"Not that long ago, Mother," Palmer said, causing his mother to laugh. He looked at Ariana and leaned in, lowering his voice. "The congresswoman likes to pretend she's older than she is. She thinks it will help her gain more respect on the Hill."
"Not that she needs any help in that arena," Mr. Liriano added.
"I've trained my men well, as you can see," Palmer's mother said to Ariana in a conspiratorial tone. "Nothing but compliment after compliment."
"Believe me, I'm taking mental notes," Ariana replied with a laugh. "You're a congresswoman?"
"Fifth district, Arizona," she replied with a nod.
"That's incredible," Ariana said. "I don't believe I've ever met a congresswoman before," she lied. Her father had been fast friends with many a politician in Georgia. They used to gather out on the porch on warm summer evenings, smoke cigars, and talk about how
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to improve the state. Ariana used to love to listen to their throaty laughter and rumbling voices from the settee inside the parlor, letting the sounds of the creaking rocking chairs lull her off to sleep.
She found her throat welling at the memory but swallowed it down. She was Briana Leigh Covington now. Briana Leigh had no such fond memories.
"Well, I'm happy to be the first," Mrs. Liriano said.
"And what do you do, Mr. Liriano?" Ariana asked, glancing at Palmer from the corner of her eye. She could tell he was watching her closely, and that he appreciated her good manners and her ability to chat with the adults. Points were definitely being scored.
"Nothing much, I'm afraid. Retired ballplayer. All I do these days is sign baseballs, make appearances, and head up my charitable foundation," he said.
"Really? I'd love to hear about the foundation," Ariana told him.
"No, you wouldn't," Palmer joked.
They all laughed.
"Dad was also instrumental in shaping the anti-performance-enhancing-drug bill that was signed into law last year," Palmer said, clearly proud of both parents. "He's the one who taught me everything I know about sportsmanship and fairness."
Ariana smiled. So sportsmanship and fairness were important to Palmer as well. She was glad she'd come over to chat with his family. Already she was learning more about him. Ariana was just about to ask a follow-up question when a photographer stepped up and touched Mr. Liriano's shoulder.76
"Mr. Liriano, Congresswoman . . . would you and your son mind posing for a few photos for the alumni magazine?" he asked.
"Of course not," Mrs. Liriano said.
Ariana's heart skipped a beat and she slunk back a few steps. The last thing she wanted was her photo appearing in a magazine. Even in her disguise, someone out there might recognize her.
"No, Ana, stay," Mrs. Liriano said, touching her arm. "The magazine loves to get as many students and alums in each photo as they can."
Ariana's pulse raced as the Lirianos all looked at her expectantly and the photographer looked on. She didn't want to be rude, but she could not have her photo published. Her life might depend on it.
"It's okay. Actually, I'm not very photogenic," Ariana said, still backing away.
"I find that hard to believe," Mr. Liriano said matter-of-factly.
"Thanks, but... you should just make it a family picture," Ariana said. She glanced around and spotted Tahira out of the corner of her eye, wearing a bright green dress that couldn't be missed. "Besides, I promised Tahira I would meet some of her friends and she's waiting for me, so ... it was nice to meet you both!"
Then, not wanting to look at their baffled faces any longer, Ariana turned and strode toward Tahira, who was talking to a group of elderly alumni. Not because she in any way wanted to, but because she had to in case the Lirianos were watching.
As she marched toward what was sure to be a lethally boring conversation, she wondered what the five keys were for keeping her new identity safe.
77
LEXA GREENE
Ariana decided to take the long, scenic route back to her dorm after the alumni welcome party. It was a clear, balmy, late-summer night, and the Atherton-Pryce Hall campus glowed in the light emanating from dozens of old-fashioned iron lampposts set along the walkways. Alcove la