Journey

There are secrets no one tells …JOURNEY

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“A LITERARY PHENOMENON … and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.”—The Detroit News“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEELS NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE as incredible stories unfold to the glee and delight of her enormous reading public.”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed.”—The New York Times Book Review“One counts on Danielle Steel for A STORY THAT ENTERTAINS AND INFORMS.”—The Chattanooga Times“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”—Publishers Weekly“STEEL IS AT THE TOP OF HER BESTSELLING FORM.”—Houston Chronicle“FEW MODERN WRITERS CONVEY THE PATHOS OF FAMILY AND MARITAL LIFE WITH SUCH HEARTFELT EMPATHY.”—The Philadelphia Inquirer“It's nothing short of amazing that even after [dozens of] novels, Danielle Steel can still come up with a good new yarn.”—The Star-Ledger (Newark)

PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S

JOURNEY“Steel uses her storytelling flair here … beautiful people, a glamorous setting, an evil antagonist, a dash of political intrigue and a hearty dose of social consciousness combine in AN ENTERTAINING AND EYE-OPENING STORY … it's quite a trip.”—Chicago Tribune“One of the things that keeps Danielle Steel fresh is her bent for timely storylines. In her fiftieth novel, she tackles spousal abuse, cleverly setting it in a seemingly ideal celebrity marriage … the combination of Steel's comprehensive research and her skill at creating credible characters makes for A GRIPPING READ.”—The Star-Ledger (Newark)“Steel fans will love Journey.”—Fort Worth Star-Telegram“WRITTEN WITH SENSITIVITY, WISDOM, AND COMPASSION.”—Rendezvous“Ms. Steel's many fans can settle back to enjoy the latest offering from their favorite writer.”—Richmond Times-Dispatch“[Steel] executes her story with her usual smooth pacing.”—Publishers Weekly“Steel's fans will no doubt welcome her fiftieth novel and take her newest heroine, award-winning TV anchorwoman Maddy Hunter, to heart.”—BooklistA MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD

AND

THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

Also by Danielle Steel

LEAP OF FAITH MESSAGE FROM NAM LONE EAGLE DADDY THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET STAR THE WEDDING ZOYA IRRESISTIBLE FORCES KALEIDOSCOPE GRANNY DAN FINE THINGS BITTERSWEET WANDERLUST MIRROR IMAGE SECRETS HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: FAMILY ALBUM THE STORY OF NICK TRAINA FULL CIRCLE THE KLONE AND I CHANGES THE LONG ROAD HOME THURSTON HOUSE THE GHOST CROSSINGS SPECIAL DELIVERY ONCE IN A LIFETIME THE RANCH A PERFECT STRANGER SILENT HONOR REMEMBRANCE MALICE PALOMINO FIVE DAYS IN PARIS LOVE: POEMS LIGHTNING THE RING WINGS LOVING THE GIFT TO LOVE AGAIN ACCIDENT SUMMERS END VANISHED SEASON OF PASSION MIXED BLESSINGS THE PROMISE JEWELS NOW AND FOREVER NO GREATER LOVE PASSIONS PROMISE HEARTBEAT GOING HOME

To my children,

Beatie, Trevor, Todd, Sam,

Victoria, Vanessa, Maxx, and Zara,

who have traveled far with me,

with faith and good humor and so much love.

And to Nick,

who is safely in God's loving hands.

with all my love,

d.s.

My journey has been long. I do not regret it. At times, it has been dark, a perilous course. At other times, joyous, dappled with sunlight. It has been hard more often than easy.The road was fraught with dangers for me from the beginning, the forest thick, the mountains high, the darkness terrifying. And through it all, even in the mists, a small pinpoint of light, a tiny star to guide me.I have been both wise and foolish. I have been loved, and betrayed, and abandoned. And much to my despair, I have unwittingly wounded others, and humbly beg their forgiveness. I have forgiven those who have hurt me, as I pray they will forgive me for allowing them to hurt me. I have loved much, and given of my whole heart and soul. And even when badly wounded, have continued on the path, with faith, and hope, and even blind belief, toward love and freedom. The journey continues, easier than it has been.For those of you still lost in the darkness, may your traveling companions treat you well. May you find safe havens when you need them, and clearings in the forest. May you find cool waters where you can safely drink, quench your thirst, and bathe your wounds. And may you one day find healing.When we meet, our hands will join, and we will know each other. The light is there, waiting for us. We must each, in our own way, journey on until we find it. To reach it, we will need determination, strength and courage, gratitude and patience. And after all that, wisdom. And at journey's end, we will find ourselves, we will find peace, and the love that, until now, we have only dreamed of.May God speed you on your journey, and protect you.d.s.

“Journey”“… All my life long

Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;

And now I fain would lie in this long grass

And close my eyes.”EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

Chapter 1

THE LONG BLACK LIMOUSINE pulled up slowly, and came to a stop, in a long line of cars just like it. It was a balmy evening in early June, and two Marines stepped forward in practiced unison, as Madeleine Hunter emerged gracefully from the car in front of the east entrance to the White House. A brightly lit flag was fluttering in the summer breeze, and she smiled at one of the Marines as he saluted. She was tall and thin, in a white evening gown that draped elegantly from one shoulder. Her hair was dark and swept up in a neat French twist which showed off her long neck and single bare shoulder to perfection.

Her skin was creamy, her eyes blue, and she moved with enormous poise and grace in high-heeled silver sandals. Her eyes danced as she smiled, and stepped aside as a photographer flashed her picture. And then another, as her husband stepped out of the car and took his place beside her. Jack Hunter was powerfully built, a man of forty-five, he had made his first fortune in the course of a career in pro football, invested it brilliantly, and in time had traded and sold and bought first a radio station, then added television to it, and by forty owned one of the major cable networks. Jack Hunter had long since turned his good fortune into big business. And he was very big business.

The photographer snapped their photograph again, and then they swiftly disappeared into the White House. They made a striking couple, and had for seven years. Madeleine was thirty-four, and had been twenty-five when he discovered her in Knoxville. Her drawl had long since disappeared, as had his. Jack was from Dallas, and he spoke in powerful, clipped tones that convinced the listener instantly that he knew exactly what he was doing. He had dark eyes that pursued his quarry to all corners of the room, and he had a way of listening to several conversations at once, while still managing to seem intent on the person to whom he was speaking. There were times, people who knew him well said, when his eyes seemed to bore right through you, and other times when you felt he was about to caress you. There was something powerful and almost hypnotizing about him. Just looking at him, sleekly put together in his dinner jacket and perfectly starched shirt, his dark hair smoothly combed, he was someone one wanted to get to know and be close to.

He had had the same effect on Madeleine when they met, when she was barely more than a girl in Knoxville. She had had a Tennessee drawl then, she had come to Knoxville from Chattanooga. She'd been a receptionist at the television station where she worked, until a strike forced her into doing first weather, and then news, on camera. She was awkward and shy, but so beautiful that the viewers who saw her sat mesmerized as they stared at her. She looked more like a model or a movie star, but she had a girl-next-door quality about her that everyone loved, and a breathtaking ability to get right to the heart of a story. And Jack was bowled over when he first saw her. Her words as well as her eyes were searing.

“What do you do here, pretty girl? Break all the boys' hearts, I'll bet,” he'd said to her. She didn't look a minute over twenty, though she was nearly five years older. He had stopped to talk to her when she came off the air.

“Not likely,” she laughed. He was negotiating to buy the station. And he had, two months later. And as soon as he did, he made her co-anchor, and sent her to New York to teach her first everything she needed to learn about network news, and then how to do her hair and makeup. And the effect, when he saw her on the air again, was impressive. Within months, her career was off and running.

It was Jack who helped extricate her from the nightmare she had been living, with a husband she'd been married to since she was seventeen, who had committed every possible kind of abuse on her. It was no different from what she had seen happen in Chattanooga as a child, between her parents. Bobby Joe had been her high school sweetheart, and they'd been married for eight years when Jack Hunter bought the cable network in Washington, D.C., and made her an irresistible offer. He wanted her as his prime-time anchor, and promised her that if she came, he'd help her sort her life out, and cover all the most important stories.

He came to Knoxville himself in a limousine. She met him at the Greyhound bus station, with one small Samsonite bag and a look of terror. She got into the car with him without a sound, and they drove all the way to Washington together. It took Bobby Joe months to figure out where she was, and by then she had filed for divorce, with Jack's help, and a year later, they were married. She had been Mrs. Jack Hunter for seven years, and Bobby Joe and his unthinkable abuse on her were a dim nightmare. She was a star now. She led a fairy-tale life. She was known and respected and adored all across the country. And Jack treated her like a princess. As they walked into the White House arm in arm, and stood in the reception line, she looked relaxed and happy. Madeleine Hunter had no worries. She was married to an important, powerful man, who loved her, and she knew it. She knew that nothing bad would ever happen to her again. Jack Hunter wouldn't let it. She was safe now.

The President and First Lady shook hands with them in the East Room, and the President said in an under-voice to Jack that he wanted to catch a private moment with him later. Jack nodded, and smiled at him, as Madeleine chatted with the First Lady. They knew each other well. Maddy had interviewed her several times, and the Hunters were invited to the White House often. And as Madeleine drifted into the room on her husband's arm, heads turned, people smiled and nodded, everyone recognized her. It was a long, long way from Knoxville. She didn't know where Bobby Joe was now, and no longer cared. The life she had known with him seemed entirely unreal now. This was her reality, a world of power and important people, and she was a bright star among them.

They mingled with the other guests, and the French Ambassador chatted with Madeleine amiably and introduced her to his wife, while Jack moved away to speak to a Senator who was the head of the Senate Ethics Committee. There was a matter before them that Jack had been wanting to discuss with him. Madeleine saw them out of the corner of her eye, as the Brazilian Ambassador approached her, with an attractive Congresswoman from Mississippi. It was, as always, an interesting evening.

Her dinner partners, when they moved into the State Dining Room, were a Senator from Illinois and a Congressman from California, both of whom she had met before, and who vied all evening for her attention. Jack was sitting between the First Lady and Barbara Walters. It was late in the evening before he joined his wife again, and they moved smoothly onto the dance floor.

“How was it?” he asked casually, watching several key players as he danced with her. Jack rarely lost track of the people around him, and he usually had an agenda, of those he wanted to see, and meet, and touch base with again, either about a story or a matter of business. He rarely, if ever, missed opportunities, and never simply spent an evening without some plan to what he was doing. He had spent a few minutes in a quiet aside with the President, and then President Armstrong had invited him to Camp David for lunch that weekend to continue the conversation. But Jack was concentrating on his wife now.

“So how was Senator Smith? What did he have to say for himself?”

“The usual. We talked about the new tax bill,” she smiled at her handsome husband. She was a worldly woman now, of considerable sophistication and enormous polish. She was, as Jack liked to say, a creature entirely of his making. He took full credit for how far she had come, and the enormous success she enjoyed on his network, and he loved to tease her about it.

“That sounds pretty sexy,” he said, referring to the tax bill. The Republicans were having a fit over it, but Jack thought the Democrats would win this one, particularly with the President behind them, which he was squarely. “What about Congressman Wooley?”

“He's so cute,” she said, smiling up at Jack again, as always, still a little dazzled by his presence. There was something about her husband's looks, his charisma, the aura that surrounded him, that still impressed her. “He talked about his dog and his grandchildren. He always does.” She liked that about him, and he was crazy about the woman he had been married to for nearly sixty years now.

“It's a wonder he still gets elected,” Jack said as the music ended.

“I think everyone loves him.” The warm heart of the girl next door from Chattanooga hadn't left her, despite her good fortune. She never lost sight of where she'd come from, and there was still a certain ingenuousness about her, unlike her husband, who was sharply honed, and on occasion somewhat abrasive and aggressive. But she liked talking to people about their kids. She had none of her own, and Jack had two sons in college in Texas, though he rarely saw them, but they were fond of Maddy. And despite his vast success, their mother had few good things to say about their father, or Maddy. They had been divorced for fifteen years, and the word she used most often to describe him was ruthless.

“Ready to call it a night?” Jack asked, as he assessed the room again, and decided that he had already touched base with everyone that mattered, and the party was nearly over. The President and First Lady had just left, and their guests were free to go now. Jack saw no reason to stay any longer. And Maddy was happy to go home, she had to be in the newsroom early the next morning.

They left the party quietly, and their driver was waiting for them near the door, as they made a graceful exit. And Maddy settled comfortably into the limousine beside her husband. It was a long way from Bobby Joe's old Chevy truck, the parties they had gone to at the local bar, and the friends they had visited in trailers. Sometimes she still had trouble believing that her two very different lives were part of one lifetime. This was all so different. She moved in the world of Presidents and Kings and Queens, politicians and princes and tycoons like her husband.

“What did you and the President talk about tonight?” she asked, stifling a yawn. She looked as lovely and as beautifully put together as she had at the beginning of the evening. And more than she realized, she was an incredible asset to her husband. Rather than being recognized as the man who had invented her, he was seen now as Madeleine Hunter's husband, and if he knew it, he never acknowledged it to Maddy.

“The President and I discussed something very interesting,” Jack said, looking vague, “I'll tell you about it when I'm free to talk about it.”

“When will that be?” she asked with renewed interest. She was not only his wife, but had become a skilled reporter, and she loved what she did, the people she worked with, and the newsroom. She felt as though she had her fingers on the pulse of the nation.

“I'm not sure yet. I'm having lunch with him on Saturday at Camp David.”

“It must be important.” But it all was. Anything that involved the President was potentially a big story.

They drove the short distance to R Street, chatting about the party. And Jack asked her if she'd seen Bill Alexander.

“Only from a distance. I didn't realize he was back in Washington.” He had been in seclusion for the past six months, after the death of his wife in Colombia the year before. It had been a terrible story, which Maddy remembered all too clearly. She had been kidnapped by terrorists, and Ambassador Alexander had handled the negotiations himself, awkwardly apparently. After collecting the ransom, the terrorists had panicked and killed her. And the Ambassador had resigned shortly after.

“He's a fool,” Jack said without preamble or pity for him. “He never should have tried to handle it himself. Anyone could have predicted that would happen.”

“I don't suppose he believed that,” Maddy said quietly, glancing out the window.

And a moment later, they were home, and she and Jack walked up the stairs as he took his tie off.

“I have to be in the office early tomorrow,” she said, as he unbuttoned his shirt in their bedroom, and she slipped her dress off and stood before him in nothing more than pantyhose and her high-heeled silver sandals. She had a spectacular body which was never wasted on him, nor had it been in her previous life, though the two men she had been married to were extraordinarily different. The one brutal and unkind and rough with her, indifferent to her feelings, or cries of pain when he hurt her, the other so smooth, so careful, so seemingly respectful of her. Bobby Joe had once broken her arms, and she had broken her leg when he pushed her down the stairs. That had been right after she had met Jack, and he had been in a jealous rage about him. She had sworn to him that she wasn't involved with Jack, and she hadn't been then. He was her employer and they were just friends, the rest had come later, after she left Knoxville and moved to Washington to work for him at his cable network. Within a month of her arrival in Washington she and Jack had become lovers, but her divorce was already in the works then.

“Why are you going in early?” Jack asked over his shoulder as he disappeared into his black marble bathroom. They had bought the house five years before, from a wealthy Arab diplomat. There was a full gym and a swimming pool downstairs, beautiful reception rooms Jack liked to use to entertain, and all six of the house's bathrooms were marble. The house had four bedrooms, a master, and three guest rooms.

There was no plan to turn any of the guest rooms into a nursery. Jack had made it very clear to her right from the beginning that he didn't want children. He hadn't enjoyed the two he had when they were growing up, and he had no desire to have more, in fact he absolutely forbade it. And after a brief period of mourning for the babies she would never have, at Jack's insistence, Maddy had had her tubes tied. She thought it was better in some ways, she had had half a dozen abortions during her years with Bobby Joe, and she wasn't even sure anymore if she could have a normal baby. It seemed easier to give in to Jack's wishes and not take any chances. He had given her so much, and wanted such great things for her, she could see his point that children would only be an obstacle she'd have to overcome, and a burden on her career. But there were still times when she regretted the irreversibility of her decision. At thirty-four, a lot of her friends were still having babies, and all she had was Jack now. She wondered if she'd regret it even more when she grew older and had no grandchildren, or children of her own. But it was a small price to pay for the life she shared with Jack Hunter. And it had been so important to Jack. He had insisted on it.

They met again in their large comfortable bed, and Jack pulled her close, as she cuddled up to him, and rested her head on his shoulder. They often lay there for a while before they went to sleep, talking about what had happened that day, the places they'd been, the people they'd met with, the parties they'd been to. As they did now, and Maddy tried to guess what the President was up to.

“I told you, I'll tell you when I can, stop guessing.”

“Secrets drive me crazy,” she giggled.

“You drive me crazy,” he said, turning her gently toward him, and feeling the satin of her flesh beneath the silky nightgown. He never tired of her, she never bored him, in bed or out, and he took pleasure in knowing that she was his, body and soul, not only at the network, but in their bedroom. Most particularly there, he had an insatiable appetite for her, and at times she felt as though he were going to devour her. He loved everything about her, knew everything she did, liked knowing where she was every moment of the day, and what she was doing. And he had a lot to say about it. But all he could think of now was the body he could never get enough of, and as he kissed her and grabbed her hard, she moaned softly. She never resented or objected to the way he took her, or how often. She loved the fact that he wanted her so much, and it pleased her to know that she still excited him so intensely. It was all so different than it had been with Bobby Joe. Bobby had wanted nothing more than to use her and to hurt her. What excited Jack was beauty and power. Having “created” Maddy made him feel powerful, and “possessing” Maddy in bed nearly drove him out of his senses.

Chapter 2

AS SHE ALWAYS DID, Maddy got up at six o'clock, and slipped quietly into her bathroom. She showered and dressed, knowing that they would do her hair and makeup, as they did every day, at the network. And when Jack came down to the kitchen at seven-thirty freshly combed and shaven, in a dark gray suit and starched white shirt, he found her fresh-faced, in a dark blue pantsuit, drinking coffee and reading the morning paper.

She looked up, when she heard him come in, and commented on the latest scandal on the Hill. One of the Congressmen had been arrested the night before, for consorting with a hooker. “You'd think they'd know better,” she said, handing him the Post, and reaching for The Wall Street Journal. She liked reading the papers before she got to the newsroom. She usually read The New York Times on the way to work, and if she had time, the Herald Tribune.

They left for work together at eight o'clock, and Jack asked her if she was working on a story that was taking her in so early. Sometimes she didn't go in till ten. She usually worked on stories all day and taped interviews during lunch. She didn't go on the air until five o'clock, and then again at seven-thirty She was through by eight, and when they were going out for the evening, she changed in her dressing room at the network. It was a long day for both of them, but they liked it.

“Greg and I are working on a series of interviews of women on the Hill. We want to figure out who's doing who, and when. We already have five women lined up. I think it'll be a good story.” Greg Morris was her co-anchor, a young black reporter from New York, who had worked with her for the past two years, and they were fond of each other, and loved working together.

