Free The Last White Knight by Tami Hoag Page A

their attention. “Girls,” she said. “This is State Senator Gunther. Senator, Tracy Brogan, Michelle Jenner, and Barbara Wheeler.”
    Erik nodded politely. He was suddenly aware of the state of his appearance—the rumpled polo shirt with the tails hanging out, chinos that were in dire need of a steam iron, a day’s growth of beard on his face. He didn’t look like a state senator. He looked as if he’d spent the night, and the bright gleam in the girls’ eyes told him they thought so too.
    “We had a little trouble here last night after you and Lillian left, Martha,” he said, feeling the need to connect with an adult. “Father Bartholomew and I bunked in the living room. We didn’t think Lynn should stay here alone.”
    “Trouble?” Martha’s fleshy face folded into a look of concern as she pulled a gallon of milk out of a grocery bag and turned toward the refrigerator. “Land o’ Goshen! What happened to the refrigerator?”
    Lynn rubbed a hand across her mouth, half-glad for the dent in the appliance. It would keep Martha’s shrewd eyes from catching the fact that she looked thoroughly kissed. “Um, it’s a long story. Can we wait until everyone’s here to go over it?”
    Martha ignored the question. She thrust the milkat Tracy and took Lynn by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine. Really.” Lynn met her employer’s gaze without flinching, putting on a poker face that would have won her a bundle in Vegas. It didn’t fool Martha. Her gaze slid meaningfully to Erik and back, and a ghost of a smile claimed her bright red lips.
    The kitchen door swung open again and Lillian strode in, looking her usual prim self. Her face was set in stern lines of disapproval, and Lynn could tell by her long, slow deep breath that her patience was nearing an end. The reason for Lillian’s mood stepped into the kitchen behind her—five feet eight inches of pretty, dark-haired, blue-eyed trouble.
    “God, this place is a dump,” Regan Mitchell pronounced, her voice dripping disdain. She gave the kitchen a cursory, narrow-eyed look and crossed her arms over the front of her black tank top as her gaze sliced across the room to Lynn. “It doesn’t even have cable.”
    Lynn shrugged. “Believe it or not, most of the great people in the history of the world managed to grow up without MTV.”
    “Not that you’d be watching it if we did have it,” Lillian intoned imperiously.
    Regan gave a huff of disgust. Lynn looked to Martha for an explanation.
    “While you were busy here defacing the kitchen appliances, we were having a little crisis of our own. Regan went out for a while last night without notifying anyone.”
    The girl rolled her eyes and sighed the sigh of the teenaged oppressed. “So I went downtown. Big deal. There wasn’t anything else to do. This place is so boring I can’t stand it.”
    “Yeah, well we can’t stand
you
, either,” Tracy Brogan sneered, giving her fellow resident a malevolent look.
    “Tracy, that’s enough,” Lynn admonished quietly. “Lillian, why don’t you take Tracy and Michelle and Barbara upstairs and try to decide how the bedrooms should be arranged.”
    The group marched out, Lillian with her regal nose raised, Tracy bumping shoulders with Regan on her way past, Barbara and Michelle still casting looks of amazement at Erik. Martha started putting groceries away, her manner relaxed.
    Lynn went to the table and plucked a Twinkie off the plate, her attention gradually drifting back to Regan, who still stood braced for battle. Her mouth was painted a hideous shade of dark plum and set in a grim pout. Defiance radiated from her like anaura—defiance of authority, defiance of anyone trying to get close. She even defied her own budding beauty. She had hacked her hair into a ragged style that looked as if rats had chewed it off as she slept. She dressed in the look Lynn called “The Grim Reaper Goes G.I.”—anything black and unflattering on milky-white