“Your husband, on the other hand . . . well, his fondness for Swedish nannies seems to have evaporated only to be replaced by his cozying up with nubile campaign staffers.”

“The kids grew up. My husband didn’t.”

He shrugged. “My drunken Vegas marriage wasn’t enough to keep people from voting for me. You’d be surprised what people will put up with in their elected representatives.”

“So you’ve kept my husband’s indiscretions to yourself because it’s not salacious or damning enough?”

He poured a second glass of wine. “When I started in this business, Caroline, I was idealistic. The notion of serving my city and contributing to my community and the greater good of its citizenry was a very powerful inducement. It’s hard to hold on to that after almost four years in the dirt.” He gestured at the glass. “Try the Pinot. You’ll like it.”

She took a cautious sip as if concerned it might choke her.

“And now you’re jaded,” she said.

“Aren’t we all? But not enough to think that destroying a woman and her family is worth a few extra votes. Depending on the timing, I think your campaign would recover, but your children would be hurt.” Two girls and a boy, the youngest barely in her teens.

She raised a surprised eyebrow. “I got into this business expecting mud flinging, Eli.”

“So what do you have on me?”

A discontented huff escaped her lips. “You’re untouchable. So you haven’t come through on all your promises, but then it’s not as if you could. Running a city like Chicago is a losing proposition from the start. Too many competing interests, not enough resources. The only reason your numbers dropped was because of incumbent fatigue, but allying yourself with the daughter of a Chicago hero has paid dividends across the board. As far as your personal life or your financials”—she shook her head—“my people couldn’t find a thing.”

“You’re not looking hard enough, Ms. Jenkins.” A stentorian voice cut in to the intimate conversation.

Sam Cochrane.

Caroline smiled thinly. “I don’t have the resources of one of the nation’s greatest newspapers behind me, Mr. Cochrane. I’m sure you know everyone’s secrets.”

“I do,” he said simply, not looking at Eli. But the implication hung in the air with menace all the same. The atmosphere chilled enough to encourage Caroline to make her excuses and join another group.

“Aw, now you’ve gone and scared her off, Sam. Just as she was about to reveal all her secrets ahead of the debate.”

“Who needs that when you’ve got dirt on her and a six-point lead because you’re banging America’s Favorite Firefighter?”

Eli moved the glass of Pinot a few inches away, knowing that he might go Hulk-Smash any moment. Getting red wine out of his dress shirt was an absolute chore for his dry cleaner.

Sam clipped the end of his Cuban and made a five-course meal of lighting it before he spoke through the puff of smoke. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to cut her loose.”

Eli balled a fist against his thigh. “Are you telling me who I can fake date now?”

“You know Dempsey’s only good for the short term, a curiosity for the public to fetishize. She’s not the kind of woman who can take you to the top, Eli. Can you imagine her greeting the wife of the French president for a state dinner or leading tours of the Lincoln Room? Jackie O she ain’t.”

Eli barked out a laugh because, one, he thought Alexandra Dempsey would be a breath of fresh air across the White House lawn and, two, Sam Cochrane really thought he could bankroll his puppet to the most important office in the land.

“Sam, even if I had presidential ambitions”—which he did, but hell would freeze over before he’d admit it to this assclown—“you would be the last person I’d choose to make that journey with me.”

Sam’s face turned livid. “I haven’t invested millions of dollars to have you screw it up now. I made you, Eli, and I can just as easily unmake you.”

All true, but lately Eli had realized something startling. Sam Cochrane might have the goods to tank Eli’s campaign, but he wouldn’t, not as long as there was the slightest hope that Eli would let the mogul continue to kiss the mayoral ring. In the past few weeks with Alexandra, he had learned that hope was a very powerful thing—and it overrode practically every other negative emotion.

“A month ago, I almost died, Sam. That kind of jolt to the senses makes a man think about how he’s been living his life. The decisions he’s made. The decisions he should be making.” Eli nodded in Caroline’s direction. “Maybe it’s time you switched horses. All she needs is a new hairstyle and a designer suit. Red would look good on her. And if you get in on the ground floor, you could say you backed the first woman president of the United States. Hillary’s just so polarizing, don’t you think?” He inclined his head, and enunciated each word to ensure there was no misunderstanding. “I’m forecasting significant changes for my next administration, Sam. Fewer tax incentives to real estate development. Less kowtowing to business interests. Gotta fund that firefighter pension shortfall somehow.”

That whirring noise was the sound of Sam Cochrane’s brain working itself into an apoplectic fit. God, that felt almost as good as sinking his tension into Alexandra, something he would be doing very soon.

Unfortunately his enjoyment of Sam’s sputtering discomfort was short-lived. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tom coming toward him, his face as grim as the reaper’s.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Mayor, there’s been an accident.”

Alex pounded through the door to the clinic, frantically searching, not that there was much to comb through. Empty chairs, a receptionist’s window, and pictures of gamboling puppies. Was that supposed to be comforting?

He sat in the corner, alone, slumped forward, his dark head bent over his knees like he might hurl at any minute.

“Eli,” she whispered, hunkering down before him. “How is he?”

He looked up, and the pain she saw on his handsome face tore through her.

“He’s still in surgery. At least a broken leg, an eye injury, probably liver damage.”

“Oh, God, that sucks.” When she’d gotten the message from Thing that Shadow had been hit by a car after he escaped the mayor’s security detail and that Eli asked her not to come over tonight, she’d debated staying away. Leaving midway through her shift at the bar and hopping in a cab when the man you were sleeping with had specifically not requested your presence seemed like crossing a line. But now that she was here, she knew she’d made the right decision.

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“As soon as I heard . . . well, I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

He gusted a sigh. “I’m never alone.”

Ah, gotcha. She straightened to a stand. “I’ll just—”

He pulled her down into his lap and pressed her close to his chest. The faintest trace of cigars and privilege mingled with his usual spicy, masculine scent. “I mean that I’m always surrounded by security and staff and people who want a piece from me. I’m glad you’re here. I need you here.”

“You need my Amazon strength. He’s going to be a bear to lift into the car.”

His wry smile was a kick to her ribs. “Talk to me. About anything.”

“Hawks lost tonight. Probably could have done with Durand.”

He arched an eyebrow of move-it-along. Stifling her smile, she considered the less controversial conversation options. “I delivered a baby this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, a girl in the middle of a pile-up on Lake Shore. We couldn’t get her mom out of the car in time, so I went in, and ten minutes later, out comes baby. My first.”

He looked suitably impressed. “Wow.”

She grinned. “Wow, indeed. This kid had a set of lungs on her, I’ll tell you. And she was so fierce, like this wrinkly little alien who crash-landed on the Drive and was here to shake things up.”