Abby sighed. The whole situation with Lauren caused a knot in her stomach. “I’m sorry that being here has been a burden. I—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” He glanced at the doorway and lowered his voice. “It’s just not a good time for Lauren. Politically, I mean.”

“I understand. I didn’t mean to come between the two of you. You’ve been a very gracious host.” Sabin had treated her wonderfully, to the point of angering Lauren, and Abby didn’t want him to think she took his kindness lightly.

He stared at the floor, looking embarrassed. “You don’t have to leave immediately, you know. Just…soon. We can make arrangements for you.”

“I appreciate that, Sabin. After I leave, I’d like to be able to access the message I got from Inland Tribes. Is that possible?”

“Sure. It’s easy. I’ll print out some instructions for you.”

“Thanks.”

Sabin stood, walked to the door, and turned. “Abby, I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. Having you here has meant a lot to me.”

She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed it too, Sabin. You’ve been a good friend—and I’ve really needed one of those.”

He stepped down the hall. Abby stood, crossed over to the closet, and pulled out her suitcase.

Lauren could hear the band playing before she entered the joint. She had just finished meeting with the lieutenant governor at the Texas State Capitol—he liked to meet in physical reality—and decided to walk the five blocks down Congress Avenue to the Sixth Street honky-tonk. That was a mistake. By the time she arrived, she was hot, sticky, and annoyed.

Hutch always insisted on meeting here when they were in Austin. “All the pols do,” he said. Which was true and another reason she didn’t like the place. She had come up through the state legislature herself and knew every player in town. Inevitably, she ran into several of them here, which meant pretending it was great to see them. She was pretending full-time these days—that’s what campaigning was, after all.

As usual, Hutch was sitting near the back, nursing a pitcher of beer. She walked past a dozen patrons, smiling and shaking hands before taking a chair across from her mentor. “Hutch, if you make me meet you here one more time…”

He laughed. “How’s the campaigning, Lauren?” He grasped a glass sitting on the table. “Pour you a beer?”

“No, thank you. And fine—except for reporters who keep asking me questions about a certain religious nut I have for a cousin. And the hundreds of taps we’ve received at my office regarding her. Not to mention some at our house.”

“Your house? They’re persistent, aren’t they?”

“Sabin tells me Abby has also received several other Grid interview requests.”

His eyebrows rose. “And?”