“Oh we would make one hell of a liberal wave, my friend.” Roth was so revved up, spittle was congealing at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t feel it—didn’t care what he looked like. Right then, he was in what he liked to call a “feeding frenzy.” He was on the attack.
“You play up your environmental platform—saving all that beautiful Southern land in your home state of blue-grass Kentucky. You saved the state millions by renovating the historically and architecturally relevant landmark—the mental asylum—and turning it into the modern facility that aids in the psychiatric rehabilitation, research, development and education to the hundreds of inpatients. You take care of the residents with dignity and morality. Every southerner who’s a bleeding-heart, liberal will be chomping at the bit to vote for you as an Independent.” Roth spat directly onto the carpet, his mouth was so full of delicious deviousness. “Hawthorne may not be smart enough to see the ramifications of that, but his people are. They’ll convince him he’d lose the presidential election over this if he doesn’t take you on.”
“Hmmm,” Arkdone responded. He’d stopped pacing and was rubbing the knots from the back of his neck thoughtfully.
“It’s damn good, Donovan, and you know it.”
“Make the meeting happen. Text me when you get confirmation. I’ll need the itinerary.” His voice was sharp with adrenaline.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tonight, Roth. Set this up tonight. I want to shove this ultimatum right up Hawthorne’s gloating ass tomorrow.”
14 Puppet on a String
After hearing the tail end of Arkdone’s conversation on the phone through the door, Meg steeled herself for what she knew would be a heated conversation. Her hand had already been up, poised and ready to knock when she heard the Senator talking. After a deep breath, she allowed herself to rap firmly on the thick door.
“Enter!” Arkdone boomed.
Meg opted for opening the door with her mind instead of her hand. She wanted to show the Senator, she was in complete control of her faculties—and not in the mood for his superior attitude.
She stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, wearing skinny jeans and a form-fitting black tee. Black, knee-high riding boots hugged her shapely legs perfectly. Her hair was still damp from the shower but was braided into a long rope down her back.
“You wanted to see me?” she started innocently.
Arkdone looked up in time to see Meg’s parlor trick. He wasn’t impressed.
“Explain yourself,” he growled. His beady black eyes bored dents into her forehead.
Meg’s mind leaped across all the possible meanings behind that statement. She decided to feign nonchalance and hope to God that he hadn’t somehow sensed her using her psychic manipulative gift on the crowd.
Hands still clasped behind her back, she sauntered into the study shrugging.
“We were at a party.”
“It wasn’t a party for you!”
“What is your problem exactly? I played the part tonight. I let you show me off like a trophy to all your friends. I smiled and made small talk. I behaved exactly the way you wanted me to. So what if I congratulated my performance with a sip or two of wine?”
“A sip or two? You were completely hammered, passed-out and bloody-faced! If Gideon and Ermos hadn’t been there to collect you discreetly, you could have seriously tarnished all my efforts in one swift idiotic move! Hell, it’s possible people noticed but were too polite to say anything to me yet!” His eyes got wilder the more he thought about the possibility. “You may have cost me the nomination!” he bellowed.
The anger on Meg’s face was real enough to mask her feelings of relief that Arkdone didn’t have a clue she really was the reason he lost the nomination, but not because of underage drinking.
“How close was the vote?” she seethed.
Arkdone was running his hands through his slicked back hair, still furious but not sure what to do about it.
“Close.” He frowned, wondering where she was going with that question.
“If I wanted you to lose the nomination—if I had set my sights on that—there is no way I would have allowed ‘close.’ I would have demolished your chances.”
She narrowed her eyes at the man standing rigid beside his mahogany desk. The anger rolling off him was palpable. He said nothing, but looked directly at Meg with venom dripping from the wicked half smirk that peeled across his thin lips. They stood in silence for a full minute, staring each other down. Arkdone finally broke the soundless stalemate.
“Are we in alliance or aren’t we? Tell me now so I can make arrangements,” Arkdone lifted his chin to look down his nose at the formidable sixteen-year-old, openly challenging her.
“We are. You hold up your end of the bargain, and I’ll hold up mine.”
Arkdone nodded once. “Tomorrow we are flying to Pennsylvania to have a little visit with Joe Hawthorne.”