Gus called his sister’s cell-phone number once again. This time he left a message. “I miss you terribly and am greatly worried about you, Amanda. I desperately need to see you. We need to make the final plans for your crusade or cancel it. And surely you realize that it’s past time for you to conduct another one. Just popping in and out of a city here and there is not the same as a full-fledged crusade. We have worked too hard to make you one of the most beloved and powerful women in America to let it all fade away. And the president’s reelection committee is counting on both the funding and the loyal voters that only the Alliance of Christian Voters can provide. No one else can fill your shoes, Amanda. You are the greatest evangelist of our times, maybe of all times. No one has ever saved more souls to glorify God or mobilized Christian voters like you do. But all that aside, I miss my darling sister. You know that I love and adore you above all others. You are my life, Amanda. Please come home to me. I swear that you will have Sonny’s baby in your arms. Soon. It is my solemn promise.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

THEY NEEDED TO go to Dallas. But not yet. Not for a week.

Jamie insisted that they spend that week outside the state of Texas. And as soon as they crossed the state line into Arkansas, she felt safer-for a time at least.

North of Murfreesboro they passed up a couple of RV parks for not being scenic enough. The one they finally selected was located in a wooded grove with mountains all around and a quaint village within walking distance. They bought groceries before settling in at their campsite, which overlooked a small creek and had a picnic table and a grill. While Joe busied himself hooking up the RV to water, electrical, and sewer lines, Jamie put foil-wrapped potatoes in the oven, then told Joe to keep an ear out for Billy while she walked to the camp store to buy charcoal and ice.

Joe grilled steaks while Jamie made iced tea and a salad. They ate at the picnic table, with Billy sitting at one end in his infant carrier studying the gently waving branches overhead. “This is wonderful,” Jamie said, reaching for Joe’s hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, kissing her fingertips. “A preview of things to come.”

“I hope so,” Jamie said, a surge of emotion filling her chest. “Oh, God, I hope so.”

With Joe carrying Billy, they took an after-dinner walk following a path along the creek. The night was clear, the air crisp. With the absence of city lights, an amazing number of stars revealed themselves, which made Jamie think of the ranch. The sky had been spectacular there, too. And the high plain landscape with its lonely vastness had offered an unspoiled beauty of sorts. It was people who had made it an evil place.

Back at their campsite, they sat at the picnic table while Jamie fed Billy and Joe drank a beer. She helped herself to a few sips and wanted more. She allowed herself to think of a time when she would no longer be nursing a baby and could enjoy a couple of cans of beer or a glass or two of wine in the evening and not have to wear unattractive nursing bras.

She had become unaccustomed to alcohol, and the sips of beer made her a bit light-headed, which was delightful, and her mind drifted forward to lovemaking. She had found a box of candles in the kitchen cupboard and had thought all day how lovely it was going to be to make love by candlelight. And now her imaginings were becoming more graphic and brought wonderful responses to her body. She closed her eyes to savor them.

“Hey,” Joe said, “are you thinking about what I’m thinking about?”

“Oh, yes,” Jamie said, her eyes still closed.

Taking turns with Billy in the sling, they spent hours each day on long hikes. Sometimes they lingered beside a small lake, watching turtles sun themselves on rocks and engaging in rock-skimming contests. Every morning they walked to the village to buy newspapers and whatever groceries were needed. In the afternoon they returned for double-decker ice-cream cones. In the evenings they made a production out of dinner, with the picnic table nicely set and a candle burning in a hurricane lamp. Fresh trout was readily available at the village grocery and tasted wonderful grilled. Sometimes they went for hours or even an entire day without talking about the threat that hung over their future, but it was their constant companion, making every moment they shared all the more intense.

Their last afternoon at the camp, Joe caught a ride into town and used the computer at the local library to check out the mass-transit schedule for Dallas and its environs. Then he went to a site featuring Texas RV parks. He wanted a large one where they would be hidden away among a sea of vehicles.

Early the following morning, Jamie battened down the hatches inside while Joe unhooked the RV and filled the water tank in preparation for their drive.

They stopped in Greenville to buy clothing to wear in Dallas.

It was dark when they drove into a huge RV park near the Six Flags Over Texas amusement park.

Marcia Kimball picked up the receiver and identified herself.

“There’s a guy out here asking to see you,” the receptionist’s voice announced.

Holding the receiver to her ear with her shoulder, Marcia continued to type words into her computer. “Who is he?” she asked.

“Won’t say. He said to ask you if you’ve ever ridden on a Harley.”

Marcia frowned then took hold of the receiver and leaned back in her chair. “Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Well, he’s tall and he’s handsome, but his head is shaved.”

“Ask him where he took me on the Harley.”

Marcia listened while the receptionist inquired. The man answered, “Padre Island.”

Marcia drew in her breath then slowly exhaled. “Give me ten minutes then send him back,” she told the receptionist, then headed for the prep room with its lighted mirror and assorted cosmetics.

She was back at her desk, pretending to be engrossed in her work, when Joe tapped on the partition that formed the wall of her cubicle. She spun her chair around. “Well, look at you! I wouldn’t have recognized you if I’d bumped into you on the street. What’s with the bald head and facial hair?”

Joe looked up and down the corridor, then stepped closer and said in a very soft voice, “Actually, it’s meant to be a disguise.”

Another quip was composing itself in her head when she realized that Joe was serious. Dead serious.

He was wearing khaki pants and a navy dress shirt. No tie. He was leaner than before. And very tan.

She stood and motioned for him to follow her. She made her way through the maze of cubicles to one of the station’s two conference rooms. She closed the door behind her and motioned for him to sit down.

“We can talk here,” she said.

Joe shook his head and pointedly looked around at the corners of the room and put a finger to his lips. “What I had in mind was lunch. I’m starving.”

Marcia frowned. What in the hell was going on with him? Was he actually afraid that the room might be bugged?

Could it be? The thought had never occurred to her.

She glanced at her watch. “I’m on for the noon news and have lots of loose ends to take care of first. How about dinner?”

Joe glanced toward a credenza, then made a motion of writing something on his hand. Marcia realized that he wanted a piece of paper and something to write with. She opened a drawer in the credenza and produced a tablet and pencil.

“You’re looking good,” he said as he wrote, but there was no flirtation in his eyes or his voice. He showed her what he had written:

Where can we meet? Not your apartment.

“Why don’t you just call me in a day or two,” she said as she wrote: