Distrust

by Lisa Jackson

  Ashley shook her dark curls, as if to clear her mind. Dear God, what was Trevor doing here? “This is quite a shock, you know. I thought that . . .”

  “You thought that I was recuperating from an accident.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was,” he admitted in a rough whisper. Though he sat away from the light, Ashley could see his sharply defined features. His strong face no longer held the warmth she remembered, and deep lines of worry webbed from the corners of his eyes.

  “And now that you feel up to it, you decided to break into my cabin. Right? That’s against the law, Senator.”

  “I’ve been charged with worse.” There was a viciousness in his words that she didn’t understand until she remembered the bribery charges. She studied his face. His chin was still bold and square, but his cheeks had hollowed, probably because of the accident. A tiny scar, still an angry red line, cut across his jaw. Beneath his eyes were dark shadows, evidence of too many sleepless nights. When he stared at her she saw no trace of emotion on the rugged contours of his face, but she read something in the chill of his gaze. He looked haunted. “Trevor . . . what’s going on?”

  “I want to know just how desperate Stephens Timber is to get me out of the senatorial race.”

  “I have nothing against your politics, you know that.”

  A disdainful black brow cocked. “What I know is that for all practical purposes, you own Stephens Timber, right?”

  The brutal glare in his eyes forced the truth from her lips. “Except for a few shares—”

  “But your cousin, Claud, he’s the general manager—the guy who’s responsible for the day-to-day operations?”

  “Claud reports to me. Look, Trevor, I don’t know what you’re getting at, and I really don’t see that I’m obligated to tell you anything. Just what the devil is going on?” Her mysterious green eyes pleaded with him.

  Light from the antique lamp diffused into the far corners of the room, making the shadows dangerously intimate. Scarlet embers smoldered in the fire, just as they did on the first night she and Trevor had made love. Time might have hurried past them, but Ashley knew she would never love another man with the reckless, unbound passion she had felt for Trevor.

  Trevor’s eyes darkened, as if his thoughts had taken the same precarious path as hers. Passion flickered in their midnight depths before he jerked his gaze away from her to study the fire. It was as if, in that one hesitant moment, he had inadvertently divulged too much of himself to her.

  Ashley reached over and brushed the back of his hand with hers. With a jolt, his head snapped backward and his eyes drove into hers. Gone was any trace of desire. In its stead lurked cruel suspicion, lingering just below the surface of his gaze, silently accusing her of a crime she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

  She withdrew her hand. Her fingers trembled as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. Dread crawled up her spine. “This has something to do with your accident, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure it was an accident.”

  Ashley was stunned. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him correctly. “But the papers said—”

  “I know what they said. I know what the police report said. But I’m not convinced.”

  “Wait a minute.” She closed her eyes in order to clear her mind. There had been too many emotional shocks tonight and her tangled feelings were interfering with her logic. Stretching her fingers outward in a supplicating gesture, she begged for his patience. The rumors of foul play entered her mind and she shuddered. “Let’s start over. . . .”

  His frown became a poignant smile. “A little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The sarcasm in his words sliced into her heart.

  She bit back the hot retort forming on her tongue. She folded her hands over one knee and forced herself to remain as calm as possible. “I think it’s about time you leveled with me. You owe me that much.”

  “I owe you nothing.”

  Her frayed nerves got the better of her and her thin patience snapped. “That’s where you’re wrong, Trevor,” she contradicted. “First, you broke into my place after trudging God only knows how long in the snow just to hide your truck. Next, you sat in the dark in order to scare the living daylights out of me, which, by the way, you did. Then, you end up making vague accusations and ridiculous insinuations that don’t mean a damned thing to me! I keep getting the impression that you’re waiting for me to say something or fall into some kind of trap, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is! What happened to you, Trevor? Just what the hell happened to you and what’s all this nonsense about your accident—”

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t think it was an accident.”

  She lifted her arm as if to ward off another verbal assault. “Yeah, I know,” she mumbled while placing her hand on the arm of the chair and pushing herself out of it. She stretched before bending over and examining the contents of the basket of wood sitting near the fireplace. She needed an excuse for time to gather her scattered thoughts.

  Tossing a large piece of oak onto the coals, Ashley slid a secretive glance in Trevor’s direction. The crackle of flames shattered the silence as the fire began to consume the new log. Returning her gaze to her task, Ashley spread her palms open to the warmth of the flames and didn’t bother to turn her head or look at Trevor when she spoke. With practiced calm she asked, “I’ve known you for a long time, haven’t I?”

  “Eight years,” he supplied, eyeing her backside as she kneeled before the ravenous flames. He couldn’t help but consider her supple curves. Her jeans were stretched tightly over her buttocks, leaving little room for his imagination. For a fleeting moment he wondered if her skin was still as soft as it once had been.

  “Eight years, that’s right,” she agreed. “In those eight years I’ve called you a lot of things.” His dark brows raised inquisitively when she paused. “But I’ve never accused you of being a lunatic.” She dusted her hands on her jeans and smiled to herself as she stood. She was content to run her fingers over the rough wood of the oak mantel as she continued. “So you see, you’re going to have a difficult time convincing me that you drove over a thirty-foot embankment intentionally.”

