Free Bishop (Political Royalty Book 3) by Evelyn Adams Page B

already ushering Becca toward the door. “Oh, and I’m going to need you to come along to make sure everything goes the way it should,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at Haven.
    Walker reached out and caught his wife by the arm, holding her in place for a moment until the younger woman was out of earshot.
    “Why the sudden interest in other people?” He wanted to believe it was out of the goodness of her heart, but a decade’s worth of experience told him otherwise.
    “Sexual violence against women is my new platform,” she said, glancing from his hand on her arm up to meet his gaze, barely concealed fury in her eyes. He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. “When I’m first lady, it’s going to be my signature issue. We’re going to change the world, darling.”
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    M ATT’S LAST TWENTY-FOUR hours had been one long continuous stream of shocks. The first had been getting whacked in the back of the head while he was dealing with the ass wipe who hurt Becca. He hadn’t seen that coming—both literally and figuratively. Even more jarring had been waking up in the hospital handcuffed to the bed. He had no idea how fucked he was, only that the guy who raped his sister was in worse shape than he was.
    But the biggest shock had been seeing the senator’s wife walk through the door of his hospital room with his sister and a frustrated-looking campaign manager.
    Becca rushed through the door and threw herself into his arms, wrapping herself around him like a tree monkey. He held her with his free arm, patting her back and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
    “What were you thinking?” she said, pulling back to give his arm a whack.
    “Ow. Injured here.”
    She leaned in to hug him again and he took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “What’s with the entourage?”
    “They’re here to help me spring you.” She gave him a wink and then took a step back, leaving him face-to-face with the icily perfect Sandra Walker.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Walker. I’d stand, but...” He raised his arm and the cuff scraped against the bedrail.
    “I don’t want you to worry about that,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste and then smoothing her expression just as quickly. Behind her, Haven, Walker’s campaign manager, stepped out of the room. “How are you feeling?”
    Her voice was a combination of warm honey and maternal concern. He had no trouble seeing why his sister would gravitate to her for help, but a lot of trouble understanding everything else. Walker was running for president. What the hell was his wife doing in the hospital room of a guy who got arrested for assault? Thank God he hadn’t hit the guy with anything other than his hands, but still. It wasn’t the kind of thing the campaign would want to associate with. He’d been lying in bed, wondering if he’d be able to retain his press credentials if anyone found out, and instead the candidate’s wife showed up. Which asked more questions than it answered.
    “I’m fine,” he said, smiling at Mrs. Walker before turning his attention to his sister. “How did you find out I was here?”
    He’d put off calling her. The very last thing he’d wanted to do was add to her burden. Especially when there wasn’t anything she could do to help. She didn’t even have the car. He’d taken it with him.
    “The paper has me listed as your in case of emergency contact. The police must have found a business card or something. They called the paper and the paper called me.”
    Great. The campaign obviously knew and that meant the chances of hiding what happened from his employer were out the window. He was surprised his editor hadn’t already called to fire him. She’d never been a fan. This gave her the perfect excuse to let him go. She was probably just waiting until she had a chance to get someone to Arizona to take his place.
    Before he could sink entirely into the morass of self-pity, Haven came back, trailing