noticing the bodies surging around her, her eyes on the prize.
Owen Lassiter. On the stage, hand outstretched, that smile. She promised to be here. And now she was. Everything would be okay. Happy endings.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She forced a smile of her own, relieved, needing to stay polite as she edged through, some guys looking her up and down, as always. She ignored them. As always.
The wooden reporter’s thing was set up to the left of the stage this time. Perfect. She aimed herself in that direction, propelled toward the cameras. Still photographers were posted there, too, she knew. Good. She had her own camera, out and ready to go. Too risky to leave it in its pouch.
Almost there. Almost time.
* * *
“Lucky you could get away.” Kenna slid her hand through the crook of Maitland’s elbow as a black-suited security guard waved them toward the back entrance to the big stage. “I’d never have gotten up here this close without you.”
“No problem.” Maitland guided her past a phalanx of rent-a-guards, then up close to one side of the stage.
“We going up there?” Kenna asked. The sun was hot, almost too hot to keep her coat on. Should have left it with Deenie. “Could we go backstage? Maybe I could chat with Owe—the governor—when he’s finished.”
Maitland looked at his watch, then seemed to listen. He smiled. “It’s already ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy,’” he said.
“Huh? Yankee—? Come on. You can get me closer.”
“We’re too late to go backstage.” He draped his arm across her shoulders, guiding her. “But come this way. You’ll see.”
* * *
“What?” Jane asked. Trevor stood next to her, elbow to elbow, backstage. “Watch what?”
“Now,” Kiernan repeated.
She heard a roar from the crowd. Suddenly Lassiter was gone.
She couldn’t take it in fast enough, had to stand on tiptoe, craning her neck to see. The music so loud, so thundering that Jane could feel the stage beneath her vibrating, had changed to a bass-pounding “Simply the Best.” Cameras flashed. The crowd cheered, erupting in delight. More blizzards of confetti, this time spewing into the air from containers circling the green. TV photographers yanked their cameras from their tripods. Reporters dashed forward, jumping down from the wooden risers of the press pen, pushing toward the action.
Lassiter had leaped off the stage onto the grass. No longer above the people, he was now part of them. One of them. On their level. Blue uniforms surged to surround the candidate, linked arms in a protective circle, Lassiter in the center, moving away from the stage, deeper into the crowd. Every arm reached for him; every camera aimed at him. Every person wanted him.
She and Kiernan stepped to the edge of the stage, watching the spectacle. She stole a quick look at him. “You kidding me?” she said. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
He smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Couldn’t resist, I guess. Such a man of the people. Gotta give ’em what they want, right?”
Jane could catch only glimpses of Lassiter’s face, smiling, radiant, accepting their devotion, embracing the rush. The crowd was in love. The candidate must know it. And he’d just proved he loved them back.
“Now. You tell me,” Kiernan said. “We gonna win this?”
Jane dug into her tote bag, eyes still on the crowd, scrounging by feel for her camera. Found it. She brought it out, and in one motion aimed and clicked.
“Hey, you can’t use that.” Kiernan put a hand on her forearm. “No unauthorized photos. You’re here off the record. Remember?”
“Had to try,” Jane said. She dropped the camera back into her bag. With a dramatic flourish, she zipped it closed. “See? All gone.”
She probably hadn’t gotten anything usable anyway. And someone else must be covering for the Register . Lassiter’s ring of blue moved across the green. The people around him surged closer, some ducking under the police to snag a photo with
Owen Lassiter. On the stage, hand outstretched, that smile. She promised to be here. And now she was. Everything would be okay. Happy endings.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She forced a smile of her own, relieved, needing to stay polite as she edged through, some guys looking her up and down, as always. She ignored them. As always.
The wooden reporter’s thing was set up to the left of the stage this time. Perfect. She aimed herself in that direction, propelled toward the cameras. Still photographers were posted there, too, she knew. Good. She had her own camera, out and ready to go. Too risky to leave it in its pouch.
Almost there. Almost time.
* * *
“Lucky you could get away.” Kenna slid her hand through the crook of Maitland’s elbow as a black-suited security guard waved them toward the back entrance to the big stage. “I’d never have gotten up here this close without you.”
“No problem.” Maitland guided her past a phalanx of rent-a-guards, then up close to one side of the stage.
“We going up there?” Kenna asked. The sun was hot, almost too hot to keep her coat on. Should have left it with Deenie. “Could we go backstage? Maybe I could chat with Owe—the governor—when he’s finished.”
Maitland looked at his watch, then seemed to listen. He smiled. “It’s already ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy,’” he said.
“Huh? Yankee—? Come on. You can get me closer.”
“We’re too late to go backstage.” He draped his arm across her shoulders, guiding her. “But come this way. You’ll see.”
* * *
“What?” Jane asked. Trevor stood next to her, elbow to elbow, backstage. “Watch what?”
“Now,” Kiernan repeated.
She heard a roar from the crowd. Suddenly Lassiter was gone.
She couldn’t take it in fast enough, had to stand on tiptoe, craning her neck to see. The music so loud, so thundering that Jane could feel the stage beneath her vibrating, had changed to a bass-pounding “Simply the Best.” Cameras flashed. The crowd cheered, erupting in delight. More blizzards of confetti, this time spewing into the air from containers circling the green. TV photographers yanked their cameras from their tripods. Reporters dashed forward, jumping down from the wooden risers of the press pen, pushing toward the action.
Lassiter had leaped off the stage onto the grass. No longer above the people, he was now part of them. One of them. On their level. Blue uniforms surged to surround the candidate, linked arms in a protective circle, Lassiter in the center, moving away from the stage, deeper into the crowd. Every arm reached for him; every camera aimed at him. Every person wanted him.
She and Kiernan stepped to the edge of the stage, watching the spectacle. She stole a quick look at him. “You kidding me?” she said. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
He smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Couldn’t resist, I guess. Such a man of the people. Gotta give ’em what they want, right?”
Jane could catch only glimpses of Lassiter’s face, smiling, radiant, accepting their devotion, embracing the rush. The crowd was in love. The candidate must know it. And he’d just proved he loved them back.
“Now. You tell me,” Kiernan said. “We gonna win this?”
Jane dug into her tote bag, eyes still on the crowd, scrounging by feel for her camera. Found it. She brought it out, and in one motion aimed and clicked.
“Hey, you can’t use that.” Kiernan put a hand on her forearm. “No unauthorized photos. You’re here off the record. Remember?”
“Had to try,” Jane said. She dropped the camera back into her bag. With a dramatic flourish, she zipped it closed. “See? All gone.”
She probably hadn’t gotten anything usable anyway. And someone else must be covering for the Register . Lassiter’s ring of blue moved across the green. The people around him surged closer, some ducking under the police to snag a photo with
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