  “Of course not.”

  The first cold feelings of doubt had already taken hold of her. What was it Claud had said? That Trevor was still convinced that Stephens Timber had something to do with his father’s disappearance?

  He studied her quietly, watching the gentle curve of her neck as she laid her head against the mantel. Her ebony hair brushed against her white skin when she pushed it over her shoulder. Her round eyes were filled with concern and worry for him.

  When Trevor rose from the chair too quickly, a dizzying sensation swept over him in a sickening wave. The pain in his side was once again beginning to throb. Grimacing against the dull ache, he made his way over to the fireplace and propped his shoulder against the warm stones. He pressed his hand against his abdomen until the ache subsided.

  Holding her transfixed with his sober gaze, he spoke. When he did, the skin tightened over the rugged planes of his face and his eyes glinted with renewed determination. “Look, Ashley. I didn’t intend to lose control of the car, you know that as well as I do.”

  Ashley’s heart was thudding with dread. In her anxiety, she ran her fingers through the thick strands of her blue-black hair. Letting her forehead drop to her palm, she gently massaged her temple. Her voice was ragged, barely a whisper. “Then what you’re suggesting is that someone tried to kill you.”

  “Not just someone, Ashley.” His eyes drove into hers. “I think Claud hired someone to tamper with my car.” Trevor’s hand reached out and took hold of her wrist.

  Ashley’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s preposterous!”

  “I don’t think so,” he retorted. She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t release her arm. Dark blue eyes, the color of midnight, impaled her. “I think you’d better tell me everything you know about your cousin.”

&
nbsp; “This is insane,” she managed to say, though her throat was constricting her breath. “I’m the first one to admit that Claud isn’t a saint, but you can’t go around accusing him of trying to kill you, for God’s sake.”

  “Not until I have proof.”

  “Which you don’t?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then how can you even suggest that he’s involved?”

  “Gut feeling.”

  “That won’t hold up in court, Senator. But you know that, don’t you? Or at least you should since you’re a lawyer.”

  “Ashley, look, I know that I’m right.”

  She read the determination in his angry blue gaze. “And you want me to help you prove that Claud was trying to kill you, right? Trevor, you’ve got to be joking.”

  “I’m dead serious. I know that Claud and your father paid that mill owner in Molalla to file those bribery charges!”

  “How?” Her green eyes sparked with indignant fury. “How do you know that? Did the man tell you?” Her lips turned downward in repressed rage and she pulled her hand free of his grasp.

  “The police were convinced that the charges were false. They dropped the case.”

  “But what proof do you have that my father was behind it?”

  “That mill, which had been on the verge of bankruptcy, was suddenly operational again.”

  “Circumstantial evidence, counselor.” She waved her hand frantically in the air. “And even if your suspicions are right, who are you to say that my father was behind it?”

  “I checked. Who do you think supplies that mill with rough timber?”

  “I couldn’t hazard a guess,” she lied, knowing what he was insinuating. Her heart was like a trip-hammer in her rib cage.

  “Then you’re not doing your job, Ashley. The primary customer for Watkins Mill in Molalla is Stephens Timber.” Trevor began to pace the floor in long, agitated strides.

  “I don’t understand you, Trevor,” Ashley said, her voice beginning to tremble. “My father and Claud both warned me that you had some sort of personal vendetta against the timber company but I never believed them—”

  “Until now?”

  She nodded her head. Hot tears of frustration burned in her eyes as she stared at the only man whom she had ever loved. “Is it because of me?”

  His pacing halted. He stood with his back to her and she could see the muscles of his shoulders tensing beneath the soft cotton fabric of his shirt. “No, Ashley, this started long before I knew you—”

  “Because of your father’s disappearance.”

  He turned on his heel and when he looked at her his eyes were filled with the torture he had suffered for nearly ten years. He didn’t need to answer.

  “Then Claud was right. You have a grudge.” She closed her eyes against the truth. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?”

  “It’s your family I wonder about.”

  “To the point that you would go out of your way to prove them guilty of anything.” She shook her head in confusion and light from the fire caught in the ebony strands of her hair. “I own the company now. You know that I wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal—”

  “And I also know that you weren’t in control of the corporation when my father disappeared, or when those phony charges were filed, or when my car was sabotaged.”

  “If it was.”

  “I have a mechanic who will back me up.”

  She ran her fingers nervously through her hair, but her eyes never left his. “Why did you come here, Trevor? What is it exactly that you expect of me?”

  His blue eyes never left her face and he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger pensively. “I want you to go through all of the company records and look for anything that might prove my theories.”

  “Wait a minute—you want my help in proving that Stephens Timber and my family were involved in something illegal?” She was incredulous.

  His voice was low and steady. It sent a shiver as cold as the black night down her spine. “What I want from you, Ashley, is the truth.”

  Ashley’s mouth was suddenly desert-dry. Her voice was barely a whisper. “And when I go through all the company records and I find nothing, what then?”

  “All I want is the truth.”

