“Give Suzanne my regards.”
He nodded, but didn't move. “You won't reconsider?”
She shrugged. “I'm afraid I can't.”
His look turned insolent. It flicked up, then down her body in an invasive appraisal. “Then watch your back, honey. This is a tough business.”
“I'll have her back,” Titus said from the doorway, his face tight and cold.
Bubba Joe looked like he wanted to taunt Titus about his previous failure, but the sight of the gun holster was most likely a deterrent. He closed his mouth and stalked out.
Dorothy waited until the door snapped shut and his engine fired outside.
“Well, I managed to rattle him.”
“You think he was involved?” Titus looked surprised.
She shrugged. “I don't know. He isn't a nice man. Maybe he's just trying to scare me into not running.”
“Are you going to run then?”
“She promised me the answer to that first.” Remy joined the conversation. “I see from the slime trail that Bubba Joe Henry has been and gone. He on your list? Because he should be.”
“He's certainly in my top three,” Dorothy admitted, catching an odd look on Titus's face before he could replace it with inscrutable.
“Well, you can tell me about it later. It's show time.”
“Can I have one minute?”
“Sure.” He left as abruptly as he arrived.
“So you've been discussing the murder with him,” Titus said. “Is that wise?”
“According to Bubba Joe, nothing I'm doing is wise.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, “Can we do this later? I need to find my balance again for the interview.”
Their interview was going to be filmed for release on the radio station's sister television station. That meant she had to prepare to be both seen and heard.
She turned away from him, considering her face and what expression to put on it. Unbidden, a memory of Magus emerged from the past. She couldn't remember the event, there'd been so many of them, but she'd been with him long enough to stop thinking about how the hordes of press affected her and study how it affected him. And how he dealt with them. At times, it almost seemed as if he drew energy from them, growing even larger in the onslaught of attention. His eyes would light with interest. He didn't see them as the enemy or even as a necessary evil. And he'd known the face they saw was the one that their audience would see. Princess Diana had possessed the same gift for warmth but still maintained a proper distance. It worked for them because it was real and honest. No false notes because they weren't pretending.
Dorothy had been pretending so much for so long, she wasn't sure she could be real and honest. She patted some powder on her forehead and chin, studying the sober expression in her eyes. It was going to have to do and might be all right. At least it was as honest as she could produce right now. She tucked the compact back in her purse, picked up her hat and adjusted it, and then headed down the hall, drawn toward the room Remy Mistral waited in.
In the doorway, she paused, her gaze sweeping the room before it was caught by Remy's. The interest she saw there surprised her for a moment, until she remembered their deal. She didn't have to work hard to produce a matching interest. The air between them sizzled, just enough to catch the attention of those around them. The rumors would be flying before the show ended.
His gaze traveled down, then up, approval mingling with desire in his eyes. She was glad she'd chosen the simple, yet classic slip dress and the Princess Diana hat, with its fuller brim that drooped over one eye. They felt right with the languorous warmth uncurling in her mid-section.
He came to meet her, tucking her hand under his elbow as he drew her into the room with him. His touch swept her with a “little woman” feeling, a sense that she was fragile and that she'd been created to lean on him like this. It was an odd feeling, after ten years being solitary and strong, but rather pleasant. It permeated her walk, turning it slinky, almost beauty queen. She chuckled silently.
Right
. With her cleavage? Rein it in, girl.
“What?” Remy asked, for her ears alone.
She couldn't possibly explain. “I'm just enjoying our performance. I didn't expect that.”
Remy's smile turned wry. “Did you think it would be hard to pretend to like me?”
She stopped, turning to look at him. “I've spent the last ten years learning how to hide my feelings from the rapaciously curious.”
He looked thoughtful and a touch relieved.
“I hadn't thought of that. Being a media type, I'm not so nice.” He finished with a cocky grin, then gestured her to one of the wing back chairs that had been placed in front of the fireplace where Magus's portrait hung.
As she sat down, she noticed he sent a look toward the portrait that was almost defiant.
