Ties That Bind Read Free Page B

Masters program is pretty low-key. We’ve got a good spread in our age groups—late twenties to three swimmers in their eighties. We could use someone with your experience.”
    “Thanks, but I have no interest in competing.”
    “Could have fooled me, the way you went at that last two hundred.”
    Amanda knew that Brooks was just trying to be friendly, but he just made her anxious. To her relief, he glanced over at the far lanes where a group of Masters swimmers had gathered along the wall. He stood up.
    “Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Amanda. Let me know if you change your mind about joining the team. We’d love to have you.”
    Brooks walked back to his charges. Amanda sank low in the water, leaned her head against the edge of the pool, and closed her eyes. Anyone watching would think that she was recovering from her swim, but Amanda was really fighting to keep her fear in check. She told herself that Brooks was just being friendly and that she had nothing to worry about, but she still felt anxious.
    Little more than a year ago, she had almost died solving a horrifying series of murders committed by a surgeon at St. Francis Medical Center. She had never fully recovered from the experience. Before the Cardoni case, swimming was a sure way to relax. That didn’t always work now. Amanda thought about trying another hard two hundred, but she didn’t have the mental or physical energy to swim another lap. The encounter with Brooks had drained her.

three
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    The caterers were packing up and the band had already left when Harold Travis said good-bye to the last of the guests who were not on the special-contributors list. Those four men were lounging in the den, smoking Cuban cigars and sipping 1934 Taylor Fladgate port. They were also making the acquaintance of some special ladies who were going to give them an erotic thank-you for their illegal campaign contributions to the man who would soon be the Republican nominee for president of the United States.
    The fund-raiser had been held in the countryside, miles from Portland, in a seventeen-thousand-square-foot octagonal house; one of four owned by the chairman of the board of a California biotech company, who was in the master bedroom with a stunning Eurasian beauty. Moments after the taillights of the caterer’s van faded away, Travis nodded to one of several bodyguards who had moved among the guests inconspicuously during the evening. When the guard began speaking into his cell phone, Travis crossed the lawn and lay down on a lounge chair at the edge of the swimming pool. The house lights reflected in the dark water, floating ghostlike in the ripples caused by the breeze. It was the senator’s first moment alone in hours, and he savored the quiet.
    All of the party’s biggest contributors were lining up now that Chester Whipple was out of the race. If the newspapers had been caught off guard by his sudden withdrawal, they were stunned by the vote he’d used to block the anti-cloning bill, which he had supported with religious fervor. Whipple’s supporters were forced to back Travis now, if they wanted to have any influence in the White House. The senator was making it easy for them. He had fought the anti-cloning bill behind the scenes, using front men to do the dirty work, and he was solidly conservative on most of the other issues Whipple’s people favored.
    Travis closed his eyes and imagined his victory in November. The Democrats were in disarray. They didn’t even have a clear front-runner in the primaries, let alone someone who would threaten him in the general election. The presidency was his for the taking.
    “They’re pulling up, Senator.”
    Travis had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not heard the bodyguard approach. He followed the man to the front of the house. A black Porsche was just rounding the last turn in the long driveway. Travis grew hard with anticipation and did not notice Ally Bennett, a dark-haired woman in a short