“About time you checked in, Irene,” Addy said. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve got the story that is going to make the Glaston Cove Beacon the most famous newspaper in the state within forty-eight hours. But we need to make some plans.”
Sometime after eight o’clock that night, Irene heard Luke’s SUV pull into the drive of the Carpenter house.
“There he is,” she announced to Tess and Phil. “About time he got here.” She tossed her cards down onto the table and jumped to her feet.
Phil and Tess exchanged amused expressions as they gathered up the cards. It dawned on Irene that she was acting like a lover or a wife who has been waiting impatiently for her man to come back to her after a lengthy absence in foreign climes.
You’ve only known him for a few days, she lectured herself sternly. Try to be cool here.
But she flung open the door with a sense of expectation and spiraling relief. Luke stood there, looking hard and cold-eyed and a little bleak.
“I was about to call you again to find out where you were,” she said.
“Long drive,” he said. “Long day. You okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, heck with being cool.”
She launched herself against his chest. He seemed startled but he recovered instantly. His arms closed tightly around her.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Forty-three
I can’t believe you went to that house alone.” Luke crossed the small living room of the cabin with long, restless strides, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair along the way. He went into the tiny kitchenette. “You should have waited until I got back.”
“Once I knew the key fit the locks on those doors, I didn’t have much choice,” Irene said quietly. She folded her arms tightly around herself and watched him take a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. “I couldn’t put it off. I had to know.”
He looked at her. “Must have been bad.”
“Someone had redecorated. New carpet, paint and furnishings.” She hesitated. “I couldn’t bring myself to walk into the kitchen, though.”
“No surprise there.” He drank some of the water and then set the bottle down on the counter. His eyes were steady and knowing. “Are you okay with what you found out today?”
“I’m not sure how I feel,” she admitted. “I’ve known for so long that there had to be an answer. Now that I’ve got it I feel a little—” She broke off, groping for the right word. “Disoriented or something.”
She fell silent, unable to think of anything else to say. The first rush of savage satisfaction that she had experienced when she heard the truth from Pamela’s own lips had faded, leaving behind an odd sense of disconnect. She had her answers, she thought. Why was she feeling so unsettled?
“Answers aren’t everything,” Luke said, as if he had read her mind. “You need time to process them.”
She nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to that house alone.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“Probably because I’m pissed and I’m trying to process my anger. That’s how men deal with emotions, didn’t you know? We either get mad or we have sex.”
She frowned. “Why are you mad at me?”
“Because someone else got killed today.” His eyes darkened. “All I could think about on the way back here was that you and Tess were sitting there with enough evidence to destroy a U.S. senator and that said senator was obviously willing to murder people to keep his secrets.”
“So you’re angry because you were worried, is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s not that simple, dammit.” He walked toward her. “We haven’t had a lot of time together, but I thought we were involved in a relationship. This isn’t just a fling or a one-night stand.” He stopped in front of her. “Or is it?”
“No.”
“I admit I’m not the world’s leading expert on relationships, but it was my understanding that people in our situation are supposed to talk to each other. You should have waited until I got back here before you went to that house today.”
“I’m used to doing things on my own, Luke.”
“I know that. But you’re not alone anymore.” He gripped her shoulders. “Try to remember that, okay?”
She realized that she was about to burst into tears. “I think I’m going to cry. This is crazy.”
“No, you’re just processing.” He pulled her hard against his chest. “Go ahead and cry.”
She pressed her face into his shirt. “I thought men got nervous around crying females.”
“I’m a Marine, remember? We’re trained to handle anything.”
She started to laugh and then, to her shock, she was sobbing. Great racking, gushing, cleansing sobs poured forth from the very core of her being.
She could not fight it, so she abandoned herself to the storm.
Luke held her tight until it was over.
Afterward he made her a cup of tea. She sat with him at the little table looking out at the lake, aware that something inside her was now calm.
“Better?” he asked.
She realized she could smile again. “Yes.”
Irene was in bed when he got out of the shower. Luke stopped in the doorway, one hand securing the knot of the towel wrapped around his waist. He took in the sight of her propped against the pillows.
Waiting for him, he thought. Urgent need unfurled inside him. Within the space of a couple of heartbeats, he went from being exhausted to fully aroused.
This was not a good time, he thought. Between that visit to her nightmare house and Pamela’s message from beyond the grave, Irene had gone through some very heavy stuff today.
He reminded himself that he was in control. He was always in control.
He took two steps toward the bed and then stopped a second time.
“Luke?” Her brows drew together in concern. “Is something wrong?”
“I should probably use the couch,” he said, aware, even as he said it, that he wanted her to argue with him.
“Why?”
