The Senator's Wife Read Online Free PDF

attack.
    “Was it paint?”
    “What do you think was the significance of the color? Do you think the fact that your assailant used red paint means anything?”
    “Did you know her?”
    Questions pelted Ronnie from all sides. She felt as if she were being publicly stripped. They all knew what had happened, or would soon find out, and they would print sensational stories punched up by the word whore .
    She couldn’t bear it. Her mouth trembled. It took every bit of willpower she could summon to make it stop.
    The hideous thing was, none of it was her fault. None.
    “All right, that’s it.” The words crackled with authority. The slurred southern voice was suddenly hard and crisp. “Mrs. Honneker has nothing to say right now. All your questions will be answered at the appropriate time.”
    Quinlan, who had been jostled to one side of the rest room by the arrival of the throng, was now takingcharge. He shouldered in front of her, dislodging the circle of importunate questioners with hard words, looks, and a couple of shoves. With relief, Ronnie realized that the reporters were backing off some. Where they had ignored Thea’s protests, and her own, they seemed to respect Quinlan’s. Because he was a man? Ronnie neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was that he was getting the job done.
    Of course, she reminded herself, he worked for her now, for the campaign. Instead of being annoyed at his advent, as she had been less than half an hour before, she felt a wave of thankfulness.
    “No TV!” Quinlan’s back tensed. His voice was sharp.
    Sneaking a peek over his shoulder, Ronnie saw local TV newswoman Christine Gwen barreling through the door with a cameraman on her heels. Blond, thirty-something Christine was the barracuda of Jackson TV news. Whenever possible, she liked to draw blood.
    “Who the hell are you?” Christine asked, glaring at him even as she directed her cameraman where to set up. Then she paused, her tone and expression changing in an instant. “You’re Tom Quinlan, aren’t you? Are you working for Senator Honneker now?”
    There was an immediate buzz from the other reporters, and more flashing cameras. Quinlan shook his head, refusing to answer. Ronnie made herself very small behind his sheltering back.
    “Clear this place out, will you?” Quinlan addressed this crisp request to one of the state troopers, who nodded.
    “It’s a public rest room,” Christine protested even as the troopers started trying to shoo people outside.
    “I know that, ma’am, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” one of the officers said, moving toward her. “ All of you.”
    “You ever hear of freedom of the press?” a reporter demanded as he dodged around the officer to take another picture. Ronnie didn’t think he got what he was after; Quinlan’s body effectively blocked her from view.
    Another reporter chimed in: “You can’t make us leave! The public has a right to know!”
    “Are you getting this on camera, Bill?” Christine sounded shrill. Her cameraman apparently made some gesture to answer the question in the affirmative, because Quinlan gave an ugly-sounding mutter under his breath and turned to Ronnie.
    “This isn’t working. Our best bet is to make a run for it.” The words were meant for her ears only. As he spoke, Quinlan slid out of his suit coat and draped it over Ronnie’s head. Knowing that it was meant to shield her from the cameras, she hugged it close, huddling inside it.
    She could picture her face, white and shocked and streaked with paint, on every evening newscast in the state.
    “Mrs. Honneker, can you tell us what the woman shouted as she threw the paint?” a reporter yelled from somewhere near the door.
    “ ‘Whore,’ ” another reporter answered the first. There was a sudden, almost embarrassed silence. Ronnie died a little inside. The stories were going to be ugly; they would hurt the campaign.
    Lewis would blame her.
    “We don’t know for certain