“Totally,” Gina said. “You got it.”
27
“Inside? This thing is inside?”
Kenna could tell Owen Lassiter was not happy. She’d heard about his temper, of course, wondered if she was about to see it in action. That’d be educational. Edging into the corner of the elevator, she pretended to read the restaurant ad on the dark-paneled wall, as if giving him and Maitland some privacy. Whatever chaos was already under way at this rally, she didn’t care. She was here, and Owen was here, and exactly where some event was being held was hardly the point. Her plans were the same.
She sneaked a look at the two men. So opposite. Owen all pinstripes and foulard, silver and tall. Looking down at the stubby, bumbling Rory.
The elevator pinged on four. The doors opened. Three or four people tried to step in, but Rory stuck out an arm. “Sorry, folks, take the next one,” he said. “Thanks so much.”
Kenna could hear protests fading as the doors swished closed. The elevator continued up. Poor Owen seemed even angrier.
“Christ, Rory. What the hell? What happened to our security? We’re running so late. This whole thing is a nightmare.”
“Governor, frankly, I’m not sure what happened. Trevor Kiernan booked the place, then I followed up. We were supposed to have the venue called the, uh-” Rory checked some notebook, gave her a fast look. “-the Pavilion. This afternoon. But the jerks at the desk insist it was rented already. I’ll ream Trevor a new one-excuse me, Kenna. But for now, we’re gonna have to make do.”
The elevator stopped on five. More passengers attempted to join them. Rory hit the button, closed the door in their faces. “Thanks, folks,” he said.
“What gives with these elevators?” Owen grimaced, clearly annoyed. “I hate to keep people out.”
“Security, Governor,” Maitland said. “They understand. These folks are hardly undecideds, after all. They’re Lassiter do or die. Big givers. A-listers. Or they wouldn’t be here. And-”
“All the more reason. Kiernan said people were still lined up in the lobby. If they don’t make it to the rally, we don’t get the campaign dollars.” Owen was full steam ahead, ignoring Rory’s explanations. Kenna had never seen him like this. Annoyed, brusque, demanding. Maybe the campaign stress was getting to him. He’d napped during the car ride from Boston. So she and Rory had gotten to chat a bit. Carefully, so they didn’t wake him.
“The place is full of opticians, a national board meeting or some such,” Owen went on. “Not even all from Massachusetts, for godsake. Why the hell did we come here? Maybe do more harm than good. This close to the election. Waste of time. Maitland, you called Moira, right? I never got through.”
“Governor, do you mind if I stop at the suite?” Kenna stepped forward, pushed the button for nine. “Rory gave me a key. I need to pick up one more batch of campaign literature.”
“Ah, Mrs. Wilkes. I fear you’re not seeing us at our best.” Owen turned to her with a rueful smile. “But Rory said you wanted the inside look. That’s certainly what you’re getting. In a campaign, anything can happen.”
The elevator stopped with a shudder; the doors slid open. Empty hallway.
Kenna laughed, head back, then touched the candidate on the arm of his suit jacket. “It’ll take more than some rally to get rid of me, Governor. I’ll see you soon.”
She knew she saw his eyes light up as the elevator door closed behind her.
Jane dragged herself around the last stairway landing, grabbing the railing and puffing for breath. Eight floors up, then nine. If she waited for the elevator, she’d never get there. Someone said the campaign commandeered one of the elevators, leaving only one to handle the entire buzzing pack of Lassiter supporters. Some, she saw, had taken off their buttons and funny hats and headed for the parking lot. Gina was right about this. A mess.
Into the hallway, following the painted arrows toward the Skyview Room, almost at a run. One of the silver elevator doors swished open. And there was Owen Lassiter. Looking pretty unhappy. And Rory Maitland, if she had it right.
Perfect timing, for her at least. Something finally worked.
“Governor Lassiter.” Jane stopped, hand outstretched. She gulped, catching her breath. “I’m Jane Ryland from-”
“The Register now. Yes, I know,” Lassiter said. He shook her hand, using both of his. “We’ve met before, of course. Great to see you. You know Rory Maitland? Power behind the-”
“Hey, Jane,” Maitland said. “So we’re looking good here, right? Up in the polls, your paper says? Eleanor Gable’s campaign collapsing?”
Not exactly, Jane thought. And this rally fiasco ain’t gonna help. Jane looked around. No sign of Kenna Wilkes. She was probably arriving at the event separately. The prudent thing to do.
“Mrs. Lassiter joining you here?” Jane aimed her question at the candidate. Risky, maybe, but Lassiter didn’t know what she knew. What his own wife had told her.
Maitland stepped between them. He held up a cell phone. “Governor? Time to go in. We’ll use the front door tonight. Not the back entrance. It’ll look terrific. Man of the people. We’re going in to ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’ Security is all in place, no worries. You set?” Maitland took the candidate by the arm, escorting him away. “Sorry, Jane. Any scheduling questions, call our press office. Sheila King. You know the drill.”
A roar of applause and a blare of music. Jane scurried behind Lassiter and Maitland as they entered through the double doors marked SKYVIEW, but two blue-jacketed guards, rent-a-cops, stepped in front of her, blocking her way as soon as she tried to follow them. The music was already deafening, bouncing off the walls. People elbow to elbow. Everyone talking.
“We’re full up,” one of the guards said. “Fire regs. No more room. We have to keep the doors closed. Sorry, miss.”
“Press,” Jane said. She held up the plastic pass she’d clipped to a webbed lanyard around her neck.
“Good for you,” the other guard said. “We’re still full.”
No way. No way. This is all I need. Jane’s stomach clenched as she panicked for a solution. She could picture telling Alex, Oh yeah, I was there, but I arrived too late to get in.
“Ow-en Lass-i-ter!” A voice bellowed through the PA system, even louder than the music. “The next senator from the Commonwealth of Mass-a-chu-setts!”
“Maitland!” Jane pushed forward, trying to grab the consultant’s sport coat. “They’re saying the room is full!” she yelled, waving to show Maitland the situation. “But I have to-”
The crowd, shoulders touching, was cheering, waving, vying for access. Hands reached out to touch the candidate, shake hands with him, get his attention. Silver confetti and green balloons floated from the ceiling.
The blue-jacketed obstacle in her path threw out a gloved paw. “Miss, I told you, we’re full.” He rolled his eyes at Maitland. “Sorry, sir.”
Maitland waved him off. “She’s with us.” He indicated a small riser on the opposite side of the room. “Press over there. You owe us, Ryland.”
Lassiter and Maitland were consumed by the throng of cheering supporters, almost carried toward the stage in a surge of green and white. Soon, all Jane could see were Lassiter’s pin-striped arms in the air, waving in political salute to those who swarmed around him.
Jane snaked past the guards, the doors clicking closed behind her. She couldn’t cut across the room to the press section. Much too crowded. She remembered all the Lassiter supporters still waiting downstairs. How annoyed were they gonna be? What a mess.
Edging along the wall, she held her breath to squeeze by. Red-coat woman would certainly not be wearing her coat in this oven. Luckily Jane had dumped her own at the bell desk. Elbows poked her, bodies pressed against her, jockeying for position. And if one more person steps on my feet…