“I’m feeling a little restless. Might be a while before I can get to sleep. You’ve had a tough day. You need your rest.”
She looked pointedly down at the bulge in the towel. When she raised her head, her expression had turned sultry and knowing.
“I think what you need is a sleeping aid,” she said. She smiled slowly. “Lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing.”
Delight and anticipation burned through him.
“Does it involve batteries?” he asked.
Her laughter danced and sparkled in the room. “Come here and find out.”
He switched off the bedside light and released his grip on the towel. But when he got into bed and started to lower his mouth to hers, she planted one hand flat against his chest, stopping him.
He raised his brows. “Something wrong?”
“I told you I’m going to help you get to sleep, remember?”
“Sleep is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”
“Let’s just see if you’re still saying that after I’m finished with you.”
She pushed firmly against his chest. He hesitated and then rolled obligingly onto his back. She came down on top of him, soft and warm and smelling of exotic seas and flowers that have no name.
He folded his hands behind his head, enjoying the seduction. “Now what?”
She did not answer. Instead her hand slid down across his belly. When she reached her goal and encircled him with her fingers, he felt everything inside him clench with eagerness.
“That works,” he said.
“I noticed.”
And then she found him with her mouth, and he thought he would shatter. He unfolded his arms and caught her head between his hands.
“You might want to go easy there,” he managed.
She looked up at him through her tumbled hair. “Thought Marines n
ever did things the easy way.”
“Exception to every rule.”
“Not in your case.” Her tongue tripped lightly along the length of his erection.
He groaned, squeezing his eyes against the hot pleasure.
She released him to glide up his overheated body. He opened his eyes and watched, riveted, as she settled herself astride and took him deep inside. She was so tight, so hot and so very wet.
Sensation pounded through him. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer, he realized. He could feel his climax thundering down on him like a runaway train. He gripped her waist, intending to reverse their positions.
“No,” she said, flattening her palms on his chest. “You don’t have to be in control every time. Just let go.”
“You’re not there yet.”
“We’ll worry about me next time.”
“No.” He knew he was dampening the sheets with his perspiration. “I want you with me.”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The soft promise in her words sent him over the edge.
Suddenly he was flying.
A long time later, he came back to his senses. The room smelled of sex and satisfaction.
“No wonder you look so good in black trench coats and leather boots.” He contemplated the shadowy ceiling. “Remind me to get you a little whip for your birthday. It would sort of complete the outfit, you know?”
She stretched languidly and cuddled closer. “I don’t think my high school guidance counselor ever mentioned that becoming a dominatrix might be a good career path for me.”
“Goes to show those high school guidance counselors don’t know everything.”
“True, but I’m sure they do their best.” She levered herself up onto her elbow and regarded him with a smug smile. “Enjoy yourself, Marine?”
“’Ooh rah.” He tumbled her back down across his chest and contemplated her with a sense of certainty. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get enough of you.”
She looked pleased. “That sounds nice. Are you going to be able to sleep now?”
“Are you kidding? After that experience it’s a wonder I’m not comatose.”
“It has been a very long day, hasn’t it?” She yawned.
“For both of us.” He sobered as events flooded back into his head. “My personal issues aside, that was a clever idea you had, checking out the locksmith over in Kirbyville.”
“Adeline Grady trains her reporters to follow up on the details.” She made a face. “I almost got into a serious accident on the way back, though.”
He levered himself up onto his elbows. “What are you talking about?”
“I was so busy thinking about the key and what it might mean, that I wasn’t paying attention to my driving. I was moving very slowly on that curvy section of road along the south end of the lake. Some jerk in a big SUV came up behind me and got really pissed off.”
He felt the all-too-familiar prickle of awareness. “What happened?”
“I think he sort of lost it, to tell you the truth. Major road rage. He came up really hard and fast behind me. He was probably just trying to scare me to death, but a part of me wondered if maybe he was so angry he wanted to force me off the road into the lake.”
He jackknifed to a full sitting position. “The hell he did.”
“I decided that the best thing I could do was get off the road, so I turned into that old subdivision at the end of the lake.”
“Ventana Estates?”
“The idiot followed me.”
“You are scaring the living daylights out of me.”
“Have to admit, I was a little tense myself at the time.” She shivered. “But that old road through the subdivision was still covered in gravel, just as I remembered. What’s more, it hasn’t been maintained very well. It’s a real mess.”
“I know. I drove through Ventana Estates shortly after I moved to Dunsley just to check it out.”
“A little local recon, hmm?”
“Tell me the rest of it.”
Her smile faded. “I did the only thing I could think of. I stomped on the accelerator as soon as I realized the SUV wasn’t going to back off. Believe me, he got a windshield full of gravel and rocks.”