“Don't you think you should do the story on your own? Why do you need Greg to do it with you?”

“It keeps things interesting,” she said coolly, “the male perspective.” She had her own ideas about the show, which often differed from her husband's, and sometimes she didn't like telling him too much about what she was doing. She didn't want him to interfere with her stories. Sometimes, it was a challenge being married to the head of the network.

“Did the First Lady talk to you last night about your being on her Commission on Violence Against Women?” Jack asked casually, as Maddy shook her head. She had heard vague rumors about the commission the First Lady was forming, but she hadn't mentioned it to Maddy.

“No, she didn't.”

“She will,” Jack said smoothly. “I told her I thought you'd love to be on it.”

“I would, if I have time. It depends how much of a commitment it involves.”

“I told her you'd do it,” Jack said bluntly. “It's good for your image.”

Maddy was silent for a moment, as she stared out the window. They were being driven to work by Jack's driver, he had been with Jack for years, and they both trusted him completely. “I'd like a chance to make that decision for myself,” she said quietly. “Why did you tell her I'd do it?” It made her feel like a kid when he did that. He was only eleven years older than she, but sometimes he treated her as though she were a child, and he the father.

“I told you. It will be good for you. Consider it an executive decision by the head of the network.” Like so many others. She hated it when he did that, and he knew it. It truly annoyed her. “Besides, you just said you'd like to.”

“If I have time. Let me decide that.” But they were at the network by then, and Charles was opening the car door for them. There was no time to pursue the conversation further. And Jack didn't look as though he intended to anyway. He had obviously made his mind up. He gave her a quick kiss as they said good-bye. He disappeared into his private elevator, and after passing through security and the metal detector, Maddy took the elevator up to the newsroom.

She had a glassed-in office there, a secretary and research assistant, and Greg Morris had a slightly smaller office very near her. He waved as he saw her walking swiftly into her office, and he came in with a mug of coffee in his hand a minute later.

“Good morning … or is it?” He looked her over carefully, and thought he detected something as she glanced at him. Though it was hard to see it unless you knew her well, inside she was seething. Maddy didn't like to get angry. In her past life, anger had meant danger, and she never forgot that.

“My husband just made an ‘executive decision.’” She glanced at Greg with unveiled annoyance. He was like a brother to her.

“Uh-oh. Am I getting fired?” He was teasing, his ratings were nearly as high as hers, but you were never entirely sure where you stood with Jack. He was capable of making sudden, seemingly irrational, nonnegotiable decisions. But as far as Greg knew, Jack liked him.

“Nothing that dramatic, thank you.” Maddy was quick to put his mind to rest. “He told the First Lady I'd be on her new Commission on Violence Against Women, without even asking me about it.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing,” Greg said, sprawling in the chair across her desk from her, as she sat down primly in her seat.

“That's beside the point, Greg. I like to be asked. I'm a grown-up.”

“He probably figured you'd want to do it. You know how dumb men are. They forget to go through all the steps between A and Z, and just make assumptions.”

“He knows how much I hate that.” But they both also knew that Jack made a lot of decisions for her. It was the way things had always been between them. He said he knew what was best for her.

“I hate to be the one to tell you, but we just got word of another ‘executive decision’ he must have made yesterday. It just filtered down from Mount Olympus before you got here.” Greg looked less than pleased as he said it. He was a good-looking African-American man with a casual style, and long, graceful limbs. As a kid, he had wanted to be a dancer, but had wound up in news instead, and loved it.

“What are you talking about?” Maddy looked worried.

“He took a whole segment out of the show. Our political commentary on the seven-thirty.”

“He did what? Why? People love that. And we like to do it.”

“He wants more hard news on the seven-thirty They said it was a ratings-based decision. They want us to try it this way.”

“Why didn't he talk to us about it?”

“When does he ever ask us, Maddy? Come on, kiddo, you know him a lot better than I do. Jack Hunter makes his own decisions, without consultation from the on-air talent. That's hardly a news flash.”

“Shit.” She looked angry as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “That's nice. So no editorials at all now? That's just plain stupid.”

“I thought so too, but Father Knows Best. They said they might put it back in on the five o'clock if people complain about it. But not for the moment.”

“Great. Christ, you'd think he would have warned me.”

“The way he usually does, right, Pocahontas? Give me a break. Let's face it, we just work here.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She steamed silently about it for a minute and then got down to work with Greg, figuring out who they were going to interview first, among the list of Congresswomen they had already selected. It was nearly eleven before they finished, and Maddy went out to do some errands and grab a sandwich. She was back at her desk at one, working on the Congressional interviews again. She stayed at her desk all afternoon, and at four she walked into hair and makeup and met Greg there, and they chatted about the stories that had broken that afternoon. So far, there was nothing important.

“Have you ripped Jack's head off yet about our editorials?” He grinned at her.

“No, but I will later, when I see him.” She never saw him in the course of the day, although they usually left work together, unless he had somewhere to go after work that didn't include her, and then she went home alone, and waited for him.

The five o'clock news went well, and she and Greg hung out and talked, as they always did, while waiting to go back on at seven-thirty At eight o'clock they were finished, and Jack appeared as she came off the set. She said goodnight to Greg, took off her mike, picked up her handbag, and left with Jack a minute later. They had promised to drop by at a cocktail party in Georgetown.

“What the hell happened to our editorials?” she asked him as they sped toward Georgetown.

“The ratings showed that people were tired of them.”

“Bullshit, Jack, they love them.”

“That's not what we heard,” he said firmly, unmoved by her comment.

“Why didn't you say something to me about it this morning?” She still looked annoyed as she talked about it.

“It had to go through channels.”

“You never even asked me. It would have been nice to know. I think you really made the wrong decision on that one.”

“Let's see what the ratings tell us.” They were at the party in Georgetown by then, and lost each other in the crowd for a while. She didn't see Jack again until he came to find her two hours later, and asked if she was ready to leave. They both were, it had been a long day and they'd been up late the night before, at the White House.

They didn't talk much on the way home, and he reminded her that he was going to Camp David for lunch with the President the next morning. “I'll meet you at the plane at two-thirty,” he said, looking distracted. They went to Virginia every weekend. Jack had bought a farm there the year before he met Maddy, and it was a place he loved, and she had gotten used to. It had a rambling, comfortable house, and miles of land around it. He kept stables, and some Thoroughbreds. But in spite of the pleasant scenery, Maddy was always bored there.

“Do you want to just stay in town this weekend?” she asked hopefully, as she followed him into the house after Charles dropped them off.

“We can't. I invited Senator McCutchins and his wife for the weekend.” He hadn't told her that either.

“Was that a secret too?” Maddy asked, looking irritated. She hated it when he didn't ask her about things like that, or at least warn her.

“I'm sorry, Maddy, I've been busy. I have a lot on my mind this week. There's some complicated stuff going on at the office.” She suspected he was distracted by the meeting at Camp David. But he still could have told her about the McCutchinses coming for the weekend. He smiled at her gently as he said it. “That was thoughtless of me. I'm sorry, baby.” It was hard to stay angry at him when he said it like that. He had an endearing way about him, and just as she started getting angry at him, she always found she couldn't.

“It's okay. I just would have liked to know.” She didn't bother telling him that she couldn't stand Paul McCutchins. Jack knew it. He was fat, overbearing, and arrogant, and his wife always looked terrified of him. She was too nervous to say more than two words whenever Maddy saw her, and she looked as though she were scared of her own shadow. Even their kids looked nervous. “Are they bringing their kids?” They had three pale, whiny children, whose company Maddy never enjoyed, although she generally liked children. Just not the McCutchinses'.

“I told them they couldn't,” Jack said with a grin. “I know you can't stand them, and I don't blame you. Besides, they scare the horses.”

“That's something at least,” Maddy said as they went inside. It had been a long week for both of them, and she was tired. She fell asleep in Jack's arms that night, and she didn't even hear him get up the next morning. He was up and dressed and reading the paper by the time she came down for breakfast.

Jack gave her a quick kiss and a few minutes later, he left for the White House, where he was meeting the Presidential helicopter to take him to Camp David.

“Have fun,” she smiled at him, as she poured herself a cup of coffee. He looked as though he were in high spirits. Nothing excited Jack more than power. It was addictive.

And when she saw him at the airport that afternoon, he was positively glowing. He looked as though he'd had a great time with Jim Armstrong.

“So, did you solve all the problems in the Middle East, or plan a small war somewhere?” she asked with a look of mischief. Just looking at him in the June sunshine, she fell in love with him all over again. He was so damn attractive, and so handsome.

“Something like that,” he smiled mysteriously, as he followed her onto the plane he had bought that winter. It was a Gulfstream and he was happy with it. They used it every weekend, and he used it for business.

“Can you tell me about it?” She was dying of curiosity, but he shook his head and laughed at her. He loved teasing her with something he knew and she didn't.

“Not yet. Soon though.”

There were two pilots and they took off twenty minutes later, as Jack and Maddy chatted in the comfortable chairs at the back of the plane, and they headed south to their farm in Virginia. And much to Maddy's chagrin, the McCutchinses were already waiting for them when they got there. They had driven down from Washington that morning.

Predictably, Paul McCutchins slapped Jack resoundingly on the back, and squeezed Maddy far too close when he embraced her, and his wife Janet said nothing. Her eyes only met Maddy's for an instant. It was as though she were afraid Maddy would see some dark secret in her, if she allowed her to look into her eyes for any longer. Something about Janet had always made Maddy uncomfortable, although she had never known what it was, and didn't care enough to think about it.

But Jack wanted some time to talk to Paul about a bill he was endorsing. It had to do with gun control, an ever-sensitive issue, and eternally newsworthy.

The two men wandered off to the stables almost as soon as Jack and Maddy arrived, which left Maddy stuck with Janet. She suggested they go inside, and offered her fresh lemonade and cookies, the cook at the farm had made them. She was a wonderful Italian woman who had worked for them for years. Jack had actually hired her before he married Maddy. The farm always seemed more his than theirs, and he enjoyed it far more than she did. It was remote, and isolated, and Maddy had never been crazy about horses. Jack used it often to entertain people he needed to see for business, like Paul McCutchins.

Maddy asked about Janet's kids as they sat down in the living room, and when they finished the lemonade, she suggested they go for a walk in the garden. It seemed like an eternity waiting for Jack and Paul to come back from the stables. And Maddy chatted meaninglessly about the weather, the farm, its history, and the new rosebushes the gardener had planted. And she was startled when she glanced at Janet, and saw that she was crying. She wasn't an attractive woman, she was overweight, pale, and there was something infinitely sad about her. Now more than ever. As the tears coursed down her cheeks uncontrollably, she looked totally pathetic.

“Are you all right?” Maddy asked uncomfortably. But obviously, Janet wasn't. “Is there anything I can do?” Janet McCutchins shook her head and only cried harder.

“I'm sorry” was all she could manage.

“Don't be,” Maddy said soothingly, stopping at a garden chair, so the woman could sit down and regain her composure. “Would you like a glass of water?” Janet shook her head, as Maddy tried not to stare at her, and she blew her nose, and looked at Maddy. There was suddenly something very compelling about her, as their eyes met.

“I don't know what to do,” she said in a quavering voice, which actually touched Maddy.

“Can I help in some way?” She wondered if the woman was ill, or if something was wrong with one of her children, she seemed so distraught, and so profoundly unhappy. Maddy couldn't even imagine what it could be.

“There's nothing anyone can do.” She sounded desperate and hopeless. “I don't know what to do,” she repeated. “It's Paul. He hates me.”

“Of course he doesn't, I'm sure he doesn't,” Maddy said, feeling stupid, with no knowledge whatsoever of the situation. For all she knew, he did hate her. “Why would he?”

“He has for years. He tortures me. He had to marry me because I got pregnant.”

“In this day and age, he wouldn't still be there if he didn't want to be.” Their oldest child was twelve, and they'd had two children since then. Although Maddy had to admit she had never seen Paul be pleasant to her. It was one of the things she disliked about him.

“We can't afford to get a divorce, and Paul says it would hurt him politically.” It was a possibility, certainly, but other politicians had survived it. And then, Janet took her breath away with her next statement. “He beats me.” Something in Maddy's blood ran cold as she heard the other woman say it. And with that, Janet gingerly pulled up her sleeve, and Maddy could see ugly bruises. She had heard unpleasant stories about his violent temper and arrogant attitude over the years, and now this confirmed it to her.

“I'm so sorry, Janet.” She didn't know what to say, but her heart went out to her and all she wanted to do was hug her. “Don't stay,” Maddy said softly. “Don't let him do that. I was married to a man like that for nine years.” She knew all too well what it was like, although she had spent the last eight years trying to forget him.

“How did you get out?” They were suddenly like two prisoners of the same war, whispering in the garden.

“I ran away,” Maddy said, sounding braver than she'd been at the time, and she wanted to be honest with this woman. “I was terrified. Jack helped me.” But this woman had no Jack Hunter. She wasn't young or beautiful, she had no hope, no career, no way out, and she had three children to take with her. It was very different.

“He says he'll kill me if I go and take the kids. And he says if I tell anyone, he'll put me in a mental institution. He did that once, after my little girl was born. They gave me electric shock treatment.” Maddy thought they should have given it to him, in places that would have really mattered to him, but she didn't say that to Janet. Just thinking of what the woman was going through and seeing her bruises made Maddy feel heartsick for her.

“You have to get help. Why don't you go to a safe house?” Maddy suggested.

“I know he'll find me. He'll kill me.” Janet sobbed as she said it.

“I'll help you.” Maddy volunteered without hesitating. She had to do something for this woman. She felt guiltier than ever for never having liked her. But she needed help now, and as a survivor of the same agony she felt she owed it to her to help her. “I'll find out about some places for you to go with the kids.”

“It'll wind up in the papers,” Janet said, still crying, and feeling helpless.

“It'll wind up in the papers if he kills you,” Maddy said firmly. “Promise me you'll do something. Does he hurt the children?” Janet shook her head, but Maddy knew it was more complicated than that. Even if he didn't touch them, he was distorting their minds and terrifying them, and one day the girls would marry men like their father, just as Maddy had, and maybe their son would think it was acceptable to beat his women. No one emerged unscathed from a home where their mother was beaten. It had led Maddy straight into the arms of Bobby Joe, and led her to believe that he had a right to do it.

And as Maddy took Janet's hand in her own, they heard the men approaching, and Janet quickly withdrew it, and within an instant, she was stone-faced. It was as though the conversation had never taken place, as the two men walked into the garden.

That night when they were alone, Maddy told Jack what had happened.

“He beats her,” she said, still feeling sick about it.

“Paul?” Jack looked surprised. “I doubt that. He's kind of a gruff guy, but I don't think he'd do a thing like that. How do you know?”

“Janet told me,” Maddy said, staunchly her friend now. They finally had something in common.

“I wouldn't take that too seriously,” Jack said quietly. “Paul told me years ago, she has mental problems.”

“I saw the bruises,” Maddy said, looking angry. “I believe her, Jack. I've been there.”

“I know you have. You don't know how she got the bruises. She may have just made that up to make him look bad. I know he's been seeing someone for a while. Janet is probably trying to get even with him, by saying ugly things about him.” He was looking worse by the minute to Maddy, and she didn't doubt Janet's story for an instant. She hated Paul just thinking of it.

“Why don't you believe her?” Maddy asked angrily. “I don't understand that.”

“I know Paul. He just wouldn't do that.” It made Maddy want to scream as she listened. They argued about it until they went to bed, and she was so angry at Jack for not believing her that she was relieved they didn't make love that night. She felt far closer to Janet McCutchins, and had more in common with her, than with her own husband. But he didn't seem to notice how upset his wife was.

And before they left the next day, Maddy reminded her that she'd be in touch with information for her. But Janet looked blank as she said it. She was too afraid that Paul would hear them. She just nodded and got in the car, and they drove away a few minutes later. But as Maddy and Jack flew back to Washington that night, Maddy was staring out the window at the scenery below in silence. All she could think about was Bobby Joe and the desperation she had felt in those lonely years in Knoxville. And then she thought of Janet and the bruises she had shown her. It was as though Janet were being held prisoner, and she didn't have the courage or the energy to escape him. In fact, she was convinced she couldn't. And as they touched down in Washington, Maddy made a silent vow to do everything she could to help her.

Chapter 3

WHEN MADDY WENT TO WORK ON Monday morning, she ran into Greg as soon as she got to the office, followed him into his cubicle, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“How was the weekend of Washington's most glamorous award-winning anchorwoman?” He liked to tease her about the life they led, and the fact that she and Jack were often at the White House. “Did you spend the weekend with our President, or just go shopping with the First Lady?”

“Very funny, smart-ass,” she said, and took a sip of the steaming coffee. She was still haunted by the confessions of Janet McCutchins. “Actually, Jack had lunch with him on Saturday at Camp David.”

“Thank God, you never let me down. It would kill me if I thought you were lining up at the car wash like the rest of us. I live vicariously through you. I hope you know that. We all do.”

“Believe me, it's not that exciting.” She never really felt it was her life anyway, she always felt as though she were living in the spotlight she borrowed from her husband. “We had the McCutchinses down to Virginia for the weekend. God, he's disgusting.”

“Handsome guy, the Senator. Very distinguished.” Greg grinned at her.

Maddy was silent for a long moment, and then decided to take Greg into her confidence. They had become very close since they started working together, like brother and sister. She didn't have that many friends in Washington, she'd never had time to make them and those she had made, Jack never liked, and eventually pressured her not to see them. She never objected because Jack kept her so busy, she was always working. In the beginning, when she'd met women she liked, Jack always had some objection to them, they were fat, or ugly, or inappropriate, or indiscreet, or he thought they were jealous of her. He kept Madeleine carefully guarded, and inadvertently isolated. The only people she really had a chance to get close to were at the office. She knew he meant well in protecting her, and she didn't mind, but it meant that the person she was closest to was Jack, and in recent years, Greg Morris.

“Something awful happened this weekend.” She started cautiously, still feeling a little awkward about divulging Janet's secret. Maddy knew she wouldn't want people talking about it.

“You broke a nail?” he needled her, and she usually laughed at him, but she looked serious this time.

“It was Janet.”

“She looks pretty colorless and drab. I've only seen her a couple of times at Senate parties.”

Maddy sighed, and decided to take the plunge. She trusted Greg completely. “He beats her.”

“What? The Senator? Are you sure? That's pretty heavy.”

“Very heavy. I believe her. She showed me the bruises.”

“Hasn't she had mental problems?” Greg asked skeptically. It was the same reaction Jack had had, and it annoyed her.

“Why do men always say things like that about abused women? What if I had told you she had hit him with a golf club? Would you believe me? Or would you tell me that fat bastard was lying about it?”

“I'd probably believe him, I'm sorry to say. Because men don't lie about things like that. It's pretty unusual when a man is abused by a woman.”

