“Oh, Trask, why?” Doe-soft eyes beseeched him.
“It’s important.” He saw the tears of frustration fill her large eyes and he felt the urge to comfort her. “Look, Neva—”
She sniffed the tears aside and met his gaze. “It’s all right, Trask. I’ll manage. And when Nicholas wonders why all of his friends are pointing fingers at him and whispering behind his back, I’ll tell him.” Using the sleeve of her robe to dry her cheeks, she forced a frail smile. “Do what you have to do, senator. Don’t worry about how it affects a six-year-old boy who worships the ground you walk on.”
“You’re not making this easy—”
“Damn it, Trask, I’m not trying to! I’d do anything I could to talk you out of this…madness.”
Trask’s eyes became incredibly cold. “How far would you go to protect your child?”
“As far as I had to.”
“Regardless?”
“Nicholas’s health, safety and well-being are my first concerns.”
“And what about your health and safety?”
Neva smiled cynically. “I can’t wait until you have a child, Trask. Then I’ll ask you the same question.”
“I just think you should put yourself first occasionally.”
“Pearls of wisdom, senator. I’ll think about them.”
Trask paused at the door. “By the way, thanks for the picnic lunch today.”
“You’re welcome, I guess. Did you bring the cooler in?”
A picture of the empty cooler, scattered dishes and rumpled blanket filled his mind. In the urgency of the moment after the rifle shot had pierced the air, he had forgotten to retrieve anything. “No, uh, Tory wanted to clean it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow and bring it back.”
A spark of interest flickered in Neva’s dark eyes. “So the picnic went well?”
For a reason he didn’t understand, Trask lied to his sister-in-law for the first time in his life. No need to worry her, he thought, but he knew there was more to his evasive answer than he would acknowledge. “It was fine.”
“And what did you find on Devil’s Ridge?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Except a potential assassin.
“But you’re still going to Salem tomorrow,” she said with a sigh. “You just can’t let it drop, can you?”
“Not this time.”
“Well go on.” She waved him off with a limp hand. “You’ve got things to do, remember? Just be careful. Linn Benton, whether he’s in prison or not, is still very powerful. He may have been stripped of his judicial robes, but he’s still a wealthy and influential man with more than his share of friends, all of whom haven’t forgotten that your testimony was instrumental in sending him to prison.”
“Good night, Neva,” Trask said, without waiting for a reply. There was none. He walked out the front door.
As he stepped off the porch and headed for the Blazer, he heard a noise and turned. Before he could see his assailant, Trask felt the thud of a heavy object strike the back of his head. Blinding lights flashed behind his eyes just as a knee caught him in the stomach and he fell forward onto the dry ground. Before he lost consciousness he heard a male voice that was vaguely familiar.
“Leave it alone, McFadden,” it warned gruffly. Trask tried to stand, but was rewarded with another sharp kick in the abdomen. “You’re out of your league, senator.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIRST THING Trask remembered were hands, incredibly soft hands, holding his head. A woman’s voice, filled with anguish and fear, was calling to him from a distance and there was pain, a pain so intense it felt as if it was splintering his head into a thousand fragments.
“Trask… Oh, dear God…” the woman cried out, nearly screaming with terror as she looked down on him. Moonlight caught in her silver hair, but the features of her face were blurred and indistinct. “Trask!”
His mouth felt cotton-dry and when he tried to speak the voice that he heard didn’t sound like his own. “Neva?” He reached forward and his fingers touched her hair before his hand dropped to the ground. A blinding stab of pain shot through his brain when he tried to lift his head.