The intrusion of Remy's world into Magus's had changed the flavor of the room somewhat. The brash flash of the equipment warred with the stately feel of the room and its old world furniture.
But beyond the fixtures, was the personality clash of old and new. Remy with Magus. Magus still dominated, but Remy had a different kind of power, was potent in a different way. His was the power of voice and of ideas. And he had the advantage of being alive. He also had
it
. Sex appeal in spades in a nice package designed by Mother Nature or divine providence, or possibly both working together.
Dorothy dug her toes into the soles of her shoes, trying to keep her feet on the ground as both past and present swept over her in a wave. After a brief, inner struggle, she was able to push it all to the back of her mind. She'd deal with it later.
Lights, mikes and makeup were checked and then Remy turned his hundred watt smile on the camera, while directing his thousand watt voice into the mike.
“Good afternoon, Louisiana. This is Remy Mistral on KPRX and as usual, I'm that cold wind blowing across the state on this hot day in May. There's a lot happening in politics today, but the big news is that Dorothy is back in Oz and the foundations of power are a-buzz with wondering why. You lucky listeners, will be the first to hear Dorothy herself tell us not only why, but when, where, how and who.” He looked at Dorothy and smiled. “But not until after this station break.”
He looked at her as he surrendered control of the air waves to the obligatory commercials. Are you ready, his eyes asked? Was she? Could she ever be? Ready or not, it was starting. And she had no one to blame but herself.
The commercial break ended far too quickly.
“In case you've been in a coma for the last fifteen years, I'll recap who Dorothy is and who the Wizard was.” He talked fast, shooting facts out as bare, unadorned arrows in every direction, reducing both their lives to a two minute recap.
It was both humbling and sobering. She'd thought it would at least take three. Even at that clip, he managed to play all the right notes, hitting emotion and logic with just the right amount of force, building carefully to the moment when he brought her into play.
“So, Dorothy. Welcome to Cold Wind.”
His smile uncurled her toes and she almost forgot that she could only be heard, that seeing was for later.
“Welcome to Oz, Remy Mistral,” she said, giving him a smile that she hoped was both sexy and slightly intimate, but could have very well been goofy. “And all your listeners, as well.”
“How does it feel to be back?”
She wanted to shrug, but didn't. Instead, she drew out, “It feels...right. I'm sure my father would be pleased.”
She looked up at the portrait on the wall between them.
“You visited Verrol Vance in prison two days ago. Was that why you came back to Louisiana?”
“Well, it was certainly one of the reasons.”
“I'm guessing you asked him who hired him to kill your father. Did he tell you?”
“No, but he was going to.”
“You seem quite sure.”
“I'm a million dollars sure.” Dorothy paused. Remy's eyes widened. She probably should have mentioned it, but she hadn't wanted to kill the spontaneity of the interview. And he might have tried to stop her. He didn't ask the next question, so she answered it anyway. “That's how much I offered him to tell me.”
Remy made his recovery. “Not much use to him in jail.”
“I also promised him a pardon.”
“Really?” He was trying not to look annoyed now and mostly succeeding. “To deliver a pardon, you'd need to run for governor...or support someone who would deliver on your promise.”
Dorothy nodded in what she hoped was a thoughtful manner. “If he hadn't been murdered, one of those scenarios would certainly have been necessary.”
Remy started to look amused. “Does Vance's death mean you're no longer interested in Louisiana politics?”
She had to admire the delicacy with which he drew out the moment.
She waited for a count of five before answering him. “Not at all.”
“This brings us to the million dollar question...and another commercial break.”
As she and Remy stared at each other, in the background she could hear someone talking about a must-have bed, followed by the amazing properties of garlic, then there was a flurry of bad commercials about some local businesses. Behind the commercial chatter, was the discreet buzz of the curious around them and deeper than that, the gentle hum of the desire that fueled the gossip.
“A million bucks?” Remy gave her a crooked grin, because the cameras were still running. “That's a lot of money.”
“I had a lot of time to save it up.” Dorothy smiled back.
