Her emotional considerations aside, his behavior was jeopardizing his political future. Their future. Warner was a powerful man. and Carolyn knew that powerful men required special handling.

She eased back into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin, determined to rest for the few remaining hours of the night.

The sound of the alarm clock came as a relief. Carolyn looked over at Warner. “Time to wake up.”

“What?” he murmured groggily.

“It’s time to get up.” She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. “We’ve got church this morning. We’re running late. You’d better hurry.”

He shrugged away from her. “I flew in late last night. Let’s skip church.”

“No way,” she said. “Your father wants us to appear in church together every Sunday that you’re in town, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint him. So get out of bed and get in the shower.” Carolyn crossed the room to the walk-in closet. “Besides, you have to give a speech today at the opening of the State Fair. We need the press coverage. The speech is on the desk in your study. You should go over it before church.”

“Who’s going to be there?” Warner yawned.

“The local big-wigs. Senator Rudly. Miss Missouri. She should bring in a big crowd.”

A half-hour later, Carolyn watched in silence as Warner stood behind his antique desk, reading the speech she’d written. His staff had provided her with some notes, then she expanded the text. adding the fire, the voice, the true agenda.

Warner raised his eyes to meet hers.

“Let me hear it.” Carolyn prompted. The habit of critiquing his delivery was a tradition between them.

Warner recited the script verbatim, never once referencing the pages before him. He was truly amazing, she thought nodding her approval. With his photographic memory and her writing skill, they’d already accomplished a great deal.

After church. Warner took his usual spot in the front seat of the Lincoln with State Trooper Harry Masterson from their special security detail. Carolyn relaxed in the back.

“Church ran over today,” Warner said. “It’s about an hour to Sedalia. We’re going to be late to the fair.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll wait for you.” Carolyn said. “Besides. I thought the sermon was excellent.”

Warner ignored her and wondered why she had insisted on coining to the fair. He’d always made these appearances on his own.

The fairgrounds amphitheater offered no shade and radiated the sun’s glare. Regardless of the swelter that rose in waves off the stage, Warner knew he looked cool and relaxed.

He placed his hand over his eyes to block the sun and glanced at Carolyn. She dutifully stood off to the side with her politician’s wife’s half-smile. her brown eyes bright seeming enraptured by his message. Beautiful in a light blue linen suit with a cream-colored silk blouse. Carolyn winked when she caught his eye, then suddenly frowned. He followed her gaze into the crowd.

Warner saw his political nemesis. Patrick Dunfey, just before he heard him.

“ Senator Lane, tell us about your real politics.” Dunfey yelled. “You’re not for the working man. You’re for making the rich richer.”

Warner maintained his composure. Experience told him the only way to deal effectively with a political heckler like Dunfey was to meet the problem head-on. “Mr. Dunfey, what’s your specific question?”

“Why don’t you explain how building an extravagant airport with the taxpayers’ money will make you and your big money friends richer.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dunfey, for that question.” Warner responded. “As you all know, everything I do is always in the best interest of both the State of Missouri and her people. The new airport is a critical step toward making our state stronger economically by encouraging industry and tourism. We need to keep up with the times in order to compete in today’s marketplace. The construction alone will bring twenty thousand new jobs to the area. I believe-”

“Could you tell us how having a mistress fits into your idea of personal responsibility and family values?” Dunfey interrupted.

Warner’s smooth smile cloaked his shock and anger.

Carolyn walked over and took her husband’s hand.

Thank God for Carolyn; she knows exactly how to react. Warner dared a look in her direction.

With flushed cheeks she smiled up at him. but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

He hesitated then turned his attention back to the crowd. “Mr. Dunfey. I’m happy to answer your political questions, but when you insult my wife and me, I draw the line.”

Jack Rudly leaned against a fence pole to the side of the backstage area and watched two police officers escort Patrick Dunfey from the amphitheater. The sounds of camera shutters clicking told him what the lead story would be in the next clay’s paper. He turned to the stage as his father, William Rudly, the senior senator from Missouri, began his address.

His dad captured the crowd’s attention with his usual enthusiasm and wit, and Jack smiled. Back in the states from a stint in Kuwait during Iraq ’s invasion, his schedule allowed for only a three-day visit home before heading to Iraq to interview Saddam Hussein.

With time so short, his father had asked him to attend the fair. Bill Rudly claimed he needed an honest opinion on how his speech would be received by the press and insisted that only Jack could give an accurate assessment. Jack knew, of course, that his dad just wanted to spend as much time as possible with his son. and would have said anything to assure his company.

The crowd applauded. The older Rudly’s blue eyes radiated an intensity and alertness that allowed him to size up situations and people with an uncanny accuracy. Even as mischievous young men. Jack and his friends never got away with a lie where Bill Rudly was concerned.

Jack had inherited his father’s blue eyes and intuition, but his youthful indiscretions were his alone. He rubbed the small scar over his left eye, a reminder of a barroom brawl in Turkey. As an investigative journalist, he often found himself delving into the seamy side of life, and the ability to defend himself had become a necessity. So, at six-foot-two-inches and one-hundred-eighty pounds, he worked out regularly. Regardless of the physical challenges he posed for his body, however, sleep was an illusive commodity. Nothing seemed to curb his overactive mind.

He swore that insomnia had forced him to become a journalist. While the rest of the world slept, he was wide-awake, keeping watch. Bill Rudly, however, didn’t agree with the practicality of this notion and disapproved of Jack’s career. This was the first in a long list of topics on which they disagreed.

As the son of a foreign diplomat-turned-senator, Jack had grown up all over the world and spoke five languages, making him not only a valuable man in the field of foreign journalism, but also a person much sought-after by government intelligence agencies. For a man of Jack’s talent and contacts, these careers were easily integrated.

Jack didn’t mind the special assignments, even though it meant that some of his stories never went any farther than Langley, but when it came to certain sectors of the world, his father objected. Iraq was one of these sectors. Jack reminded Bill that even if he wasn’t on the government payroll he’d still travel to places like Iraq to cover the news as a journalist, but his father detested the added risk to his son.

Jack had spent six years in the Middle East. He not only spoke Arabic, but could assimilate into the culture. And his established contacts made his visits invaluable to the intelligence community.