  She weighed the alternatives in her mind as she reached her decision. “Okay, Trevor, I’ll look through everything. But I want something in return.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else from Lazarus Stephens’s daughter.”

  “When I check all the records and clear my father’s name, I expect you to make a public statement.” His dark brows rose inquisitively. “A statement that ends once and for all the bitterness between our two families and a statement that absolves my father of all the charges you’ve attributed to him.”

  Trevor considered her request. “How do I know that you’ll be honest with me?”

  Her chin inched upward defiantly. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” she murmured. “I realize that might be difficult for you, but I don’t see that you have much of a choice.”

  His eyes darkened. “I’ll need proof, Ashley. I’ll give you my public announcement, if you can prove to me that your family hasn’t been involved in the accident, the bribery or my father’s disappearance.”

  Her confidence wavered. “I’ll let you know.”

  Trevor reached for his coat and Ashley’s heart dropped. He had reappeared so suddenly in her life; she couldn’t let go of him—not yet. There were so many memories they had shared, so much time that had separated them. Desperately she clung to the thread of hope that he still cared for her. “You can’t leave,” she whispered, her heart in her throat. He paused, one arm thrust into the suede jacket.

  “Why not?”

  “The storm—it’s nearly a blizzard.”

  His eyes darkened ominously. “What are you suggesting, Ms Jennings? That I spend the night, here, alone with you?”

  Chapter Four

  Eight years seemed to roll backward as she stared into Trevor’s smoldering blue eyes. His gaze touched the most feminine part of her soul and made her voice husky.

  “You can’t leave in this storm,” Ashley repeated. “You’ll have to wait until it dies down.”

  His eyes darted to the frosted windowpanes before returning to search her worried face. “That might not be until morning.” Trevor slowly advanced upon her, his eyes lingering thoughtfully on the concerned knit of her brow. His voice was dangerously low. “Do you really think it would be wise for me to stay?” he asked as he reached her. Slowly, his fingers traced the elegant curve of her jaw.

  He noticed the hesitation in her sensual sea-green eyes. “I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

  Trevor’s hands stopped their loving exploration and his gaze hardened. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Jennings.” He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and flashed a smile as bitterly cold as the night. “All I need from you is a lift to the Lamberts’.”

  Her brows quirked. “You’re staying at the Lambert place?”

  “That’s right.”

  She stepped away from him and eyed him suspiciously. “Just how long have you been planning this?” she asked, tilting her palm upward and making a sweeping gesture to include everything that had transpired within the walls of the intimate room.

  “Since my car went out of control and rolled down a thirty-foot embankment.”

  Her spine stiffened slightly. “You really believe that Claud was behind the accident, don’t you?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” Eyes as cold as glass pierced hers. His voice was devoid of emotion and Ashley realized with a welling sense of disappointment how little he cared for her.

  She shook her head and sighed. “I can’t believe that anyone, not even Claud, would want you dead.”

  “I don’t think he wanted to kill me, just shake me up a little. Scare me. And that, dear lady, he accomplished.”

&nbs
p; “But why?” Before he could answer she held up her hand and chewed on her lower lip. “Because of the election. You think that he’s so paranoid you might win, that he set up the accident to warn you in hope that you might back out, right?”

  “That’s the way I have it figured.”

  Ashley managed a humorless smile. “I think you’ve been reading too many spy stories lately, Senator. Your entire theory reads like some cheap James Bond rip-off.”

  “Maybe that’s because you can’t see the truth when it stares you in the face, Ashley,” he suggested with a frown. Deep furrows lined his forehead and surrounded the tense corners of his mouth. “But then you never have been able to sort fact from fiction where your family is concerned. You probably still don’t believe that Stephens Timber was responsible for the ecological disaster near Springfield.”

  “My father denied it,” Ashley whispered.

  “But you know better, don’t you? Your father’s company was spraying with a dangerous pesticide, Ashley. Probably because Lazarus recommended it. It was effective and cheap.”

  “No one knew it was dangerous—”

  Trevor’s eyes glittered ominously. “There had already been cases linking that pesticide with health hazards. The FDA was in the process of banning it. But your father didn’t listen and the people living near the area that was being sprayed paid for it, didn’t they?”

  “It was never proven—”

  “That’s a cop-out, Ashley and you know it. Maybe you just preferred to hide your head in the sand. You didn’t have to look into the eyes of the people when they found out that they were dying. The effects of the spray sometimes take months to show up, but when they do, the result is the same—a slow and painful death.”

  “No one knows if the pesticide was the cause.”

  “Yet. Researchers are still working on it.” The skin stretched tightly over Trevor’s harsh features as he remembered the day he had to revise Dennis Lange’s will. Dennis was only thirty-three when he had come to Trevor’s office, and mentioned that he had some of the symptoms of the pesticide poisoning. Dennis had died six months later, leaving a young widow and three-year-old daughter. Trevor had vowed on his friend’s grave that if he ever was in a position of power, he would fight against the indiscriminate use of chemicals on the environment. “Your father knew about the hazards, it was just more convenient to ignore them.”