“Women don't lie either. But people like you, and my husband, make them feel like it's their fault, and they have to keep it a secret. And yes, she was in a mental hospital, but she doesn't look crazy to me, and those bruises were no figment of her imagination. She's terrified of him. I've always heard he was a son of a bitch to his staff, but I never knew he was an abuser.” She had never spoken openly about her past to Greg. Like other women in the same situation, she felt it was somehow her fault, and kept it a dark secret. “I told her I'd help her find a safe house. Any ideas where I start?”

“What about the Coalition for Women? I have a friend who runs it. And I'm sorry about what I said. I should know better.” He looked contrite as he said it.

“Yeah, you should. But thanks, I'll call her.” He jotted down a name for her, and Maddy glanced at it. Fernanda Lopez. She vaguely remembered doing a story about her when she first came to the network. It had been a good five or six years before, but she remembered being impressed by her. But when Maddy called from her own office, they told her Ms. Lopez was on sabbatical, and her replacement had just left on maternity leave. The new woman in charge wasn't coming in for two more weeks, and they'd have her call as soon as she got there. They gave Maddy a few names to call when she told them what she wanted. She tried but the numbers were all answered by answering machines, and when she called the Abused Women's Hotline, it was busy. She'd have to call back later. And then she got busy with Greg, and forgot about it until she went on the air at five o'clock, and promised herself she'd try again in the morning. If Janet had lived with it this long, she would certainly survive until the next morning, but Maddy did want to do something about it. It was obvious that Janet was too paralyzed by fear to help herself, which wasn't unusual either.

When Greg and Maddy went on the air at five, they covered the usual assortment of local, political, national, and international stories, and a plane crash at JFK ate up most of the seven-thirty

She went home in Jack's car alone that night, he had another meeting with the President, and she couldn't help wondering what was keeping them both so busy. But she was thinking of Janet again when she got home, and wondered if she should call her. But Maddy was afraid that Paul might be listening to Janet's calls and decided not to.

Maddy read a stack of articles she'd been meaning to get to, and skimmed through a new book about the latest state of the art techniques in dealing with breast cancer, to see if she wanted to interview the author as part of a news story. She did her nails, and went to bed early. And she heard Jack come in around midnight. But she was too tired to talk to him, and she fell back to sleep before he could join her. It was morning before she woke again, and she heard him walk into his bathroom and turn on the shower.

He was in the kitchen reading The Wall Street Journal when she came downstairs, and he looked up at her with a smile. She was wearing jeans, a red sweater, and bright red Gucci loafers. She looked fresh and young and sexy.

“You make me sorry I didn't wake you last night,” he said with a smile, and she laughed at him, as she poured herself a cup of coffee and picked up the paper.

“You and the President must be up to some real mischief these days, with all those meetings. It better turn out to be something more interesting than a cabinet reshuffle.”

“Maybe so,” he said noncommittally as they both turned back to their papers, and suddenly he heard Maddy gasp and glanced over at her. “What is it?” She couldn't speak for a moment as tears filled her eyes and she continued to try to read the article, but she was blinded by tears as she turned to her husband.

“Janet McCutchins committed suicide last night. She slashed her wrists in their house in Georgetown, one of her children found her and called 911, but she was already dead when they got there. They said she had bruises on her arms and legs, and they feared foul play initially, but her husband explained that she had fallen down the stairs the night before, over one of her son's skateboards. The son of a bitch … he killed her….” She sounded choked and nearly breathless and she could feel her whole body tense as she thought about it.

“He didn't kill her, Maddy,” Jack said quietly “she killed herself. You said so.”

“She thought she didn't have any other way out,” Maddy said in a strangled voice, remembering the feeling all too vividly as she looked at her husband. “I could have done the same thing, if you hadn't gotten me out of Knoxville.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. You'd have killed him first. She was disturbed, she had a history of mental problems. There were probably plenty of other reasons for her to do it.”

“How the hell can you say that? Why don't you want to believe that that fat bastard abused her? Is that so incredible? Does he look all that nice to you? Why isn't it possible she was telling the truth? Because she's a woman?”

It made her furious listening to him, and even Greg had doubted the story when she told him. “Why is the woman always lying?”

“Maybe she wasn't. But the fact that she killed herself supports the theory that she was unbalanced.”

“It supports the theory that she thought she had no other way out and she was desperate. Desperate enough to leave her kids motherless, and even risk having one of them find her.” She was crying openly as she spoke to him, and her breath was coming in little staccato gasps of terror. She knew what it felt like to be so tortured, so terrified, so cornered that there seemed to be no escape route. If she hadn't been young and beautiful and Jack hadn't wanted her for the network, she might easily have met the same fate as Janet McCutchins. And she wasn't so sure Jack was right that she would have killed Bobby Joe first. She had thought of suicide herself, more than once, on dark nights when he was drunk and her lips and eyes were swollen from his latest acts of vengeance. It was all too easy to understand what Janet had been feeling. And then she remembered the calls she had made the day before, on her behalf, from her office. “I called the Coalition for Women for her yesterday, and a hotline. Shit, I wish I had called her last night. But I was afraid to, I was afraid Paul would intercept the call and I'd get her in trouble.”

“She was beyond your help, Mad. Don't beat yourself up over it. This proves it.”

“This proves nothing, goddammit, Jack. She wasn't crazy. She was terrified. And how do you know where he was, or what he had done to her before she did it?”

“He's an asshole, not a murderer. I'd stake my life on it,” he said calmly, as Maddy got ever more heated about it.

“Since when are you two such big pals? How the hell do you know what he did to her? You have no concept what that's like.” She was shaking with sobs as she sat at their kitchen table and cried for a woman she scarcely knew, but she had once walked the same path she had, and she knew that she was one of the fortunate survivors. Janet hadn't been as lucky.

“I do know what it's like,” he said quietly. “When I married you, you had terrible nightmares, and you slept in the fetal position with your arms over your head. I know, baby, I know … I saved you….”

“I know you did,” she said, blowing her nose, and looking at him sadly, “I never forget that…. I just feel so sorry for her…. Think of how she must have felt when she did it. Her life must have been an agony of terror.”

“I suppose it was,” he said coolly “and I'm sorry for Paul and her kids. This is going to be rough for all of them. I just hope the media don't have a heyday with it.”

“I hope some hotshot young reporter does an investigative piece on it, and exposes what he was doing to her. Not just for her sake, but all the other women who are still alive and in the same position.”

“It's hard to understand why she didn't leave if it was that bad. She could have left. She didn't have to kill herself.”

“Maybe she thought she did,” Maddy said sympathetically, but Jack was unmoved by it.

“You got out, Maddy. She could have too!” he said firmly.

“It took me eight years to do it, and you helped me. Not everyone is that lucky. And I just got out by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth. Maybe in another year, he might have killed me.”

“You wouldn't have let that happen.” Jack sounded certain, but Maddy was less so.

“I let it happen for a hell of a long time until you came along. And my mother let it happen until my dad died. And I swear she missed it, and him until she died. Relationships like that are a lot sicker than people realize, for both the abused and the abuser.”

“That's an interesting perspective,” he said, looking skeptical again. “I think some people just ask for it, or expect it, or let it happen, because they're too weak to do anything else.”

“You don't know anything about it, Jack,” she said in a tense voice as she walked out of the kitchen, and went upstairs to get her bag and a jacket. She came down carrying a well-cut dark navy blazer, and she had put on small diamond earrings. She was always beautifully groomed and dressed, at home or at work, she never knew who she'd run into, and people recognized her everywhere she went.

They rode to work together that morning in silence. She was annoyed at some of the things Jack had said, and she didn't want to get in an argument with him about it. But Greg was waiting for her at work, he had seen the story, and he looked anguished.

“I'm sorry, Maddy, you must feel like shit. I know you wanted to help her. Maybe you couldn't have anyway.” He tried to reassure her, but she turned and snapped at him as soon as he spoke.

“Why? Because she was psychotic, like all other abused women, and she wanted to slit her wrists? Is that what you think?”

“All I meant was that she may have been too scared to get out anyway, like someone shell-shocked in a war zone.” Then he couldn't help adding, “Why do you think she did it? Just because he was abusing her, or do you think she was psychotic?” Maddy looked infuriated by the question.

“That's what Jack thinks, that's what most people think, that women in these situations are basically crazy anyway, regardless of what their husbands are doing to them. No one can understand why women don't leave. Well, some of them just can't … they just can't …,” she said, as she broke into sobs and Greg put his arms around her.

“I know, baby, I know…. I'm sorry … maybe you just couldn't save this one.” He spoke in soothing tones and she was grateful for his arms around her.

“I wanted … to … help … her.” She was wracked by sobs as she thought of the pain Janet must have been in to make her do it, and the agony her children must be in now, having lost their mother.

“How are we going to cover it?” Greg asked when she regained her composure.

“I'd like to do an editorial about abused women,” she said thoughtfully, as Greg handed her a cup of coffee.

“That's been cut out of our format. Remember?”

“I'm going to tell Jack I want to do one anyway,” she said firmly, and Greg shook his head. “I wish I could blow that bastard McCutchins right out of the water.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. And Jack won't let you do an editorial. I don't care if you do sleep with him every night, we got the word from the top. No editorials, no social or political commentaries, straight news only. We tell it like it happened, with no add-ons from us.”

“What's he going to do? Fire me? Besides, this is straight news. A senator's wife committed suicide, after being abused by her husband.”

“Jack still won't let you say that, or do an editorial on it, if I know him, unless you take over the station at gunpoint. And I honestly don't think he'd like that, Maddy”

“No kidding. But I'm going to do it anyway. We're live, for chrissake, they can't knock me off the air, without creating a riot or a scandal. So we do one more editorial, and then apologize for it afterward. If he gets pissed, I can live with that.”

“You're a brave woman,” Greg said with the broad ivory smile that dazzled the women he went out with. He was one of the most sought-after bachelors in Washington, and with good reason. He was smart, handsome, nice, and successful, a rare and highly desirable combination, and Maddy was crazy about him, in a purely wholesome sense, she loved working with him. “I'm not sure I'd like to be the one to challenge Jack Hunter and go against one of his edicts.”

“I have connections,” she said with the first smile she'd shown since she'd read about Janet McCutchins.

“Yeah, and the best legs at the network. That doesn't hurt either,” he teased.

But at five o'clock, when she and Greg went on the air for the first time that day, Maddy was nervous. She looked as cool and impeccable as ever, in her red sweater, immaculately groomed hair, and simple diamond stud earrings. But Greg knew her well enough to see how anxious she was during the countdown to air-time.

“You gonna go for it?” he whispered as they got closer to airtime. She nodded to him, and then smiled as the camera zoomed in on her, and she introduced herself and her co-anchor. They worked their way through the news as they always did, working in perfect harmony, alternating stories, and then, Greg rolled his chair away, knowing what was coming, and Maddys face was instantly serious as she faced the cameras on her own.

“There is a story in today's news, which affects each of us, some of us more than others. It's the story of Janet Scarbrough McCutchins's suicide in her Georgetown home, leaving her three children without a mother. It's a tragedy certainly, and who can say what sorrows forced Mrs. McCutchins to take her own life, but there are questions that can't be ignored, and may well never be answered. Why did she do it? What great pain was she in at that moment, and before? And why did no one listen, or see what must have been her desperation? In a recent conversation, Janet McCutchins told me that she'd been hospitalized briefly once, for depression. But a source close to Mrs. McCutchins said that there could be an issue of abuse here, which led to her suicide. If so, Janet McCutchins would not be the first woman to take her own life, rather than flee an abusive situation. Tragedies like this happen far too often. It is possible that Janet McCutchins had other reasons to take her own life. Perhaps her family knows why she did it, or her husband, or her closest friends, or her children. But it brings into sharper focus, for all of us, the issues that some women face about pain, about fear, and desperation. I cannot tell you why Janet McCutchins died. It is not my place to guess. We have been told that she left a letter to her children, and I'm sure we will never see it.

“But we cannot help but wonder, why it is that when a woman cries, the world turns a deaf ear, and too many of us say, ‘There must be something wrong with her … maybe she's crazy’ But what if she isn't? Women die every day, by their own hand, and at the hands of their abusers. And too often we do not believe them when they tell us of the pain they're in, or we simply dismiss it. Perhaps it is too painful for us to listen.

“Women who do this are not crazy, most of them, not disturbed, they weren't too lazy or too stupid to leave. They were afraid to. They couldn't do it. Sometimes these women prefer to die at their own hands. Or they stay too long, and let their husbands kill them. It happens. It's real. We cannot turn our backs on these women. We must help them find a way out.

“I ask you now to remember Janet McCutchins. And the next time we hear of a death like this, ask yourself why? And when you do, be very silent, and listen to the answer, however frightening it may be.

“Goodnight. This is Maddy Hunter.” They went straight to commercial, and everyone in the studio went crazy. No one had dared to stop her, and mesmerized by what she was saying, they hadn't cut to commercial early. Greg just stood by grinning and gave her the high five as she beamed at him. “How was it?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Dynamite. I'd say we're going to be getting a visit from your husband in about four seconds.”

It was two, as he exploded into the studio like a tornado, and was shaking with fury as he strode toward her. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Paul McCutchins is going to put me out of business!” He stood inches from her, and shouted right into her face. Maddy grew pale, but she never made a move backward. She held her ground, although she too was shaking. It terrified her when he, or anyone else, got angry, but this time she thought it was worth it.

“I said a source close to her said there could be an issue of abuse. Hell, Jack, I saw her bruises. She told me he beat her. What conclusion do you draw from that, when she commits suicide a day later? All I did was ask people to think about women who commit suicide. He can't touch us legally. I can testify to what she said to me, if I have to.”

“And you damn well probably will have to. Are you deaf, can't you read? I said no editorials, and I fucking meant it!”

“I'm sorry, Jack. I had to, I owed it to her, and other women in her position.”

“Oh, for chrissake …” He ran a frantic hand through his hair, unable to believe what she'd done to him, and that the studio jocks had let her. They could have cut her off, but they hadn't. They liked what she had said about abused women. And Paul McCutchins had a reputation as a verbally abusive person and employer, and as a younger man, he had gotten into an inordinate amount of bar fights. He was one of the most hated Senators in Washington and had a violent temper that manifested itself often. No one had been anxious to defend him, and it seemed perfectly plausible to them, although Maddy never spelled it out, that he might have abused her. Jack was still storming around the studio shouting at everyone when Rafe Thompson, the producer, came to tell him that Senator McCutchins was on the phone for him. “Shit!” he shouted at his wife, “and how much would you like to bet that he's going to sue me?”

“I'm sorry, Jack,” she said quietly, but without remorse, as the assistant producer came to tell her that the First Lady was calling. They each disappeared to separate phones, to very different conversations. Maddy recognized Phyllis Armstrong's voice instantly, and was filled with trepidation as she listened.

“I'm so proud of you, Madeleine,” the warm voice of the older woman came across the line crisply. “That was a very brave thing you did, and very necessary. It was a wonderful broadcast, Maddy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong,” Maddy said, sounding calmer than she felt. She didn't tell her that Jack was enraged about it.

“I've been meaning to call you about the Commission on Violence Against Women. Actually, I asked Jack to tell you about it.”

“He did. I'm very interested in it.”

“Of course, he told me you'd love to do it, but I wanted to hear that from you myself. Our husbands have a way of volunteering us for what we least want to do. Mine is no exception.” Maddy smiled as she listened, and it made her feel better about Jack volunteering her time so freely. He was so often overpowering and so liberal about voicing opinions and decisions for her; sometimes it seemed like a lack of respect to her.

“In this case, he was right. I would love to.”

“I'm glad to hear it. We're meeting for the first time this Friday. At the White House, this time, in my private offices. We'll figure out a more appropriate location later. We're still pretty small, there are only a dozen of us. We're trying to figure out how to make an impact on the public, a real one, about violence committed against women. And I think you just took the first swing for us. Congratulations!”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Armstrong,” Maddy said breathlessly, and she beamed at Greg as she hung up.

“Sounds like you were number one in the Armstrong ratings,” he said proudly. He had loved how she'd done it. It took a lot of courage even if the head of the network was her husband. Now she'd have to go home and live with the fallout. And as everyone knew, Jack Hunter wasn't always a sweetheart, especially when someone crossed him. And Maddy wasn't any more exempt than anyone else.

As Maddy started to tell Greg what Mrs. Armstrong had said, Jack strode over to them with a look of fury. He was in a rage.

“Did you know about this?” Jack shot at Greg, desperate to blame someone, anyone, everyone, he looked as though he wanted to strangle Maddy.

“Not exactly, but close enough. I knew she was going to say something,” Greg said honestly. He wasn't afraid of Jack, and although it was a well-kept secret, and he never said anything to Maddy about it, he didn't like Jack Hunter. He thought he was arrogant and overbearing and he didn't like the way he ran Maddy around, though he didn't comment on it to her. She had enough to deal with, without having to defend her husband.

“You could have stopped her,” Jack accused him, “you could have talked right over her, and ended it before it started.”

“I have too much respect for her to do that, Mr. Hunter. Besides, I agree with what she said. I didn't believe her when she told me about Janet McCutchins on Monday. This was a wake-up call to those of us who don't want to have to think about how desperate some women feel in abusive situations. It happens every day all around us. We just don't want to see it or hear it. But because of who she was married to, Janet McCutchins made us hear her. Maybe if enough people heard Maddy tonight, Janet McCutchins's death will mean something, and help someone. With all due respect, I think Maddy did the right thing.” His voice quavered as he said the last words, and Jack Hunter glared at him.

“I'm sure our sponsors are going to love us if we get sued.”

“Is that what McCutchins said on the phone?” Maddy asked with a look of concern. She wasn't sorry, but she hated causing Jack such distress. But in her mind, it had to be done. She had seen with her own eyes what McCutchins had already done to his wife, and she was willing to testify to it, if she had to. She had taken matters into her own hands on the air, whatever the potential cost to her or the network. To Maddy, it seemed worth it.

“He was making veiled threats, but the veil was very thin. He said he was calling his attorneys as soon as he hung up,” Jack said to her harshly.

“I don't think he'll get too far,” Greg said thoughtfully. “The evidence was apparently pretty damning. And Janet McCutchins spoke directly to Maddy. That should cover our asses.”

“‘Our’ asses, how noble of you, Greg,” Jack snapped at him. “As far as I know, mine is the only one on the line here. It was a goddamn stupid, irresponsible thing to do.” And with that, he stalked across the studio again, and went back upstairs to his own quarters.

“Are you okay?” Greg looked at Maddy with concern, and she nodded at him.

“I knew he'd be upset, but I hope we don't get sued.” She looked worried as she said it. She was hoping that McCutchins wouldn't dare sue them, and risk exposing himself.

“Did you tell him about the call from Phyllis Armstrong?”

“I didn't have time,” she confessed. “I'll tell him when we get home.”

But Maddy went home alone that night. Jack had called his attorneys in to review the tape and discuss it with them, and it was one o'clock in the morning when he got home to Georgetown. Maddy was still awake, but he didn't say a word to her as he walked purposefully across their bedroom to his bathroom.

