Lindsborg last week.”

  Kerns perked up at this. What a break, he thought. This could work well to his advantage. If he could paint a picture of his opponent’s physical inability to endure the pressures of public office, he might well knock Glencoe down a few notches.

  With these thoughts in mind, Kerns switched off the television just as a knock sounded at the door.

  “Bob, Russell Owens is here,” his wife, Debra, announced. The bleach-blonde had once been a raving beauty, but now, after years of abusing herself with alcohol, yo-yo diets, and emotional turmoil, Debra Kerns looked a decade older than her forty-five years.

  “Send him on back,” Kerns commanded. “I’ve been expecting him.”

  In moments, Russell Owens appeared. His arms were laden with a variety of books, manila folders, and accordion files. “Have you heard the news about Glencoe?” he asked his boss.

  “Just caught the story on the television. Is there more to it than they are reporting?” Kerns asked, taking a seat again on the black leather sofa.

  Russell joined him, depositing his load on the already overflowing coffee table. “If there is, I haven’t been able to get a scoop on it.”

  “We could use this to our advantage,” Bob Kerns replied. “If the people of the state think there’s something more to this than the flu, they might lose faith in him.”

  “They might, but I wouldn’t bank on it for your campaign win.”

  “You have something better in mind, I take it?” Kerns eyed the younger man with great interest.

  Russell smiled. “I think I do.”

  Kerns leaned back in the sofa and nodded. “Then by all means, fill me in on the details.”

  Russell pulled out one folder and held it up. “The facts in this folder show you to be a highly intelligent man. You were educated at some of the finest schools and have proven yourself over and over in the courtroom. You’re a family man with a wife and children, which always suggests stability to the public, and you are even registered as a member of a prominent Topeka church, implying that you and God are like this.” He intertwined his first two fingers.

  Russell opened the thick folder and leafed through the papers. “You contribute heavily to a variety of well-known charities, as well as to your church. That kind of community involvement looks good to the lower-income families who recognize that they are helped by the good graces of the wealthy. However—”

  “However?” Kerns interrupted, sitting up.

  Russell put the folder down and picked up one of the two accordion files he’d brought. “You’ve made enemies.”

  “Is that all?” Kerns resumed his restful slouch.

  “It’s enough to cause you some real headaches. People aren’t too fond of lawyers these days, and you have a reputation for being quite a cutthroat. You’ve made enemies in public places as well as in private enterprise, and all of them can hurt you if we give them the power.”

  “So we don’t give it that kind of power,” Kerns replied, sounding disinterested.

  “Exactly,” Owens stated. “The real question is how to render the situation powerless before it starts.”

  “That’s why I brought you on board. You’re the boy-genius, so you tell me. What do we do to disarm the public before they decide to run for their guns?”

  “We leave no stone unturned,” Russell answered. “We beat them to the punch, so to speak. It could be handled one of two ways. The first way would be to dissect your career from beginning to present. Look for any potential time bombs. You know, skeletons that won’t stayed buried? Even little problems, real or imaginary, can flare up to cut your campaign to ribbons. For instance”—he pulled a folder from the accordion file—“this case is one you handled five years ago. It involved a chemical spill at Sheldon Industries. Three people were hospitalized with a variety of symptoms, all of which were supposedly related to the spill.”

  “That was proven to be false,” Kerns interjected.

  “Be that as it may, you were quoted as saying, ‘The media has pushed the public into a frenzy of panic. The messages they send out appeal to the less-educated, less-informed general public. I’m not saying that the hospitalized individuals aren’t truly suffering from something, but I would look more to the suggestive powers of the media than I would for an actual physical problem.’ ” Owens put the paper down. “Do you remember the fallout over that article and quote?”

  Kerns grimaced. “I do.”

  “The media followed it for weeks, watching over each individual victim, scanning the area for others.”

  “But there weren’t others,” Kerns replied, narrowing his steely blue eyes. “And the doctors were unable to determine the physical problems of the three.”

  “Because you paid them handsomely to keep their diagnosis in a perpetual state of non-conclusion?” Owens asked matter-of-factly.

  Kerns jumped up from the sofa and stared accusingly at Owens. “Whose side are you on anyway? I did what I had to do for the sake of my client. It wasn’t George Sheldon’s fault that someone was asleep on the job, but George was the one to pay the price. Why not pay that money to people who can get him off the hook rather than pad the pockets of the federal government in fines and cleanups?”

  “I don’t have a problem with the way you handled this, Bob.” Gone was the boyish “yes, sir, no, sir.” In its place, Russell Owens stared straight at his superior, refusing to back down. “But there are people out there who do have a problem with it, and they will remember what you did. The media would love to eat you for lunch because of the way you made them appear the fool. Don’t underestimate their power to motivate the public.”

