“She has an estate near here,” Hegler said, ever the helpful one. “It used to belong to her parents before they died, although I hear she remodelled extensively. But I don’t think she’ll be there right now—all the candidates have a debate this afternoon.”
“Where?”
“The new convention centre in Frankfort.”
Gee, guess where they’d be heading next? Although it could be interesting. Alaric had never seen Kyla Devane in person, and he was curious to see how she acted when the cameras weren’t on her.
“What time?”
“The formalities start at four.”
“Then we’d better head over there.”
“I think it’s ticketed, but I know plenty of people,” Hegler said. “You’d better give me your number, and I’ll find someone who can get you in.”
Access really wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was a nice gesture. Alaric handed over a business card and Emmy followed suit. Sirius Consulting and Blackwood Security. In the intelligence field, the two firms were the equivalent of a minnow and a blue whale respectively.
“Thanks.” Emmy pocketed Hegler’s card in return and turned back to Harriet. “So, what are you planning to say in this interview? Are you going to endorse Biggs?”
“Ugh, no way.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, ashamed of her gut reaction. “I mean, no, I’m going to avoid that.”
“What’s so bad about Biggs?”
“He’s been to a few of Daddy’s gatherings. At the last one, he followed me out to the barn and propositioned me while his wife was inside with the children. My father might have made mistakes, but I’m fairly certain he never tried to take advantage of a friend’s daughter. His only transgression was with Dominique, and my mother drove him to that.”
“She was the neediest woman I’ve ever met,” Hegler muttered.
What a family.
“So you’ll be voting Democrat, then?” Alaric asked, half joking.
“If I vote at all. Aidan O’Shaughnessy’s a centrist, and so am I. Our views aren’t a million miles apart, but I can hardly come out and say that, can I? I’ll come across as bitter if I back the opposition, and besides, I don’t want to upset Daddy.”
“Go with your heart,” Emmy told her. “You’ve never considered running for your father’s seat? It sounds as though you care.”
“Me, run for office? Are you joking? I’ve seen enough politics to last me a lifetime.”
CHAPTER 8 - EMMY
“THERE SHE IS,” Alaric murmured. “Kyla Devane.”
To give Stéphane his credit, he’d got us decent seats. We were three rows from the front, at eye level with Devane’s stilettos as she strode to her podium with a tablet computer. She was wearing a pair of Giuseppe Zanottis if I wasn’t mistaken—Bradley had educated me well. Those were thousand-dollar shoes, perhaps not the best choice for an audience made up of mainly blue-collar workers. The five-thousand-seat arena was full of red shirts for Biggs, blue shirts for O’Shaughnessy, and a particularly vocal contingent of yellow-clad supporters for Kyla. Thank goodness I’d worn black. I’d also worn a brown wig, which was itching, and a pair of plastic-framed glasses that could have been borrowed from Clark Kent.
“This is San Pellegrino,” Kyla hissed at someone offstage. “I said Evian.”
A young blonde dashed forward. An intern? “Ms. Devane, I’m so sorry.”
“Just get rid of it. The Italians are not our friends right now.”
Was she referring to the Italian ambassador trashing her plans for an import tax on Parmesan cheese and prosciutto? And if so, did she realise where her shoes came from?
I spotted Aidan O’Shaughnessy in the wings, sitting on a plastic chair with a laptop balanced on his knees, jacket off and tie loosened. Still tweaking his speech? Tsk tsk tsk. Surely he should have come prepared?
Actually… My phone pinged, and I almost choked on my popcorn. Black had tasked Nate with keeping me updated on Devane-related developments, and it seemed that Harriet had taken my earlier words to heart and backed O’Shaughnessy. I showed the news article to Alaric.
“Whoa. I thought she was gonna hedge her bets?”
“All or nothing, Prince.”
And in that case, I’d forgive O’Shaughnessy for the last-minute adjustments. Perhaps he wanted to add something about cross-party support. A small smile played across his lips. Yeah, he’d seen the news.
Biggs, on the other hand, looked tense. He’d claimed the space at the other side of the stage, and every so often, I caught sight of him as he paced. Was that his wife with him? She seemed more concerned with keeping out of his way than with offering support.
The moderator appeared, microphone in hand, and Kyla smoothed the curtain of sleek mahogany hair that hung just past her shoulders. The front had been artfully twisted away from her face and pinned to the side. She’d gone with a navy-blue pantsuit today, which might have come across as conservative without the cleavage-baring top underneath. And was that necklace a real sapphire?
Tap tap tap. Sound check. The two men filed onto the stage and took their places either side of Kyla. Out of the three of them, she looked the most self-assured. Biggs had to be on the back foot after the twin snubs from Harriet and her father.
“Welcome, folks. It’s great to see you here at the Jincheng Arena”—yes, Kentucky’s newest venue was sponsored by a Chinese beer brand—“for what promises to be a historic debate. With the polls for the senatorial election balanced on a knife-edge, this is your chance to hear from our three candidates. We’ll let each of them introduce themselves, and then we’ll challenge them with questions on the issues y’all want to hear about. Kyla Devane, would you like to start?”
“Thanks, Marty.” Kyla gestured towards the audience. “And thank you for coming today. It’s wonderful to see so many friends from the place I call home.” Cue rabid cheering from the yellow section. “So, why am I here on stage today? Well, there’s nothing I love more than my state, my country, and the people who make
