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“That’s the only reason?”
“Well...” He drew the word out. “Anyone with the nerve to claim she was my fiancée—”
“I never actually said I was,” Carly quickly pointed out. “I just didn’t correct the nurse’s erroneous assumption.”
His smile was cynical. “As I started to say, I figured you had to be a reporter, Ms. Edwards.” She jumped when he said her name. “And if you tracked me down at the Mayo Clinic, the only thing to do—the only smart thing to do—would be to tell you the truth and ask you to keep it to yourself. For now.”
“How did you know who I was? I thought you said—”
“I didn’t know. Not until I got a good look at you. You used to cover the Hill.” His eyes conveyed it wasn’t just her face he recognized, but Carly appreciated he was enough of a gentleman not to actually say her figure had betrayed her. She couldn’t help the way she looked, and she’d learned early to dress to downplay it as best she could professionally. Her private life was a different story, but she’d taken enough grief in her career over her curves, which tended to make men think of her as nothing but a pretty face with a bombshell body. Good in some ways, she admitted to herself, because men sometimes grew careless of what they said to her. And that had led to her breaking more than one explosive story.
“But when I let you in,” the senator continued, interrupting her thoughts, “I was praying you were a legitimate member of the Fourth Estate.”
“The Fourth Estate? I haven’t heard anyone refer to the news media by that title in forever.”
One corner of his mouth curved upward in a rueful grin. “I’d rather refer to the members of the media by that term than a few others I could think of, including ambush journalists and sleazy paparazzi.”
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t say you were, I just said some are.” He indicated the chair set against the far wall. “Would you like to sit down? You’ll pardon me if I don’t rise.” He touched the strap belting him into the bed. “I’d have to call the nurse, and she’d have to strap me into the harness, and frankly, I’d just as soon avoid looking any more ridiculous than I already do.” He touched the mesh cap on his head.
“You don’t,” Carly said. “Look ridiculous, that is.”
“Yeah, right.” Disbelief was evident in his tone.
She laughed. “Really,” she assured him before she sat in the chair, crossed her legs, reached into her capacious purse and pulled out her notebook. This was followed by her mini recorder, which she switched on. She glanced up at the senator and asked, “May I? I like to have a record of what people say. That way they can’t claim I made something up.”
His expression turned serious again. “No, I don’t mind. But I want you to understand up front that what I’m going to tell you isn’t something I want to publicize to the world. I can’t prevent you from broadcasting it. I can only state this is off-the-record for now, and rely on your journalistic discretion after you hear what I have to say. Deal?”
Carly considered this for a moment. “I can’t agree not to report what I uncover, not without knowing more. If it’s something that impacts your ability to carry out the duties of your office—you have to see how that would be news, Senator Jones, and I’d have no choice. It would be my responsibility to report it.”
“Agreed. But this doesn’t have a damned thing to do with my job as a senator. It’s personal. And very private. If I were running for office...maybe it would be relevant and the voters would have the right to know. But I’m not—not yet, anyway. If I do run for reelection, or if I go public with the story, I promise you’ll have an exclusive. Deal?”
“On those terms...deal.” She leaned forward, her mini recorder in one hand. “So can you tell me exactly why you’re here, Senator Jones?”
He drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “One word,” he told her, and his dark brown eyes were the saddest things Carly had seen in a long time. “Epilepsy.”
