Free At Any Cost by Cara Ellison Page B

with a tuning fork. In the silence, she could hear the muted typing from the office next door and her heart outpacing it. She saw Tom’s confused face and wanted to explain, but her throat closed and no words could squeak through.
    The last two weeks of the campaign, in a classic October surprise, in between the onslaught of insinuations about her parent’s marriage and accusations from women who would swear to meeting Preston Taylor Hughes in some trashy motel, an opposition research consultant turned up something juicy for the Ballard campaign about Fallon Hughes—and Gil Parry used it to maximum political advantage. The Ballard campaign ran scary ads with the announcer warning in a swoopy timbre, “If Preston Taylor Hughes can’t run his own house, how can we trust him to run the White House?”
    Her father could only answer that politician’s children were off limits and there were serious issues facing the nation that needed our attention; energy wasted on gossip was better spent schooling our children, helping our neighbors, and making the United States a better place to live. Despite his tepid response, the election results resolved—barely—in Hughes’s favor.
    This was going to reignite the scandal.
    Fallon was suddenly thirsty. Her whole body felt desiccated, and she recognized it as life being drained out of her. This was only the beginning. It would only get worse. As an intensely private person, she would have to see her life and her family torn apart, examined, criticized. Her whole life would be about this now. Fighting some prosecutor, trying to prove her innocence.
    â€œFBI agents are probably at my house with a search warrant,” she said stiffly. “Come on, I need to go home.”
    Tom radioed the vehicles that Avalon was en route downstairs. A knock at the door startled her. Tom opened it, and she was relieved to see it was Sam Cahill, her boss, not the FBI prepared to arrest her.
    He looked at her with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
    She nodded, instantly clicking into professional mode.
    â€œYou look like you’ve swallowed a tack.”
    â€œIt’s bad,” she whispered.
    â€œI heard. Take the rest of the day. I’ll run interference for you.”
    The gratitude nearly knocked her sideways. “I didn’t do anything …”
    â€œI know. Go take care of this.”
    Scrabbling in her handbag, she found her phone and, with shaking fingers, dialed her father’s cell phone. Blake Henley, her father’s chief of staff, answered. “Hi, let me talk to my dad,” she exhorted, alarmed at how breathless she sounded.
    â€œI’m sorry, we’re in the car, just arriving at the fireman’s union for his speech about …”
    Disappointed in herself for having to say it, she cut him off: “Interrupt, please Blake. This is a family matter.”
    â€œJust a moment.”
    After some back and forth, her father’s voice came on the line.
    â€œDaddy,” Fallon gushed, and to her horror, her voice broke. “Somebody has a search warrant for me and they issued it at work.”
    â€œA search warrant for what?”
    â€œThe … Jacobellis incident. They’re accusing me of murder.”
    Preston Hughes inhaled a shocked little breath. Fallon squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his disapproval emanating from the phone. “Ballard has stacked that goddamn agency with cronies and supporters. It is the most politicized Justice Department in history. This is beyond the pale and …”
    â€œDad …”
    Keeping his voice level, he said, “I’ll call Max.”
    â€œI’m heading home because the FBI is probably there right now. Have the lawyer meet me at my place.”
    â€œI’ll have Max meet you there. Do not speak to anyone until you have counsel.”
    In shock, Fallon nodded, then realized her father couldn’t see her on the phone.