"Uh, Governor," Ranger Roy said. "I don't know how, but Mrs. Bonner, she, uh… she did it again."
Ten days later, Bode Bonner sat at his desk staring out the window at the State Capitol dome glowing yellow in the setting sun.
"I know."
"I'm sorry, Governor. You want me to track her with GPS again?"
Bode shook his head.
"I know where to find her."
It had been two weeks since she had left and taken all the color in the colonia with her. Her yellow and blue and green peasant dresses and scarves and those pink Crocs. And her red hair. The colonia was again gray. Gray lives, gray homes, gray dirt. Each day seemed grayer than the day before. Jesse had tried to focus on his work, but his thoughts always returned to her. To the governor's wife.
Where his thoughts now resided.
He cut the engine and got out of the truck at the post office in Laredo. He went inside and collected his mail. A few more checks. They arrived after each interview, then dwindled after a week or so. Perhaps the network interview the day before would generate more checks. The clinic needed an incubator.
He drove through downtown Laredo-it, too, seemed gray that day-and out of town. He turned south on the farm-to-market and onto his land. He parked next to the house and went inside.
He froze.
He sniffed. He followed the smell into the kitchen. She stood there at the stove. The governor's wife. In full. She turned and smiled.
"Hi, Jesse."
Before he knew what he was doing, he walked to her and took her shoulders and kissed her.
"I love you," he said.
"I know. I just don't know what to do about it."
The next morning, the governor's wife was gone, and the governor woke next to Mandy Morgan in bed. Her bare backside was to him. He slid his hand down her side and over her hips and bottom and down between her legs. She stirred.
"Bode, I'm not feeling so good."
"I hope it's not contagious."
"Don't worry. It's not."
He removed his hand. There would be no sex that morning. But it didn't matter. Even with the Viagra, his body wasn't working these days. Knowing that the most notorious drug lord in Mexico was gunning for you had a way of killing a man's sex drive.
Hank was dead. Darcy was dead. Becca could be dead. She was taking Darcy's death hard; she had moved out of her dorm and into the Mansion. She refused to return to classes or volleyball practice. She was afraid. Bode was worried. The assassination attempt had pushed his political fortunes into uncharted territory. He now transcended politics. He was an icon. A legend. An American action-hero. This was just the sort of thing that could propel a man into the White House. Into the history books. One day his portrait might be on a White House wall with Washington and Lincoln and Roosevelt and Reagan. It was a heady thought. But his head was filled with other thoughts. With worries. Because he felt things… changing. Just like in a football game when something almost imperceptible occurred, just a feeling, when you knew the momentum had shifted to the other team.
When the game had turned against you.