CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (37 page)

             
"No, but we need to talk." The other guy, the one with dark hair and green eyes, sounded very serious and very intense. "We have a mutual acquaintance."

             
"And that would be?" Teague asked coolly.

             
"George Oberlin." The first guy took his hand back, but he stood way too close for Teague's comfort.

             
Marilyn piped up, "Unless you're an FBI agent, we don't have time to talk to you. We're going there right now to have him arrested."

             
Oh, shit. Teague brought his hands up to fight.

             
"We can't allow you to do that."

             
The first guy grabbed Teague around the ribs.

             
Through the haze of instant, shocking agony, Teague grabbed his wrist and twisted.

             
The second guy stuck a needle in Teague's neck.

             
Teague fell unconscious to the sound of Marilyn Montgomery's screams.

             
Today was the best day of George's life.

             
Today he was waiting for the phone call that announced Givens Industries had broken apart and sunk as deep as the
Titanic
and that he, Senator George Oberlin, owned competitors' stock now worth billions.

             
Today he would make his wealth, his power, and his intentions clear to Kate, and at last, after years of disappointment and bitterness, she would be his.

             
And today, in celebration of all his many accomplishments, he wanted to feast his eyes on Teague Ramos. The men he'd hired were in jail, but they didn't know who had employed them. And according to the hospital, Ramos had been battered. Not as badly as George had ordered, but enough that George wanted to catch a glimpse of the damage. George was a man who liked to see what he'd paid for.

             
He checked the usual places: the rotunda, the supreme court building, the east corridor.

             
He asked his usual sources: the tour guide, the page, Mr. Duarte. No one had seen Ramos.

             
Had the bastard taken the day off? Simply because of a few cracked ribs and some swollen features? Ridiculous! The Texas state government paid good money for Ramos to do a job, and do it he would, even if George had to make a formal complaint.

             
Then a dreadful thought struck George. He hadn't seen Kate today. Had she experienced misplaced compassion and stayed at Ramos's home to care for him?

             
"Oh, no." George dialed the television station. "Oh, no. You're not going to get away with that."

             
The operator at KTTV picked up, and George announced, "This is Senator Oberlin. I need Brad Hasselbeck."

             
"Yes, Senator. Hold, please."

             
When Brad picked up, George knew at once Brad had gone off his medication. He sounded manic.

             
In a voice too quick and too cheerful, he said, "Senator! Kate Montgomery's boyfriend! I suppose you've called about Miss Montgomery, but you're too late! I sent her out on a job!"

             
"I am not her boyfriend, and you will stop making such an inappropriate accusation." Oberlin felt a rush of heat to his cheeks. Just what he needed. A station manager who babbled that Oberlin loved Kate. To ensure Brad's complete comprehension, George added, "Shut up, Hasselbeck."

             
"Sure, Senator. What do you want to talk about?" Brad sounded as if he'd indulged in a few drinks, too. Great.

             
"Where is Kate Montgomery?"

             
"Shhh," Brad hissed in mock alarm. "Don't start rumors by acting concerned! You're not her boyfriend!"

             
"You idiot!" George snapped.

             
"Yes, I'll have to agree with you there. I am an idiot. I hired her because you told me to, and now I'm going to lose my job because I overpaid for a reporter who doesn't do her job. So I am definitely an idiot. But not as big an idiot as a distinguished older senator who chases after some young beauty who doesn't give a crap about him." Brad chortled.

             
"What do you mean?" George whispered. He was George Oberlin, a senator in the Texas legislature. He was going to be a U.S. senator. He was going to be president!

             
Brad's hilarity grew more raucous. "There's no fool like an old fool. Why would Kate care about you with your dull parties and your wrinkled body? She's got Teague Ramos! Teague Ramos!"

             
"She hasn't got him. She doesn't want him," George said scornfully.

             
"Everybody knows she's sleeping with Teague!"

             
"That's not true." George was an important man. Kate wouldn't betray him with a Mexican. With a nobody.

             
"What? That everybody knows or that they're doing the wild thing together?" Brad lowered his voice and crooned, "I'll bet she laughs at you every day. I'll bet she and Teague screw their brains out every night, and together they laugh at you for daring to imagine she would prefer saggy old you."

             
"Shut up."

             
"The gossip is that they're in love." Brad guffawed again. "They can't take their eyes off each other."

             
Yes. He'd seen them look at each other. At his party, he'd thought . . . but then he'd discovered Teague was her bodyguard. Just her bodyguard.

             
He hadn't seen them together at all after Teague had apprehended Evelyn, so George had assumed . . .

             
"They're humping like rabbits anywhere they can. And laughing at you!" Brad sounded absolutely satisfied.

             
So Kate had been lying to him. At first he wanted to cry. Then . . then the burn started. He hadn't felt it for twenty-three years.

             
"Where is she?" George ground out the words.

             
"Where's Kate, you ask? Teague Ramos called first thing this morning and wanted her kept busy and out of the capitol complex, so I sent her off to interview schoolteachers!"

             
"I want to know exactly where she is. Her exact location." George's chest hurt from the heat of his fury. At Ramos. At Brad. At Lana. At her daughter, for doing the same thing Lana had done—loving the wrong man.

             
Inured to George's wrath, Brad said, "She's going to interview a teacher in Austin. Then she's off to New Braunfels and someplace rural!"

             
"Someplace rural?" George couldn't believe she would dare. "Where?"

