Vic stared down at the table for a few long moments
as if it held the answer for how he should reply to Evan. Finally he said,
"The governor's race."
"That was like pulling teeth," Evan
commented with a touch of a smile. "Which man? I know for a fact the
present governor is in the pocket of big business, so I can see there'd be
people who would love for him to withdraw. On the other hand, his opponent in
the primary, Frank Marshall, is well ahead in the polls at the moment. He's
running a very liberal campaign based on—among other things—gun control,
legalizing pot, gay rights, and a ten-year plan to help the homeless. A threat
to dirty his reputation might make him pull out of the race or have a sudden
change of heart on one of the issues." Evan paused thoughtfully.
"There's big money behind the anti-gun control people, and a couple of
very powerful religious groups who don't want gay marriage or even civil unions
in the state."
"And therein is the problem—finding out who, in
which group, would be willing to resort to blackmail to get to Marshall."
"What's the basis of the blackmail?"
Vic snorted. "If he wasn't willing to go to the
cops for help because he'd have to tell them,
do you really think he, or the woman who hired me, would let me know?"
"Probably not. Do you have any idea if his wife
knows?"
"Well, I haven't walked up to her and asked.
Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. I do know she's strongly supports
every plank in his platform, but then that's what politicians' wives
do—usually."
"Could the blackmail have something to do with
her?"
"Evan," Vic replied, sounding exasperated,
"you're asking questions I have no answers to."
"Sorry. I get like that sometimes." He
studied Vic, seeing the lines of pain as well as frustration on his face.
"Why don't we go into the living room where you'll be more
comfortable?"
"You just want me to stretch out, rest, and
maybe fall asleep again."
"No, if I wanted that, I'd have suggested you go
upstairs to bed. But it's obvious you're hurting, and sitting in here on a hard
chair isn't helping at all."
"Yes, doctor," Vic replied with a small
smile as he got up. He placed his hand flat on the table to steady himself, but
when Evan came closer to give him some assistance, Vic shook his head.
"I'm good, now that my knee's unbent." He hobbled into the living
room, carefully sitting on one end of the sofa. When Evan took a seat at the
other end, Vic hissed in a sharp breath as he turned too quickly so he could
face him. "Damned ribs," he growled, pressing one hand to his side.
"It's going to be a while before they stop
hurting."
"No kidding. This isn't the first time I've been
through this."
Evan chuckled. "Do you take a lot of jobs where
someone decides to beat you up?"
"I try not to, but there are times when a person
resents my prying into their business and lets me know about
it—physically."
"Then why do it?"
"Because I'm good at it. Normally—okay, I think
I can safely say I've never taken
what might be called a high-profile case until now—I'm your average PI,
although I try to steer clear of the sleazy side of things, like spying on a
husband or wife."
"Yet, supposedly, that's what you're doing
now."
"True."
"Who knows, beside the wife of the guy you're
purportedly checking up on?"
"As I told you, he knows, since he gave his
consent to the plan. I'm posing as one of Marshall's
campaign workers. That gives me the 'in' and a reason to be at the fundraisers
and campaign stops."
"Hold that thought," Evan said quietly. He
unhooked his phone from his belt, pressed a button then looked at the screen.
"We have company."
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