“How did it go?” she asked cautiously as he turned and glared at her.

“I can't believe you'd do that to me. It was such a fucking stupid thing to do.” He might as well have slapped her. But all Jack did was hit her with angry looks and words. It was obvious that he felt she had betrayed him.

“The First Lady called just after we went off the air, she was very excited about the broadcast, and thought it was a brave thing to do. I'm going on her commission this week,” she said apologetically. She wasn't sure how she was going to make this up to him, but she would have to try now. She didn't want him to hate her over issues that came up at work.

“I already made that decision for you,” he said, looking daggers at her as she mentioned the Commission on Violence Against Women.

“I made it for myself,” she said quietly. “I have a right to do that, Jack.”

“Are you lobbying for women's rights now too, as well as the abused? Do I have an editorial about that to look forward to? Why don't we just get you your own goddamn show, you can talk your head off all day long, and forget the news.”

“If the First Lady liked it, how bad could it be?”

“Pretty goddamn bad, if McCutchins's lawyers say it is.”

“Maybe it'll calm down in a few days,” she said hopefully as he walked slowly toward the bed, and stopped finally, to look down at her in thinly concealed fury. His anger hadn't dissipated or dimmed.

“If you ever do that again, I don't care if you are my wife, I'll fire you on the spot. Is that clear?” She nodded silently, feeling suddenly as though she had not done a good thing, but betrayed him. He had never in their nine years together been as angry at her, and she was wondering if he would ever forgive her for it, particularly if the network got sued.

“I thought it was an important thing to do.”

“I don't give a damn what you think. I don't pay you to think. I pay you to look good and read the news off a TelePrompTer. That's all I want from you.” And with that, he walked into his bathroom, and slammed the door behind him, as she burst into tears in their bedroom. It had been a stressful night for both of them. But in her heart of hearts, she still believed she'd done the right thing, whatever it cost her. And for the moment at least, it looked like it was going to cost her dearly.

When Jack came out of the bathroom, he got into bed without saying a word to her. He turned off the light, turned his back to her, and there was not a sound between them until she heard him snoring. But for the first time in years, she felt a ripple of terror inside her. His anger, however controlled, brought back old memories and was terrifying to her. And that night, for the first time in a long time, she had nightmares.

Jack said not a word to her over breakfast the next morning, and he left for work alone with his driver.

“How am I supposed to get to work?” she asked, looking dumbstruck, as he left her on the sidewalk.

He looked her right in the eye, slammed the door of the car, and spoke to her as he would have a stranger. “Take a cab.”

Chapter 4

JANET MCCUTCHINS'S FUNERAL WAS on Friday morning, and Jack sent Maddy a message via his secretary that he was planning to go with her. They left the office in his car, he in a dark suit and striped black tie, she in a black linen Chanel suit and dark glasses, as they were driven to St. John's Church, across Lafayette Park from the White House. The service was long and agonizing, it was a high mass, with the choir singing the Ave Maria, and the front pew was full of Janet's nieces, and nephews and children. Even the Senator cried, and every important politician in the city seemed to be there. Maddy found herself staring at the Senator in disbelief, watching him cry, and her heart went out to the children. And without thinking, at the end of the service, she slipped her hand into Jack's arm. He glanced at her, and then pulled away from her just as quickly. He was still furious with her, and had barely spoken to her since Tuesday night.

They joined the others on the steps as the casket was carried to the hearse, and the family got into limousines to go to the cemetery. The Hunters knew there was a luncheon at the McCutchinses' afterward, but neither of them wanted to go, as they weren't that close to them. And they rode back to the office in stony silence, side by side.

“How long is this going to go on, Jack?” she asked finally in the car, unable to stand it any longer.

“As long as I feel this way about you,” he said bluntly. “You let me down, Maddy. No, to be accurate, you screwed me.”

“It was bigger than that, Jack. A woman who had been abused killed herself, and was going to go down in history as a nutcase. It was about giving her, and her kids, a fair shake. And shining the spotlight on her abuser, even for a minute.”

“And fucking me over in the process. Nothing you did changed the fact that she'll go down in history as a nutcase. The facts are there. She was in a mental hospital and had electric shock treatments for six months. How normal do you think she was, Mad? And was she worth making me an easy target for a lawsuit?”

“I'm sorry, Jack. I had to do it.” She still believed she'd been right.

“You're as crazy as she was,” he said with a look of disgust, glancing out the window. It was a nasty thing to say, and his tone stung, just as it had for the past three days.

“Can we call a truce for the weekend?” It was going to be grim in Virginia if he was going to continue to do this, and she was thinking of not going with him.

“I don't think so,” he said coldly. “Besides, I have things to do here. I have some meetings at the Pentagon. You can do whatever you want. I won't have time to spend with you.”

“This is ridiculous, Jack. That was business. This is our life.”

“The two stand pretty well intertwined in our case. You should have thought of that, before you shot off your mouth.”

“Fine. Punish me then. But this is getting childish.”

“If McCutchins sues me, believe me, the amount won't be ‘childish.’”

“I'm not so sure he's going to do that, particularly with the First Lady applauding the broadcast. Besides, he can't defend himself. If there is an investigation, the coroner's report must show her bruises.”

“He may not be as impressed with the First Lady as you are.”

“Why don't you just give it a rest for a while, Jack? I can't unring the bell, and I wouldn't anyway. So why don't we just try to put it behind us?”

But as she said it, he turned to her with narrowed eyes, and the look in them was icy. “Maybe you'd like to refresh your memory a little bit, Joan of Arc, and recall that before you took up the crusades for the underdog, you were no one and nothing when I found you. You were nothing, Mad. Zero. You were a hick from nowhere going straight to a lifetime of beer cans and abuse in a trailer park. Whatever the hell it is you think you are now, keep in mind that I made you. And you owe me. I'm sick of this idealistic bullshit and a lot of whining and moaning about a fat, unattractive piece of shit like Janet McCutchins. She wasn't worth putting my ass on the line for, or yours, or the network's.”

She looked at her husband suddenly as though he were a stranger, and maybe he was, and she had just never noticed. “You're making me sick,” she said, leaning forward and tapping the driver on the shoulder. “Stop the car. I'm getting out here.”

Jack looked instantly startled. “I thought you were going back to the office.”

“I am, I think I'd rather walk than sit here and listen to you talk to me like that. I get the message, Jack. You made me, and I owe you. How much? My life? My principles? My dignity? What's the price for saving someone from being poor white trash for the rest of her life? Let me know, when you figure it out. I want to be sure not to shortchange you.” And with that, she got out of the car, and strode quickly away toward their office. Jack said nothing, and silently rolled up the window. And when he got back to his own office, he didn't call her. She was only five floors away, eating a sandwich with Greg.

“How was the funeral?” he asked with a look of concern for her. He thought she looked strained and exhausted.

“Depressing. That asshole cried through the whole service.”

“The Senator?” She nodded, with her mouth full. “Maybe he feels guilty.”

“He should. He might as well have killed her. Jack is still convinced that she was psychotic.” And he was making her feel that way herself with the way he was behaving.

“Is Jack still pissed?” Greg asked cautiously, handing her his pickle, he knew she loved them.

“That doesn't begin to describe it. He's convinced I did it to spite him.” “He'll get over it,” Greg said, sprawling back in his chair and looking at her. She was so damn smart and decent and incredible looking. Greg loved the fact that she was always willing to fight for what she believed in, but she seemed worried and unhappy. She hated it when Jack was angry at her, and he had never, in his seven years of marriage to her, been this angry before.

“What makes you think he'll get over it?” She wasn't as sure now, and for the first time ever felt her marriage in jeopardy, and in truth, that terrified her.

“He'll get over it because he loves you,” Greg said firmly. “And he needs you. You're one of the best an-chorwomen in the country, if not the best. He's not crazy.”

“I'm not sure that's a valid reason to love me. I could think of other reasons that would mean more to me.”

“Be grateful for what you've got, kid. He'll calm down. Probably over the weekend.”

“He's having meetings at the Pentagon over the weekend.”

“Something big must be brewing,” Greg said with interest.

“Has been for a while, I think. He hasn't said anything, but he's met with the President a few times.”

“Maybe we're going to drop a bomb on Russia,” Greg said with a smile, neither of them believed that.

“That's a little passé, isn't it?” Maddy smiled back at him. “I guess they'll tell us sooner or later.” And with that, she looked at her watch and stood up. “I have to get to the First Lady's commission. My meeting is at two. I'll be back in time to do makeup for the five o'clock.”

“You'd be fine without it,” he said smoothly, “have fun. Give my love to the First Lady.” Maddy grinned and waved at him as she left the office and went downstairs to hail a cab. It was a five-minute ride to the White House, and the First Lady had just arrived in a motorcade from the McCutchinses' house when Maddy got there, and they walked inside together, with members of the Secret Service all around them. Mrs. Armstrong inquired if Maddy had gone to the funeral, and when she said she had, Mrs. Armstrong commented on how tragic it had been to see the McCutchinses' children.

“Paul seemed very upset too,” the First Lady said sympathetically, and then spoke to Maddy quietly as they rode the elevator to the private quarters. “Do you really believe he abused her?” She didn't question Maddy about her sources for the story.

Maddy hesitated but knew from past experience that she could trust her discretion. “Yes, I do believe it. She told me herself that he beat her, and she was terrified of him. She showed me the bruises on her arms last weekend. I know from what she said that she was telling me the truth, and I think Paul McCutchins knows that. He's going to want everyone to forget what I said,” which was why she personally did not believe he would sue the network. The First Lady shook her head in dismay, and sighed as they stepped off the elevator to be met by her secretary and more Secret Service.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She didn't doubt for a minute what Maddy told her, unlike Greg and Jack. As a woman, she was willing to accept it. And she had never liked Paul McCutchins either; he seemed like a bully to her. “I guess that's why we're here today, isn't it? What a perfect example of an unpunished act of violence against a woman. I'm so glad you did that editorial, Maddy. Has there been much reaction to it?” Maddy smiled at the question.

“We got thousands of letters from female viewers, applauding it. Almost none from men. And my husband is about ready to divorce me.”

“Jack? How limited of him. I'm surprised to hear it.” Phyllis Armstrong looked genuinely surprised. Like her husband, she had always been fond of Jack Hunter.

“He's afraid the Senator is going to sue him,” Maddy explained to her.

“I don't think he'll dare if it's true,” Phyllis Armstrong said practically, as they entered the room where the other members of the newly formed commission were waiting for them. “Particularly if it's true. He won't want to take a chance that you can prove it. Did she leave a note, by the way?”

“There was supposedly a letter to her kids, but I don't know who, if anyone, read it. The police gave it to Paul when they found it.”

“My bet is that nothing more will come of it. Tell Jack to relax. It was a good thing to do. It shone a bright light on the dark area of abuse, and violence committed against women.”

“I'll tell him you said so,” Maddy said with a smile, as her eyes swept the room. There were eight women and four men, and she herself was the eighth woman. She recognized two federal judges among the men, a justice of the court of appeals among the women, and another member of the press. The First Lady introduced the other women and explained that they were two teachers, an attorney, a psychiatrist, and a physician. The third man was a physician too, and the last man Maddy was introduced to in the group was Bill Alexander, the former Ambassador to Colombia who had lost his wife to terrorists. The First Lady said he was taking some time off after leaving the State Department, and writing a book now. They were an interesting, eclectic group, Asian, African-American, and Caucasian, some young, some old, all professional, several well known, and Maddy was by half a dozen years the youngest among them, and possibly the most famous, with the exception of the First Lady.

Phyllis Armstrong called the meeting to order rapidly and succinctly, and her secretary sat in the room to take notes. She had left the Secret Service outside, and the members of the commission were sitting in a comfortable living room, with a large silver tray, with coffee and tea and a plate of cookies, on a handsome antique English table. She chatted with each person by name and looked around the room with a motherly expression. She had already told them about Maddy's brave editorial on Tuesday night, about Janet McCutchins, although several of them had heard it, and heartily approved of it.

“Do you know for a fact that she was abused?” one of the women asked her and Maddy hesitated before she answered.

“I'm not sure how to answer that. I believe she was, although I couldn't prove it in a court of law. It was hearsay. She told me.” Maddy turned to the First Lady with a questioning look. “I assume that what we say here is privileged and confidential.” It was often that way with Presidential commissions.

“Yes, it is,” Phyllis Armstrong reassured her.

“I believed her, although the first two people I told did not believe me. They were both men, one is my co-anchor on the show, the other is my husband, and both should know better.”

“We're here today, to discuss what we can do about the problem of crimes committed against women,” Mrs. Armstrong said as she opened the meeting. “Is it a question of legislation, addressing the public perception of abuse? How can we deal with this most effectively? And then, I'd like to see what we can do about it. I believe we all would.” Everyone around the room nodded. “I'd like to do something a little unusual today. I'd like each of us to say why we're here, either for professional reasons, or personal ones, if you feel comfortable talking about it. My secretary won't take notes, and if you don't want to speak, you don't have to. But I think it could be interesting for us,” and although she didn't say it, she knew it would form an instant bond between them. “I'm willing to go first, if you'd prefer it.” Everyone waited respectfully for her to speak, and she told them something none of them had known about her.

“My father was an alcoholic, and he beat my mother every weekend without fail, after he got paid on Friday. They were married for forty-nine years, until she finally died of cancer. His beating her was something of a ritual for all of us, I had three brothers and a sister. And we all accepted it as something inevitable like church on Sunday. I used to hide in my room so I wouldn't have to hear it, but I did anyway. And afterward, I would hear her sobbing in her bedroom. But she never left him, never stopped him, never hit him back. We all hated it, and when they were old enough, my brothers went out and got drunk themselves. One of them was abusive to his wife when he grew up, he was the oldest, my next brother was a teetotaler and became a minister, and my baby brother died an alcoholic at thirty. And no, I don't have a problem with alcohol myself, in case you're wondering. I don't like it much, and drink very little, and it hasn't been a problem for me. What has been a problem for me all my life is the idea, the reality, of women being abused all over the world, more often than not by their husbands, and no one doing anything about it. I've always promised myself I would get involved one day, and I'd like to do something, anything, to effect a change now. Every day, women are being mugged on the streets, sexually assaulted and harassed, date-raped, and beaten and killed by their partners and husbands, and for some reason, we accept it. We don't like it, we don't approve of it, we cry when we hear about it, particularly if we know the victim. But we don't stop it, we don't reach out and take the gun away, or the knife, or the hand, just as I never stopped my father. Maybe we don't know how, maybe we just don't care enough. But I think we do care. I think we just don't like to think about it. But I want people to start thinking, and to stand up and do something about it. I think it's time, it's long overdue. I want you to help me stop the violence against women, for my sake, for your sake, for my mother's sake, for our daughters and sisters and friends. I want to thank you all for being here, and for caring enough to help me.” There were tears in her eyes when she stopped talking, and for an instant, everyone stared at her. It was not an unusual story. But it made Phyllis Armstrong much more real to them.

The psychiatrist who had grown up in Detroit told a similar story, except that her father had killed her mother, and gone to prison for it. She said that she herself was gay, and she had been raped and beaten at fifteen by a boy she had grown up with. She had lived with the same woman now for fourteen years, and said that she felt she had recovered from the early abuses in her life, but she was concerned about the increasing trend of violent crimes against women, even in the gay community, and our ability to look the other way while they happened.

Some of the others had no firsthand personal experience with violence, but both federal judges said they had had abusive fathers who had slapped their mothers around, and until they grew up and learned otherwise, they thought it was normal. And then it was Maddy's turn, and she hesitated for a moment. She had never before told her story to anyone in public, and she felt naked now as she thought about it.

“I guess my story isn't all that different from the others,” she started. “I grew up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and my father always hit my mother. Sometimes she hit him back, most of the time, she didn't. Sometimes he was drunk when he did it, sometimes he just did it because he was mad at her, or at someone else, or at something that had happened that day. We were dirt poor, and he never seemed to be able to keep a job, so he hit my mother about that too. Everything that happened to him was always her fault. And when she wasn't around, he hit me, but not very often. Their fighting was kind of the background music to my childhood, a familiar theme I grew up with.” She felt a little breathless as she said it, and for the first time in years, you could hear the remnants of her Southern accent as she continued. “And all I wanted to do was get away from it. I hated my house, and my parents, and the way they treated each other. So I married my high school sweetheart at seventeen, and as soon as we were married, he started to beat me up. He drank too much, and didn't work a lot. His name was Bobby Joe, and I believed him when he said that it was all my fault, if I weren't such a pain in the ass and such a bad wife, and so stupid and careless and just plain dumb, he wouldn't ‘have’ to hit me. But he had to. He broke both my arms once, and he pushed me down the stairs once, and I broke my leg. I was working at a television station in Knoxville then, and it got sold to a man from Texas, who eventually bought a cable TV network in Washington, and took me with him. I guess most of you know that part. It was Jack Hunter. I left my wedding ring and a note on my kitchen table in Knoxville, and met Jack at the Greyhound bus station with a Samsonite suitcase with two dresses in it, and I ran like hell, all the way to Washington to work for him. I got a divorce, and married Jack a year after that, and no one's ever laid a hand on me since then. I wouldn't let them. I know better now. If anyone even looks cross-eyed at me, I run like hell. I don't know why I got lucky, but I did. Jack saved my life. He made me everything I am today. Without him, I'd probably be dead by now. I think Bobby Joe would have probably killed me one night, pushing me down the stairs till I broke my neck, or kicking me in the stomach. Or maybe just because I'd want to die finally I've never said anything about any of this because I was ashamed of it, but now I want to help women like me, women who aren't as lucky as I've been, women who think they're trapped, and don't have a Jack Hunter waiting for them with a limousine to take them to another city. I want to reach out to these women and help them. They need us,” she said, as tears filled her eyes, “we owe it to them.”

“Thank you, Maddy” Phyllis Armstrong said softly. They all shared a common bond, or most of them, lawyers and doctors and judges and even a First Lady, histories of violence and abuse, and only by sheer luck and grit had they survived it. And they were all acutely aware that there were countless others who weren't as lucky, and needed their help. The group sitting in the First Lady's private quarters was anxious to help them.

Bill Alexander was the last to speak, and his story was the most unusual, as Maddy suspected it would be. He had grown up in a good home in New England, with parents who loved him and each other. And he had met and married his wife when she was at Wellesley and he was at Harvard. He had a doctorate in foreign policy and political science, and had taught at Dartmouth for several years, and then Princeton, and was teaching a class at Harvard when he was made Ambassador to Kenya at fifty. His next post was in Madrid, and from there he was sent to Colombia. He said that he had three grown children who were respectively, a doctor, a lawyer, and a banker. All very respectable and academically impressive. His had been a quiet, “normal” life, in fact, he said with a smile, a fairly boring, but satisfying existence.

