Party Lines by Fiona Wilde Page A

too
territorial about these things. What you did was brilliant, Bradford. I guess I’m
just pissed that this P.I. got the information before I did. The point is that
now we’ve got to ride this wave, right it straight to Washington, D.C. How
would you feel about going on Newstalk Today to discuss your outrage tomorrow
morning?
    “Newstalk?”
Hopkins licked his lips. Every politician relished an audience with moderator
Harper Williams, but only if they were already in the catbird seat. Williams
offered momentum for advancing politicos, and a death stroke to those already
behind the eight ball.
    “If
I pull a few strings…” Ron said, forcing a smile.
    “Pull
away, my boy,” Hopkins said, stepping over to pound his campaign manager on the
back. “Pull away! I smell victory.”
    Ron
accepted his touch, all the while hating the man more and more. He smelled
something, too. A rat. And by the time Hopkins appearance with Williams had
ended he’d make sure the voters knew it.
     
    ***
     
    She
let herself in the townhouse with the key he’d given her. In the kitchen
Lindsay found two wine glasses, one still marked with the shade of lipstick she’d
worn the night before. She remembered how she and Ron had curled up in front of
the fire, how he’d put his arm around her shoulder, how protected it made her
feel.
    It
had been stupid to come here, she thought. What had she been thinking? That he
was going to show up? She laughed out loud at her own stupidity. Ron Sharp was
probably sharing a celebratory drink with Bradford Hopkins, crowing about how
she’d played into his hands.
    Lindsay
sat down on the couch and rubbed her temples. She felt strung tight, like an
over-winded guitar string that would snap if it were touched. Breathing deeply
she attempted to calm down and decide what to do next. She knew she couldn’t
avoid the media forever. Today she would face them and take full responsibility
for what she’d done in her activist past. Then she would go to Clara Faircloth
and tender her resignation so the taint of her past wouldn’t be an issue in the
campaign.
    Ron
Sharp had been right in his initial assessment of her. She didn’t have what it
took for this kind of game. She’d let herself believe all the things people had
been saying about her – that she was sophisticated and savvy and astute.
But in the end she’d been brought down by a man who would do
anything to win , including a wholesale exploitation of her weaknesses
and desires.
    Her
submissive tendencies had been her downfall, her willingness to believe Ron
Sharp’s assertion that taking that path somehow made her stronger. All it did
was open the door to her heart wide enough for him to thrust his knife into the
core of her. She felt used and stupid and filthy. A lump swelled in her throat
and she swallowed it, knowing if she started crying she’d never stop.
    Lindsay
stood and walked over to the little wooden desk in the corner of the living
room. Opening one of the drawers, she fished out an envelope and a piece of
paper.
    “You
won,” she wrote on he paper. “Congratulations.” Folding the paper, she slipped
it inside the envelope along with the townhouse key. After sealing the envelope
she wrote “Ron” on the front and laid it on the kitchen counter beside the two
wine glasses.
    Taking
one last look around she sighed sadly. It all seemed like a dream now, a fairy
tale that she never should have believed. Picking up her handbag from the couch
she walked to the door and opened it.
    He
was rushing in so fast he almost ran into him and for a moment they both looked
at each other, her face a mask of shock and his a mask
of pain and regret.
    “I
was just leaving,” she said, and went to push past him. But he grabbed her
shoulder and gently pushed her back in.
    “No,”
he said firmly. “Not until we talk.”
    Lindsay
turned around to face him as she locked the door. “Why, Ron? Are you hoping to
get one more secret out of me to run to your