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  “And now?”

  “Now, I don’t have much of a choice. Sara’s safety is more important.”

  Adam rubbed trembling fingers over his face. It had been a bitch of a day and not getting better. He wanted to blame Liz and knew that was wrong.

  She touched his arm lightly. “Adam, you’ve changed. The way you came through for Helping Hands, the way that once again people are more important to you than political motives. And lately, you’ve said you love me. But let’s face the truth. Back seventeen years ago, when all you could think of was your political goals, would you have been thrilled to learn I was pregnant?”

  She’d been truthful with him. She deserved no less. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “I had to make a decision quickly. Perhaps I did the wrong thing but…”

  Adam stared out at a choppy sea a long moment. All right, so he’d lost those years. But there were still many good years left, God willing. He’d had a shock, but in a way it was a good shock. He turned to Liz and looked into her anguished eyes. “Yes, you were wrong not to tell me, in some ways. But I was wrong, too, not to tell you how much I loved you when I moved to Sacramento. I had this fear that I’d turn out like my father. Stupid. I was stupid.”

  “No, not stupid. Not you. We all have fears.”

  “It’s silly to go on blaming each other.” He pulled her close. “I love you.”

  She closed her eyes on a sigh. “Thank God. I was so afraid to tell you.”

  He kissed her long and thoroughly, then stepped back. “She’s really my daughter?” Now the smile came. “But no one else knows?”

  “Well, my mother figured it out, and Molly knew how much I loved you, so she guessed early on. But Sara doesn’t know.” Since he’d never met Nancy, Liz decided to wait to tell him that she’d overheard her phone call. But she remembered something else. “Something else. I was at Richard’s bedside when he was dying. Never in all the years did he ask who fathered Sara, but one of the last things he said to me was, Thank Adam for me one day when the time is right. I should have known he’d figured it out.”

  “He was quite a guy.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now,” he said, his arm around her as they walked to the foyer, “I have to go to Ireland and get our daughter back. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Our daughter.”

  She wished she could find a smile for him. “A beautiful ring to it.” Turning into his arms, she moved close to his comforting strength. “Adam, I’m so afraid. So very afraid. She’s… she’s just turned sixteen, and…”

  “Don’t, please. We’ll bring her home. You have to believe that.”

  At the door she looked up at him. “What about Palmer? What’s he going to say about your going?”

  “You let me worry about Palmer. I was ready to go before, just for you. Now that I know she’s mine, nothing will stop me.

  That statement gave her courage to give voice to a pressing need. “Adam, I want to go with you, please.” She clutched at his hands before he could object. “She’s my baby. I can’t lose her.” Tears were very close again, and she fought to push them back.

  He framed her face, caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “I would take you along if I thought it would do any good. Honestly, I can do this more easily if I’m alone, if I don’t have to worry about you, too. Trust me.”

  “I do.” She kissed him, her arms tight around his neck, wishing his trip were over and all three of them were together, safe and sound. “Bring her back to me, please.”

  “I promise I will.” Never had he made a more important promise.

  CHAPTER 22

  “A bodyguard? I don’t need a bodyguard.” Adam leaned back on the desk chair, the phone at his ear as he waited on hold for the State Department. He and Fitz had checked into nearby Grant Hotel and spent a restless night, then rushed back here to the San Diego office by eight in the morning. Fitz had just come to him with the off-the-wall suggestion. Adam knew it stemmed from his brother’s concern over the Ireland trip. “I want to keep a low profile, and the only way to do that is to go with as few people as possible.”

  “I didn’t mean just any bodyguard,” Fitz said. “I mean Kowalski.”

  Adam hadn’t seen the undercover cop in five or six years, though he’d occasionally read a small article about him in the papers. Two Secret Service men would have to accompany him, he’d been told. But good as most of them were, not one had Kowalski’s street savvy, which was probably exactly what he’d need to set up negotiations with the renegade leader. Fitz’s idea had merit. “I think you might be right. See if Kowalski’s free.”