Colombia had been an interesting challenge for him, the political situation there had been delicate, and the drug trade pervaded everything in the country. It was intricately interwoven into all forms of business, tainted politics, and corruption was rampant. He had been fascinated by what he had to do there, and felt equal to the task until his wife was kidnapped. His voice quavered as he said it. She was held prisoner for seven months, he said, fighting back tears, and then finally gave in to them, as the psychiatrist sitting next to him gently reached out to touch his arm, as though to steady him, and he smiled at her. They were all friends now, and knew each others most intimate, and best-hidden secrets.

“We tried everything to get her back,” he explained in a deep, troubled voice. Maddy had calculated from the time he'd spent in his three diplomatic posts that he was sixty. He had white hair, and blue eyes, and a youthful face, and he looked strong and athletic. “The State Department sent special negotiators to talk to representatives from the terrorist group that was holding her hostage. They wanted a prisoner exchange, trading her for one hundred political prisoners, and the State Department wouldn't agree to it. I understand the reasons for it, but I didn't want to lose her. The CIA tried too, and they tried to kidnap her back, but they fumbled the attempt, and she was moved into the mountains and after that we couldn't find her. Eventually, I personally paid the ransom they wanted, and then I did a very foolish thing.” His voice shook again as he continued to tell the story, and Maddy s heart went out to him, as did everyone's, as they listened. “I tried to negotiate with them myself. I did everything I could. I almost went crazy trying to get her back. But they were too smart, too quick, too evil to beat. We paid the ransom, and three days later, they killed her. They dumped her body on the steps of the Embassy,” he said, choking on the words and giving in to tears now, “and they had cut her hands off.” He sat there sobbing for a moment, and no one moved, and then Phyllis Armstrong reached out and touched him, and he took a deep breath, as the others murmured their sympathy to him. It was a horrifying story, and a trauma everyone wondered how he had lived through. “I felt entirely responsible for making a botch of it. I should never have tried to negotiate with them myself, it just seemed to make them madder. I thought I could help, but I suspect that if I had left it alone and let the experts handle it, they'd have kept her for a year or two, as they had with others, and then released her. But by doing it myself, I more or less killed her.”

“That's nonsense, Bill,” Phyllis said firmly, “I hope you know that. You can't guess what might have happened. Those people are ruthless and immoral, a life means nothing to them. They might very well have killed her anyway. In fact, I'm sure they probably would have.”

“I think I'll always feel as though I did,” Bill said mournfully, “the press more or less said that.” And suddenly, as she listened, Maddy remembered Jack telling her that Bill Alexander was a fool, and she wondered how he could be so heartless, now that she knew the story.

“The press likes to make a sensation of things. They don't know what they're talking about most of the time,” Maddy added for good measure, as he glanced up at her with eyes full of sorrow. She had never seen so much pain in her life and she wanted to reach out and touch him but she was sitting too far away from him. “They just want to sell a story. I can tell you that from experience, Ambassador. I'm so sorry all of that happened to you,” Maddy said kindly.

“So am I. Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” he said, and blew his nose in the clean handkerchief he took from his pocket.

“We all have tough stories. That's why we're here. That's not why I asked you to be here,” Phyllis Armstrong brought them slowly to order. “I didn't know most of these histories when I asked you to come here. I asked you because you're intelligent, caring people. That's why you came, and why you want to help the commission. We've all learned from experience, the hard way, or most of us at least. We know what we're talking about, and what it feels like. What we need to do now is figure out what to do about it, how to help the people who are still out there. We're survivors, all of us, but they may not be. We have to get to them soon, and to the media, and the public. The clock is ticking, and we have to get to them before we lose them. Women die every day, murdered by their husbands, raped in the streets, kidnapped and tortured by strangers, but most women are killed by men, men they know, and more often than not, their spouses and boyfriends. We need to educate the public, and show the women where to go to get help before it is too late for them. We have to change the laws, and make them tougher. We have to make the prison sentences match the crime, and make it too costly to commit an act of violence on a woman, or anyone for that matter. It's a war of sorts, a war we have to fight and win. And I want each of you to go home and think about what we can do to change things. I suggest we meet again in two weeks, before most of you go away for the summer, and let's try to come up with some solutions. Today, I mostly wanted you to get to know each other. I know each of you, some of you fairly well in fact, but now you know who you'll be working with and why they're here. We're all here for the same reason essentially and some of us may have suffered, but all of us want to make a difference, and we can do it. Individually, we're all capable of it, collectively we will provide a force that cannot be resisted. I'm putting all of my confidence in you, and I want to do some thinking about this myself before we meet again.” She stood up then, with a warm smile that enveloped each of them. “Thank you for coming here today. Feel free to stay and chat for a while. Unfortunately, I have to move on to my next appointment.”

It was nearly four o'clock and Maddy couldn't believe how much she'd heard in two hours. It had been so emotional for all of them that she felt as though she had spent days with them. And she made a point of going over to Bill Alexander and talking to him before she left. He looked like a kind man, and his story was so tragic. He looked as though he still hadn't recovered from it, and that hardly surprised her, given the trauma he'd been through, and it had happened only seven months before. She was surprised he was coherent.

“I'm so sorry, Ambassador,” she said gently. “I remember the story, but it's different hearing it from you. What a nightmare to go through.”

“I'm not sure I'll ever recover,” he said honestly. “I still dream about it.” He told her he had recurring nightmares, and the psychiatrist asked if he was in therapy, and he said he had been for several months, but was getting by on his own now. He certainly looked sane and normal, and was obviously extremely intelligent, but Maddy couldn't help wondering how he could survive an experience like that and still be functioning sensibly and calmly. He was clearly an extraordinary person. “I look forward to working with you,” Maddy said with a smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” he said smiling back at her.

“Call me Maddy, please.”

“I'm Bill, and I saw your story the other night, about Janet McCutchins. It was very disturbing, as it should be.”

She smiled ruefully at the compliment and thanked him. “My husband has yet to forgive me. He was very upset about the implications for the network.”

“You have to be brave and just do the right thing sometimes. You know that as well as I do. You have to listen to your heart as well as your advisers. I'm sure he understands that. It was the right thing to do, and you did it.”

“I don't think he'd agree with you, but I'm glad I did it,” she admitted.

“People need to hear it,” he said firmly, the strength coming back into his voice. And he looked younger as he chatted with her. She was very impressed by him, both by his presence and the way he had handled himself at their first meeting. She could see why Phyllis had asked him.

“I think they do need to hear it,” Maddy said, and then glanced at her watch. It was after four and she had to get to the studio for hair and makeup. “I'm afraid I've got a five o'clock show to do. I'll see you at the next meeting.” Maddy shook hands with several people before she left the room, and then she left the White House as quickly as she could, and caught a cab back to the network.

Greg was already in the chair getting his makeup done when she got there. “So how was it?” he asked conversationally. He was intrigued by the commission being organized by the First Lady and thought it would make a great story.

“Very interesting. I loved it. I met Bill Alexander there, the ex-Ambassador to Colombia whose wife was killed by terrorists last year. What an awful story.”

“I remember it vaguely. I saw a clip of him, he was an absolute mess when they brought her body back to the Embassy, not that I blame him. Poor guy, how is he?”

“He seems fine, though I guess he's still pretty shaken. He's writing a book about it.”

“Sounds like a good story. Who else was there?” She reeled off a few names, but told him none of the personal stories that had been told, she knew she had an obligation not to, and she respected it. And as soon as her makeup was done, she walked into the studio and looked at the stories they'd be covering. There was nothing startling or terrific, it was all fairly run of the mill, and once they were on the air, they ran through it smoothly, and then she went back to her office. There were some stories she wanted to read about, and some research she had to do before the seven-thirty show. And at eight o'clock, she was finished. It had been a long day, and as she got ready to leave the office, she called Jack. He was still upstairs, finishing a meeting.

“Am I getting a ride, or do you want me to walk home?” she asked him and he smiled at the question, in spite of himself. He was still angry at her, but he knew it couldn't go on forever.

“I'm going to have you run behind the car for the next six months, to atone for your sins, and what you may cost me.”

“Phyllis Armstrong doesn't think he'll sue us.”

“I hope she's right. If she isn't, will the President foot the bill? It'll be a big one.”

“Let's hope it never happens,” she said quietly. “The commission was terrific by the way. There are some great people on it.” It was the first real conversation they'd had since Tuesday, and she was glad he was finally unbending a little.

“I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes,” he said quickly. “I have to wind some things up here.”

And when he came downstairs to the lobby ten minutes later, he didn't look happy to see her, but he looked less ferocious than he had for the past three days, since her “transgression.” And they were both careful not to mention it on the way home. They stopped for a pizza, while she told him about the commission meeting that afternoon. But she didn't give him the personal details either, just the rough form, and what they hoped to do. She felt protective of the people she had met there.

“Is there a common bond among you, or are you all just smart and interested in the topic?”

“Both. It's amazing how violence touches everyone's life at one time. Everyone was very honest about it.” It was all she could tell him, or would.

“You didn't tell them your story, did you?” He looked concerned, as he watched her face.

“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. We were all pretty candid.”

“That's stupid, Mad,” he said bluntly. He was still annoyed at her, and wasn't pulling any punches. “What if someone feeds that to the press? Is that the image you want out there? Bobby Joe kicking your ass down the stairs in Knoxville?” He sounded critical, and she didn't like it, but she didn't comment on what he'd said.

“Maybe that's okay, if it helps someone else realize that abuse happens to people like me too. Maybe that's worth a little exposure if it saves someone's life, or gives them hope that they can escape.”

“All it'll give you is a headache, and a trailer park image I've invested a fortune to get rid of. I don't understand how you could be so stupid.”

“I was honest. So was everyone there. Some of the stories were a lot worse than mine.” The First Lady's certainly wasn't pretty and she hadn't held back either. They had all been very open, which was the beauty of what they had shared. “Bill Alexander is on the commission too. He told us about his wife getting kidnapped.” It was public knowledge so she could say that much to Jack, but he just shrugged his shoulders in response, and was clearly unsympathetic.

“He might as well have killed her himself. It was a damn stupid thing to do, trying to negotiate for her himself. The whole damn State Department told him that, but he refused to listen.”

“He was desperate, and probably not all that rational. She was held hostage for seven months before they killed her. He must have gone crazy, waiting.” She still felt sorry for him when she thought of it, but Jack was unmoved, which annoyed her. He seemed to have a total disregard for the man's feelings and what he'd been through. “What do you have against him? I get the feeling you don't like him.”

“He was one of the President's advisers for a short time, after he taught at Harvard. His ideas go right back to the Middle Ages, and he's a stickler for principles and morality. The original pilgrim.” It was an unkind way of describing him, and it irked Maddy as she listened.

“I think there's more to him than that. He seems very sensible, and intelligent, and a very decent person.”

“I guess I just don't like him. Not enough life to the guy, or sex appeal or something.” It was an odd thing for him to say because Bill was a handsome man, but there was something very straight arrow and sincere about him. He was the exact opposite of the jazzier crowd Jack Hunter liked to hang out with, but Maddy wasn't sure she minded Bill's style and ideas. Although he didn't seem glamorous enough to her husband.

They were home by ten o'clock, and out of habit, she turned on the news and then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that U.S. troops had led another invasion on Iraq. She turned toward Jack, and saw something odd in his eyes as he watched the broadcast.

“You knew about this, didn't you?” she asked him directly.

“I don't advise the President on his wars, Mad. Just about media issues.”

“Bullshit. You knew. That's why you went to Camp David last week, isn't it? And why you're going to the Pentagon this weekend. Why didn't you tell me?” There had been times when he shared top secret information with her, but this time he hadn't. For the first time, she felt as though he didn't trust her, and she was hurt by it.

“This was too sensitive, and too important.”

“We're going to lose a lot of boys over there, Jack,” she said, sounding worried. Her mind was whirling. It was going to be an important story for her too, on Monday.

“Sometimes that's a sacrifice you have to make,” he said coolly. He thought the President had made the right decision. He and Maddy had differed on that subject before, and she wasn't as convinced as her husband.

They watched the last of the news as the anchor said that nineteen marines had been killed that morning in an exchange with Iraqi soldiers. Then Jack switched off the set, and she followed him into their bedroom. “It's interesting that President Armstrong let you in on it. Why, Jack?” She looked suspicious as she asked him.

“Why shouldn't he? He trusts me.”

“He trusts you, or he's using you as a spin doctor, to make the American public swallow this without hurting his image?”

“He has a right to get advice on how to handle the media. There's no crime in that.”

“No crime, but maybe not very honest either, to sell the public something that might be a very bad idea in the long run.”

“Spare me your political opinions, Mad. The President knows what he's doing.” He dismissed her summarily, which annoyed her, and it intrigued her that Jack was developing such a position of importance with the current administration. She wondered if that was partly behind his fury over her story about Janet McCutchins on Tuesday. Maybe he was afraid of some embarrassment that could upset the delicate balance of power for him. Jack always kept his eye on the ball, and what it could potentially cost him. He made calculations about everything he touched and even more so about the things that might touch him. But when he climbed into bed with her that night, he was warmer to her than he had been in days, and when he reached out and pulled her closer, she could sense that he was hungry for her.

“I'm sorry it's been such a bad week for us,” she said gently, as he held her.

“Don't do it again, Mad. I won't forgive you next time, and do you know what would happen if I ever fired you?” His voice sounded hard and cold. “You'd be dead in the water the next day. You'd be finished, Mad. Your career depends on me, and don't you ever forget it. Don't fuck with me, Maddy. I could snuff out your career like a candle. You're not the star you like to think you are. It's all because you're married to me.” The way he said it made her feel sick and sad, not for what she might lose if he threw her out, but for the way he said it to her. She didn't say anything in response, and he pinched her nipples hard, too hard, and then without another word, he grabbed her, and showed her who was in control. It was never Maddy, always Jack. She was beginning to think that power and control were all that mattered to him.

Chapter 5

ON SATURDAY, WHEN MADDY GOT UP, Jack was already dressed and about to leave for his meeting. He told her he'd be at the Pentagon all day, and not to expect to see him until dinnertime. “Why are you going there?” she asked, as she watched him from their bed. He looked handsome and well dressed, in a pair of slacks and a blazer and gray turtleneck sweater. It was warm outside, but he knew he'd be in an air-conditioned room all day, and it would be chilly.

“They're including me in some of their briefings. It helps us get a better perspective on what's happening over there. We can't broadcast what I hear, but it's useful information, and the President wants advice on how I think he should translate it to the media. I think I can help him on that.” It was exactly what she'd suspected the night before. Jack was becoming the President's spin doctor.

“Telling the American people the truth might be an interesting way to go on it. It would certainly be new and different,” she said, looking at her husband. Sometimes she didn't like his willingness to massage the truth, in order to put the “right” spin on things. He had a way of doing that which unnerved her. Maddy was much more of a black and white person. It was either true, in her point of view, or it wasn't. But Jack saw a rainbow of opportunities and subtler shadings. To him, the truth had a million hues and meanings.

“There are different versions of the truth, Mad. We just want to find the one that people will be most comfortable with.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. This isn't PR, it's about the truth.”

“I guess that's why I'm going to be there today and you're not. What are you doing today, by the way?” He glossed right over what he had just said to her, and the implications of it.

“I don't know. Hang around here, I guess. Relax. Maybe I'll do some shopping.” She would have liked to go shopping with a friend, but she hadn't done that in years. She never had time to cultivate friends anymore, Jack monopolized all her spare time and kept her too busy, and the rest of the time she was working. And the only people they saw socially were somehow related to business, like having the McCutchinses to Virginia for the weekend.

“Why don't you take the plane and go to New York for the day? You can shop there. You'd like that.” She nodded as she thought about the suggestion.

“That might be fun. There's an exhibit at the Whitney I'd like to see too. Maybe I can squeeze it in. You really don't mind if I take the plane?” It was a fantasy life, and she never forgot that. He provided luxuries and opportunities for her that she would never have dreamed possible while she lived in Knoxville. It reminded her of what he had said to her the night before, that she'd have no career at all if it weren't for him. It was painful to hear him say it, but she couldn't deny it. Everything good that had ever happened to her, she was sure, was because of Jack.

He called their pilot before he left, told him to expect Madeleine there by ten o'clock, and to get clearance for a flight to La Guardia with a return that evening to Washington. “Have fun,” he said with a smile as he left, and she thanked him. It made her realize again that there were small sacrifices she made for him, but in exchange, he gave her so much. It was hard to justify ever being annoyed at him.

She arrived at the airport at ten-fifteen, with her hair neatly pulled back, in a white linen pantsuit. Their pilot was waiting for her and half an hour later, they took off and headed for New York. They landed at La Guardia at eleven-thirty and at noon, she was in the city. She went to Bergdorf Goodman and Saks, and then walked up Madison Avenue, stopping at her favorite shops. She skipped lunch and arrived at the Whitney Museum at three-thirty It was a golden life, and she loved it. Jack took her to Los Angeles too, New Orleans, San Francisco, Miami, and now and then to Las Vegas for the weekend. She knew she was spoiled, but she was grateful to him for it. She never lost sight of the many benefits of her life with Jack, or the career he had given her. And she knew that what he said was true, that it was all because she was Mrs. Jack Hunter. She utterly believed what he said, that without him, she'd be nothing. Believing that gave her an odd kind of humility, which others found both ingenuous and appealing. She took nothing for granted and had no sense of her own importance, only his. He had even convinced her that the awards she'd won had been his doing.

She was back at La Guardia at five o'clock, they were cleared to leave at six, and she let herself into their house on R Street at seven-thirty It had been a perfect day, and she'd had fun. She had bought a couple of pantsuits, some bathing suits, and a great new hat, and she was in good spirits as she walked in with her trophies, and saw Jack sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, watching the seven-thirty broadcast. It was full of news of Iraq again, and Jack seemed intent on what he was hearing.

“Hi sweetheart,” she said comfortably, the animosity of the past week seemed to have dispelled between them the night before, and she was in better spirits. She was happy to see Jack, and he turned to her with a smile at the first break in the broadcast.

“How was your day, Mad?” he asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Fun. I did a lot of shopping, and I went to the Whitney. How was yours?” It was a thrill for him to play spin doctor to the President, and she knew it.

“Terrific. I think we've got a handle on things.” He looked pleased and as though he felt very important, which he was. No one who knew him was ever unaware of it, and certainly not Maddy

“Anything you can tell me about, or is it all top secret?”

“Pretty much.” She would know it from what they gave her to report on the news. What she would never know, nor would anyone else, was the reality, or the original, undoctored version. “What are we doing for dinner?” he asked as he turned off the set.

“I can whip something up if you want,” she said, setting down her packages. She still looked impeccable and beautiful after her long day of shopping. “Or I can order something in.”

“Why don't we go out? I've been locked up all day with a bunch of guys. It might be nice to see some real people.” He picked up the phone and made reservations for them at nine o'clock at Citronelle, which was the most fashionable restaurant in Washington at the moment. “Go put on something pretty.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him, and disappeared upstairs to their bedroom with all the things she'd bought in New York, and she returned an hour later, bathed, combed, perfumed, in a simple black cocktail dress and high-heeled sandals, with her diamond studs and a pearl necklace. Jack bought her pretty things from time to time, and she looked wonderful in them. The diamond studs and her eight-carat engagement ring were her prize possessions. Not bad for a kid from a trailer park in Chattanooga, she often admitted to him, and he called her “poor white trash” when he wanted to really tease her. She didn't love it, but it was true. She couldn't deny it to him, although she had come so far and grown so far beyond it. It was obvious that he thought calling her that was funny, although hearing the words always made her wince at the image he conjured.

