Mirror Image

Rutledge’s jewelry in the hospital safe—it would be hers. Once they saw it, they would realize that a horrible mistake had been made. Mr. Rutledge would learn that his wife was dead. It would come as a blow to him, but it would be better that he discover the error now rather than later. She would lament the Rutledges’ tragic loss, but Irish would be overjoyed. Dear Irish. His bereavement would end.
    But what if Mr. Rutledge failed to retrieve his wife’s jewelry before the plastic surgeon began to change her face into Carole Rutledge’s?
    That was her last conscious thought before the pain-relieving medication claimed her once again.
    * * *
    Tate will never live to take office.
    She was reliving the nightmare again. She tried desperately to ward it off. Again, she couldn’t see him, but she could feel his sinister presence hovering above her, just beyond her field of vision. His breath fanned across her exposed eye. It was like being taunted in the dark with a sheer veil—unseen but felt, ghostly.
    There will never be a Senator Tate Rutledge. Tate will never live. Senator Tate Rutledge will die first. There’ll never be… Never live…
    Avery woke up screaming. It was a silent scream, of course, but it reverberated through her skull. She opened her eye and recognized the lights overhead, the medicinal smell she associated with hospitals, the hissing sound of her respirator. She had been asleep, so this time it had been a nightmare.
    But last night it had been real. Last night she hadn’t even known Mr. Rutledge’s first name! She couldn’t have dreamed it if she hadn’t known it, but she distinctly remembered hearing that menacing, faceless voice contemptuously whispering it into her ear.
    Was her mind playing games with her, or was Tate Rutledge in real danger? Surely she was becoming panicked prematurely. After all, she had been heavily sedated and disoriented. Maybe she wasn’t keeping the chronology straight. Was she getting events out of order? Who could possibly want him dead?
    God, these were staggering questions. She had to know the answers to them. But her powers of deductive reasoning seemed to have deserted her, along with her other faculties. She couldn’t think logically.
    The threat to Tate Rutledge’s life had far-reaching and enormous ramifications, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She was too woozy to formulate an explanation or solution. Her mind was operating sluggishly. It wouldn’t, couldn’t function properly, even though a man’s life was at stake.
    Avery almost resented this intrusion into her own problem. Didn’t she already have enough to cope with without worrying about a senatorial candidate’s safety?
    She was incapable of motion, yet on the inside she was roiling with frustration. It was exhausting. Eventually, it was no match for the void that continued to remain at the fringes of her consciousness. She combated it, but finally gave up the struggle and was sucked into its peacefulness again.

Five
    “I’m not at all surprised by her reaction. It’s to be expected in accident victims.” Dr. Sawyer, the esteemed plastic surgeon, smiled placidly. “Imagine how you would feel if your handsome face had been pulverized.”
    “Thanks for the compliment,” Tate said tightly.
    At that moment, he would have liked to crush the surgeon’s complacent face. Despite his sterling reputation, the man seemed to have ice water flowing through his veins.
    He had done fine-tuning on some of the most celebrated faces in the state, including debutantes who possessed as much money as vanity, corporate executives who wanted to stay ahead of the aging process, models, and TV stars. Although his credentials were impressive, Tate didn’t like the cocky way he dismissed Carole’s apprehensions.
    “I’ve tried to put myself in Carole’s place,” he explained. “Under the circumstances, I think she’s bearing up very well—better than I would ever have guessed she could.”
    “You’re contradicting yourself, Tate,” Nelson remarked. He was sitting beside Zee on a sofa in the ICU waiting room. “You just told Dr. Sawyer that Carole seemed terribly upset at the mention of the surgery.”
    “I know it sounds contradictory. What I mean is that she seemed to take the news about Mandy and the crash itself very well. But when I began telling her about the surgery on her face, she started crying. Jesus,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “You can’t