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Tate opened the door to the suite and looked curiously at the three people standing just beyond the threshold. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Rutledge, I’m sorry to bother you,” one of the uniformed policemen said. “Do you know this young woman?”
“Tate?” Avery asked, joining him at the door. “Who—? Fancy?”
The girl’s expression was surly. One policeman had a firm grip on her upper arm, but it was difficult to tell if he were restraining or supporting her. She was leaning against him, obviously intoxicated.
“What’s the matter?” Eddy approached the door and took in the scene. “Jesus,” he muttered in disgust.
“Will you please tell them who I am, so they’ll leave me the hell alone?” Fancy demanded belligerently.
“This is my niece,” Tate stiffly informed the policemen. “Her name’s Francine Rutledge.”
“That’s what her driver’s license said, but we had to take her word for it that she was a relation of yours.”
“Was it necessary to bring her here under armed escort?”
“It was either here or jail, Mr. Rutledge.”
“On what charge?” Avery asked.
“Speeding, driving while intoxicated. She was doing ninety-five on the loop.”
“Ninety-eight,” Fancy corrected cheekily.
“Thank you, officers, for seeing her safely here. I speak for her mother and father, too.”
Fancy threw off the policeman’s hand. “Yeah, thanks a lot.”
“How much is it going to cost us to keep this quiet?” Eddy asked the policemen.
One scowled at him disdainfully. The other ignored him completely and spoke only to Tate. “We figured you didn’t need the bad publicity right now.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Well, after that speech you gave in Houston, taking the side of law enforcement officers and all, my partner and me figured it was the least we could do.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Good luck in the election, Mr. Rutledge.” They doffed their caps deferentially before walking down the carpeted hallway toward the elevators and the gawking security guards.
Avery closed the door behind them. Everyone had already gone to bed except the four of them. Mandy was sleeping in the adjoining room. An ominous silence pervaded the suite—the calm before the storm.
“Fancy, where have you been?” Avery asked her softly.
She flung her hands far above her head and exe
cuted a clumsy pirouette. “Dancing. I had a wonderful time,” she trilled, batting her eyelashes at Eddy. “Of course, nobody here would think so because you’re all so old. So straight. So—”
“You stupid little cunt.” Eddy backhanded her across the mouth. The force of the blow knocked her to the floor.
“Fancy!” Avery dropped to her knees beside the stunned girl. Blood trickled from the swelling cut on her lip.
“Eddy, what the hell’s the matter with you?” Tate demanded, catching his arm.
Eddy flung Tate off and loomed above Fancy. “Are you trying to ruin everything? Do you know what could have happened if those two cops hadn’t seen fit to bring you here? This childish stunt could have cost us the election,” he shouted.
Tate grabbed his collar and hauled him back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