“You clean up pretty good,” he said by way of a compliment and she smiled at him. She loved going out with him, being his, and letting the whole world see it. The thrill of being married to him had never dimmed for her, even now that she was a star in her own right. More people knew her than him now, or it was fairly even. He was the tycoon behind the scenes, the man the President consulted for media advice, but she was the woman other women and girls wanted to be, and the face that many men dreamed of. She was the presence in their living room, the voice they trusted, the woman who told them the truth about tough things, as best she could, as she had about Janet McCutchins and countless other women like her. Maddy had a lot of integrity, and it showed. And it came in a hell of an attractive package. As Greg said about her constantly, she was “gorgeous.” She looked it now, as they left for the restaurant for dinner.

Jack drove her himself, which was rare for him, and they chatted about New York on the way. It was obvious that he could say nothing about his meetings. And once at Citronelle, they were taken by the headwaiter to a highly visible table. Heads turned, and people commented on who they were and how beautiful she was. The women looked at Jack too, he was a handsome man, with a sexy smile, eyes that took everything in, and a great deal of presence about him. Everything about them exuded success and power, and in Washington that was important. Dozens of people stopped at their table to chat with them, mostly politicians, and one of the President's advisers. And every few minutes someone would come hesitantly up to them and ask Maddy for her autograph, and she would scribble it for them with a warm smile, and chat with them for a few minutes.

“Don't you get sick of that, Mad?” Jack asked as he poured her another glass of wine. The waiter had left it chilling in a bucket next to their table. It was Château Cheval Blanc 1959, Jack was an expert on fine wines, and this was a great one.

“Not really. I think it's sweet that they know who I am, and they care enough to ask.” She was always gracious about it, and people came away from meeting her feeling as though they'd made a new friend, and liking her even better in person than on TV. Approaching Jack was a little more daunting, he was a lot less friendly.

It was nearly midnight when they left the restaurant, and on Sunday, they flew down to Virginia for the day. Jack hated missing a minute he could spend there. He rode for a while, and they had lunch outside. It was a hot day, and he commented that it was going to be a great summer.

“Are we going anywhere?” Maddy asked on the way back. She knew he hated to make plans, and he liked deciding at the last minute and just springing it on her. He would arrange for a stand-in for her on the news, and then he'd whisk her away. But she liked it better when she had a little advance notice. Sometimes he only told her the day before or that morning. And she could never say that she needed more time. They didn't have kids, and he was her boss, so if he decided she was leaving with him, there was no one to say that she couldn't. She was always free to go with him.

“I haven't decided about the summer yet,” he said vaguely. He never asked her where she wanted to go, but he always picked places she loved in the end. Life was full of surprises with Jack. And who was she to complain? Without him, she would never be able to go to these places. “I guess we'll go to Europe.” She knew it was all the warning she'd get, and maybe all she needed.

“Let me know when to pack,” she teased, as though she had nothing to do, and could drop everything at a moment's notice. But sometimes that was exactly what he expected of her.

“I will,” he acknowledged, and then took some papers out of his briefcase, which was the signal that he had nothing more to say to her for the moment.

She read a book the rest of the way home, it was one that the First Lady had recommended to her, a work about crimes of violence against women, and it was full of depressing but interesting statistics.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing at the book as they landed at National.

“Phyllis gave it to me. It's about crimes of violence against women.”

“Like what? Cutting up their credit cards?” he said with a smile, and there was a pained look in Maddy's eyes as he said it. She hated it when he belittled issues that were important to her. “Don't get yourself too wound up over this commission, Mad. It's a great image-maker for you, which is why I suggested it, but let's not get crazy with it. You don't need to become the leading champion for battered women.”

“I like what they're doing, and where they're going with it. It's something I really care about, and you know that.” She spoke to him quietly but emotionally as they taxied down the runway after they landed.

“I just know how you are. You can get awfully overboard about things. This is about image, Mad, not about becoming Joan of Arc. Keep your perspective. A lot of what they say about abused women is just plain crap.”

“Like what?” she said, feeling a cold chill run down her spine, as she wondered what he was really saying to her.

“All that garbage about date rape and sexual harassment is just that, and probably more than half the women who are either kicked around by their husbands or allegedly murdered by them deserved it.” He said it with the utmost conviction as she stared at him.

“Are you serious? I can't believe you mean that. What about me? Do you think I deserved what Bobby Joe did to me? Is that what you think?”

“He was a small-time punk, and a drunk, and God only knows what you may have said to provoke him. A lot of people fight, Mad, some take a few pokes at each other, some get hurt, but that doesn't necessarily warrant a crusade, and it's not a national emergency. Believe me, if you asked her privately, I'm sure Phyllis is doing it for the same reasons I wanted you to. It looks good.” Maddy felt sick as she listened.

“I can't believe what I'm hearing,” she said in a whisper. “Her mother was abused by her father for all her married life, and Phyllis grew up with that. So did I. So do a lot of people, Jack. And in some cases, beatings aren't enough, they have to kill the women just to prove how tough they are, and how worthless the women are. What does that sound like to you, just your ordinary fight? When was the last time you kicked a woman down the stairs, or hit her with a chair, or took a hot iron to her, or put bleach in her eyes, or burned her with litcigarettes? Do you have any idea what these people go through?”

“You're getting wound up, Mad. Those are the exception, not the rule. Sure, there are a few nutcases out there, but they kill other guys too. No one ever said the world isn't full of crazy people.”

“The difference is that some of these women live with their assailants, or even eventual murderers, for ten or twenty or fifty years and let them continue to abuse them, and possibly kill them.”

“Then it's the women who're sick, isn't it? They can always put a stop to it by walking out, but they don't. Hell, maybe they like it.” She had never felt as frustrated in her life as she did listening to him, but he was not only the voice of ignorance, but the voice of most people in the world. And she wondered if she could get through to him. She felt helpless.

“They're too scared to walk out most of the time. Most of the men who threaten to kill their wives eventually do. The statistics are devastating, and these women instinctively know that. They're too scared to move out, or to run away. They have kids, they have nowhere to go, a lot of them don't have jobs, some or most of them have no money. Their life is a dead end, and there's a guy telling them that if they make a move, he'll kill them or their kids, or both. What would you do in a case like that? Call your attorney?”

“No, I'd get my ass out of Dodge, just like you did.”

And then she tried a new concept on him. “That kind of abuse is a habit. It's familiar. It becomes normal to you. You grow up with it, you see it all the time, they tell you you're rotten and bad and you deserve it, and you believe it. It's mesmerizing, it makes you feel paralyzed. You're isolated and alone and scared and you have nowhere to go, maybe you even want to die because that seems like the only way out.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it. “Why do you think I let Bobby Joe kick me around? Because I loved it? I thought I had no other choice, and I believed I deserved it. My parents told me I was bad, Bobby Joe told me it was all my fault, I didn't know anything else until I met you, Jack.” He had never laid a hand to her, and in her mind not beating her was all it took to be a good husband.

“Just keep that in mind the next time you give me a bad time, Mad. I've never laid a hand on you, and I never would. You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Hunter.” He smiled at her and stood up, they were at the terminal, and he had lost interest in the topic that was so important to her.

“Maybe that's why I feel I owe it to the others, the ones who aren't as lucky, to help them,” she said, wondering why she felt so uncomfortable about what he had just said to her. But he was obviously tired of the subject, and neither of them mentioned it again as they left the plane and went back to their house in Georgetown.

They spent a quiet night, she made pasta, and they both read, and they made love when they went to bed, and Maddy wasn't sure why, but she knew that her heart wasn't in it. She felt distant and strange, and depressed, and as she lay in bed afterward she thought of the things he had said about abused women. All she knew was that something about what he'd said, or the way he'd said it to her, had hurt her. And when she fell asleep that night, she dreamed about Bobby Joe and she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming. She could almost see him in front of her, his eyes filled with hate, his fists were pummeling her, and in the dream, Jack had been standing there, shaking his head and watching her, and she knew it was all her fault as she walked away, and Bobby Joe came at her again and hit her.

Chapter 6

THINGS WERE BUSY AT THE OFFICE the next day. There were reams of things to read about the fighting in Iraq, and the U.S. casualties that had occurred over the weekend. Five more Marines had been killed, and a plane had been shot down, taking two young pilots with it. No matter what Jack did to help the President put a positive spin on it, there was no way to change the facts, or the depressing truth that people on both sides were going to die there.

She was at work until eight o'clock that night, when she came off the air. They were going to a black tie dinner at the home of the Ambassador of Brazil, and she had brought an evening dress with her so she could change at the office. But just as she was getting dressed, the intercom in her dressing room rang, and it was her husband.

“I'll be ready in five minutes.”

“You have to go without me. I've got a meeting that just got called.” But this time she knew why. She was sure that the President was concerned with public reaction to the deaths in Iraq since the fighting had begun there.

“Your meeting is at the White House, I assume.”

“Something like that.”

“Will you come later?” She was used to going to parties alone, but she liked it better when Jack was with her.

“I doubt it. We've got some things to work out. I'll see you at home later. If I finish early, I'll come to the dinner, but I already called to tell them I won't make it. Sorry, Maddy.”

“That's okay. This isn't looking good in Iraq, is it?”

“It'll be fine. It's something we're just going to have to live with.” And if he did his job right, he was going to convince the public of that, but Maddy wasn't sold on it, and Greg hadn't been either when they talked about it. But they made no editorial comments on the news. Their opinions were not a part of their broadcasts. “I'll see you later.”

She finished dressing after that, she was wearing a pale pink gown that looked exquisite with her creamy coloring and dark hair, and she was wearing pale pink topaz earrings that sparkled as she put a pink satin stole over her evening gown, and left her office. Jack had left the car for her, and had taken a company car and driver to the White House.

The Embassy was on Massachusetts Avenue, and it looked as though about a hundred people were there. They were speaking Spanish and Portuguese and French, and there was wonderful samba music in the background. The Brazilian Ambassador and his wife entertained with a lot of elegance and flair, and everyone in Washington loved them. And as she looked around, Maddy was pleased to see Bill Alexander.

“Hello, Maddy,” he said with a warm smile, as he came to stand beside her. “How are you?”

“Fine. How was your weekend?” she asked him. He felt like a friend now, after all they knew about each other.

“It was uneventful. I went up to Vermont to see my kids. My son has a house there. That was an interesting meeting the other day, wasn't it? It's amazing to realize how many of us are touched by domestic violence, or violent crimes, in one way or another. The amazing thing is that we all think everyone else has such a normal life, and it's just not true, is it?” His eyes were a deep blue, almost the same color as hers, but darker, his full head of white hair was neatly combed, and he looked handsome in his dinner jacket. He was about six feet four, and Maddy looked doll-like beside him.

“I learned that a long time ago.” Even the First Lady hadn't been exempt from violence in her childhood. “I used to feel so guilty because of my youth, and I still do sometimes, but at least I understand that it happens to other people too. But somehow, you always feel like it's your fault.”

“I guess the trick is understanding that it's not. At least not in your case. When I came back to Washington, at first I felt as though everyone who looked at me was either saying or thinking that I killed Margaret.” She looked surprised by what he'd said, and looked up at him gently as she asked the next question.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I think I did. I realize only too well now that what I did was very foolish.”

“It might have come out the same way anyway, it probably would have. Terrorists don't play fair, Bill. You know that.”

“It's a little hard to absorb when the price to pay is someone you love. I don't know if I'll ever really understand it, or accept it.” He was so open and so honest with her, and she liked him even better for it. And everything about him suggested that he was a gentle person.

“I don't think violence can be understood,” Maddy said softly. “What I dealt with was a whole lot simpler, and I don't think I ever really understood it either. Why would anyone want to do that to a person? And why did I let him?”

“No options, no choices, no exits, no one to help you, nowhere to turn. Does any of that sound right?” he asked thoughtfully, and she nodded. He seemed to have a perfect grasp on the situation. Far more so than her husband, or a lot of people.

“I think you've got it just right,” she smiled at him. “What do you think about Iraq?” she asked, changing the subject.

“That it's a damn shame we had to go back in there. It's a no-win situation, and I think the public is going to be asking hard questions. Particularly if we start losing boys at the rate we did this weekend.” She agreed with him completely, in spite of Jack's certainty that he could put a spin on it that would make people buy it and continue to support the President's action. Jack was a lot more optimistic about it than she was. “I hated to see us do it,” Bill went on. “I think people are afraid the gain isn't enough to warrant the losses.” She wanted to tell him that he could thank Jack for that, but she didn't. Maddy was glad to hear Bill agree with her and they chatted for a little while, and he asked her what her plans were for the summer.

“I'm not sure yet. I have a story to finish. But my husband hates making plans. He just tells me when to pack my suitcase, usually the day we're leaving.”

“Well, that must keep life interesting,” Bill said with a smile, wondering how she did that. Most people needed more warning. He couldn't help wondering too how her kids felt about it. “Do you have children?”

She hesitated for a fraction of an instant before she answered. “No, I don't actually.” But it didn't really surprise him. She was young and had a demanding career, and she still had lots of time ahead of her to have children. And it was hardly party conversation to tell him that she couldn't, that it had been a condition of Jack marrying her to have her tubes tied.

“At your age, you have lots of time to think about children.” And knowing what he did, he couldn't help wondering if her traumatic childhood had made her postpone having children. In her case, he would certainly have understood that.

“What are you doing this summer, Bill?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Normally, we go up to Martha's Vineyard. But I thought that might be difficult for me now. I gave my house to my daughter for the summer. She has three kids, and they love it there, and if I want to go up, I can always stay in the guest room.” He seemed like a nice man, and it was obvious that he was close to his children.

They continued talking for a while, and a very interesting French couple joined them. They were diplomats and fairly young, and a few minutes later the Ambassador from Argentina stopped to say hello to Bill and they chatted easily in Spanish. Bill was completely fluent. Maddy was surprised a few minutes later to discover that Bill was her dinner partner, and she apologized for monopolizing so much of his time beforehand.

“I didn't realize we'd be sitting together.”

“I'd like to tell you I engineered it,” he laughed, “but I don't have that much pull. I guess I'm just lucky.”

“So am I,” she said comfortably as he tucked her hand into his arm and walked her into dinner.

It was a lovely evening. She sat next to the senior Democratic Senator from Nebraska, on her other side, whom she had never met, and whom she had always admired. And Bill kept her entertained with stories about his years teaching at Princeton and Harvard. He had obviously enjoyed it, and his brief career as a diplomat had been both interesting and rewarding, until its tragic ending.

“And what do you think you'll do now?” Maddy asked him over dessert. She knew he was writing a book, and he said he was almost finished.

“To be honest with you, Maddy, I'm not sure. I was thinking about teaching again, but I've done that. It's been interesting writing the book. But after this, I'm just not sure what direction I should go in. I've had several offers from academic institutions, one of them of course being Harvard. I'm actually tempted to go out west for a while, maybe teach at Stanford, or spend a year in Europe. Margaret and I always loved Florence. Or maybe Siena. I've also been offered the opportunity to teach for a year at Oxford, on American foreign policy, but I'm not sure I want to do that, and the winters are a little rough. Colombia spoiled me, at least as far as the weather.”

“You have a lot of choices,” she said admiringly, but she could see why everyone wanted him. He was intelligent and warm and open to new ideas and unfamiliar concepts. “What about Madrid, since you speak such perfect Spanish?”

“There's an option I hadn't even thought of. Maybe I should learn to bullfight.” They both laughed at the unlikely image, and Maddy was almost sorry when they got up from dinner. He had been a wonderful dinner partner, and at the end of the evening, he offered to drive her home, but she told him she had a car and driver with her.

“I'll look forward to seeing you at the next meeting of the commission. It's such an intriguing, eclectic group, isn't it? I don't feel as though I have much to offer. I'm not very knowledgeable on the subject, at least not in the areas of abuse, or domestic violence. I'm afraid my brush with violence is a little unusual, but I'm flattered that Phyllis asked me.”

“She knows what she's doing. I think we'll make a good team once we focus on our direction. I'm hoping that we get some media attention. People need to have their eyes opened on the issues concerning abuse and women.”

“You'll make an excellent spokesperson for us,” he said as she smiled at him again, they chatted for a few minutes, and then she went home, and found Jack reading in bed, looking relaxed and peaceful.

“You missed a good party,” she said, taking off her earrings, and stepping out of her shoes as she stopped to kiss him.

“By the time we finished, I figured you'd be through with dinner. Anyone interesting there?”

“Lots of people. And I ran into Bill Alexander. He's a nice person.”

“I've always thought he was pretty boring.” Jack dismissed him and closed his book with an appreciative glance at his wife, even without her earrings and shoes, she looked particularly smashing. “You look great, Mad.” He looked as though he meant it, and she leaned down to kiss him again.

“Thank you.”

“Come to bed.” He had a familiar gleam in his eye that she recognized instantly, and a few minutes later when she joined him, he was more than willing to prove it to her. There were some benefits to not having kids. They never had to pay attention to anyone else, all they had to concentrate on, when they weren't working, was each other.

And after they made love, Maddy lay in his arms and snuggled next to him, feeling comfortable and sated.

“How did things go at the White House?” she asked sleepily with a yawn.

“Pretty well. I think we made some sensible decisions. Or the President did. I just tell him what I think, and he puts it in the hopper with what everyone else says, and figures out what he wants to do about it. But he's a smart guy, and he does the right thing most of the time. It's a tough spot to be in.”

“Worst job in the world, if you ask me. You couldn't pay me all the money on the planet to do it.”

“You'd be great at it,” he teased, “everyone in the White House would be well dressed, they would be beautiful, the White House would look wonderful, and everyone would be polite and compassionate and thoughtful about what they said, and all your Cabinet members would be bleeding hearts. A perfect world, Mad.” But in spite of the seeming compliment, to her it somehow felt like a put-down, and she didn't answer. As she drifted off to sleep, she forgot about it, and the next thing she knew it was morning, and they both had to get to work early.

They were both in the office by eight o'clock, and she and Greg sat down and did some work together on a special he was working on about American dancers. She had promised to help him with it, and she was still in his office at noon, when they both became aware of a lot of scurrying and running around in the hallway.

“Now what?” Greg asked as he looked up, wondering what had happened.

“Shit. Maybe things are heating up in Iraq. Jack was with the President last night. They must be cooking up something.” They both walked into the hallway to see what people were saying. Maddy was first to collar one of the associate producers. “Anything major?”

“A flight to Paris just blew to smithereens twenty minutes out of Kennedy. They claim you could hear the explosion all over Long Island. No survivors.” It was the abbreviated version of what had happened, but as Greg and Maddy checked the news desk, they learned what little more there was. No one had claimed responsibility for the explosion, but Maddy was sure there was more to the story, even if they did not yet know the details.

