couldn't just turn her back on them. For some bizarre reason that defied explanation, she felt compelled to make up for Carole's shortcomings.
The one time she had extended a compassionate hand to him, he had emphatically rebuffed her, but the strife between Tate and Carole went beyond the normal marriage in trouble. There was another almost malevolent dimension to it. He treated her as one might a caged wild beast. He saw to all her needs, but from a careful distance. His approach was mistrustful, as though her behavior couldn't be depended on.
As Avery knew, Tate's wariness of his wife was well-founded. Carole, along with another individual, had plotted to kill him. How and why were the questions that haunted her more than any others.
The troubling thoughts were temporarily shelved when he returned from escorting Jack out. However, her welcoming smile wavered as he approached her chair. He was scowling.
"Why are you writing with your left hand?"
Avery froze. So, this was to be the moment of truth. She had hoped to choose the time herself, but it had been chosen for her. How stupid she'd been to make such a blunder! Percentages were strongly against Carole Rutledge being left-handed.
She looked up at him with appeal and managed to speak a guttural version of his name.
God help me,she prayed as she fumbled for the pencil with her left hand. As soon as she revealed her identity, she must warn him of the planned assassination. The only time limit placed on it was that he would never live to take office. It could happen tomorrow, tonight. It might not happen until next November, but he had to be warned immediately.
Who in his family would she accuse? She hadn't revealed herself as soon as she could control a pencil because she didn't have enough facts. She had vainly hoped that each new day would provide her with some.
Once she had outlined the meager facts she knew, would he believe her?
Why should he?
Why should he even listen to a woman who had, for almost two months, passed herself off as his wife? He would think she was an unconscionable opportunist, which could be uncomfortably close to the truth if she weren't genuinely concerned for his and Mandy's welfare.
The pencil moved beneath the painstaking coaxing of her fingers. She drew the letterh.Her hand was shaking so badly, she dropped the pencil. It rolled downward, slid across her lap, and finally became lodged between her hip and the seat of the upholstered chair.
Tate went after it. His strong fingers nudged her flesh. He replaced the pencil in her hand and guided it back onto the tablet. "it what?"
Beseechingly, she looked up at him, silently asking for his forgiveness. Then she finished the word she had begun. When she had printed it, she turned the tablet toward him.
"Hurts," he read. "It hurts to use your right hand?"
Immersed in guilt, Avery nodded her head. "It hurts," she croaked, and raised her right hand where the skin was still sensitive.
Her lie was justified, she assured herself. She couldn't tell him the truth until she could explain everything in detail. A scrawled message, a few key words without any elaboration, would only pitch him into a frenzy of anger and confusion. In that kind of mental state, he would never believe that someone wanted to kill him.
He gave a soft, short laugh. "You had Jack spooked. I can't believe I didn't notice it myself. I guess I've had too much on my mind to sweat the details."
He placed his hands in the small of his back and arched it, stretching luxuriantly. "Well, I've got that drive ahead of me, and it's getting late. I understand your cast comes off tomorrow. That's good. You'll be able to move around better."
Avery's eyes clouded with tears. This man, who had been so kind to her, was going to hate her when he discovered the truth. Through the weeks of her recuperation, he had unwittingly become her lifeline. Whether he was aware of it or not, she had depended on him for physical and emotional
The one time she had extended a compassionate hand to him, he had emphatically rebuffed her, but the strife between Tate and Carole went beyond the normal marriage in trouble. There was another almost malevolent dimension to it. He treated her as one might a caged wild beast. He saw to all her needs, but from a careful distance. His approach was mistrustful, as though her behavior couldn't be depended on.
As Avery knew, Tate's wariness of his wife was well-founded. Carole, along with another individual, had plotted to kill him. How and why were the questions that haunted her more than any others.
The troubling thoughts were temporarily shelved when he returned from escorting Jack out. However, her welcoming smile wavered as he approached her chair. He was scowling.
"Why are you writing with your left hand?"
Avery froze. So, this was to be the moment of truth. She had hoped to choose the time herself, but it had been chosen for her. How stupid she'd been to make such a blunder! Percentages were strongly against Carole Rutledge being left-handed.
She looked up at him with appeal and managed to speak a guttural version of his name.
God help me,she prayed as she fumbled for the pencil with her left hand. As soon as she revealed her identity, she must warn him of the planned assassination. The only time limit placed on it was that he would never live to take office. It could happen tomorrow, tonight. It might not happen until next November, but he had to be warned immediately.
Who in his family would she accuse? She hadn't revealed herself as soon as she could control a pencil because she didn't have enough facts. She had vainly hoped that each new day would provide her with some.
Once she had outlined the meager facts she knew, would he believe her?
Why should he?
Why should he even listen to a woman who had, for almost two months, passed herself off as his wife? He would think she was an unconscionable opportunist, which could be uncomfortably close to the truth if she weren't genuinely concerned for his and Mandy's welfare.
The pencil moved beneath the painstaking coaxing of her fingers. She drew the letterh.Her hand was shaking so badly, she dropped the pencil. It rolled downward, slid across her lap, and finally became lodged between her hip and the seat of the upholstered chair.
Tate went after it. His strong fingers nudged her flesh. He replaced the pencil in her hand and guided it back onto the tablet. "it what?"
Beseechingly, she looked up at him, silently asking for his forgiveness. Then she finished the word she had begun. When she had printed it, she turned the tablet toward him.
"Hurts," he read. "It hurts to use your right hand?"
Immersed in guilt, Avery nodded her head. "It hurts," she croaked, and raised her right hand where the skin was still sensitive.
Her lie was justified, she assured herself. She couldn't tell him the truth until she could explain everything in detail. A scrawled message, a few key words without any elaboration, would only pitch him into a frenzy of anger and confusion. In that kind of mental state, he would never believe that someone wanted to kill him.
He gave a soft, short laugh. "You had Jack spooked. I can't believe I didn't notice it myself. I guess I've had too much on my mind to sweat the details."
He placed his hands in the small of his back and arched it, stretching luxuriantly. "Well, I've got that drive ahead of me, and it's getting late. I understand your cast comes off tomorrow. That's good. You'll be able to move around better."
Avery's eyes clouded with tears. This man, who had been so kind to her, was going to hate her when he discovered the truth. Through the weeks of her recuperation, he had unwittingly become her lifeline. Whether he was aware of it or not, she had depended on him for physical and emotional
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