Mirror Image

Tate would make it to the Senate. Or maybe her coconspirator made it financially profitable for her. In any case, once they were married, it was her responsibility to make life miserable for Tate—a job she did with relish.”
    “But
why
was someone out to make him miserable?” Irish asked. “It always comes back to that.”
    “I don’t know.” Avery’s voice was taut with quiet desperation. “I wish to God I did.”
    “What do you make of the latest message?” Irish asked.
    She raked a hand through her hair. “Obviously, they’re going to make their move on election day. A gun of some kind will be the weapon of choice.”
    “That gets my vote. No pun intended,” Van added drolly.
    Irish shot him an irritated glance, then said to Avery, “I don’t know. This time the symbolism seems a little too obvious.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’m not sure,” he admitted, gnawing on his lip. Absently, he picked up Avery’s glass of brandy and took a hearty swig. “What happened to the subtlety of the earlier notes? Either he’s testing your mettle or he’s the cockiest son of a bitch I’ve ever run across.”
    “Maybe he’s cocky because it can’t be stopped now,” Van said moodily. “It’ll go down no matter what. Everything is already in place.”
    “Like Gray Hair?” Avery asked. Van shrugged.
    “What about the footage you shot earlier today in Houston? Any more of him?” Irish asked Van.
    “Nope. He hasn’t turned up since Fort Worth. Not since Avery’s been staying home.” His eyes were mellowed by marijuana, but the look he gave her was meaningful enough for Irish to intercept.
    “Okay, what don’t I know, you two?”
    Avery moistened her lips. “Van thinks it’s possible that Gray Hair is watching me, not Tate.”
    Irish’s head swiveled on his thick neck around to the photographer. “What makes you think that?”
    “It’s just an idea. A little off the wall, but—”
    “In every one of the tapes he’s looking at Tate,” she pointed out reasonably.
    “Hard to tell. You’re always standing right beside him.”
    “Avery.” Irish took her hand, pulled her back down onto the sofa, and squatted in front of her. He covered her hands with his own. “Listen to me now. You’ve got to notify the authorities.”
    “I—”
    “I said to listen. Now shut up and hear me out.” He reorganized his thoughts. “You’re in over your head, baby. I know why you wanted to do this. It was a terrific idea—a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make a name for yourself and save lives in the meantime.
    “But it’s gotten out of hand. Your life is in danger. And as long as you let this continue, so is Rutledge’s. So’s the kid’s.” Since she appeared to be receptive to his argument, he eased up onto the couch beside her, but continued to press her hands beneath his. “Let’s call the FBI.”
    “The feds?” Van squeaked.
    “I have a buddy in the local bureau,” Irish pressed on, ignoring Van. “He usually works undercover, looking for dope coming up from Mexico. This isn’t his area of expertise, but he could tell us who to call, advise us on what to do.”
    Before he even finished, Avery was shaking her head no. “Irish, we can’t. Don’t you see, if the FBI knows, everybody’ll have to know. Don’t you think it would arouse suspicion if Tate were suddenly surrounded by armed bodyguards or Secret Service operatives in opaque sunglasses? Everything would have to come out in the open.”
    “That’s it, isn’t it?” he shouted angrily. “You don’t want Rutledge to know! And you don’t want him to know because you’d have to give up your cozy place next to him in bed.”
    “No, that’s not it!” she shouted back. “The authorities could protect him from people outside the family circle, but they couldn’t protect him from anybody within. And as we know, the person who wants him dead is someone close to him—someone who professes to love him. We can’t alert Tate to the danger without alerting the enemy that we’re on to him.”
    She took a deep breath, but it was still insufficient. “Besides, if you told government agents this tale, they’d think you were either lying or crazy. On the outside chance they believed you, think what they’d do to me.”
    “What would they do to you?” Van wanted to know.
    “I’m not sure, but while they were figuring it out, Tate would be exposed and vulnerable.”
    “So, what do you plan to do?” Irish asked.
    She