Page 35 of Power Play

The woman grunts in agreement.

“Wait,” I state and turn to face Randi. “Your mom ishere. In holding?”

She nods with a noncommittal shrug. “Not the first time either.”

“Come on. I'll take you to her.” The keys jingle as Christy’s trembling hand slides the key into the lock and tugs the door open. Halfway down the narrow hall, she calls over her shoulder, “Everything else has been taken care of by that evil man of yours.”

“She mean's Kyle,” Randi says back to me.

“Take it you don't like him,” I shout as we turn a corner, taking another short hall.

She shakes her head, her silver-blue hair bouncing with the movement. “Anyone can see through his charm. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you ask me. If it weren't for Randi here, no way I’d want him in office.”

“You and most Americans,” Randi mutters, not bothering to turn to make sure I hear her.

“Here we are.” Christy's hand pauses over the doorknob. With a resigned sigh, she turns to Randi, sympathy etched across her face. “I know you've tried to help her, but, Randi, some people just aren't ready for what we're so willing to give. You hear me? Your mother has made her own life choices, and you've made yours. She does not define you. Never has and never will. Now get your mama home and get your ass back to DC. Do something about those ridiculous damn taxes. I work hard for my money, don't want that government taking any more than they already are.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Rolling her shoulders, Randi stretches her neck to the right, then left. “Okay, I'm ready. Let's do this.”

Why does it feel like we're about to go into battle?

“Do we need backup?” I question, though it feels stupid to suggest I can't handle her mom on my own.

Hazel eyes meet mine, flicking from one to the other, searching for… hell if I know.

“Maybe.”

What the hell?

Chapter Eleven

Randi

Dammit, why did I ask him to walk me in here? Anyone but him. Internally I groan and turn back to the door Christy’s unlocking. I'm not embarrassed about him seeing Mom; no that's something I got over a long time ago. It's everything Christy pointed out. Love that woman, but today I wish she'd keep her thoughts to herself. Trouble doesn't seem like the type of guy who needs his ego inflated any more than it already is.

The last thing I need right now is for him to think I find him attractive. The thin veil of anger keeping us apart needs to stay. Period. If he changes his attitude toward being kind and non-assy, I'll have a difficult time keeping my walls up. And those suckers are needed to survive the piranha-infested pond known as the DC political circle.

Relaxing both hands at my sides, I give them a quick shake, releasing the tension.

Christy pushes the door wide and steps aside, allowing me to walk in first. With a deep breath for courage, I step through. That same breath whooshes out at the sight of Mom passed out on the far side of the holding cell. All thoughts of Trouble at my back, wondering what he's thinking, vanish as I step closer and wrap my hands around the bars. The cold metal bites into my palms as I squeeze so tight my knuckles turn white.

Every time I see Mom, there is less and less of the woman I used to know left behind. The woman curled on her side on top of the lone metal bench is nothing but a shell of the charismatic woman she once was. Much thinner than the last time I saw her. Bones protrude, almost slicing through the thin skin covering her hips and shoulders. Deep lines mark her face, making her look ten years older.

The clanging of metal against metal draws my focus from Mom to Christy opening the holding cell door.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I slip past. The overwhelming smell of urine, stale smoke, and decay halts my steps halfway into the cell. I raise an arm and bury my nose into the crook of my elbow before stepping closer.

“Mom,” I say, muffled by the sleeve of my jacket. My chest expands as I take in a deep breath before pulling my arm away. “Mom.”

Nothing.

Eyes focused on her chest, I squat low, watching for signs of life. A flash of relief settles and I release the held breath at the rapid rise and fall of her chest. At least she's alive. Forgetting about the stench wafting off Mom, I take a breath to call her name again. Nausea brews and I gag, instinctively shoving backward to move away from the stench. My ass hits the unforgiving cement floor.

Strong hands tuck under each armpit and haul me upright. The movement disrupts my already delicate equilibrium, and I sway once my feet meet the floor.

“What happened? Are you okay? Randi?”

I blink a couple times, attempting to make the room stop spinning. “Fine. I'm fine. I'm just… still a little dizzy from last night.” Again, the room whirls in my vision, but this time it’s due to Trouble flipping me around so we’re chest to chest, his intense, assessing gaze scanning my face. “It’s the smell. Really, I’m okay.”

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