  Fitz nodded. “Right.” He and his brother had had words the previous night when Adam had returned from seeing Liz and announced he was going to Ireland. Fitz had been against it until Adam had told him why he felt he had to go. That had changed the picture. Fitz had wondered for years if his suspicions were true, that Adam had fathered Sara Fairchild, and now he knew.

  Fitz had suggested that he go instead, but Adam had nixed that. Next Fitz had proposed that he go along, but again Adam had rejected that. He felt that Fitz was needed here as a liaison and a comfort for Liz. Fitz ran a hand over his chin as he went to the front office and picked up his black book to locate Kowalski’s number.

  In the back, Adam hung up the phone, feeling frustrated. The State Department had reluctantly made all his travel arrangements but couldn’t or wouldn’t give him any more information than he already had on the status of the hostages. Supposedly Jamie Hogan and his men were holding the three Americans somewhere in southwest Ulster, not far from Donegal Bay. They’d given him the name of a contact, Kendrick Ryan, who knew the terrain and frequently went from the British sector to the Irish area. He was also the old college friend of Wayne’s who’d apparently taken them to Ulster, whether accidentally or on purpose they had yet to discover. Perhaps Kendrick was the key.

  Other than that information, he’d be on his own. And their best advice was, Don’t go.

  Aren’t any of you fathers? he’d wanted to yell at the maddeningly calm voice on the phone. How would you feel if one of those girls were your daughter? But, of course, he hadn’t. He needed to keep his relationship to Sara private. Until she was home safely, until he and Liz could talk with her, and so as not to give her captors further ammunition, knowing she was related to a U.S. senator who was running for vice president.

  There was so damn much to think about. He couldn’t afford to mess up on this. Carefully he went over the checklist that he’d scribbled down during his sleepless night. Just as he was finishing he felt more than heard someone in the doorway and looked up.

  “Hello, sugar,” Diane said, smiling sweetly.

  Adam frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  She sauntered in, wearing her favorite red suit, and sat on the chair opposite his desk. “I’m here at the request of Palmer Ames. I flew in this morning. That red-eye’s a terrible flight, but I couldn’t refuse the next president, now could I?”

  He really needed this right now, Adam thought wearily. “I can’t imagine what Palmer would want you to say to me.” He set about straightening the papers on his desk, preparing to pack his briefcase.

  “After all, sugar, I am still your wife, and Palmer doesn’t know a thing about our little tiff.” She’d vowed the last time Adam had so airily dismissed her that she wouldn’t ever beg him again. But when Palmer had called and told her that she was his last hope to try to persuade Adam to be sensible, she’d been flattered. Of course, Diane was aware that Palmer was grasping at any straw to keep Adam from divorcing before the election and to keep him from embarrassing the party by interfering in Ireland. If Palmer believed her words carried some weight with Adam, maybe he was right.

  Diane leaned forward, letting a fair amount of cleavage show. “He wants me to talk to you about jeopardizing a career that’s just really getting going. Why, Palmer says that as his vice president, you’d learn a great deal and your popularit
y would increase tremendously. He plans to personally groom you to follow in his footsteps.” When Diane had heard that, that one day Adam could be president, nothing could have stopped her from trying one more time. Even though it galled her to have to scratch and claw for her rightful due.

  What a lot of bull, Adam thought, not even looking up. Palmer was for Palmer, period. Adam was fully aware that the only reason he was on the ticket was that Palmer needed the votes Adam could bring in. Adam was beginning to realize that once Palmer was president, the man planned to do everything he could to relegate Adam to little more than an errand boy. However, Palmer would have to learn that Adam didn’t dance easily to someone else’s tune, even if that someone was president. “I guess you’re going to have to go back and tell him you failed with me.”

  “Now just a minute, sugar. Let’s consider all the possibilities.”

  Adam shoved another file in his briefcase. “Look, Di, I don’t have time for this. My plane leaves in a couple of hours, and I have a lot to do.”

  She raised a brow. “You’re not going to Ireland after Palmer’s warning, are you?”

