Alaric saw where she was going with this. “Or our culprit picked it up on a flash drive. You were both away on that day, but someone must have let the visitor in if your father wasn’t able to. Who? Maybe they saw a car? Or something else that could help us?”
For the first time, Alaric glimpsed hope in Harriet’s eyes. “I can ask. We’ve still got two ranch hands, and there would have been a nurse here from the agency. But I still don’t understand—who are you people, and why would you help if it’s not for the money?”
Emmy finished the last of her tea. She’d also managed to hoover up three more cookies in the blink of an eye. “As my friend here said, it’s a long story. And not everybody is motivated by money. He wants to return Emerald in order to right an old wrong.”
“And you? What do you want?” Harriet asked her.
Uh-oh. Alaric knew that smile. He hated that smile. That cold, cunning, malevolent smile.
“Me? I want Kyla Devane back where she belongs. In a spa or on a yacht or gracing some mid-morning chat show, not wandering the halls of the Capitol Building. Help us to bring her down, and when we find Emerald, the reward’s yours.”
“Emmy…” Alaric warned.
“Do we have a deal?”
“I… Well…” Harriet turned goldfish. “Obviously I’ll do anything I can to help with the Kyla situation, but we only have a month and…and nine days before the bank forecloses. I don’t—”
“Great. We’d better get started, then. Don’t you have a TV interview to do?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll have an associate stop by. Her name’s Daniela, and she’ll speak to your ranch hands and the nurse. Any idea where I can find Kyla?”
“You’re going to talk to her?”
“Know thine enemy.”
Ah, shit. Now Emmy was paraphrasing Sun Tzu. The Art of War was Black’s favourite book, and if he was pulling the strings from behind the scenes, then things had the potential to turn ugly. Uglier. Was it too late to go back to Thailand?
“She has an estate near here,” Hegler said, ever the helpful one. “It used to belong to her parents before they died, although I hear she remodelled extensively. But I don’t think she’ll be there right now—all the candidates have a debate this afternoon.”
“Where?”
“The new convention centre in Frankfort.”
Gee, guess where they’d be heading next? Although it could be interesting. Alaric had never seen Kyla Devane in person, and he was curious to see how she acted when the cameras weren’t on her.
“What time?”
“The formalities start at four.”
“Then we’d better head over there.”
“I think it’s ticketed, but I know plenty of people,” Hegler said. “You’d better give me your number, and I’ll find someone who can get you in.”
Access really wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was a nice gesture. Alaric handed over a business card and Emmy followed suit. Sirius Consulting and Blackwood Security. In the intelligence field, the two firms were the equivalent of a minnow and a blue whale respectively.
“Thanks.” Emmy pocketed Hegler’s card in return and turned back to Harriet. “So, what are you planning to say in this interview? Are you going to endorse Biggs?”
“Ugh, no way.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, ashamed of her gut reaction. “I mean, no, I’m going to avoid that.”
“What’s so bad about Biggs?”
“He’s been to a few of Daddy’s gatherings. At the last one, he followed me out to the barn and propositioned me while his wife was inside with the children. My father might have made mistakes, but I’m fairly certain he never tried to take advantage of a friend’s daughter. His only transgression was with Dominique, and my mother drove him to that.”
“She was the neediest woman I’ve ever met,” Hegler muttered.
What a family.
“So you’ll be voting Democrat, then?” Alaric asked, half joking.
“If I vote at all. Aidan O’Shaughnessy’s a centrist, and so am I. Our views aren’t a million miles apart, but I can hardly come out and say that, can I? I’ll come across as bitter if I back the opposition, and besides, I don’t want to upset Daddy.”
“Go with your heart,” Emmy told her. “You’ve never considered running for your father’s seat? It sounds as though you care.”
“Me, run for office? Are you joking? I’ve seen enough politics to last me a lifetime.”
CHAPTER 8 - EMMY
“THERE SHE IS,” Alaric murmured. “Kyla Devane.”
To give Stéphane his credit, he’d got us decent seats. We were three rows from the front, at eye level with Devane’s stilettos as she strode to her podium with a tablet computer. She was wearing a pair of Giuseppe Zanottis if I wasn’t mistaken—Bradley had educated me well. Those were thousand-dollar shoes, perhaps not the best choice for an audience made up of mainly blue-collar workers. The five-thousand-seat arena was full of red shirts for Biggs, blue shirts for O’Shaughnessy, and a particularly vocal contingent of yellow-clad supporters for Kyla. Thank goodness I’d worn black. I’d also worn a brown wig, which was itching, and a pair of plastic-framed glasses that could have been borrowed from Clark Kent.
“This is San Pellegrino,” Kyla hissed at someone offstage. “I said Evian.”
A young blonde dashed forward. An intern? “Ms. Devane, I’m so sorry.”
“Just get rid of it. The Italians are not our friends right now.”
Was she referring to the Italian ambassador trashing her plans for an import tax on Parmesan cheese and prosciutto? And if so, did she realise where her shoes came from?
I spotted Aidan O’Shaughnessy in the wings, sitting on a plastic chair with a laptop balanced on his knees, jacket off and tie loosened. Still tweaking his speech? Tsk tsk tsk. Surely he should have come prepared?
Actually… My phone pinged, and I almost choked on my popcorn. Black had tasked Nate with keeping me updated on Devane-related developments, and it seemed that Harriet had taken my earlier words to heart and backed O’Shaughnessy. I showed the news article to Alaric.
“Whoa. I thought she was gonna hedge her bets?”
“All or nothing, Prince.”
And in that case, I’d forgive O’Shaughnessy for the last-minute adjustments. Perhaps he wanted to add something about cross-party support. A small smile played across his lips. Yeah, he’d seen the news.
Biggs, on the other hand, looked tense. He’d claimed the space at the other side of the stage, and every so often, I caught sight of him as he paced. Was that his wife with him? She seemed more concerned with keeping out of his way than with offering support.
The moderator appeared, microphone in hand, and Kyla smoothed the curtain of sleek mahogany hair that hung just past her shoulders. The front had been artfully twisted away from her face and pinned to the side. She’d gone with a navy-blue pantsuit today, which might have come across as conservative without the cleavage-baring top underneath. And was that necklace a real sapphire?