Rook (Political Royalty Book 2) (9 page)

Room service knocked on the door with the food before Becca got out of the shower. Matt had just about decided to check on her when his sister emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His clothes swallowed her but she looked clean and her cheeks had some color again.

“Come on, sit down and eat before I steal the rest of your fries,” he said, pushing one of the waxed paper-lined red plastic baskets toward her.

“Classy,” she said and her tentative smile tore at his heart.

“That’s me. Class all the way. Soda or beer?” When he lifted the six-pack, she recoiled and he set it on the floor beside him. Becca was the smartest, most responsible of the two of them. When other kids partied, she studied and unlike him, she was set to graduate on time with honors. She didn’t drink to get drunk but he also hadn’t known her to be a teetotaler. Unless something had changed.

“Soda,” she said, but he was already off the bed and heading for the glasses beside the ice bucket.

He poured her a diet soda, waiting until the fizz died down before topping it off and handing it to her. They ate in silence, both of them with their gazes locked on the television. Or rather he ate and she picked at her fries.

“So did you drink too much at a party or something?” He blurted the words out when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. She looked up at him like she’d been caught stealing.

“What do you mean?” Her voice shook, and she pushed the basket of food aside.

He felt like an ass. He wanted to get her to eat, not make her feel bad, but he’d deal with the fallout if he could get her to tell him what was going on.

“I saw your face when I offered you the beer. I know you’ve never been much of a drinker but that wasn’t exactly a normal reaction for a college student. Unless you’ve been bitten by the hair of the dog,” he said, hoping it was something as simple as partying too hard.

His sister took her studies seriously. She knew how hard he worked to pay down her tuition and she’d never taken it for granted. He could see that she might be upset if she partied too hard and screwed something up. But it didn’t matter to him. He wanted her to be a kid. It was part of why it was so important to him that she go to school.

“It’s okay if you did. Even if you messed up your grades or something. You can ask for extra credit or whatever. We can figure out a way to fix it. Lord knows I partied hard enough in school to earn some kind of medal and I turned out okay.”

“It’s not that,” she said, locking her gaze on her lap.

“Then what is it, baby?” He reached for her chin, tipping her face up, but she kept her eyes moving, looking everywhere but at him. “You know me. I’m not going to give up until you tell me.”

Her eyes filled with tears and he wanted to wrap her in his arms, but he was afraid if he moved she wouldn’t tell him. And if she didn’t talk now, she might never. He reached for her hand instead, squeezing her cold fingers in his.

“I went to a frat party,” she said and then stopped.

He waited, knowing there was more and pretty sure he didn’t really want to know. He forced himself to relax his grip before he crushed her fingers and nodded, urging her to keep talking.

“Erica wanted to go. My roommate. She’s been dating a brother and she didn’t want to go alone. I’d never been to a party at one of the houses and I figured it’s one of those things you should do at least once while you’re in college, right?” She met his gaze then and the pain he saw in her eyes stole his breath. “I drank too much. I know I shouldn’t have but I’d finished my exam and I wanted to blow off some steam. I know better. It was a mistake.” She pleaded with him and he couldn’t stay silent. He couldn’t let her think that anything that happened was her fault.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything that thousands of other college students have done too, me included.”

“I didn’t think I was drinking that much. They had this fruit punch in those red cups. I knew it was spiked, but I didn’t think it was that strong.” She paused and he reached for her other hand, cradling her fingers in his, needing the connection to keep him sane. He prayed it helped her too.

“What happened, Becca?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice broke on a sob and he pulled her across the bed and into his arms, tucking her head against his chest. “I woke up naked on a mattress upstairs. I don’t remember anything.”

She dissolved against him and holding her was the only thing that kept him from breaking something. All he could think was that a drunk frat boy raped his baby sister. His sister, who never got in trouble or stepped out of line, who studied hard and always did the responsible thing. He wanted to find the guy responsible and murder him with his bare hands. Tear him apart. Make him scream. And then it occurred to him that it might not be just one guy. It could have been a fucking gang of them.

His vision blurred, going red around the edges, and he felt his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He’d find a way to make them pay. He had to or he’d never be able to live with himself. Becca sobbed in his arms, chanting to herself. He was so caught up in his own fury; it took him a minute to understand what she was saying.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” She repeated the words over and over while her tears soaked through the cotton of his shirt.

“No,” he said, shoving his feelings in a box and walling that fucker off behind a stack of cinderblocks and cement. He’d find a way to deal with his own shit later. Far away, somewhere where it wouldn’t add to her pain. He peeled her away from his chest, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize again. You. Did. Not. Do. Anything. Wrong. Do you understand me? Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t asking for it and you didn’t deserve it. No one has a right to touch you without your consent. No one. I don’t give a fuck how drunk you were, Becca. This wasn’t your fault.”

The sob caught in her throat, but she didn’t try to turn away. She met his gaze, her blue eyes red rimmed from crying but resolute, and she nodded.

He was able to take a little more air into his too-tight lungs. Once he was sure she was safe and that she’d be okay, he’d find a way to deal with the bastard who did this to her so she’d never have to think about it again. He’d find a way to make them pay.

I
T DIDN’T MATTER WHERE SHE went, Haven couldn’t get away from Sandra Walker. Since the family values battle broke out between Estevan and Collins, the senator’s wife had become a prominent figure on the campaign trail. Every time Haven turned around, there she was, getting her makeup done, fussing over her perfect blonde appearance, and fawning over Walker. It required a colossal effort to tune out the other woman, and Haven had reached a point where she couldn’t stand to hear even one more word spoken in the Scarlett O’Hara Southern drawl. A drawl that deepened and slowed in cadence every time the cameras turned Sandra’s way.

