Exclusive by Sandra Brown, Sandra Read Free Book Online

strung out as a junkie on the second day of detox-a woman clearly on the verge of emotional collapse. The day of the interview, she was another person entirely. Superior. Cool. Controlled. Correct. And about as . . . as human as that coffee table."
    "It was a good interview."
    "It was passionless, Daily, and you know it," she shot back. His wince told her that he agreed. "The interview with Mrs. Merritt should have been the highlight of the series. Instead, it was the low point. She was plastic. If she'd been like that the first time, I probably wouldn't have noticed. But the contrast between the first Vanessa Merritt and the second was dramatic."
    "So she popped a coupla Valiums before she went on camera," Daily said, shrugging.
    "Probably. I'm sure she was medicated the night I saw her at that reception-either that or she was drunk. Gorgeous as ever, but vague.
    Almost . . . I don't know . . . afraid. The President covered-
    "And that's another thing," she said, interrupting herself and launching into another tangent. "He greeted me as though he and I were old chums.
    Naturally I was flattered by his attention, but I thought it was odd. He was enthusiastic

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    about the series, before and after it was produced. I mean, look at those flowers. What they cost would have made a substantial dent in the national debt."
    "Then that shoots your theory all to hell, doesn't it? He wouldn't feel that way toward you and your series if it had shed an unfavorable light on his wife."
    "I'm just surprised by the palsy-walsy treatment. I've been covering the White House beat for a long time. Why all of a sudden are the President and I good friends?"
    "Barrie, you're a journalist. He's an incumbent facing reelection next year. He's got to schmooze all journalists. Win the press, win the election."
    She had to concede the validity of Daily's explanation. David Merritt had, from his first term in Congress, known how to court the media. The love affair had lasted through his campaign for the presidency. The gilt was beginning to wear off the romance, although his media coverage remained largely favorable. But Barrie Travis was a small-time reporter who wielded zero influence. Why was he schmoozing her?
    Her mind darted from one puzzle to another, as it had ever since her first meeting with Vanessa Merritt. She didn't stay with any one thought too long because she feared all of them were booby-trapped.
    "I could probably shrug off the inconsistencies and still sleep nights, except for one thing," she told Daily. "And I think this is the real kicker. When we completed the interview, she hugged me. Me."
    Daily continued playing devil's advocate. "It was good p.r.
    "No, it was an excuse."
    "For what?"
    "To get close enough to whisper something in my ear that couldn't be overheard. She said, `Battle, please help me. Don't you know what I'm trying to tell you?' "

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    "Damn!"
    "My sentiments exactly, Daily. That was the first and only time she displayed any honest emotion. She sounded desperate. What do you think she meant?"
    "How the hell should I know? It could mean, Help me get my husband reelected. Or, Help me generate public awareness of SIDS. Or, Help me recover from my grief. It could mean anything or nothing."
    "If it's nothing, it's nothing," Barrie said. "But if it's something, the implications are explosive."
    He shook his head. "I still don't buy it. Why would she kill her baby after trying so hard to have one?"
    "I thought we'd established that. Munchausen syndrome."
    "She doesn't fit the profile," he argued. "Women afflicted with the disorder are usually looking for sympathy and attention. Vanessa Merritt has outdistanced Princess Di in terms of press. She gets more attention than any other woman in the world."
    "But does she get it from the one who really counts?"
    "The President? You think she's a neglected wife, and she did this to rattle his cage?"
    "It's a possibility."
    "A slim one."
    "But possible,"