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what she wanted to believe.
    Hawkins had explained the necessity of sneaking her in the employees’ entrance to the hotel. He’d said that her cover would be blown if anyone from Gaylord’s camp saw her. What a chump she’d been to believe his story. It was clear now that Hawkins had been acting as Farrington’s pimp, but she was so excited by the prospect of her important, secret mission that she wasn’t thinking straight.
    The president had met with her alone in his suite. He’d asked her to tell him all about herself and he’d listened intently to her every word while refilling her glass with the liquor she didn’t want to drink but was embarrassed to reject. The heady thrill of being the confidante to a president as handsome as Christopher Farrington, her secret mission, and the alcohol had made it easy for him to seduce her. Hell, she wanted to be seduced. The seduction had been no challenge at all.
    Charlotte took some deep breaths and they helped. So did the anger she was starting to feel. The Monica Lewinsky scandal flashed in her brain. It had almost destroyed Clinton. And there’d been Watergate before Lewinsky, a president covering up a burglary. What would happen to Mr. Family Values if the press learned that he’d slept with a teenage campaign volunteer to get her to steal secret documents from his opponent’s campaign headquarters?
    There were no tears now, just a white-hot rage that sharpened Charlotte’s mind. She could ruin Farrington if she wanted to, but would it be worth it? Lewinsky had become a pariah, a laughingstock, and the subject of cheap jokes on late-night television. Did she want everyone in the world to know about her pathetic sex life? And there was the possibility of criminal charges. She had stolen campaign documents. That must be a crime. Once she went to the press the president would do everything in his power to discredit and destroy her.
    The thought of going to prison and the notoriety she would receive sobered Walsh. Her life would be ruined if she told what she knew. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. She was wrung out emotionally, and she almost fell asleep, but the car braked for a stoplight and she opened her eyes. They were in the village they’d driven through a little while before turning onto the road to the farm.
    Charlotte looked out the window at the darkened storefronts. The town looked so peaceful at night. She sighed. She was angry but maybe she shouldn’t be. She’d had an adventure. Someday she would tell someone close about the brief period when she’d been the mistress of the president of the United States. She smiled. It was her dirty little secret, and right now she bet Farrington was wondering if she would keep it. Her smile widened as she realized that Christopher Farrington had a hell of a lot more to worry about than she did.
    She stopped smiling. What had she said when she was yelling at him? Had she made any threats? She was certain she had. Suddenly, she was fearful, then she shook her head. Clearly she was too emotional to think straight. She had to relax so she could decide what she should do. Probably nothing, she concluded bitterly. Farrington had used her but it would cost her too much to fight back. She tried to think of what had happened to her as being no worse than being dumped by any other guy. Sure it hurt for a while, but she’d get over it.
    “We’re back,” the driver announced. Charlotte had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t realized that they had returned to the mall.
    The driver turned in his seat and studied Walsh. He looked forty. His face was lean but there was gray in his hair and lines on his face. He seemed concerned.
    “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
    “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, and she felt that she might be after a little while. It was never fun to be discarded, and she’d been so excited about being the confidante of a president, but she should have known that it