French Silk(99)
"I'll be down in a minute."
Upstairs, he inspected his face in the bathroom mirror. The gashes were still fresh, raw and bleeding. How the hell would he explain them to his staff and campaign committee, much less the media and the voting public? Backlashing tree branches? A frisky new kitten? Who the hell would believe that?
On the other hand, in order to contradict him they'd have to accuse him of lying and prove it. So what was he worried about? They'd take his word for it because they'd have no alternative.
He wasn't even vaguely concerned that Yasmine would throw him out like a chunk of raw meat to the news hounds. True, he'd experienced a moment of trepidation when she'd looked at him in a way that had chilled his blood. But once she cooled down and her reason reasserted itself, she'd change her mind about seeking restitution. After all, she loved him. Her love had been a curse that might now turn out to be a blessing. She wouldn't do anything to destroy him politically because she probably still clung to the fantasy that one day she'd wind up being Mrs. Congressman Petrie.
Besides, she was proud to a fault. She couldn't publicize their affair without making herself look like a fool. She had a career to salvage, a business to protect, and creditors to pacify. The last thing Yasmine wanted or needed was a scandal.
But what if her desire for revenge was greater than her better judgment? What if she did squeal?
Alister shrugged at his reflection in the mirror. So what? The public outcry over such a notorious affair would work more against her than him. All he had to do was sit back, hold hands with Belle, and vehemently deny any allegations that Yasmine might make. Who'd believe a virtually bankrupt, morally depraved, hysterical woman from Harlem over an affluent, stable, happily married southern gentleman?
With all that resolved in his mind, his mood was almost buoyant as he went back downstairs. Belle kissed him gently and formed a moue concern over his injured cheek. "It's all behind us new," she said as she extended him a glass of perfectly chilled white wine. "Tell me about your day." She served him a light supper of crab salad on toast points, sliced cantaloupe, marinated cherry tomatoes, and raspberry sherbet.
They were lingering over their demitasse when something smashed against the dining-room window. It landed hard, making a horrific crash that caused the large pane of glass to vibrate.
"What the hell was that?" Alister whipped his head around.
Belle shot straight up from her chair, knocking it over backward.
Alister gaped in horror at the blood and gore splattered on the glass.
Belle covered her mouth with her hand to keep from gagging.
"Jesus," Alister wheezed. "Stay inside."
"Alister—"
"Stay inside!"
He had never been inordinately brave, so it wasn't so much courage as anger that propelled him through the front door of his house and out onto his carefully manicured lawn. Down the street, he heard the squeal of tires, but it was too far away and too dark for him to see the make of the car or to read the license plate.
He approached the dining-room window with caution and fear. Looking at the blood-splattered glass from this side, made it even spookier, more real. He could smell the blood. A Rorschach inkblot from hell.
He leaned across the flower bed to inspect it closer, lost his balance, fell into the shrubbery beneath the window, and landed on a dead chicken. Its throat had been slashed. The cut was fresh, wide, and gaping. The feathers were wet and shiny with dark blood.
The congressman screamed.
He scrambled to his feet, thrashed through the shrubbery, and stumbled up the front steps. Once safely inside, he slammed the front door and slid home the bolts. Frantically he punched in the security alarm code on the panel.
Belle, having recovered from her initial shock, demanded an explanation. "Who made that disgusting mess on our front window? Do you realize what a chore it will be to get that stuff off?"
He wanted to shake her until her perfectly straight, white teeth rattled. "Don't you understand what this means? She wants me dead."
"Who?"
"Her."
"Your former lover?"
He nodded, stuttering, "She … she's put a curse on me."
"For heaven's sake, Alister, get a grip on yourself. You're being ridiculous."
He shook his head furiously.
"This is a matter for the police." Belle, ever cool, headed for the hall telephone.
"No!" He lunged for the phone and yanked the cord from the wall jack. "No."
"Alister, you're not behaving rationally. What's got you so scared?"
He croaked a single word. "Voodoo."
* * *
Chapter 20
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Yasmine barged in on them a few minutes before six o'clock. She flung the bedroom door open, stomped in, then skidded to a halt when she saw Claire snuggled against Cassidy between the sheets of the twin bed.
"Oh, shit!"
The expletive woke Claire from a sound sleep. She sat up, shoved her hair out of her eyes, and groped for the corner of the sheet to raise against her breasts, which were rosy and tender from a night of lovemaking.
At her sudden movement, Cassidy rolled onto his back. "What's the matter?" He followed Claire's stunned stare to Yasmine, who looked down at them for several awkward seconds before turning on her heel and marching out, closing the door soundly behind her.