Page 47 of Prime Time

“What’s wrong?”

“Th—the release form. I never had Michael Ratliff sign one.”

She shrank from the murderous cold blue glint in Les’s eyes. “You can’t mean that, Andy. Try to remember. You’ve never done an interview in your career that you didn’t get the release first. Now, goddammit, where is it?” By the time he reached the last word, he was screaming.

“I don’t have it,” she yelled back. “I remember that when we started taping, I wanted to hurry bef

ore the general got tired. Gil’s cord had gone dead, remember? And we’d had to delay. I remember thinking that I’d get it later. I never did.”

He slammed his fist into his palm, and she heard words she’d never heard him use before, and she’d thought she’d heard them all. He rounded on her. “You’re not lying are you? Is this some ruse—”

“No. I swear it, Les. I never got a release form signed.”

“It’d be just like Lyon to sue our asses for all we’re worth if we ran them without one. And even if he didn’t know he had that power, the network would, and they’d never take the chance. You’ll just have to go out there and get him to sign one.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. Not until after the funeral.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Les shouted.

“That’s right. I’ll not go out there until then. Lyon may not even let me in.”

Les looked at the bag she held in her hand. He was gnawing his lip and flexing his fingers. “Forget taking these tapes by force or faking a release. I’d telephone the network myself and tell them what you were trying to pull.”

“It never crossed my mind,” he said with a feral smile.

“Yes, it did,” she said, not smiling. “Go call your contact and tell him he won’t have the interviews until after the funeral. Then leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

He stood at her door, hands on hips, looking at her for a long time. He shook his head in wonder. “You’ve changed, Andy. I can’t understand what’s happened to you.”

“That’s right, Les. You can’t understand.”

The remainder of the day was spent lying on the bed with a cold compress over her eyes. She locked the tapes in her suitcase and hid the key. She also kept the door to her room locked and the chain latched. She swore to herself that she trusted Les, but actions spoke louder than words.

Since she had slept little the night before, she dozed off and on during the day. As she hovered between sleep and wakefulness the scenes that were acted out in her mind fell somewhere between dreams and fantasies. She and Lyon were the featured players in all of them.

In the early evening she watched the accounts of General Ratliff’s death on the network news shows. As Les had predicted, the entrance to the ranch was thronged with reporters and photographers. Police barricades had been set up to keep back the throng. Only locals or veterans who had served under the general’s command during the war were permitted to parade past the gates. Most of them left sprays of flowers.

Andy’s heart constricted when Lyon was shown coming through the gates to deliver a terse statement to the press. To the people who had come to pay their last respects to his father he was seen speaking softly, graciously, solemnly.

He was dressed as Andy had never seen him, in a dark suit and white shirt. His carriage, his control, the strength he exuded were impressive. Her throat ached with emotion. He put up a good front for the public, but what was he suffering in private? Has Jerri come home to comfort him in his time of need? Andy wondered. Instantly she regretted her peevishness, though the idea of his finding comfort in another woman’s arms continued to haunt her.

The following morning the news programs had little to report about the funeral, except that the President was flying in by helicopter from Lackland Air Force Base to attend the ten o’clock graveside service. The general was to be interred on the ranch.

Andy put on a chamois-colored shirtwaist dress and matching high-heeled sandals. She pulled her hair into a smooth bun and slipped small gold earrings into her ears.

By noon she had packed everything and loaded it in her rental car, planning to leave Kerrville for good as soon as she returned with the signed release and delivered it to Les. The crew, after they had covered the funeral from outside the gates, had gone on to San Antonio in hopes of catching a late-afternoon plane to Nashville. Though none of them spoke of it, Andy knew they had been affected by the general’s death.

At three o’clock Les came to her room to see her off. He had argued for her to leave earlier. She had refused.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“When I get it signed,” she said. His irritation made his red hair stand on end. To clarify the ambiguity of this, she said, “I don’t know what I’ll find when I get out there. The police may still be there. I don’t know if I’ll get anywhere near the place. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

He was still throwing daggers at her as she wheeled out of her parking space. Her hands were so damp, they slipped on the steering wheel of the car. What she had told Les was true—she didn’t know what she’d find when she got to the ranch, but she almost wished she wouldn’t be able to get in. She dreaded meeting Lyon face to face much more than facing a police barricade.

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