             
"Someplace I'd never heard of before, I can tell you that! Um"—George could hear Brad snapping his fingers—"Hogert? Heggler?"

             
"Hobart?" This was as it should be—a clear sign he would triumph again.

             
"That's it! Hobart, Texas! Miss Montgomery is in—"

             
George didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence. He cut the connection and headed for his car.

TWENTY-ONE

             
"Ma' am, may I see your proof of insurance and driver's license?"

             
"Yes, Officer." Glumly, Kate dug around in her purse and her glove compartment until she came up with the two items requested. She passed them out her open window.

             
Cars whipped past on the highway going west through the Hill Country. The drivers looked curiously at the black-and-white Texas state patrol car with its red and blue flashing lights parked on the side of the road behind the BMW sports car.

             
Kate hated being in trouble. She felt as if everyone recognized her. She wanted to sink through the seat. No, what she really wanted to do was kick Teague right in his glib promises.

             
"Let me run these, please. I'll be back in a minute." The officer, a tall, middle-aged woman with a somber mien, seemed uninterested in Kate's red-faced embarrassment , or that her car was clean, that she was nicely dressed, and that she was having a good hair day.

             
In fact, when the officer came back, she seemed even more stern than before. She passed the license and the insurance card back and asked, "Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?"

             
Kate knew
exactly
how fast she was going. She knew exactly why, too. Because that rat she loved had lied to her. He didn't trust her. So in a rage, she had put her foot to the floor and driven as fast as she could toward Hobart. "Ninety," Kate said. "I was doing ninety."

             
"Actually, ninety-one." The officer pulled out her pad and started writing. "Do you know what the speed limit is?"

             
"Sixty-five."

             
"That's right. Ma'am, this is a serious infraction." The officer tore the ticket off. "Luckily, this is your first violation."

             
Kate's cell phone rang. She glanced at it and saw the Caller ID. Rage bubbled inside her.
Teague
.

             
She
so
didn't have time for him right now. It was his fault she had a ticket. His fault she wasn't getting to Hobart by noon. And she was hungry, damn it.

             
She turned off her phone, tossed it in the cup holder, and looked back at the officer. "I've never done anything like this before."

             
"I'm glad to hear that. Ninety-one is not a safe speed on this highway." The officer handed the ticket to Kate. "Keep your speed down, please. I'd hate to pick you up again."

             
Kate waited until the officer had walked back to her car before mimicking, "I'd hate to pick you up again."

             
It was Teague's fault she had a ticket and Teague's fault she was making fun of an officer of the law. That man had turned Kate into a spiteful lawbreaker.

             
She started her car, then circumspectly eased back onto the road.

             
The patrol car eased on behind her.

             
Kate got her speed up to sixty-five.

             
The officer got her speed to sixty-five.

             
Kate set her cruise control and grimly continued toward Hobart. She didn't lose the officer until she was past New Braunfels; If Kate could make it back before school closed, she could get the interview with a schoolteacher later today.

             
This morning, she had polished off the meeting with the elementary teacher in Austin in about fifteen minutes. How long did it take for some poor, underpaid educator to say she felt the children of the state had been robbed?

             
This wasn't a story. This was a farce. A farce manufactured by Teague Ramos, a big fat liar in need of much lesson learning.

             
Kate glanced at her cell phone. Teague could stew a while longer, but . . . Kate put on her headset and dialed her mother's house.

             
The phone rang. No one answered. Idly, Kate wondered if she should call Aunt Carol—Mom was probably over there telling the decorator how to hang the drapes—but when Aunt Carol got her on the phone, Kate could never get off.

             
And Kate was only fifteen minutes from Hobart.

             
At least if her mom was out of the house, Teague couldn't talk to her, ask her where Kate had gone, and scare her half to death.

             
She would call her mother again after lunch.

             
And although it went against the grain, she supposed she'd call Teague, too. She didn't doubt he was worried about her. But she cared about that as much as he cared about keeping his promises.

             
At twelve-thirty P.M. she drove her BMW past the city limits sign—HOBART, HOME OF FIGHTING FARMERS, POPULATION 4,802.

             
Kate marveled at how exactly Hobart fit her idea of a small Texas farming town. Just off the highway, Wal-Mart pulled in a steady stream of customers. A Dairy Queen and a Subway sat across the street. One of Hobart's four stoplights was located at that intersection. The downtown was six blocks long and two blocks wide. There was a furniture store, five bars, three restaurants, a pool hall, and a karate studio. The buildings downtown looked shabby: thirties, forties, and fifties architecture in need of sandblasting. At one end of Main Street sat a new courthouse and town hall; that complex looked good. Opposite was the city park with red and yellow plastic playground equipment and an old mildewed pool, fenced off and empty.

             
Kate drove up and down Main twice, studying the lay of the land before deciding on RoeAnn's Diner. It looked clean, it was busy, the big windows looked out onto the street, and the painting on the window showed a giant milk shake.

             
Usually she didn't indulge in milk shakes, giant or otherwise, but simply driving into Hobart put her in a better mood. When she thought about Teague and the way he'd tried to manipulate her, she was still livid. But underneath the fury lurked a sense of satisfaction; she had taken control of the situation.

             
When she remembered Teague's swollen face and his bruised ribs, she felt sick. Someone had to find out what was behind Oberlin's behavior. Someone had to determine why he'd never been caught. And someone had to stop him before he killed her, or Teague, or both of them.