Through his smile, he muttered, “I wish you'd given me a little warning before dropping that little bomb. That was almost an offer of money for information.”
Dorothy arched her brows. “Really?”
That was all they had time for, before the program resumed again. Remy leaned toward her, his face turning serious.
“So, Dorothy, could you answer the question that most of Louisiana is buzzing with? Are you going to run for governor?”
He'd told her to count to twenty before she answered. It wasn't easy. The silence screamed to be filled. Eighteen...nineteen...twenty...
“No, Remy Mistral. I'm not.”
“Is that a huge sigh of relief I hear rippling across the state from the hopeful throng?”
“I hope not,” Dorothy said. “Because I'm hoping that you'll accept my support for your run for governor of the State of Louisiana. And I'm quite sure I'm not the only one, am I callers?”
FOUR
* * * *
Darius Smith was a tall, rather sinister man. Both height and aspect suited him, as he preferred being feared to being liked. His skin was pale, stopping just short of albino and his eyes were icy blue. He had very thin lips and long, thin fingers and toes. He was cold inside and out, and he made all his decisions from a neutral place and based completely on expediency.
He had no knack for endearing himself to the electorate and no desire to do so. It was, therefore, no surprise he worked mostly behind the scenes. It was power he craved, power he sought assiduously. When it flowed to him, he was content, when it flowed away, he became dangerous. He had a variety of methods for getting what he wanted. Murder was on the list, but only as a last resort. It was messy and dangerous. Occasionally someone came along, though, that made it worth the risk and the mess.
He snapped off the radio and the last bombast of Remy Mistral and his so-called cold wind of truth. He was annoying enough to be worth almost any risk, even before he'd decided to run for governor. If he was able to align himself with the Wizard's daughter, well, it was almost a moral imperative to stamp him out.
Dorothy
. It was a pity she'd come back. There had been so much tragedy in her young life. He hadn't expected her to care this much about a father she'd known so briefly. He hadn't expected this kind of loyalty, considering her maternal roots.
Emma Merlinn
. She'd been fascinating, but had lacked the attribute of loyalty. It was still hard for him to believe she was dead. She'd been so alive, so super charged in those days when they were all young. All of them had lost their heads over her, but he was the only one who'd learned how inimical passion was in the well-ordered life. And if she'd chosen him instead of Magus?
Darius pushed his chair back from his huge, sterile desk. The wheels rolled silently, smoothly until he stopped them and stood up. The air in the room was cool and devoid of scent. It was a place of metal and wood, designed for efficient use of space and time, not for looks.
He paced to the bank of windows that looked down on the New Orleans city street. No sound from outside penetrated the inside. There was nothing and no one in his sterile world to distract him from the past. From remembering Emma and how he'd felt when he was with her, what it had felt like to be intimate with her.
With her, he'd felt less distant from the human race. He'd almost felt...redeemed. His mind wrapped around the word. It implied he'd done something wrong, rather than just what was expedient, but it was the truth. He always faced the truth, no matter how hard, about himself and others. Clarity must precede action. It kept him from an unseemly and foolish reaction. He disliked losing control.
He could still remember what she looked like, despite the nearly thirty years it had been since he last saw her. What was it about her that had made her so enticing? She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but she was the only one he couldn't forget, no matter how hard he tried.
Certainly her red hair was striking with violet eyes, but they were just body parts, meaningless without what was inside her animating it all. Intimacy with her had been...amazing. Unforgettable. In the years since, he'd failed to experience anything like it. He hadn't even minded the loss of control at the time. The satisfaction that followed was ample compensation. He'd had sex with women since, but not intimacy or satisfaction. Sex merely provided physical release, a hollow thing when one knew what one was missing.
Magus had never appreciated what he had with Emma or she wouldn't have sought Darius out. His vision had always been too narrow, and too quick to shift, once a goal was reached. He could never be satisfied. The fault must lay with him, because Emma had been without flaw in the bedroom. Death may have obscured reality from some people, but Darius wasn't one of them. Magus would have bored of being governor as quickly as he'd lost interest in his wife, had he lived to be elected.