Haven had absolutely no room to complain. She was the one who pushed for Walker’s wife and daughters to join the campaign, and it had worked beautifully. While Estevan spouted crazy 1950s bullshit and Collins tried to walk back from her comments about happily leaving her infant children, Walker talked about the importance of supporting all kinds of families and cutting taxes to make it easier for them to take care of themselves, all while being flanked by his beautiful wife and adorable daughters. He talked like a fiscal conservative and a social progressive and looked like the dictionary definition of a nuclear family. The voters ate it up.

It harkened back to the pre-Reagan era before the religious right and social conservatives ran off with the show. And in a spectacular twist of events, they seemed to be gaining votes and broadening the party, all without appearing to lose any of the base. It helped that the Walkers wore their waspishness with a thick layer of Southern Baptist. Walker could say what he believed and look like what people expected. In any other year, it would be an unbeatable combination. As long as Collins kept shooting herself in the foot, fighting with the crazy publishing mogul, it still might be.

Walker’s poll numbers were up in Wyoming and their internal numbers had him pulling ahead in Illinois and Ohio. He’d even managed to close the gap in Florida. With Collins and Estevan concentrating on each other, it left him free to stand clear in the middle. It tightened the Sunshine State into a three-way race and left a path for Walker to claim the state’s ninety-nine delegates, something Haven wouldn’t have thought possible weeks earlier. Even better, the culture war seemed to have sucked all the air out of the Jenson campaign. The governor’s campaign had been languishing since just after Super Tuesday and with the big money donors going in other directions, it was clearly becoming too hard for him to keep going.

Justin got a tip from one of the guys he knew on Jenson’s campaign that the governor was close to suspending. She was expecting the announcement any day. It would feel good to head into Florida and Ohio with a three-man field instead of a four-man one. She’d decided to pull back their efforts in North Carolina. Its proximity to Walker’s home state made it pretty much of a lock and with numbers tightening across the board, she’d decided to concentrate their efforts in Ohio, Illinois, and Missouri and spend the rest of their time in Florida with a full state tour. They’d finish up the three-day whirlwind bus trip in Florida on primary day and see if they could tip the scales in the winner-take-all contest.

It had shaped up to be a grueling week, but it also meant that Sandra and the girls would be heading home for the rest of the month, flying in a day before the primaries to meet the campaign instead of crowding on the bus with the staff. The senator’s wife loved the cameras and attention but she seemed to hate the close travel quarters more. The crowded bus turned out to be an unexpected bright spot. At least there she just had to concentrate on avoiding Walker; she didn’t have to try to block out his wife.

She tucked the last of her clean clothes into her bag and zipped it closed. She needed to find a laundromat and quick or she’d be reduced to washing her underwear in the bathroom sink. Hopefully the next hotel they stopped at would have one, or even better laundry services so she wouldn’t have to take the time to do it herself. She’d just have to make sure her family never found out or her brother would give her shit every holiday for being too good to do her own wash.

Haven grabbed the remote to flip off the television, but when she looked at the screen, there was a breaking news banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen. For a crazy moment, she thought maybe Jenson had decided to announce suspending his campaign, but it was barely daylight. He’d want better optics and bigger coverage. Her stomach tightened over the more likely scenario of a terrorist attack. They’d become much too frequent, both in the US and abroad. She turned up the volume, deliberately pushing aside thoughts of what an attack could do to the campaign.

Collins had a definite advantage when it came to who the public believed could keep them safe, but Haven couldn’t let herself think of that now. Not until she had a chance to react to the news as a human being and not a manipulative campaign manager. It scared her to think how easily she could lose her humanity, concentrating on how to win instead of what it all meant, but the lure was strong and she knew exactly how seductive.

“Authorities say it’s too soon in the rescue process to have estimates of the dead and injured, but the numbers are sure to be significant,” said the sober-looking newscaster. “Again, about twenty minutes ago, at the start of early morning rush hour traffic, the North Sagamaw Bridge on I97 in Vermont collapsed, sending dozens of cars and trucks into the South River.”

An image of twisted metal and concrete chunks filled the screen. It looked like a section of the road had simply fallen away, leaving a giant gap in the bridge. Cars and trucks were packed end to end on the remaining sections, one or two with their wheels hanging precariously into the breach. Haven could make out people abandoning their vehicles and running back toward the shore, some carrying small children in their arms. While she watched, the bridge bounced, undulating in a way solid steel and concrete shouldn’t be able to, and the newscaster gasped a fraction of a second before the next section collapsed, sending more than a dozen cars and trucks into the river.

Haven sat on the end of the bed and fought to catch her breath. She hadn’t felt anything like it since she watched the towers fall on 9/11. It was as if the eyes of the country turned to the news just in time to watch the rest of the tragedy unfold. She hadn’t seen anyone still on the bridge when the second section fell, but just because she couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there, running between the trucks or trapped in their cars.

She sat frozen for a moment, her gaze glued to the screen in front of her and the clearly stunned newscaster. The cameras stayed fixed on the bridge, zoomed in enough to see the people running now across the remnants of the bridge. Haven reached for her phone and dialed Walker’s number. He picked up on the first ring.