“It’s true. I want a family. I can’t have that like this. You need to make up your mind what you really want and take the necessary steps.”

His arms went around her. “Don’t you want to be the First Lady of the great state of Alabama one day? I will follow the same path as my father. Who knows after that? We could end up in DC, rubbing shoulders with the real movers and shakers. Going to extravagant parties and ignoring paparazzi.”

As hard as she tried not to allow his words to excite her, they did just the same. “Of course I want to but . . .”

“But what?” He nipped at her cheek.

“What if you change your mind?” Was she pathetic or what?

“My kids are in college. You think I want to spend the rest of my life in the same house alone with the woman I made the mistake of marrying when I was too young to know better?”

Jen wanted to believe him. Damn her, but she did. “She’s very pretty. I saw her downtown the other day.”

“She spends a lot of time and money to look pretty. The sad part is that it’s only superficial. The woman inside is cruel and hateful. Not like you at all.”

Jen melted against him in spite of her best intentions.

Maybe she was a fool, but it was too late to change that now.

Across the shabby room his cell phone rattled against the cheap bedside table. He immediately turned away from her and rushed to answer it.

Jen closed the bathroom door and leaned against it. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and hated the weakness she saw.

“Define significant!”

His raised voice had Jen going still, listening more intently.

“Oh my God. Then she could know . . . everything.”

The hollowness of the word, the utter shock in his voice, had her heart racing.

“Of course I know what this means.”

Silence.

Jen hugged herself tightly.

“You do whatever necessary to make this go away.”

Jen reached for the faucet and turned on the water. She didn’t want him to think she’d been listening.

Jesus Christ . . . what the hell was he involved in?

22

4:00 p.m.

T. R. Thompson Residence

Briarcliff Road, Mountain Brook

Theo sat in his car for a long while just staring at the house where he had grown up. It wasn’t as modern and filled with state-of-the-art amenities as his own home. Rather, it was a classic mansion laden with architectural details, antique chandeliers, and mahogany floors and cabinets. At seventeen thousand square feet it was enormous by 1960s standards. It stood on five acres, an unheard-of advantage in the area now. There was even a three-hole golf course.

Theo had been taught to play golf as soon as he’d learned to walk. Like Ben Abbott, he had been an only child. He’d been spoiled, allowed to have whatever he wanted growing up. But everything had changed when he’d finished his education. He’d returned from the prestigious University of Alabama, his father’s and his grandfather’s alma mater, on fire to change the world. He’d eventually married and had his children, and all had seemed right.

Until that one mistake.

The one slip had changed everything.

When it happened, he had known what he wanted. He wasn’t like his father. He couldn’t live that way. But his father had ensured that he stayed in his place.

T. R. Thompson had seen to it that his only son did not stray from the path assigned him before he was even born.

His gaze lit on the other sedan in the cobblestone drive. Suzanne was here. He should have known she would attempt a head start on kissing his father’s ass. She had always been very good at ensuring her place was protected. Whatever happened to Theo, she would remain in the soon-to-be governor’s good graces. This was a lesson she had been taught from birth. Her ancestors weren’t members of Birmingham’s esteemed founders, but they had come along soon after, finding their place among those powerful families. Suzanne had learned early on how important it was to make all the right connections. She had made herself invaluable to his father and to others in powerful positions. Theo never asked questions. He didn’t want to know.

He despised the loathsome bitch.

He wondered how long it would be before his father was made aware of all that was at stake now. Lewis would do all within his power to avoid that end, but each day seemed to bring another stumbling block.

It was all out of control.

Deciding to get on with it, he opened the car door and climbed out. He trudged up the steps and, using his key, let himself into the house. The foyer had been his mother’s most prized design feat. The marble floors and curving marble staircase—all imported from Europe. Even the railing had been forged by hand. Nothing was too good for the great T. R. Thompson.

He walked along the long entry hall, passing rooms and ignoring the voices from the past that whispered to him. His mother had died in this house when he was only twenty. His father had not remarried. But he had never gone without the pleasures associated with a relationship. No one had known, of course. Theodore Roosevelt Thompson Sr. was above reproach. No one kept a secret better.

His father’s clandestine indiscretions had caused Theo to lust for the things he shouldn’t have. After all, like father, like son.

“Mr. Theo, I didn’t realize you were stopping by today.”

Theo paused and turned to the man who had spoken. Melvin Patterson, the same age as his father, had worked for the family for fifty years. He insisted he would retire when Mr. T. R. did. Those who knew Theo’s father well called him Mr. T. R., and everyone knew T. R. would never retire. He would die, his cold, dead hands still grappling for more power.

“I had a break in my schedule,” Theo lied. “I thought I’d drop by and see how his week has gone.”

Patterson grinned. “He will tell you that the conservative news is making him look bad and that a two percent rise in the polls is hardly measurable.”

Theo chuckled. “Well, I’ll see if I can cheer him up.”

“You’ll find him in his study. Miss Suzanne is with him. They’ve been discussing the postelection celebrations for the two of you.”

“Is it wise to count our chickens before they hatch?”

Patterson laughed outright. “Mr. Theo, you know who’s going to win.”

It was true. The odds were certainly in their favor. Theo thanked the man who had often been like a surrogate father to him and moved on to the study. He was surprised Patterson was here on a Saturday. Typically by five on Fridays Patterson and the rest of the staff were gone until Monday. His father liked having the house to himself on the weekends. Theo could only imagine the things his father did when no one else was about. He’d always had a nasty sexual appetite.

The door to the study was open, so he paused a moment and watched his father chatting with Suzanne. For a man in his midseventies, he looked damned good. He’d had an enviable gym added to the house years ago. He worked out faithfully. His gray hair remained thick and his blue eyes clear. He was not one to fall down on taking care of himself. He swore that his good looks and robust health played as vital a role as his platform in keeping him in office. Theo doubted his good looks and health or even his platform kept him in office. It was the way things were. Always had been. He was a Thompson; he would win whatever office in the state of Alabama he chose to seek.

Likewise, plenty of Alabamians would vote for Theo for no other reason than the fact that he was T. R.’s son.

Theo both appreciated and despised the idea.

Suzanne looked beautiful, of course. She spent a great deal of time and money ensuring she looked elegant and youthful. But beneath all that enhanced beauty beat a heart that was as black as the coal her daddy and his forefathers had dug out of the ground in and around Birmingham for a century.

“Well.” T. R. shifted his focus from the no doubt titillating conversation. “If it’s not the future senator.”

“How did you get away from the office so early?” Suzanne wanted to know. A fine line had formed between her brows. She hated when anyone or anything made her frown. He could see her now, rushing home to inject a shot of Botox.

Theo walked in and settled into a chair. “After my last meeting, I needed a break. A few of my supporters are getting nervous.”

T. R. leaned back in his chair. “You have nothing to worry about, son. We’ve won already. Our opponents know it; they just refuse to admit it. Thompsons are impossible to beat.”

For a single heartbeat Theo considered telling his father that he had good reason to worry, but he kept his mouth tightly shut. Things were going to hell quickly enough without him adding fuel to the fire.

Theo produced a dim smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Of course he’s right,” Suzanne purred. “When has your father ever been wrong?”

Theo clamped his jaw shut. He had no desire to go there.