Body of Evidence (Evidence Series)

by Rachel Grant

  “If you’re asking, I know it’s important, and I know JT will agree.”

  Curt was humbled for a moment by Lee’s simple faith in him, and emotion flooded him. Damn, apparently Mara’s finagling past his guard had left him vulnerable to other feelings. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Lee. I owe you.”

  In political circles, favors were currency and sometimes poison. He wasn’t a politician, but US attorneys were appointed by the president and had to go through Senate confirmation. The easiest way to sail through was to owe no one, and up until this moment, Curt had been debt-free.

  “No, Curt. It’s impossible to owe a true friend anything more than a beer.”

  He laughed. “Fine. I owe you a beer.”

  “Well, maybe more than one. And not that crappy stuff you drink either.”

  Curt smiled, his gaze on Mara as she stretched out on the bed. “I owe you a keg of the good stuff, because I have another favor to ask.” Her shirt rode up to reveal creamy smooth skin, flat belly, and perfect navel. Since when were belly buttons such a turn on?

  He imagined tracing the indentation with his tongue and then trailing downward…

  “You need advice on how to handle the archaeologist you picked up in DPRK. Now, I know a thing or two about archaeologists”—Lee’s voice softened at the reference to his fiancée—“and all I can say is good luck, buddy.”

  He knew Lee was teasing, but still, the idea he’d somehow picked up on Curt’s carnal thoughts was alarming. What the hell is happening to me? “I can handle her.” He tried to put humor into his voice, to show amusement and prevent Lee from guessing he was losing his fucking mind.

  Mara’s eyes warmed in challenge at his words. With a wicked smile, she touched her flat belly, casually pushing her top higher, revealing more tempting, smooth skin.

  He narrowed his gaze. The trial. The trial was starting, and he needed to focus, dammit, on what was important. Convicting Stevens and staying alive. In that order. “I need you to buy a prepaid cell phone and deliver it to my co-counsel, Aurora Ames. Tonight. Now. And tell her to pull the battery from her cell.”

  “You think her landline and cell are under surveillance?”

  “She’s the first person I’d monitor if I were looking for me. I want you to deliver it to her house.”

  “She’s going to freak when a total stranger shows up at her door at three in the morning.”

  “She’s going solo in the courtroom in a few hours. She must be wondering why I haven’t called. If anything, she’ll be expecting you.” He gave Lee Aurora’s address. “Don’t call her and warn her you’re coming over. The last thing I want is Raptor getting your phone number and connecting you to me.”

  Lee let out a low whistle. “Raptor? Shit, Curt. You’re talking black ops.”

  Guilt stabbed at him for asking for help without warning of the risks. “If you don’t want to get involved, I understand.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m worried about you. If Raptor’s black ops missions were authorized, then you’re going after the highest politicians in office.”

  “I’m already prosecuting a former VP.” On the bed next to him, Mara flinched. She tugged her shirt down and sat up, all playfulness gone.

  “There’ll be enormous pressure to bury your allegations,” Lee said. “You could be the one to go down.”

  “Raptor’s not acting on legitimate—if there is such a thing—black ops orders right now. Their greedy CEO is making his own rules.”

  “Be careful, buddy.”

  Curt glanced around the tiny cabin. This was a nice, safe, hidey-hole, but he shared it with his defendant’s enticing niece. This fishing boat might just be the most dangerous place on earth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MARA GOT UP from the bunk and searched the cabinets in an attempt to distract herself while Curt arranged a flight and cast aspersions on her uncle. She found a stash of men’s clothing—fishing attire, which was perfect for Curt—and blankets for the bed. The bedding was a poor distraction, a reminder of the small bed and the enticing man who would share it with her.

  Drawn to him like a mosquito to a bug zapper, she knew the coming hours would be a special kind of hell.

  She slipped into the head to get ready for bed just as he said good-bye to whomever he’d called. Something about Curt brought out her provocative streak, the part of her that couldn’t resist a challenge. She wanted to push him to turn reckless. Wild. She wanted to shake his methodical, lawyerly, suspicious heart, and make him see her not as a suspect, not as a victim, not as a defendant’s niece, but as a woman.