  “Yes, I am. I have to try to get those three Americans back home.”

  Diane felt the heat move into her face as her eyes narrowed. “You mean Sara Fairchild. You have to free Sara Fairchild, your lover’s daughter. You don’t give a damn about the other two.”

  Surprised at the malice in her tone, Adam stared for a long moment at a woman he no longer knew. “Yes, I have a personal interest in Sara. Liz and I have been friends a long time.”

  She studied his eyes and saw the truth he couldn’t hide. Anger raced through her, and she totally lost it. “So she finally told you.” Diane’s voice rose as the last of her control shattered. “I always knew you’d walk away from everything we’ve both worked for once you learned that that whore gave birth to your brat years ago.” She was losing, losing everything: Adam, her position in political society, the respect of her peers. She’d be laughed at, shunned. She felt like smashing something, like crying out to the fates.

  Shock turned to fury as realization slammed into Adam. “You knew! You knew Sara was my daughter all along, and you didn’t tell me. Good God, Diane. Liz was young and scared, but you. You had only your interests at heart. You knew how badly I wanted children, and you kept silent.” If he hadn’t been certain before, he surely was now. Suddenly calm, he snapped his briefcase shut. “Get out. I never want to see you again.”

  Her rage making her unsteady, Diane stood. “You’ll regret this day, Adam McKenzie. You just watch and see if you don’t.” Angrily she stomped past two people in the front office whom she didn’t even see. Out on the street she walked rapidly, needing to burn off her temper.

  She never should have allowed herself to care, to become vulnerable to him, to let him hurt her. Her initial instinct— never to make the mistake of falling in love—had been right. If only she’d followed it.

  She might have lost the battle, Diane thought bitterly, but she would win the war. Back in Mississippi they’d had a saying: Don’t get mad, get even.

  Suddenly a thought occurred to her, and she smiled. She knew the perfect way to get even with her dear husband.

  Liz hadn’t wanted to go to La Jolla to stay with her mother, knowing she was rotten company and would only depress Katherine; but since Adam had left for Ireland yesterday, the newshounds had been hovering outside her Pacific Beach home, trailing after her everywhere, phoning constantly. Here, in the big house on the sea, set back from the street and with high stucco fencing on three sides, she felt more protected.

  Seated in the family room as a segment of the six o’clock news finished, Katherine looked over at her daughter. “I suppose I was naive to expect journalists to just report a story without innuendos and speculations.” They’d listened with avid interest as the television anchorman had spoken over film showing Adam McKenzie and his entourage arriving in Dublin and being escorted to a connecting flight. The newsman had gone on to conjecture why this particular senator was interceding on behalf of the captives, citing his long friendship with Liz Fairchild, the mother of one of the hostages, and his reputed expertise as a negotiator. He’d ended by saying that when they’d approached Senator McKenzie’s office about rumors that the senator and his wife had split up, Fitz McKenzie had merely said, “No comment.”

  Liz was too focused on the situation to worry about media speculations. “He looked tired, didn’t you think?” she asked aloud, unaware her hands were shredding a tissue in her lap. “He probably didn’t sleep on that long flight over.”

  When Liz had called to ask her mother if she could come stay for a while, she’d explained how she’d finally told Adam about Sara, about Adam filing for divorce, about Palmer Ames being adamant that Adam not go to Ireland, and about her need to get away from the media. “Of course he’s tired, and concerned. He’s reacting like a father, I imagine.”

  Katherine turned to study Liz. Her daughter had been so quiet since arriving, so withdrawn. Naturally, many things weighed heavily on Liz’s mind right now: Sara’s safety, Sara’s reaction when she learned about Adam, and Palmer’s opposition, along with possible repercussions from the voting public. Katherine knew Liz had never wanted to jeopardize Adam’s career, but this time she’d had no choice. “After the initial shock, was Adam pleased to learn he had a daughter?” Liz had been so vague, so distracted.

  Liz hit the remote button, turning off the television, and sat back. “Very pleased. You’ll recall that his adopted son drowned some time ago. He was devastated.” She heard the doorbell and sighed wearily.

