her, in its own way, and Rafe was dying to hear her thoughts. But he kept himself in check. He couldn’t show any weakness now. He had to remain in control.
Tom slipped his wallet out of his pocket, but Rafe just knocked it to the ground.
“I’m not asking for money, Tom. Don’t be silly. I have money. What is something you hold dear that I don’t have? What are you willing to sacrifice?”
“I didn’t sacrifice your wife.”
“Didn’t you?” Esme suddenly inquired.
Tom blinked. “What?”
And all of the resentment that had been building inside of her these past weeks just poured out.
“I’m not criticizing you, Tom, but, I mean, let’s be realistic. When you flew me down to Texas, you knew there was an element of risk involved. Don’t get me wrong—I knew it, too. The choice was as much mine as yours. But you were in charge. I was your responsibility. Darcy Parr was your responsibility.”
“Don’t—”
“I’m not blaming you,” she added quickly. “Galileo pulled the trigger. Galileo is the villain. You’re just…the negligent parent who let it happen.”
In that moment, Rafe wanted to kiss his wife so badly, but he just slipped his hands into his pockets. Later. They would celebrate later. “What are you willing to sacrifice, Tom?”
Tom didn’t respond. Esme’s words had knocked the breath from his body. His mind whirred, but his eyes simply gazed into the dark night air.
Finally, he spoke: “Name your price.”
Rafe did. Tom nodded. They left Esme by the side of the house and strolled down the driveway to the street, where the valets were parallel-parking the high-end cars end-to-end. They were running out of room. Rafe and Tom found what they were looking for halfway down the hill.
“Do you have a pen?” asked Tom.
Rafe reached into his pocket. His father had trained him well to always be prepared. Tom unlocked the rear compartment on his motorcycle, fished out a blue piece of paper, and signed along a line on the back. He returned it to the compartment and almost habitually slid his keys back into the left pocket of his leather coat. But he stopped himself, and instead held the keys out to Rafe.
“What are you going to do with it?”
Rafe pocketed the keys. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I’ll sell it. I’m sure there’s some Hells Angel who’d love to get his greasy hands on this piece of shit. Or maybe I’ll just keep it in my garage, untouched, unused. Collecting dust. I haven’t decided yet.”
Rafe offered a small grin. He couldn’t restrain himself anymore. Victory—vengeance—was too sweet.
“So,” he said, “let’s get you into this party.”
For expediency’s sake, they decided to avoid the front door. They probably could have talked their way past the bodyguards, but it would have been a long talk, especially given Tom’s recent violent encounter with them. So they decided to try the back.
The back lawn was littered with the nation’s top media reporters and cameramen, noshing on their complimentary burgers. A few gave Esme, Rafe and Tom a passing glance, then returned to their gossiping. The servants were setting up the last of the tables for the speech. Governor Kellerman was scheduled to deliver the momentous address from the Liebs’ back porch at 7:30 p.m. so the cable anchors could provide analysis during their 8:00 p.m. broadcasts. The musical guest—Tom Petty—would be performing shortly thereafter.
Esme, Rafe and Tom ascended the steps of the back porch, passed the podium and flag stands that Kellerman’s advance team had set up, and approached the guard standing by the kitchen door. He was a Nordic fellow—buzz-cut blond hair, frozen blue eyes—and he flashed them the world’s tiniest smile.
“The guest entrance is around front,” he said. His accent was very streets-of-Chicago. So was the C-shaped scar across his left cheekbone. “Have a delightful evening.”
“Actually,” replied Rafe, “my wife here, Esme, is with the planning committee. We just wanted to, you know, avoid the line.”
“I’m afraid this door is closed to guests. Have a delightful evening.”
“Right, but we’re not guests. Like I said, my wife Esme—”
And right on cue, the back door opened and Amy Lieb popped out.
“Esme! Rafe!” She wrapped her arms around them both and planted kisses on their cheeks. “You both look so wonderful!” Amy, for her part, looked wonderful too. She wore a narrow gold dress, and looked very much like a flute of champagne. “Did you just arrive? Everything is going so well!”
“We actually are having trouble getting in,” Rafe answered.