“We got an anonymous call from someone who sounds like they knew what they were talking about,” the producer said to them. “They say the airline knew before they boarded the flight that there had been a threat. They might even have known as early as noon yesterday and they didn't stop it.” Greg and Maddy looked at each other. That was insane. No one could have let something like that happen. It was a U.S. owned airline.

“Who's your source?” Greg asked with a frown.

“We don't know. But they knew their stuff. They gave us a lot of fairly traceable details. All we know is that the FAA got some kind of warning yesterday and it sounds like they didn't do anything about it.”

“Who's tracking that for you?” Greg asked with interest.

“You are, if you want to. Someone's got a list of people to call. The caller gave us some pretty specific names and directions.” Greg raised an eyebrow as he looked at Maddy.

“Count me in too,” she said, and they both headed for the assistant producer who supposedly had the list, as she commented on it. “I don't believe that. They don't board planes if there are bomb threats on them.”

“Maybe they do, and we just don't know it,” Greg muttered.

They got the list of names to call, and two hours later, they sat on opposite sides of Maddy's desk, staring at each other in disbelief. The story was consistent with everyone they talked to. There had been a warning, but not a specific one. The FAA had been told that an outbound flight out of Kennedy was going to have a bomb on it sometime in the next three days. That was all they were told, and all they knew, and an executive decision had been made at the highest level to tighten security but not to stop their outbound flights unless they found evidence of a bomb or had further information. But there had been no further warning.

“That's pretty vague,” Maddy admitted in their defense. “Maybe they just thought it was an idle threat.” But they had also suspected that the threat emanated from one of two terrorist groups, both of which had committed similar atrocities before, so they had reason to believe it.

“There's more to this than meets the eye,” Greg said suspiciously, “I smell a rat somewhere. Who the hell can we call for a source deeper inside the FAA?” They had exhausted all their resources, and as they sat thinking about it, Maddy had an idea, and got up from her chair with a look of purpose.

“What've you got?”

“Maybe nothing. I'll be back in five minutes.” She didn't say anything to Greg, but she went upstairs in the private elevator to see her husband. He had been at the White House the night before, and with a threat of that magnitude, he might have heard something, and she wanted to ask him.

He was in a meeting when she got there, and she asked his secretary to go in and ask him if he'd come out for a minute, it was important. He followed her out of the conference room with a worried look a minute later.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm working on the plane that went down. We got a tip that there was a warning about the bomb in a general way, but the flight went out anyway. They all did. I guess no one knew which flight the bomb might be on.” She explained to him quickly, but he didn't seem too upset or particularly startled.

“It happens that way sometimes, Mad. There's not a hell of a lot anyone could have done. The warning sounds pretty vague, and could have been unfounded.”

“We can tell the truth about it now, at least if there's a story here. Did you hear anything last night?” She was looking at him intently. Something in his eyes told her it was not an unfamiliar story to him.

“Not really,” he said vaguely.

“That's not a real answer, Jack, this is important. If they were warned, they should have stopped the flights. Who made the decision?”

“I'm not telling you I know anything about it. But if they were warned, in a general way, what do you think they could have done? Stop all outbound flights out of Kennedy for three days? Christ, they might as well have shut down all U.S. aviation. They couldn't do that.”

“How did you know it was all ‘outbound’ flights, and that the threat covered a three-day span? You knew, didn't you?” And then she suddenly wondered if that was why he had been called to the White House on such short notice, to advise them of what to say to the American public, if anything, or maybe even what to do, or not do about it. And how to cover their asses if a plane did go down at some point. But even if the decision hadn't been his, which it couldn't have been, he might well have been an important voice in the ultimate decision about whether or not to warn the public.

“Maddy, you can't shut down all outbound flights out of Kennedy for three days. Do you know what that means? At that rate, you'd have to shut down all incoming too, in case the blast hit them. This country would have gone haywire, and our economy with it.”

“I don't believe this,” she said, suddenly in a white fury. “You and God knows who else decided to just go ahead with business as usual and not warn anyone, because our economy would be affected? And you'd disrupt flight schedules? Tell me this didn't happen the way I think it did. Tell me four hundred and twelve people didn't die to spare our aviation industry a disruption. Is that what you're telling me? It was a business decision? Who the hell decided that one?”

“Our President, you fool. What do you think? That I make decisions like that? It was a major issue, but the threat just wasn't specific enough. They couldn't do a goddamn thing about it, except check every plane with a fine-tooth comb before it went out. And if you quote me, Mad, I'll fucking kill you.”

“I don't give a damn what you do. This is about people and lives and babies and children, and innocent people who got on an airplane with a bomb on it because no one had the balls to shut down Kennedy for three days. But goddammit, Jack, they should have!”

“You don't know what you're talking about. You don't shut down a major international airport for three days for a bomb threat, not and stay in business.”

“They shut it down for snow, for chrissake, and the economy stays afloat. Why not for a bomb threat?”

“Because they'd have looked like fools and everyone would have panicked.”

“Oh, okay, I guess four hundred lives is a small price to pay in order to avoid a panic. My God, I can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't believe you knew and you didn't do a fucking thing about it.”

“What did you expect me to do? Go to JFK and hand out leaflets?”

“No, you asshole, you own the network. You could have blown the whistle on this, anonymously if you wanted to, and forced them to shut down the airport.”

“And the door to the White House would have been slammed in my face forever. You think they wouldn't have known who leaked something like that? Don't be ridiculous, and don't,” he said, grabbing her arm and yanking her hard with it, “ever call me an asshole. I knew what I was doing.”

“You and the boys you were playing with last night killed four hundred and twelve people at noon today,” she almost spat the words at him and her voice was shaking. She couldn't believe he had been a party to it. “Why don't you just buy a gun, and start shooting people? It's cleaner, and a lot more honest. Do you know what this means? It means that business is more important than people. It means that every time some woman gets on an airplane with her kids, she doesn't know if someone has been warned that there's a bomb on it, but for the sake of big business, she and her kids are a walking sacrifice, because no one thinks they're important enough to warrant a ‘disruption.’”

“They're not, in the larger scale of things. You're naive. You don't understand. Sometimes people have to be sacrificed for larger interests.” She felt as though she was going to throw up as she listened. “And I'll tell you something, if you breathe a word of this, I will personally drag you back to Knoxville and leave you on Bobby Joe's doorstep. If you say a goddamn word, you're going to have to answer to the President of the United States and I hope they throw your ass in jail for treason. This was a security issue, and it was handled by people who knew what they were doing and have the highest possible clearance. This is not some little whining, psychotic housewife we're talking about, or some fat slobbering Senator. If you open up this can of worms, you're going to have the President on your neck, and the FBI, and the FAA, and every major agency in this country, and I'm going to watch you go down in flames with it. You are not touching this one. You don't know a goddamn thing about it, and they'll turn on you so fast, and bury you in about five minutes. You'll never win this one.”

She knew there was some truth to what he said, everyone would lie about it, and it would be the biggest cover-up since Watergate, and more than likely the public would never believe her. She was one small voice in a sea of much bigger ones who would not only out-shout her, they would see to it that she was discredited forever. They might even kill her. The thought of it was frightening, but the thought of letting the public down and not telling them the truth made her feel like a traitor. They had a right to know that the people on Flight 263 had been sacrificed to economic concerns. And to the people who had made that decision, they meant nothing. “Did you hear what I just said to you?” Jack asked her with a terrifying look in his eyes. He was beginning to scare her. He would be the first one to take her down, before even the others could, if she jeopardized his network.

“I heard you,” she said numbly. “And I hate you for it.”

“I don't give a damn what you think or feel about this. I only care about what you do, and it goddamn better be the right thing this time, or you're finished. With me, and the network. Is that clear, Mad?” She looked at him for a long moment and then turned on her heel and walked swiftly down the stairs, back to her own floor. She didn't even wait for the elevator, and when she got back to her office, she was pale and shaking.

“What happened? Did he know anything?” Greg asked. He had figured out instantly where she'd gone, and he'd never seen her look the way she did when she returned to her office. She was deathly pale and she looked sick, but for a moment she said nothing.

“No, he didn't” was all she said, and she took three aspirin with half a cup of coffee. And not surprisingly, ten minutes later the head producer came in and looked sternly at both of them before issuing a warning.

“I have to clear your copy before you go on the air tonight, both of you. Anything that deviates from what's approved, we cut you off and go to commercial. You got that?”

“Got it,” Greg said quietly, and he knew where it came from, just as Maddy did. Greg didn't know what had been said upstairs, but he knew it couldn't have been pretty. Just looking at Maddy s face told its own story. He waited until the producer left and then looked across at Maddy, his eyes full of questions. “I take it he knew,” Greg said softly. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” She looked long and hard at Greg and nodded.

“I can't prove that. And we can't say it. Everyone involved will deny it.”

“I think we better not touch this one, Mad. This is one very large hot potato. Too big for us, I think. If they knew, you can be damn sure, everyone involved covered their asses. This one had to be run by the big boys.” It impressed him to realize that Jack Hunter was now considered one of them. He had heard for a while that Jack had become the Presidents spin doctor. He was obviously playing in the big leagues.

“He said he'd kick me off the show if I touch it.” She looked less impressed than Greg had thought she'd be as she said it. “I don't care about that, I hate lying to the public.”

“Sometimes we have to,” Greg said carefully, “even though I don't like it either. But the big guys would hang us out to dry on this one.”

“Jack said I'll wind up in jail, or something pleasant like that.”

“Isn't he getting a little cranky?” Greg said with a wry smile, and Maddy laughed in spite of herself, and then remembered the way he had grabbed her arm and shaken her. She had never seen him as enraged, or as frightened. But this was a big one.

They wrote their copy for the show that afternoon, and it was checked carefully by the producer. And half an hour later, it was returned to them with further edits. The piece on the air disaster was about as bland as it could be, and the powers that be upstairs wanted them to rely mostly on video footage to convey the story.

“Be careful, Mad,” Greg whispered to her, as they sat at their desks in the studio, waiting to go on the air, after the countdown had started. And she only nodded. He knew what a crusader she was, and what a purist. It would have been just like her to take a kamikaze dive into the danger zone, by exposing the truth after all, but this time he was pretty sure she wouldn't do it.

She read off the piece about the crash of Flight 263, and her voice nearly broke once. She sounded somber and respectful as she spoke of the people on board, and the number of children. And the footage they showed underlined the tragedy even further. They had just shown the last shots, of some video footage someone on Long Island happened to get of the explosion, and Maddy was about to close when Greg saw her fold her hands on the desk, and look away from the TelePrompTer, and all he could feel as he watched her was terror. He mouthed the words “Maddy, don't …” because he could see on the monitor he was off camera, but she didn't see him. She was looking straight into the camera she was facing, right into the faces and hearts and homes of the American public.

“There are a lot of rumors flying around about the crash today,” she began cautiously, “some of them very disturbing.” Greg could see the producer stand up behind the set, with a look of panic. But they didn't cut away to commercial. “There have been rumors that the FAA was warned in advance, that ‘some’ mysterious, unknown flight outbound from Kennedy might be carrying a bomb, ‘sometime’ this week. But there is no evidence to support that rumor. We know nothing more right now than that four hundred and twelve lives were lost, and we can only assume that if the FAA was warned, they would have shared that information with the public.” She was coming close to the line, but she didn't cross it, as Greg held his breath and watched her, as she continued. “All of us here at WBT would like to extend our condolences to the friends and families and loved ones of those who died on Flight 263. It is a tragedy beyond measure. Goodnight. I'm Maddy Hunter.” And with that, they cut to commercial, and Greg looked pale as Maddy sat grim-faced and took her mike off.

“Shit, you terrified me. I thought you were going to blow it. You damn near did, didn't you?” She had raised a question, but not provided the damning answer to it. And she could have.

“I said what I could,” which wasn't much, they both knew. And as she stood up, off camera now, she saw the producer in the doorway, talking to her husband. Jack walked straight toward her purposefully, and stopped when he reached her.

“You skated pretty close to the line on that one, didn't you, Maddy? We were ready to cut you off at any second.” He didn't look pleased, but he no longer looked angry. She hadn't betrayed him, and she could have. Or she could have tried at least, although they wouldn't have let her get far.

“I know you were,” she said coldly, her eyes looked like bright blue stones as they met his. Something terrible had happened between them that afternoon, and she would never forget it. “Are you satisfied?” she asked in a tone as icy as the look she gave him.

“You saved your own ass, not mine,” he said so no one else could hear them. The producer had already walked away, and Greg had gone back to his office. “You were the one on the line here.”

“The public got cheated.”

“They would have been pissed out of their minds, if every flight in and out of Kennedy had been canceled for three days.”

“Well, I'm glad we didn't piss them off, aren't you? I bet the people on Flight 263 were real glad too. It's a lot better to kill people than to make them angry,” she said grimly.

“Don't push your luck, Maddy,” he said ominously, and she could see that he meant it. She said nothing, and walked right by him to her office. Greg was just leaving when she got there.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, not sure how close Jack was; he had stayed in the studio to talk to the producer.

“Not really” she said honestly. “I don't know what I am. Heartsick mostly. I sold out, Greg,” she said, fighting back tears. She hated herself for it.

“You had no choice. Get past it. This was too big for you to tackle. How is he?” he asked, referring to her husband. “Pissed? He shouldn't be. You gift-wrapped it for him, and you sure got the FAA off the hook, and everyone else with it.”

“I think I scared him,” she said, smiling through her tears.

“Never mind him, you scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to have to put my jacket over your face to shut you up, before someone killed you. They might have, you know. They would have said you had a psychotic break, that you've been unstable for months, under psychiatric care, schizoid, they'd have done everything they had to. I'm glad you didn't do anything really stupid.” She was about to say something just as Jack walked into her office.

“Get your things, we're leaving.” He didn't even bother to acknowledge Greg. Jack was satisfied with Greg's ratings, but he had never liked him, and never bothered to pretend he did. But he spoke to Maddy now like a servant, just someone to be ordered around and carry out his orders. She picked up her handbag and walked out of the office without saying a word. She wasn't sure how, but she knew that after today things would be different between them. They each felt betrayed by the other.

Jack followed her to the elevator, and they rode downstairs in silence, and it was only once they were in the car that he spoke to her again. “You came damn near close to ending your career today. I hope you know that.”

“You and your friends killed four hundred and twelve people. I can't even imagine how that must feel. Compared to that, my career doesn't mean much.”

“I'm glad you think so. You were playing with fire out there. You were told to only read your approved copy.”

“I thought the death of more than four hundred people merited some small comment. I didn't say anything you could object to.”

They sat in silence again until they got home, and then he looked at her with contempt, as though to remind her that she was unimportant. “Pack your bags, Mad. We're leaving tomorrow.”

“For where?” she said without interest.

“Europe.” As usual, he offered no details, and hadn't asked her.

“I'm not going,” she said firmly, determined this time to fight him.

“I didn't ask you. I told you. You're off the air for two weeks, I want you to cool off and remember what the ground rules are before you go back on the show again. Elizabeth Watts is covering for you. She can do it permanently, if you'd prefer it.” He wasn't pulling any punches. Elizabeth Watts was the anchorwoman whose place Maddy had taken when she got there. She still covered for Maddy during vacations. It was in her contract, although she was still bitter about having been unseated by Maddy.

“I don't really care at this point, Jack,” Maddy said coolly, “if you want to fire me, go ahead.” Her words were brave, although she felt a tremor of terror as she watched him. In some ways, although he had never been physically violent with her, he had always scared her. The power he exuded from every pore was not only directed at others, but at her as well.

“If I fire you, you'll be washing dishes somewhere. You'd better think of that before you shoot your mouth off. And yes, you are going with me. We're going to the South of France, Paris, and London. And if you don't pack your things, I will. I want you out of the country. You're not giving comments, interviews, or editorials of any kind. You are now officially on vacation.”

“Was that the President's idea, or yours?”

“Mine. I run the show here. You work for me. You're married to me. I own you,” he said with a force that took her breath away as she listened to him.

“You don't own me, Jack. I may work for you, and I'm married to you, but you don't own me.” She said it softly, and firmly, but she looked frightened. Ever since her childhood, she had hated confrontation and conflict.

“Am I packing or are you?” he asked, without further comment.

She hesitated for a long moment, and then walked through their bedroom to her dressing room, and took out a suitcase. There were tears in her eyes when she did it, and she was crying openly as she tossed bathing suits and shorts and T-shirts and shoes into the suitcase. All she could think as she did it was that things never changed much. Bobby Joe may have pushed her down the stairs, but Jack had done a good job of it today, without ever touching her, or barely. What was it about men like them that made them think they owned you? Was it the men she chose, or did she ask for it? It hadn't quite come clear to her, as she folded four linen dresses and put three pairs of high heels into the suitcase. Twenty minutes later, she was finished and went to take a shower. Jack was in his bathroom packing.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked when she saw him again in their bedroom.

“We leave here at seven o'clock in the morning. We're flying to Paris.” It was all she knew about the trip, but she really didn't care now. He had made his point, and she had bought into it. For all her brave words, she had proved to both of them that he owned her.

“I guess there's one advantage to having your own plane,” she said as she climbed into bed with him.

“What's that?” he asked, thinking she was making idle conversation.

“At least we know there won't be a bomb on it. That's a definite plus,” she said, and turned her back to him as she got into bed beside him. He didn't answer her as he turned off the light, and for once, he didn't touch her.

Chapter 7

THEY ARRIVED IN PARIS AT TEN P.M. local time, and there was a car waiting for them. It was a beautiful warm night as they drove to the Ritz, and got there at eleven o'clock. The Place Vendôme was brightly lit, and the doorman recognized them immediately. But in spite of the beauty of the scene, it was anything but romantic to Maddy. For the first time in years, she felt like a prisoner. Jack had crossed over the line. And she looked blank and felt numb as she walked into the lobby behind him.

She usually loved going to Paris with him, but not this time. There was nothing but ice and pain between them, and for the first time in years she felt the sick feeling of being abused, and she knew that although he hadn't battered her, he might as well have. It was a side of him she had never before confronted, and she wondered now how often and in how many ways this had happened. She had never allowed herself to think of it before, but now the feelings were no different than they had been in Knoxville with Bobby Joe. The setting was just fancier, but she realized now that she was still the same person. She was just as trapped as she had been then. Jack's words of the night before still echoed in her ears as they brought the bags in, “I own you.” And she had agreed by coming with him.

The suite at the Ritz was as beautiful as it always was. They had a view of the Place Vendôme, a living room and bedroom and two baths. The entire suite was done in pale yellow satin. And the hotel had filled three vases with long-stemmed yellow roses. She would have loved it if she hadn't felt so heartsick over Jack.

“Is there any particular reason why we're here?” Maddy asked him lifelessly as he poured himself a glass of champagne, and offered her one. “Is it just to keep me off the air, or is there some better reason?”