  “I’ll get it,” Katherine said, rising. “If it’s a reporter, I’ll send him packing in a hurry.” They’d been phoning all day, but she’d let the answering machine take the calls.

  In moments she was back with Molly. “Look who’s here, Liz.”

  Molly leaned down to hug her friend. “I just got back in town and heard. Oh, Liz.” She felt guilty for not being there for her friend, but she’d been away at an art show in New York. “How are you doing?” Molly sat down beside her.

  “I’m all right.” Liz held on to her friend’s hand, fighting the urge to lay her head on Molly’s shoulder and weep. This daily struggle with tears was so hard. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So am I. I’ll make a pot of tea,” Katherine said, walking to the kitchen.

  “Tell me everything,” Molly suggested, thinking it would do Liz good to talk about it. She was too prone to bottle things up inside.

  Liz brought her friend up-to-date on all that had happened after that evening they’d had dinner together in Pacific Beach. Had that been only four days ago? It seemed to Liz another lifetime ago.

  Oh, Sara, please be all right. Please, God, let her be all right.

  Molly listened, squeezing Liz’s hand reassuringly. “Adam will get her back, especially now that he knows.”

  “God, I hope so.” She raised large, luminous eyes to Molly. “I’m so scared.”

  Molly hugged her close. “I know.” She drew back as Katherine returned with the tea tray, waited until each had a cup poured, then took a deep breath. “I hate like hell being the bearer of more bad news, but I think it’s better coming from me than if you found out from strangers.” Molly removed a folded newspaper from her large canvas bag and held it out to Liz.

  The National Examiner’s headlines were huge and ugly. POLITICAL LOVE TRIANGLE it screamed. Liz struggled with an involuntary shudder as her mother came to read over her shoulder. There was a rather grainy picture of Liz taken several years ago, a more recent photo of Adam with Diane at the Democratic convention, and a third of the sculpture piece in Molly’s gallery. She almost groaned aloud.

  The article, written by Harlan Cramer, hinted at secret meetings between Adam and Liz, implying a seventeen-year affair and naming the love child that belonged to the maverick senator from California. It went on to reveal that Megan O’Malley was really Liz Fairchild, “th
e artist who flaunts her love for a married man in her work.”

  “How did they find out that you’re Megan O’Malley?” Molly questioned. “I know it didn’t come from anyone at the gallery.”

  “Probably through Diane,” Liz answered. “She’s sneaky and persistent. And her brother’s Harlan Cramer.”

  “The man’s a disgrace to his profession,” Katherine declared.

  Harlan wrote of the private agony of the brave and loyal wife, who’d stuck by her husband through a serious accident and the devastating drowning of their son, only to be shamed by his infidelity. Adam McKenzie, Harlan declared, had been deluding the voters as to his sterling character when, in fact, he was a shameless adulterer.

  “Dear God,” Liz whispered. “I had a feeling Diane wouldn’t take this lying down.”

  “The bitch,” Molly commented. “She’s willing to humiliate herself to ruin Adam and embarrass you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about right now, or even Adam’s political future. We’ve talked about it, and he’s resilient.” Tossing the paper down as if it were contaminated, Liz looked from her mother to her friend. “What about Sara? What if she hears about this before I can talk to her?”

  “Three days, and we haven’t heard a word,” Liz said, her voice strained, unnatural. She turned from the terrace ledge where she stood and looked over at Adam’s brother seated on the couch. “I’m going crazy, Fitz.”

  “I understand, and I wish I could tell you more.” He’d come to the La Jolla house to offer what little comfort he could and had found Liz in an agitated state. He couldn’t blame her, but neither could he do much to ease her mind. “All we can do is wait, and maybe pray.”

  Liz rubbed her hands along her cool arms, trying to warm herself. Despite the lingering heat of an August evening, she felt chilly. Lack of sleep and too much coffee were the culprits, most likely. “I’ve been praying and hoping and wishing. Can’t you contact them?”