  “So what’s the bottom line here?” Kerns’ anger was apparent.

  “Other than a handful of farmers and big businesses, you don’t have wide public appeal. You’re also relatively unknown in central and western Kansas, and while the bulk of the population hails from the areas where you are known, you can’t pretend those people don’t exist.”

  Kerns paced the bookshelf-lined room for several moments. His mind took him in at least twelve different directions, all leading back to one common goal: the governorship of Kansas. Owens was right. And that’s what vexed him the most. He’d known all of this when he decided to run for office, but back then it hadn’t seemed as important.

  “So, are you telling me not to run?” Kerns finally stopped pacing and faced Owens for a showdown.

  “Not at all.”

  “Then exactly where do we go with this? You’ve pointed out that people distrust and dislike the law profession. You’ve made it clear that I have insurmountable odds against me. . . .”

  �
�I never said they were insurmountable, Bob. But they will need a powerful whitewash to keep people from dwelling on the past.”

  “And how do you propose such a whitewash be accomplished?”

  Owens smiled in a way that suggested he now controlled the man before him. Kerns didn’t like the smug expression, but he tolerated it because Russell Owens had proven to be good at what he did.

  “I brought your can of whitewash right here,” Owens said and pulled out an eight-by-ten glossy of a young woman. He threw it on top of the other papers and waited for Kerns to pick it up.

  “Who is she?”

  Owens’ smile broadened. “She is your campaign salvation.”

  Still uncertain as to where Russell was leading him, Kerns took the photograph and sat back down. “How?” he asked, still studying the woman.

  “Her name is Cara Kessler. She runs a religious youth ministry called HEARTBEAT. She is so well loved across the state, they’ve practically erected a monument to her. Given a few more months, she’ll probably be canonized.”

  “Are you going to have her promote me in campaign ads?” Kerns asked, looking over the top of the picture.

  “In a way.” Owens picked up a computer-generated banner and unfolded it for Bob to read.

  ———

  KERNS and KESSLER

  ———

  “My running mate?” Bob asked in disbelief. Surely Owens didn’t expect him to win the gubernatorial ticket with a sugary-sweet do-gooder at his side.

  “I think Cara Kessler is the only hope you have of winning this election. She has everything you need. The most important of which is the trust of the people of Kansas.” Russell pulled out a videotape from the accordion folder. “If you watch this, you’ll see what I mean. The woman is not only admired and highly respected, she’s practically a god to these people. She’s managed to coordinate youth centers all across the state, and you should know by now that the people of Kansas think pretty highly of their children.

  “Besides, her father, Augustus Brown, was once a district representative. He served eight years in the statehouse and was well liked in his community. Her husband, dead now for five years, was a popular youth minister. The name Kessler is held in high esteem in the Hays, Kansas, area.”

  “But a woman as lieutenant governor? We’d be having teas and fashion shows in the Capitol building.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Owens replied. “Cara Kessler has the reputation for getting things done. She has a dynamic personality and she maintains a public appeal that you lack. If you want to be the next governor of Kansas, you’re going to need Cara Kessler.”

  Kerns looked again at the photograph. The pixielike brunette gazed back at him with a wide-eyed look of naiveté. Purity and innocence were definitely this woman’s calling card.

  “And what makes you think Cara Kessler would be willing to play politics with me?” Kerns asked, throwing the picture back down.

  Owens held up the second accordion folder and grinned confidently. “We’ll just have to be very persuasive, won’t we?”

  Seven

  Melissa Jordon stepped into the inner office of Governor Glencoe and closed the door behind her. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “You said it was urgent,” Glencoe replied from behind his massive mahogany desk.

  The man looks decidedly tired, she thought. A little thinner, too. If her hunch was right and the real culprit was cancer and not just the flu, Melissa knew the battle was probably far from over.

  “Yes, it is urgent.”

  “Well, have a seat and tell me what brings you here today, Mrs. Jordon.”

  Melissa smiled. Four years of covering the governor’s office had given them a shared comfort level. She sat down on a chair opposite the desk and crossed her legs. Making a point to put her purse on the chair beside her, Melissa hoped the governor would see that she was not here to report or record.

  Her actions raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Is this a personal visit?”

  “At this point it is,” Melissa offered. “I have something very personal to talk to you about.”

  Glencoe looked at her with a wary frown. “Go on.”

  Melissa wondered how he would take the intrusion of his privacy. There was no easy way to discuss a man’s health without just plunging in headlong.

  “I know that you’re sick,” she finally said in a very soft voice.

