you by my side. What do you say to one more—for old time’s sake?”
Consciences were messy things. Daniel’s stomach turned. No wonder he hadn’t had one for so long.
Christine Murray stared at him from dozens of photos on his computer screen. Blonde, petite, curvy, with huge blue eyes—absolutely beautiful, except that, in all of the pictures, she looked like a wild deer that had been cornered by a pack of hungry wolves.
“Can’t help you,” Daniel told Brian. Because he couldn’t. He hadn’t felt bad about working to defeat Clarence Murray. The man was not fit to govern.
But Christine Murray?
“Lee, quit joking around. It’s going to be a bloodbath and I need you by my side. No one can uncover secrets like you.”
“Good luck with your candidate,” he said. “But I’m out.”
Brian hesitated. “Is it just because of Murray?”
“No. I’m out for good. Don’t call me again.”
“Is that an order?” Brian’s voice got level again—which continued to be a bad sign. “Because I thought we were friends, Lee. I thought we had been friends for a long, long time.”
Daniel was no idiot. He knew a threat when he heard one. And running a political campaign involved negotiating the ever-moving line between legal and illegal, ethical and unethical. Nobody cared about morals.
Brian’s threat was empty, though. He couldn’t very well throw Daniel under the bus without getting his own legs run over.
“I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines.” As Daniel said it, Christine Murray’s trapped eyes continued to stare at him from the computer screen.
Two years ago he’d realized she was stunning. A man would have to be blind not to see it. But he had ignored the attraction then. He should be able to do the same now. Something as base and inconvenient as desire screwed things up. It always did.
“You’re making a mistake, Lee.”
“I have a business to run. But it’s been good talking to you, Brian.” And with that parting line, he hung up. Daniel tried to turn his attention back to the latest reports on the marketing campaign for the Beaumont Brewery’s launch of a new craft beer. But for once, Daniel couldn’t focus.
He found himself staring at pictures of Christine Murray as his mind spun out all of the possibilities. Naïvely, Daniel found himself hoping that her father’s opponent would leave Christine Murray out of it. He went back to his search results. There wasn’t much. There was an announcement that her child had been born, a daughter. There was a teaser article that suggested she was going to sign for the next season of Ballroom Dancing With Superstars—but that was from the previous season. Clearly, she hadn’t.
After digging deeper, he found what he was looking for—a small bio with the standard headshot attached to the First City Bank of Denver’s website. It had to be her—those blue eyes were unmistakable. She was a loan officer at the First City Bank. And she was in Denver? He’d been out of the game too long—he hadn’t realized she was so close.
Christine had nothing to do with her father—especially not if she had been in Denver for the last year and a half. She might not get dragged into this special election.
But Daniel knew that wasn’t how things worked. The opposition’s campaign manager would size up the competition. It would take all of twelve seconds to dig up every piece of useful information he could on Clarence Murray and when he did, Christine would be at the top of that list.
They would come for her again.
Daniel didn’t like guilt. And he shouldn’t care.
But he stared at the small picture on the bank’s website. She didn’t look trapped in that photo. She looked cautious, though. She looked like a woman who believed putting any picture of herself on the internet was inviting abuse.
If Daniel had any faith in Clarence Murray actually being a spiritual man, he might try to convince himself that Murray would close ranks around his daughter, try to protect her.
But Brian White wouldn’t allow that to happen. Christine Murray was a liability. Daniel was willing to bet large sums of money—and he had large sums of money to bet—that Brian would attack her first. He would make an example out of her to show that Clarence Murray did not engage in nepotism and stuck by his beliefs.
Daniel picked up the phone and dialed the executive office. “Yes?” his half brother, Zeb, said into the phone. “Do you have those numbers?”
Daniel absolutely should not get involved. But two well-funded, cutthroat political campaigns were about to descend upon Christine Murray. “Not yet. I need to be out of the office for a little bit—hopefully just a couple of hours, but it has the potential to become more involved.”
Zeb was quiet for a moment. “Everything okay?”
They had a tenuous relationship that was part stranger, part boss, part brother. The familial bonds felt awkward for both of them. “It should be. But if it becomes more involved, I’ll let you know.”
Zeb chuckled. “Yeah, that was reassuring. Good luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.”
Which didn’t change the fact that he was going to need all the luck he could get.
* * *
Christine Murray looked longingly at the coffeepot in the break room. She needed something stronger than green tea, but she had learned the hard way that if she had coffee this late in the day and then nursed Marie at bedtime, the girl would be bouncing off the walls all night long.
Not that Marie would sleep, anyway. She was teething—again—and all Christine could do was cling to her sanity in a blind stumble toward the weekend, where she would at least get to nap when Marie went down in the afternoon.
It was days like today that she gave thanks that she was a loan officer instead of a teller. She’d always liked being a teller—the job had paid her way through college. But she did not have it in her today to be perky.
Tea in hand, she settled in at her desk and stared at her computer without really seeing anything. She allowed herself a moment of indulgence to think what if. What if Doyle, her fiancé, had stuck by her during her father’s last campaign? What if they had gotten married like they planned? What if she had some help with Marie?
But if she was going to dream about the impossible, she might as well go all out. What if her mom hadn’t died? What if her father hadn’t been on a quixotic journey toward political office for the last fifteen years? What if she had grown up in a normal household with normal parents?
Her phone rang, snapping her out of her reverie where life was perfect and everybody got at least seven hours of sleep every night. “Thank you for calling First City Bank of Denver, this is Christine. How can I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Murray.” Something in the man’s voice set her teeth on edge. “We haven’t been properly introduced but my name is Brian White and I’m calling on behalf of your father, Clarence Murray,” he added, as if Christine