“That,” he said, thinking about it, “was a very good maneuver.”
“I could hear the rocks and pebbles hitting the SUV. I’m pretty sure I did some serious damage to the windshield and the finish on the hood and front fenders.”
“He didn’t follow you out of the subdivision?”
“No. I had my eyes glued to my rearview mirror all the way home. Never saw him again.”
“Did you get a good look at the SUV?”
She shook her head. “Not really. He came up behind me very suddenly. I was so rattled that it was all I could do to concentrate on my driving.”
“What color?”
“Silvery gray, like yours and a few hundred others in the area. It was one of the larger models with tinted windows. But that’s all I noticed.”
“License plate?”
“Are you kidding? I never even got a glimpse of it.”
He sat quietly for a moment.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re thinking that maybe it was more than a case of simple road rage, aren’t you?”
“I’m thinking that’s a real possibility,” he said, forcing all emotion out of his voice. “Both Pamela Webb and Hoyt Egan are dead. If you had gone off the road into the lake today people would be talking about your unfortunate accident tonight. And Senator Ryland Webb could rest a little easier, knowing that the woman his daughter had contacted just before she died was gone.”
“That bastard isn’t going to rest easy for the rest of his life if I have anything to say about it,” she vowed. “Tomorrow night at the fund-raiser I’m going to nail his hide to the wall. The story will break in the Glaston Cove Beacon the next morning and Webb’s career will be in smoking ruins within hours.”
Forty-four
The following evening Irene stood with Luke, Adeline Grady and Duncan Penn, the Glaston Cove Beacon’s one and only photographer, in the shadow of a potted palm. Together they surveyed the crowded hotel ballroom.
“Very slick,” Luke said. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and he carried a laptop under one arm. “No one even blinked when we walked through the door.”
“That’s because all they saw were our press credentials,” Irene said. “How did you get them anyway, Addy?”
Adeline, short, round and magnificent in a stoplight-red pantsuit, rocked on her heels and looked smug. “Some of the easiest things to get in the entire universe are press credentials for a political fund-raiser. The campaign officials want the media to attend.” She waved in the direction of the buffet table. “Why do you think they put out all the good grazing food?”
“Not a bad spread, either,” Duncan said. Young, thin and slight of build, he looked as if the weight of the cameras draped around his neck might cause him to topple over. He examined the canapés, sliced cheeses and small sandwiches heaped on the small plate in his hand. “I’d give the Webb campaign a seven out of ten for the buffet. Maybe an eight.”
Irene looked at Adeline. “I wouldn’t have thought that the Glaston Cove Beacon was particularly popular with the Webb campaign people, given that we broke the story of Pamela’s death.”
Adeline downed some champagne and lowered the glass. “There may have been a slight misunderstanding regarding the exact name of the paper when I phoned to request the credentials.”
Luke studied the plastic-encased card slung around his neck. “That would probably explain why our paperwork says that we’re with the Beacon Hill Banner.”
“A temporary miscommunication, which I am only too happy to correct.” Adeline reached into her tote bag, withdrew four press cards and handed them around. “Here are your replacement credentials.”
“Misunderstandings happen,” Luke
said, removing the Beacon Hill Banner card from the plastic holder.
“They do, indeed,” Adeline agreed. She looked at Duncan. “I’ll hold that plate for you while you exchange the cards.”
“Thanks.” Duncan gave her his heavily laden plate and busied himself with the process of removing and replacing the press cards.
Adeline ate one of the sandwiches and immediately helped herself to another.
Irene exchanged her credentials and went back to surveying the room. “No one here seems to be mourning the death of Hoyt Egan.”
Adeline shrugged and selected another tidbit from Duncan’s plate. “Webb’s new campaign manager released a statement earlier today. Called Egan’s death a terrible tragedy and said it clearly demonstrates that it is time to get tough on crime and that Ryland Webb has a plan to do just that.”
“Heard that before,” Duncan said. He finished fiddling with his credentials and reached to take back his plate. An alarmed scowl widened his eyes. “Hey, that’s my food, boss.”
“Oh, is it?” Unperturbed, Adeline seized one last cocktail sausage and then handed over the plate.
Luke looked at Irene. “How does it feel to be a big-time investigative journalist?”
“Adrenaline city,” she confessed. “Don’t usually get this jazzed when I cover the Glaston Cove city council meetings or choose the recipe of the week.”
Addy rubbed her hands together. “You aren’t the only one who is in high gear tonight, kiddo. Got to admit this story of yours feels big, very, very big.”
Irene reached into her handbag, took out the little recorder and clipped it to the shoulder strap. She switched it on to make certain that it was working. “These gadgets have a bad habit of failing just when you’re about to start an interview. Cameras ready, Duncan?”
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