“I thought we needed a vacation,” he said simply, and all the fury of the day before seemed to have vanished as she took the glass of Cristal from him. She didn't even want it, but she needed something to numb her. “I know how much you like Paris and I thought it would be fun for us.”

“After everything you've said to me in the past two days, how can you say that?” The prospect of anything being “fun” with him was absurd.

“Because that was business, and this isn't,” he said calmly. “You walked right into something that was a matter of national security and you had no business being there. Maddy, I was trying to protect you.”

“That's bullshit,” she said, sipping the champagne. She was not yet ready to forgive him for his threats, his words, or his saying that he owned her. But she didn't want to argue with him either. She was exhausted and depressed.

“Why don't we just put that behind us, and enjoy Paris? We both needed a vacation.” She felt as though she needed a lobotomy or maybe a new husband. She had never felt as betrayed by him in all the years they'd been married. And she couldn't help wondering how, or if, they would recover. “I love you, Mad,” he said, moving closer to her, as he ran his fingers sensually up the arm that he had used the day before to shake her. She still remembered the feeling, and knew she always would.

“I don't know what to say to you,” she said honestly, “I'm angry and hurt, and maybe even a little bit scared of you. I feel sick over everything that happened.” She was always scrupulously honest with him, far more so than he was with her.

“That's why we're here, Mad. So we can forget our jobs, our work, our problems, our differences of opinion. We came here,” he said, snuggling up to her, and putting his glass down on the Louis XV table, “to be lovers.” But she didn't feel like being lovers. She just wanted to hide and lick her wounds, and be alone for a while until she understood what she was feeling. But he wouldn't let her do that. He was kissing her, and he started unzipping her dress, and before she could stop him, he had her bra off.

“Jack, don't … I need some time … I can't …”

“Yes, you can,” he said, covering her lips with his own, and nearly swallowing her, and then his mouth moved to her breasts, and her dress seemed to disappear along with her underwear, and he laid her on the floor and was kissing her and caressing her, and his tongue was so powerful and so effective that she wanted to muster all her strength to resist him, but found she couldn't. And much to her chagrin, after a moment more, she knew she didn't want to stop him. He took her there, on the floor, as they rose and fell in each others arms, and their climax was so swift and so powerful that she didn't expect it. She was his again, and she lay breathless for a time, clinging to him, and wondering how it had happened, and why.

“Well, that's one way to start a vacation,” she said, feeling foolish. Their lovemaking had been entirely sensual, and so powerful it was like a tidal wave of feeling that had run through her, but there had been nothing loving about it. If anything, it had only proven yet again that he owned her. But she felt powerless to fight it. “I don't know how that happened,” she said, looking at him, as he lay naked on the floor beside her.

“I could show you, if you like. Maybe some more champagne would help.” He propped himself up on his elbow as he lay there, and smiled at her. She wasn't sure if she hated him now or not, but one thing was certain about Jack, he was fatally handsome, and she had never been able to resist him. He gave her no choice.

She looked at him sadly, and propped herself up to look at him as he handed her another glass of champagne. She didn't really want it, but she took it, and sipped it. “I hated you yesterday. That was the first time I ever felt that way about you,” she confessed, and he looked nonplussed.

“I know you did. That's a dangerous game to play. I hope you learned a lesson.” It was a thinly veiled warning, which she heard.

“What lesson was I supposed to learn?”

“Not to put your nose where it doesn't belong. Just stick to what you know, Mad. All you have to do is read the news. It's not your job to pass judgment on it.”

“Is that how it works?” She was feeling a little drunk, and for once she didn't mind.

“That's how it's supposed to. Your job is to look beautiful and read your stuff off the TelePrompTer. Let someone else worry about how it gets there, and what it says.”

“That sounds pretty simple,” she giggled as she said it, but a sob caught in her throat. She felt somehow as though she had not only been demoted, but diminished as a person, and she had been.

“It is simple, Maddy. And it's simple between us. I love you. You're my wife. It's not good for us to fight, or for you to challenge me like that. I want you to promise me you won't do that anymore.”

“I can't do that, Jack,” she said honestly. She didn't want to lie to him, no matter how much she hated conflict. “Yesterday was a matter of professional ethics and morality. I have a responsibility to the people who watch me.”

“You have a responsibility to me,” he said in silken tones, and for an instant, she felt frightened again, but she wasn't sure why. There was nothing threatening about him now, in fact he was caressing her again, in ways that were infinitely distracting. “I told you what I want … I want you to promise me you're going to be a good girl.” His tongue was traveling across the most sensual places of her body, in between saying things to her that confused her.

“I am a good girl, aren't I?” She giggled uncontrollably as she said it.

“No, you're not, Mad … you were a bad girl yesterday, a very bad girl, and if you do it again, I'll have to punish you for it … maybe I'll have to punish you now,” he said, teasing her, but he didn't sound ominous, just seductive, “I don't want to punish you, Mad … I want to please you,” and he was, almost too much so. But she didn't have the energy to stop him, she was too tired and too confused, and the champagne was making her feel fuzzy. For once, she didn't mind being drunk. It helped.

“You do please me,” she said in a husky voice, momentarily forgetting how angry she had been at him. But that was then, and this was now, and this was Paris. It was hard to remember how furious she'd been at him, how betrayed she felt, and how frightened. And as she tried to remember it, she found she couldn't as he started making love to her again, and her whole body felt as though it were on fire.

“Are you going to be a good girl now?” he asked, taunting her, torturing her with pleasure. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” she said breathlessly.

“Promise again, Mad….” He was a master at what he was doing, it had taken long years of practice. “Promise me again….”

“I promise … I promise … I promise … I'll be good, I swear.” All she wanted now was to please him, and from the distance, she knew she hated herself for it. She had sold out to him again, given herself to him again, but he was too powerful a force to resist.

“Who owns you, Mad … who loves you? … I own you … I love you … Say it, Maddy …”

“I love you … you own me….” He was turning her inside out and outside in, and as she said the words, he began making love to her so hard that he hurt her. She gave a small squeak of pain, and tried to move away from him, and he held her pinned down to the floor with all his might, and continued pounding into her as she murmured in pain, but he wouldn't stop, he only pounded harder. She tried to say something to him, and he crushed his mouth down on hers, as he pounded her into the floor as hard as he could, and then he came with a great shuddering, and as he did, he reached down and bit her nipple. It was bleeding when he finally stopped, and she was too dazed to even cry. She wasn't sure what had happened. Was he angry, or did he love her? Was he punishing her, or did he want her so badly that he didn't even know he hurt her? She was no longer sure if what she felt for him was love or desire or hatred.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking innocent and concerned. “Oh my God, Mad, you're bleeding, I'm so sorry….” There was a trickle of blood from her left breast where he had bitten her nipple, and she felt as though her insides had been pummeled, and they had been. Maybe he had meant what he said, and he had punished her, and yet his eyes were full of love as he took a wet cloth from around the champagne and put it on her nipple. “I'm sorry, baby. I wanted you so much, I went crazy.”

“It's okay,” she said, still feeling confused, and more than a little dizzy. He helped her up, and they left their clothes on the floor and walked into the bedroom. All she wanted to do was go to bed. She didn't even have the energy to take a shower. And she knew that if she had let herself, she might have fainted.

Jack put her to bed ever so gently, and she smiled up at him as the room went around them in gentle circles.

“I love you, Maddy” He was looking down at her, and she tried to concentrate on seeing him, but the room was spinning too swiftly.

“I love you too, Jack,” she said, slurring her words, and a moment later she was asleep, as he stood over her and looked at her. He turned off the light and walked back into the living room, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He drank it neat as he looked out at the Place Vendôme, and he seemed pleased with himself. The lesson had been delivered. She had learned.

Chapter 8

JACK TOOK MADDY TO TAILLEVENT, Tour d Argent, Chez Laurent, and Lucas Carton for dinner. They dined out elegantly every night, and had lunch on the Left Bank in little bistros. They shopped and went to antique shops and art galleries. And he bought her an emerald bracelet at Cartier. It was like a second honeymoon, and she was apologetic about getting drunk the first night. She still had very odd memories of it, some of them very sexy, and others tinged with an aura of something ominous and scary and sad. She drank very little after that. She didn't need to. With Jack showering her with attention and gifts, she was drunk on romance. He did everything he could to seduce her. And by the time they left for the South of France, she was completely under his spell again. He was a master at the game.

They stayed at the Hôtel du Cap in Cap dAntibes, and had a fabulous suite overlooking the ocean. They had a private cabana, where they spent their days, and it was just secluded enough for him to make love to her, which he did repeatedly. He was more loving and more amorous than ever. And at times, Maddy felt as though her head were spinning. It was as though everything she had felt before, the anger, the outrage, the betrayal, had been some kind of a delusion, and this was the only reality she knew. They were there for five days, and she hated to leave at the end of it, and go to London. They had chartered a boat and gone to Saint-Tropez, shopped in Cannes, and had dinner in Juan les Pins and when they got back to the Hotel du Cap at night, he took her dancing. It was peaceful and happy and romantic. And he had never made love to her as often. She could hardly sit down by the time they got to London.

London was more businesslike, but he still made an effort to be with her. He took her shopping, and for dinner at Harry's Bar. They went dancing at Annabel's, and he bought her a small emerald band at Graff's to go with the bracelet he'd bought her in Paris.

“Why are you spoiling me like this?” she asked, laughing, as they walked out of Graff's onto New Bond Street.

“Because I love you, and you're my star anchor.” He beamed at her.

“Aha! Are these bribes instead of a raise?” She was in good spirits, and yet beneath it all, she was confused. He was so loving, and yet before the trip he had been so cruel.

“That must be it. I was sent here by the controller to seduce you,” he said, looking mock stern and she laughed at the answer. She wanted to love him, and wanted him to love her.

“You must want something, Jack,” she teased. And he did. He wanted her body day and night. She was beginning to feel like a sex machine, and once or twice, while they made love, he had reminded her that he “owned” her. She didn't like the term, but it seemed to turn him on to say it to her, so she didn't say anything to him. If it meant that much to him, she could let him say it, although now and then, she couldn't help wondering if he believed it. He didn't own her. They loved each other. And he was her husband. “I'm beginning to feel like Lady Chatterley” she said, laughing at him, when he peeled her clothes off again the moment they got back to their hotel room. “What kind of vitamins are you taking? Maybe you're taking too many.”

“There's no such thing as too much sex, Mad. It's good for us. I love making love to you when we're on vacation.” But he didn't do badly when they were at home either. He seemed to have an insatiable appetite for Maddy And most of the time, she liked it, except when he got too rough with her, or carried away, as he had in Paris.

But he did it again on their last night at Claridge's. They had been dancing at Annabel's, and the moment they got back to their suite and closed the door, he slammed her against the wall, pulled down her pants, and nearly raped her. She tried to make him wait, or go into the bedroom with her, but he shoved her against the wall and wouldn't stop, and then he dragged her into the bathroom and took her on the marble floor, while she begged him to stop. He was hurting her again, but he was so excited he didn't hear her. And afterward, he apologized, and lifted her gently into a tub of warm water.

“I don't know what you do to me, Mad. It's all your fault,” he said, as he rubbed her back, and a moment later, slipped into the water with her. She looked at him suspiciously, worried that he would want her again, but this time when he began caressing her, he took her ever so gently. Life with him was a constant merry-go-round of pleasure and pain, terror and passion, infinite gentleness coupled with just a hint of something terrifyingly brutal and cruel. It would have been hard to explain to anyone, and would have embarrassed her to do so. He made her do things sometimes that afterward made her feel awkward. But he assured her that there was nothing wrong with it, they were married and he loved her, and when he hurt her, he always told her that she drove him so insane, it was her fault. It was flattering, but nonetheless, at times, very painful. And she felt continually confused.

When they flew home at last, their two weeks seemed more like a month's vacation. She felt closer to him than she had in a long time, and they had done some fun things. For two weeks, he had turned his full attention on her. He hadn't left her side for a minute, he had spoiled her in every possible way, and made love to her so many times that she could no longer keep track of what they had done, or how often they'd done it.

The night they got back to the house in Georgetown, Maddy felt as though she'd been on a honeymoon with him, and Jack kissed her as he followed her into the hallway. He carried their bags upstairs, along with the suitcase she'd bought to accommodate the new things she'd bought in London and Paris. She listened to their messages on the machine, while Jack went downstairs to get the mail, and Maddy was surprised to hear four messages from her co-anchor, Greg Morris. He sounded serious on the machine, and she glanced at her watch, but it was too late to call him back.

There was nothing interesting in the mail, and after a snack, they both showered and went to bed, and got up early the next morning.

They chatted on the way to work, and Maddy left Jack in the lobby, and went upstairs to her office. She was anxious to see Greg and tell him about the trip, and she was surprised when she didn't see him in his office. She went on to her own, and read all her messages and mail, and as usual, there was a stack of fan mail. At ten o'clock, when she still hadn't seen Greg, she got worried. She went out to her secretary and asked her if Greg was sick, and Debbie looked at her, and was obviously feeling awkward.

“I … uh … he … I guess no one told you,” she said finally.

“Told me what?” Maddy said with a look of panic. “Did something happen to him?” Maybe he had an accident, and no one had wanted to upset her while she was away.

“He left,” she said bluntly.

“For where?” Maddy didn't understand what she was saying.

“He doesn't work here anymore, Mrs. Hunter. I thought someone would have told you. Your new co-anchor starts on Monday. I think you're on alone. Greg left the day after you went on vacation.”

“He what?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Did he have an argument with someone and walk off the set?”

“I don't know the details,” she lied, but she didn't want to be the one to tell her. And the words weren't out of her mouth before Maddy was flying down the hall to the producer's office.

“What in hell happened to Greg?” she asked, as the producer looked up at her. Rafe Thompson was a tall, tired-looking man who looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and at times he did.

“He's gone” was all he answered.

“I know that much. Where? And when? And why? I want answers to those questions,” she asked, as her eyes blazed.

“There was a change in format on the show. He didn't fit in. I think he's going to be doing sports on NBC now. I don't know the details.”

“Bullshit. That's what Debbie told me. Who does know the details?” But she already knew the answer to her question, and she went up to Jack's office without waiting another minute. She walked right into his office without being announced, and looked at him from across his desk. He had just put down the phone and his desk was covered with papers, the price to pay for a two-week vacation. “Did you fire Greg?” she asked without preamble, and he looked at her for a long moment.

“We made an executive decision,” he said calmly.

“What does that mean, and why didn't you tell me when we were in Europe?” She felt as though she'd been tricked.

“I didn't want to upset you, Mad. I thought you deserved a real vacation.”

“I had a right to know that you fired my co-anchor.” It explained the four messages on her machine the night before, and the tone of Greg's voice. She realized now that he had sounded upset, and it was no wonder. “Why did you fire him? He's terrific. And so were his ratings.”

“We didn't think so,” Jack said smoothly. “He's not as good as you are, sweetheart. We needed someone stronger as a balance to you.”

“What do you mean ‘stronger’?” She didn't understand what he was saying, and she was upset about the decision and the way it had been handled.

“He's too soft, too effeminate, you run right over him, and you're a lot more professional than he is. I'm sorry. You need someone with a little more personality and a lot more experience.”

“So who did you hire?” she asked, looking worried. She was still upset about Greg, she had loved working with him, and he was her closest friend.

“Brad Newbury. I don't know if you remember him. He used to do news from the Middle East on CNN. He's terrific. I think you're going to love working with him,” Jack said firmly.

“Brad Newbury?” Maddy looked stunned. “He can't even make a war zone sound exciting. Whose idea was that?”

“It was a collective decision. He's a pro, and a seasoned reporter. We think he's the perfect counterpoint to you.” Maddy hated his style, and had never liked him. And the few times they'd met he'd been arrogant and condescending to her.

“He's dry and he's dull, and he has no appeal on the air,” she said, looking frantic. “For God's sake, he's going to put everyone to sleep. He even made the trouble in the Middle East sound boring.”

“He's a very skilled reporter.”

“And so is Greg. Our ratings had never been higher.”

“Your ratings had never been higher, Mad. His were starting to slip. I didn't want to worry you, but he would have taken you down with him.”

“I just don't understand it,” she said, “and I don't know why you didn't tell me.”

“Because I didn't want to upset you. This is business, Maddy. Show business. We have to keep our eye on the ball here.” But she was still depressed about it when she got back to her office and called Greg.

“I can't believe this, Greg. No one told me. I thought you were sick or something when you didn't come in by ten o'clock. What the hell happened after I left? Did you piss someone off?”

“Not that I know of,” he said, still sounding devastated. He had loved working with her, and they both knew their show was a hit. But he understood more about it than she did. “The morning after you left, Tom Helmsley,” who was the executive producer of the show, “called me in and told me they were letting me go, firing me, to be exact. He said we had gotten too informal, too close, and we were beginning to remind senior management of Abbott and Costello.”

“Now where the hell did that come from? When was the last time we made a joke on the show?”

“Not lately, but I think the key word is close here. I think someone feels we were too personal, too close. Hell, Maddy, you're my best friend. I think someone in your life doesn't like that.” He didn't want to spell it out for her, but he might as well have.

“You mean Jack? Greg, that's crazy.” She couldn't believe that. That was no reason to fire him, and Jack would never have jeopardized the ratings of the show for personal reasons. But Brad Newbury was certainly an odd choice. She wondered if Greg meant that Jack was jealous of him, but she didn't think so.

“It may sound crazy to you, Mad. But it's called isolation. Have you ever thought of that? How many friends do you have? How often does he let you see anyone? He had no choice with me, we work together. But he took care of that, didn't he? Think about it.”

“Why would he want to isolate me?” She sounded confused, and Greg wondered how much he should say to her. He had noticed it for a long time, but obviously she hadn't, and he assumed that she was in denial about it.

“He wants to isolate you, Mad, because he wants to control you. He runs your life, makes all your decisions for you, he never consults you about the show. He doesn't even tell you till the night before you leave for Europe. He treats you like a paper doll, for chrissake, and when he doesn't like what you do, he tells you that you came from poor white trash, and tells you you'd be back in a trailer park without him. How often has he told you that without him, you'd be nothing? Do you know what kind of bullshit that is? Without you, he'd have the lowest-rated news show on any network. If you ever left WBT, you'd be snapped up by any major network you wanted. Now what does all that sound like to you, Mad? A loving husband, or something much more familiar?” She had never let herself string it all together before, but listening to him, she was suddenly terrified. What if he did want to isolate her? And suddenly she remembered all the times he had said to her recently that he “owned” her. It made her shudder to think about it.

“It sounds like abusive behavior, doesn't it?” she said barely audibly.

“Now there's a news flash for you. So what else is new?” Greg answered. “Are you telling me this has never had a ring of familiarity to you? The only thing he doesn't do is kick the shit out of you on Saturday nights, but he doesn't need to do that, he controls you in every other way, and when you misbehave and he doesn't like what you do, he yanks you off to Europe and gets you off the air for two weeks and fires me. I'd say you're married to a control freak.” He didn't want to say “abuser,” but it meant the same thing to him.