Season of Hope. Virginia Carmichael
dress shoes echoing in the empty stairwell. Timing was everything, and now was exactly the wrong time. He pushed the long metal handle and exited into the lobby. If he was honest with himself, never would be an even better time.
Twenty minutes later, with a tray of hot coffees in hand, Gavin punched in the code to the top floors of the Center for Disease Control. The building was humming with activity and not in a pleasant way. Gavin didn’t know if this epidemic was going to be something they could control. Babies got the first diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis vaccine at two months, and most of these babies were newborns. The older ones had one of the vaccines, but not the whole series. It wasn’t enough to keep them from developing the disease if they caught it from an older sibling or a parent. The most fragile infants were falling victim.
At the first door, Gavin peered in and saw Tom’s desk was empty. Piles of papers were strewn around. It reminded him of Evie’s desk, which made him think of the way she’d covered her eyes during their impromptu “spot the difference” game. His lips tugged up.
“How many more cases?” Tom asked from just behind him. His voice was quiet, subdued. He reached around and took a cup of coffee from the tray, raising an eyebrow.
“Three more confirmed, total of eleven babies in the NICU, and there are two isolated in the emergency area.”
“Well, if we’re trading bad news, Senator McHale is in your office.” Tom took a sip and nodded down the hallway.
Gavin felt like ice had dropped into the pit of his stomach. His first thought was of Allison, and the next was of Sean. The door to Gavin’s office was almost closed, revealing nothing, but they both stood watching it anyway.
“He didn’t say why he was here. I also didn’t ask. I didn’t figure he’d want to share his business with a lowly administrator.” Tom was more than that. He could run the whole local organization in a pinch. There were few things he didn’t know, and that Gavin was connected to McHale in a very ugly way was one of them.
“He’s been waiting about an hour.” Tom tossed the last bit over his shoulder as he wandered back to his desk, but the look they exchanged said it all. The senator never waited. Ever.
McHale had visited the CDC before. It was part of his election year rounds. Gavin had been struck by his utter arrogance. There were people who loved power. It happened in every profession. Unfortunately, McHale was determined to keep his power at any cost. Anything that made him look bad was blacklisted, no matter the reason. And an uncontrolled pertussis epidemic could certainly be considered a negative.
Allison was another. She’d ruined his presidential aspirations once. Revealing that he’d fathered a child out of wedlock and refused to acknowledge him might be the final nail in his political coffin.
Gavin steeled himself before opening the door, resisting the urge to knock. It was his office, after all. McHale was sitting behind Gavin’s desk, looking right at home. His dark hair was perfectly combed, manicured hands casually flicking through a stack of papers. Gavin wasn’t overly territorial, but if he hadn’t already had a bone to pick with the man, he certainly would have at the sight of McHale reading his personal notes.
“Finally back.” The man didn’t even have the good grace to pretend he hadn’t just been rifling through Gavin’s desk. He took one last peek and then tossed the stack down. Expensive suit perfectly pressed, silk tie straight as an arrow, a light tan that was more California than Colorado. He’d aged well since the last time they’d been in the same room. Or hadn’t aged at all, really. Politicians and celebrities seemed to hang at thirty for a few decades before they got wrinkles like the rest of humanity.
Gavin itched to straighten the papers, but he was so angry he forced himself to remain perfectly still. If he started moving toward the desk, he might just keep going until he grabbed McHale by the tie.
“How can I help you today?” He was proud of his easy tone and wished he could force a smile to go with it, but that was too much to ask of any man.
“I need copies of every outreach program, every vaccine push and every community education session you’ve put together. This outbreak is unfortunate, but it’s spreading unchecked.” He leaned forward, black eyes narrowed. “That’s your job, in case you didn’t know. And when you don’t do your job, it makes me look like I’m not doing my job.”
Gavin had known what was coming, had prepared for it, and it still made his blood pressure skyrocket. McHale wouldn’t know one end of a graph from another; the papers wouldn’t do him a bit of good. He was blowing hot air. And Gavin was in no mood to be bullied.
He bought a few seconds to calm himself by slipping off his coat and hanging it on the rack behind the door. His face felt hot, his collar too tight. He lowered himself into the guest chair. “I can do that. And we’re starting a new series in The Chronicle tomorrow.”
“Better be a good series. But is The Chronicle the biggest paper? What about The Daily?” McHale leaned over the desk, long fingers laced together in a contemplative pose. “Anyway, whichever one you put it in, you’ve got to be working day and night. Make sure everyone knows that this office is doing something, not just testing samples and visiting the hospitals. I don’t care if you have to go door to door. These numbers are way too high, and if it spreads from Denver to other places, they’ll come looking to see who let it happen.”
Of course they would. And there wouldn’t be any support from McHale, clearly. If Gavin hadn’t already been working on not hating the guy, he would be now.
“Well, if I’m out going door to door, they won’t be able to find me. Maybe the lab crew can give them a statement.”
The placid expression vanished from McHale’s face. “This isn’t a joke,” he barked, eyes angry slits.
“I’m not laughing.” Gavin stood up and stepped closer to his desk. “You may be concerned about how this makes us look, but I’m trying to save lives. I won’t play media consultant when there’s an epidemic.”
The senator may have been pushing fifty but he was still fit. He stood up so quickly it looked like he’d bolt over the desk. “Those papers are here to make us look good, when we need them. You think this is all about keeping babies healthy? It’s not. You’re funded by the government, which is run by politicians. If people think you’re inefficient, they complain to me. I get enough complaints and we’ll cut every program you have down to nothing.”
The words thumped and rumbled around in his head like shoes in a dryer. “I’ll give you the files and a copy of the story that’s running in The Chronicle.” He didn’t offer more.
He stood silently, debating. Gavin waited, watching emotions flash over McHale’s features. Anger, frustration, cold calm.
“Fine. And if I hear anything negative about this office, anything at all, I’ll be back. Use some of your time to cover your backsides. Even if it takes manpower away from reaching the at-risk people in this city.”
Gavin’s muscles tensed from the base of his skull all the way down his spine. “You’re telling me to take people off the regular task force and put them on media outreach, just so we can look good?”
Walking around the desk and standing inches away, his pale blue eyes cold and calculating, McHale said, “If looking good keeps your office open, then I would think you would be on board.”
They stood nose to nose, Gavin refusing to blink. He clenched his fists and willed himself to speak calmly. For Allison’s sake—for Sean’s sake—he kept his cool.
“Looking good should be keeping the pertussis from taking over the city. I don’t care if the public thinks I sit here and watch football all day. I’m going to do my job to get the preventative measures in place and try to stay ahead of the storm. The rest will have to wait.”
“Know what your problem is, Gavin? You think if you work hard, the public will see it. But honestly, the average American isn’t that perceptive. They have to be told when someone is doing their