Free Always Time To Die by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

possibilities. Only one led to the White House.
    “Keep paying,” Josh said finally.
    Pete nodded and made a note.
    “But while you pay,” Josh added, “I want you to investigate every charity the Senator contributed to since 1990.”
    The other man hesitated. “Investigate? Do you think something is wrong?”
    “Charities have public records. See which ones have passed along the most money to the needy, as opposed to entertaining wealthy officers and contributors at luxury resorts.”
    Pete nodded. “Got it. Then if you cut some charities from the list, you’ll have a reason to give to the press.”
    Josh smiled like the combat soldier he’d once been. “Something like that.”

TAOS
MONDAY AFTERNOON
11
    CARLY ’ S STOMACH GROWLED .
    Twice.
    Dan looked over at her. “Need a lunch break?”
    She hoped she didn’t blush, but she doubted it. “Considering that breakfast was a protein bar scrounged from the bottom of my purse six hours ago, yes, I need lunch.”
    Surprise came and went so quickly from his face that she couldn’t be certain she’d seen it at all.
    “Odd,” Dan said, lifting a sheet out of the scanner. “The Senator is famous for his hospitality.”
    “The Senator is dead.” Carly winced. She hadn’t meant that the way it came out. “That is, there’s so much going on with the funeral and, um, everything, that I…” She waved her hand and wished she’d just kept her mouth shut.
    “I see.”
    And he did. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in town who didn’t want someone kicking around in the past. He wondered if that other person or persons was just being difficult, or if something darker was at work.
    All things considered, Dan was betting on the dark side.
    “Got any recommendations for a local lunch place?” she asked.
    Before he could answer, someone knocked on the door and called down.
    “Dan? You in there?”
    “I’ll be right up, Dad.” Dan glanced at Carly. “Get your stuff. We can meet back here in an hour, okay?”
    Her stomach growled.
    “Was that a word?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    His mouth curved at one corner. The harder he tried not to like her, the more he knew he was kidding himself. Just by being herself, she seeped through his defenses. He still didn’t know whether that made him glad or mad. It sure as hell made him uneasy.
    While he shrugged into his shirt and jacket, she gathered up her coat and notebook, checked that her recorder didn’t need a quick energy fix, and beat him to the bottom of the stairs.
    “If you go up first, I can’t catch you,” she pointed out.
    “I’ll take my chances. The cellar door looks ragged, but it’s plenty heavy. You’d have a hard time lifting it.”
    “After you,” she said, waving him ahead.
    A few moments later Carly felt a cold current of wind. She went up the stairs in a rush, only to collide with a solid body. Hands came out to steady her.
    “Yikers, Dan,” she said into his jacket. “You startled me. I thought you were holding the door.”
    “He is,” said a voice that wasn’t quite as deep as Dan’s.
    She jerked her head back and looked up. The man’s hair was brown and silver, the shape of the face was different, he was inches shorter, and had flashes of jungle green in his hazel eyes.
    “You must be Dad,” she said. “I’d call you Mr. Duran, but a lot of families don’t have the same last name from generation to generation.”
    He smiled. “Duran is correct, but call me John. You must be the stranger whose hair was the only bit of true color at the Senator’s graveside.”
    Carly swept back the wild curls that kept wanting to lift on the wind. “I hoped nobody noticed.”
    “I doubt that they did,” Dan said. “Carolina May, meet my father.”
    “Better known as Dad,” John said, deadpan.
    “And I’m better known as Carly. I was just asking Dan about lunch places in town.”
    “And he was taking you to Chez Duran,” John said.
    Carly opened her mouth.
    Dan beat her to it.