When she cried out or shuddered with the pain of his brutal assault, he pounded harder, without mercy, driving himself closer to release.
By the time he withdrew from her, spent, she lay silent and still on the bed, her face buried in the pillows. An occasional sob emanated from within the mass of red hair. On the pillow next to her, a red fingernail lay broken on the sheets.
Tate walked into the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet towel. He spoke softly to her as he toweled the blood from the milky flesh of her buttocks, telling her how wonderful she had been and that she should come to him whenever she needed that special favor.
Though she would be sore in the morning, Brenda DiRocco would remember little of what had happened in. this hotel room tonight. He would tell her that in the heat of celebration, she'd had too much to drink, and that he'd had one of his bodyguards drive her home. She would be embarrassed that the night had been a total blackout. But he would be reassuring, telling her it happened to the best of them from time to time.
When he got out of the shower, she still hadn't moved.
Annoyed, he picked up the piece of broken fingernail and tossed it into the trash. Reminding himself that he had a speech to give in less than an hour, he dressed, then dialed his bodyguard's room number.
"Mrs. DiRocco is going to need an escort home," he said.
"I'll be right there."
Tate hung up and smiled. He had a crowd of supporters to dazzle, money to raise, babies to kiss. He called his own room two floors down, and informed his wife the meeting had ended and that he would meet her downstairs in ten minutes.
A knock at the door announced his bodyguard. Tate answered, motioning to the semiconscious woman on the bed. "Keep it discreet, Kyle. She's had too much to drink."
The burly man, wearing custom-made trousers and jacket, went to the bed and pulled the young woman to her feet. "I'll take good care of her, Mr. Tate."
"See that you do." Tate scribbled her home address onto a sheet of the hotel's paper and handed it to his, bodyguard.
She moaned, her head lolling from side to side as the big man lifted her and slipped her coat over her shoulders. Her feet barely touched the floor as he guided her to the door.
"Use the freight elevator," Tate said in disgust.
Kyle nodded and closed the door behind them.
Tate looked at his watch, not quite sure why he felt so tense. Sex and the release that went with it usually relaxed him. Especially the kind of sex he'd had with Brenda DiRocco.
His personal cell phone chirped. Only two people had the number: That it was ringing now annoyed him. "What?"
"I just got a call from one of our constituents." The voice on the other end didn't bother with introductions or niceties.
Tate reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and withdrew the monogrammed handkerchief, not liking it that his forehead was damp with sweat. "And?"
"There have been some changes in the Denver project:"
He wiped the back of his neck, felt something inexplicable tighten in his chest. "What kind of changes?"
"We got an interesting call. Someone connected to her is willing to help us."
"By all means, let's take advantage. Discreetly, of course."
"Of course." The caller cleared his throat. "The two players are here in D.C."
"How did they get this close without my knowing it?"
"They moved quickly. Different hotel every night. The woman wants to meet with you. She's been making some noise, sir, calling your office and campaign headquarters."
Tate forced a laugh as he adjusted a diamond cuff link. "Intriguing girl," he said, considering himself in the mirror. "So far the Denver project has been a dismal failure."
"How do you want to handle it?"
"I'd like her staff terminated. Then I'd like a personal meeting with her to discuss our options."
"A personal meeting?"
He ignored the surprise in the other man's voice. "Do it."
"Sir, I feel it's my duty to warn you that a meeting could be risky."
"A risk I'm willing to take," Tate snapped. "Set it up. I want to see her."
"When?"
"Let them sweat for a couple of days. Let them get anxious. Then set something up with the contact."
"Yes, sir."
"Make sure the contact is appropriately ... compensated:"
"Done."
His heart was pounding when he snapped the phone closed. An odd mix of apprehension and anticipation that had been building for days.
And the more he thought about a personal meeting with Addison Fox, the more the idea intrigued him.
*
"Mr. Garrison Tate, please."
"Are you calling regarding a political issue?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.
Addison identified herself. "I'm calling in regard to a personal matter."
"Let me put you through to one of his aides."
There was a series of clicks as the call was transferred. Addison took a deep breath, wondering why it didn't help the tightness in her chest.
"May I help you?" A male voice. Professional. Busy. They screened Tate's calls well.