Unfinished Business Read Online Free

her. “I need to move around a bit.”
    â€œSave it for therapy tonight. Sit.”
    â€œIn a minute,” Mark muttered, limping away from her to pace between his desk and the window. “I knew she was up to something as soon as she came into the hearing room.” The image of the protester, her black hair brushing wild in her face surfaced in his mind again. “Something about the look on her face…”
    â€œBut you made the evening news,” Chase repeated in an easy drawl. Like that was supposed to erase the woman’s outrageous T-shirt and even more outrageous remarks. “That’s good.”
    â€œGood? For whom? The media?” Mark grumbled. “‘Man puts head up own ass’ is a terrific headline. Did you see her T-shirt? Books not bombs . I bet CNN got a good shot of that .” He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “It was my own damned fault. I had to open my big mouth when the Capitol police stepped in to do their job. It’s just…she looked so…”
    Small…helpless…determined…beautiful… the words rotated in his mind, but his lips couldn’t choose one. Or at least not one he wanted to say aloud. Erica Johnson’s image surged to the front of his mind again. Even in that outrageous getup, with that militant scowl on her face, there was something about her. From the second she’d walked into the room he’d noticed it: something as wild and untamed as the mossy wildernesses of his home state, something uncharted and vast as the dark expanse of a night sky. He’d stared her down and she’d stared back and he could almost read her, cussing him out in her mind.
    A worthy adversary , he remembered thinking. And so when she let out that screech of pain, he knew he had to say something, had to do something. After all, even in war, an honorable soldier treats his opponent with dignity.
    â€œMark? You listening?”
    Mark snapped himself back into the moment. “No,” he admitted. “Say again?”
    â€œI said—” Chase began.
    â€œSit down!” Bitsi chided, taking him by the arm and practically shoving him into the expansive leather of his chair. She pried his cane from his fingers and hung it over the back of the credenza, poured him a glass a water, set it within easy reach and perched on the edge of his desk. “Drink. I can tell you’re dehydrated. Drink!” And then she waited, clearly planning to supervise every drop of the water’s consumption.
    â€œI’m not dehydrated, Bitsi. I had about a gallon of water during the hearing. If I have any more I’ll float away,” Mark insisted, suppressing his exasperation. “Now stop fussing and let me hear what Chase has to say.”
    Chase rubbed the top of his head before opening his mouth. Over the years, Mark had watched the spot pass from thin to balding and proceed onward to bald, though Mark couldn’t say with certainty this rubbing habit or the passage of time was the cause. “I was saying that before you get your tighty whities in knots about her getting the better of you, let’s just think about this a minute.” Chase flicked his eyes over Bitsi, Mark and the glass of still untasted water before giving the spot another rub. “See, I’m thinking Bitsi might be able to get you a segment on the Sunday politics shows. A little free campaign advertising—”
    â€œI think that’s a wonderful idea!” Bitsi interjected. She slid off her perch at Mark’s elbow and paced the room, talking a mile a minute. “I’ve been cultivating all of our national media contacts, trying to get you more well-known across the country. And this is the perfect thing to pitch to them. And as for the folksback home, you have a decisive lead going into the primary next month. But you can never have too much media exposure, so doing the Sunday shows