  Glencoe paled. “It was public news.”

  Melissa shook her head. “I know that you have cancer.”

  The governor stared at her blankly for several silent minutes. “Who told you?”

  “I was in Lindsborg when you collapsed. I overheard your aid mention to one of the highway patrolmen that he hadn’t contacted your oncologist.”

  “If you overheard it, why didn’t you say anything in your story? I read The Capital-Journal’s coverage of the reelection speech and my collapse.” He acted as though he was waiting for Melissa to deny the truth.

  “I thought I’d wait until I could talk to you about it. So here I am. I want to know the truth about your condition, and then, and only then, will I decide about a story.”

  Glencoe eased back against the thickly cushioned executive chair. “We’ve been talking to each other for four years now, am I right?”

  “You are,” Melissa answered almost like a child who was facing chastisement. A part of her wanted to focus her attention on the pearl buttons of her blue linen suit, while another part couldn’t break away from the sincerely pained expression of her governor.

  “You’ve always seemed an objective reporter, even though there were times when I was sure you disagreed with my solutions.”

  Melissa smiled, acknowledging the truth of his words.

  “But,” Glencoe continued, “you were one of the rare few in the media who kept her own convictions to herself and wrote the facts of the matter.”

  “I’ve tried to be fair,” Melissa replied. “I’m trying to be fair now.”

  “I appreciate that, Mrs. Jordon. So I’m going to level with you, completely off the record, of course.”

  Melissa nodded and he continued. “I have a type of stomach cancer. I’m undergoing some experimental drug therapy, and it was the side effects of that therapy that caused my collapse in Lindsborg.”

  “I see. Is therapy controlling the cancer?”

  “At this point it is difficult to say. The doctors have the highest hopes that the medicine will do the trick.” He paused and slowly came around to where Melissa sat. “I can’t begin to tell you what kind of harm it would do my reelection campaign if you were to announce I have cancer.”

  “But surely there are plenty of people who know the truth.”

  “Those who aren’t bound by laws of confidentiality are extremely loyal and faithful to me.”

  “Then you’re a lucky man,” Melissa replied. “But it’s only a matter of time before someone spills the story, and I think you and I both know the truth of that.”

  “It’s something I live with every day,” admitted Glencoe. “But the election is only months away, and if you were to announce this now it would put an end to my career.” Beads of sweat were evident on his forehead.

  “But don’t you owe the people of Kansas the truth about your physical condition? As a servant of the people, don’t they deserve to know exactly who they’ve elected to office?”

  “Yes, of course,” Glencoe replied. “But there isn’t another person in my party with strong public appeal. The lieutenant governor isn’t politically savvy enough to hold his own in a gubernatorial race, or I’d consider backing out in favor of him.”

  “So you plan to just keep going full-speed ahead?” Melissa felt her reporter’s aggressive nature return. “What happens if the medication you’re using causes your judgment to be less than sound? What if you endanger yourself or someone else, all because you didn’t want to lose the election?”

  Glencoe crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. “I�
��ve considered all those possibilities.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m training the lieutenant governor to do more than sit and look pretty.”

  Melissa smiled at the thought of the young man who held the second-in-command job for the state of Kansas. More than once she’d criticized him in the newspaper for doing little or nothing to aid the state. She had even suggested the position be audited and reevaluated to include additional responsibilities and accountability.

  “I see you approve of that idea,” Glencoe said, as though reading her mind. “But he’s far from ready for the position of governor. He could never win an election on his own. I can. With reelection, I can give over more responsibility to him, and if the worst happens, he’ll be set to fill my shoes.”

  “I see,” Melissa responded, feeling that the governor had a good point. She liked Ed Glencoe, and it was her personal desire that he win reelection. But she was a news reporter and she was supposed to be objective.

  “All I’m asking,” Glencoe said with a look of pleading that instantly made Melissa feel guilty, “is that you say nothing until after the election. I, in turn, promise to keep you fully apprised of my condition, and I’ll give you some important exclusives to make up for the one you aren’t getting to share with the world.”

  Melissa’s mind struggled with the fact that this story was big news. She held the power to possibly change the November election.

  “I’ll think it over and let you know,” she said, getting to her feet. She picked up her purse and walked to the door. “Thank you for your honesty. I won’t say anything until I discuss it again with you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jordon.”

  “Melissa. Call me Melissa.”

  Eight

  Monday mornings were always hectic at HEARTBEAT. The weekend seemed to breed new problems and complications in a way that always promised excitement. Today looked to be no different. Cara had just settled down to a steaming cup of coffee and a large stack of letters when a knock sounded on her office door. Assuming it to be Joe, she pushed back the letters.