  She studied the gash on her forehead, a thin line of red visible under three butterfly bandages. She remembered Curt’s gentle treatment of her, the way he’d held her, fed her, teased her. And she remembered the way he’d looked at her, desire in his usually shuttered eyes.

  In spite of her fuzzy brain, she knew her memories were accurate. She also knew the man who’d been charming, funny, warm, kind, and ridiculously sexy was the real Curt.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  He lay shirtless, stretched out on the bed, asleep.

  This infuriated her. Which frustrated her. Did she have to be such a freaking basket case?

  She dropped her heavy duffle bag on the foot of the bed, causing it to shake. He obliged by opening a sleepy eye. “Oh good,” he said drowsily. “You’re done.”

  He got up to take his turn in the head, but she didn’t budge, forcing him to brush against her in the tiny space, her bust to his abs.

  Big mistake. In the confined space, her ample chest crushed against his skin with only her low-cut top between them. Need pounded through her with dizzying intensity. His eyes widened.

  She cleared her throat. “I found more clothes for you.” She pointed to the items.

  “Thanks. I’ll sleep in the JPAC one then.” He grabbed the T-shirt he’d removed and reached for the door.

  She wanted to run her hands over his chest and shoulders—and vaguely remembered doing so in the water. No fair. The memory was fleeting—she deserved a do-over. She wanted to run her tongue along his pecs and then trace his beautifully defined abs with her lips.

  Reckless. Absolutely, horrifyingly reckless.

  “No, Mara,” he said into the heated silence, then escaped into the lavatory.

  “Chicken,” she muttered, then climbed onto the narrow bed.

  A few minutes later, Curt crawled in beside her. She turned over and faced the curved wall. She needed to stop thinking about him. Now.

  His broad shoulders filled the space and heated her back. The silence stretched. She listened to the water lapping against the hull, enjoyed the gentle rocking motion, and hungered to make the boat rock more. “I can’t sleep,” she said.

  “It’s only after eight here, and three in the afternoon in Korea, but it’s past two in the morning for me. I’m tired.”

  She fidgeted and wriggled, trying to get comfortable, trying to settle her heated body, but nothing worked. Finally, Curt sighed heavily and slid an arm around her waist. He pulled her snug against him, spooning her back against his front.

  “This is for comfort only.”

  She’d been alone and scared for so long, the feel of his hard thighs behind hers and his strong arm across her belly was comforting. For the first time in months, she dropped her guard and eased into a deep sleep.

  CURT WAS PULLED from sleep by Mara, who thrashed on the bed and whimpered in misery. The sound cut right through him.

  He stroked her cheek. “Mara. Wake up. It’s only a nightmare.”

  He rubbed her back and shoulders until the thrashing stopped. After a long silence, she rolled over to face him and whispered, “Curt?”

  His fingers returned to her face and confirmed her cheeks were damp with tears. He pulled her snug against him. “It was just a dream.”

  Her body quaked as she sobbed. He’d wondered if he would witness her inevitable breakdown, and here it was. />
  He stroked her hair and held her against his chest. “Sweetheart, it’s over now. You’re safe.” But was she? All he knew for certain was he was pathetic in the wake of a woman’s tears.

  Crying on the stand was different. He’d hardened to that spectacle years ago. But genuine sobs rendered him helpless. He dreaded the moment she figured out he’d do just about anything to stop her from crying, possibly even make love to her.

  Desperate for a distraction, he checked the time. “It’s after midnight. It’s Tuesday now.”

  She let out a half laugh, followed by a hiccupping sob. “Thank God.”

  “Do you want to tell me about your dream?” Please say no. His resistance was weak enough.

  Her trembles and panting breaths eased. After a lengthy silence, she said, “I dreamt about my arrest.”

  He could handle this. Couldn’t he? “Tell me.”

  “I stepped out of the woods and realized how close I was to the DMZ. I panicked.”

  “You ran?”

  He felt her nod. “I turned and bolted back to the woods. But I’d been spotted and the soldiers chased me. I tripped over a root and stumbled, and a soldier caught my hair and yanked me backward. He threw me down.” She shuddered. “There were three of them. They shouted in Korean. One tied my hands behind my back.” Her whispery voice deepened. “They dragged me across rocky ground. Every few seconds, they stopped to shout and kick me in the head, stomach, and back. I have a scab on my scalp still.”

