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personality made her a success, even though she was an ultraconservative living in a predominantly liberal city.
    â€œSomething tells me he wasn’t looking for advice on his sex life,” Dana said. “Although he probably needs it.”
    â€œMeow.”
    Dana smiled. “Did he identify himself?”
    â€œOf course not. Coward that he is, he got on the air by telling my producer he had a question about how to help a woman lose her frigidity.”
    â€œHe said that?”
    â€œThose words exactly. I started to ask him for more specifics, when he said that surely I knew who he was talking about—the princess of Prospector High School. Anyway, I’ll send over a tape to your office so you can hear it. He didn’t name you, but your bio says you graduated from there.”
    â€œHow’d you shut him down?”
    â€œYou’ll hear the tape. Dana, I don’t think he’s done. His ego is black and blue, and he’s an eye-for-an-eye man. Usually his money and power get him what he wants. You weren’t impressed. He doesn’t like that.”
    Lilith wasn’t aware of what had happened between Dana and Harley years ago, only that they’d had a confrontation. Sam knew because he’d been involved, but Dana hadn’t told anyone else except her parents, not even Randall. Like Sam, she buried bad memories.
    â€œThanks for the warning,” Dana said. “I’ll think about how to handle it.”
    â€œGood. Can you be at our house by seven tomorrow night?”
    â€œIf I can’t get away that early, I’ll let you know. As of now, it looks okay.”
    They said their goodbyes.
    Dana tried to work. She needed to review two reports her staff had put together before her meetings tomorrow but her eyes kept closing. Useless, she decided. Better to get some sleep and get up an hour earlier in the morning.
    She set her alarm for 4:00 a.m. then shoved her briefcase and paperwork to the other side of the bed. She would haveturned out the light except that her gaze landed on an envelope sandwiched between an L.L.Bean catalog and a supermarket ad.
    She slid it free. The envelope had weight and texture much like a wedding invitation, yet no return address, just her name and address, typed in a calligraphy-style font, fancy and hard to read. A San Francisco postmark. Most people addressed her mail as Senator or The Honorable. On this envelope her name bore no title of any kind, not even Ms. She opened the flap, unfolded the single sheet of cream-colored vellum.
    If you run for reelection, I’ll make public everything I know about your saintly late husband.

Four
    I t was 3:00 a.m. before Sam arrived at his Santa Monica home, his mood as black as the sky. First, he’d forgotten about the valedictorian medal in his pocket until he set off the airport metal detector. Then the flight was delayed over an hour because of mechanical problems. After that, the car service didn’t show to pick him up and he had to take a cab home.
    As he paid the driver, he counted four newspapers scattered in his driveway, even though his neighbor had promised to pick them up daily. He dragged a hand down his face. One more thing to do before he flew back to San Francisco tomorrow night—cancel the paper. He was on the road too much now, anyway.
    He punched his code into the keyless entry panel then felt the cool welcome of home, his first real home, a 1920s Craftsman that suited his needs perfectly. Newly renovated and true to the original architectural style, the house had tugged at him from the first moment he saw it. The fact hecould afford it still made him shake his head in wonder. The simple mission-style furniture was complemented by soothing Asian undertones and accent pieces he’d picked up in his travels. It would do until he could build the house of his dreams. He’d already designed it.
    Sam detoured into his office on the way to the bedroom. The