  A tide of anger rose at the thought of her being attacked by three armed soldiers, but he remained helpless, useless in his rage. The men who’d arrested and beaten her had probably been lauded as heroes. He wanted nothing more than five minutes alone with them. His fingers threaded through her hair, offering the compassion he was unable to express aloud.

  Even as he tried to comfort her, he wondered what she wasn’t telling him. It was possible she’d been raped. His pulse raced, and his skin heated. He would gladly rip the soldiers’ heads off.

  “Once they realized who I was, they didn’t hurt me anymore.”

  He felt a prickle of relief, yet he couldn’t help but wonder how badly she’d been hurt before they learned her identity. He tightened his arms around her.

  She lifted her head and faced him. He could just discern her wide, beautiful eyes in the darkness. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” she said.

  He pressed feather-light kisses along the cut on her forehead. “I’m where I need to be.” He surprised himself, because he meant every word.

  “And the trial?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll miss a day. That’s all.”

  “You can go back, you know. Without me.”

  “I’m not going to let you out of my sight until we reach DC.”

  “But it might be easier to travel without me.”

  “I was sent to North Korea to retrieve you and nearly got you killed by leaving you on the Marine Corps Base. You’re my responsibility until I hand you over to the secretary of state.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “You do know I’m not a package, right?”

  He couldn’t help himself and slid his hands down her back and cupped her butt. “You’re a damned enticing package.”

  She pressed against him; her cool fingers caressed the nape of his neck. Her mouth was a scant inch from his, and her slightly parted lips begged to be kissed.

  The humid air inside the cabin thickened even more. He was nearly certain his heart had stopped, or maybe time did. He wanted—needed—to taste her, but if his self-control failed him now, then he’d never be able to stop with just a kiss.

  And if he made love to her, he’d be disbarred.

  Slowly he lifted his hands from her bottom and scooted away from her. “I’m sorry, Mara.” He rolled over, flopping onto his back. “You have no idea how sorry—but I can’t give you what you want right now.” What he wanted right now.

  He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing pulse. In a matter of hours, Mara Garrett had shattered his smug belief in his heretofore steadfast self-control.

  She sighed. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Her voice was soft, tentative, and he prayed he hadn’t hurt her feelings. She was the last person he wanted to hurt.

  “It’s not your fault you had a nightmare. Not your fault that the only person available to comfort you is a ruthless bastard like me.” He clung to that characterization. To get out of this situation with his career intact, he needed to be The Shark.

  “You aren’t—”

  “Yes, Mara. I am.” To put more distance between them, he could taunt her with his prosecution of her uncle, but even he wasn’t that cold.

  “I overheard earlier—it sounded like you got us a flight?”

  “The plane should be on its way now. We’ll be underway again by midafternoon local time.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”

  She squeezed his fingers in response, then, thankfully, rolled over. Several minutes later, her breathing evened out into the steady cadence of sleep.

  AURORA CALLED TWO hours later. Mara slept soundly while Curt updated his co-counsel on the situation. As they spoke, the jury pool gathered in the courthouse. Aurora and another assistant US attorney would begin jury selection in an hour. All Curt could do was offer advice and encouragement while his controlling nature writhed in frustration.

  If this were a state or county trial, he could count on jury selection lasting a good, long time. He’d be back in the courtroom before voir dire ended, no problem. But this was a federal trial, and as such, jury selection would be much faster. Plus, he had a tacit agreement with the defense not to draw out the process. There was no way they’d find twelve jurors who hadn’t heard of the case, and a long, drawn-out selection process was hard on jurors. Neither side wanted to start with a pissed-off jury. As it was, he’d be lucky to make it back in time for peremptory challenges.

  Call complete, he settled next to Mara, expecting to have trouble falling back asleep now that things were in motion in DC, only to open his eyes hours later to blinding sunlight. The tiny cabin baked in the late morning sun. The air was thick and his arms were full of Mara. He must have pulled her close while he slept—something he was certain he’d never done with another woman before.

  Entangled as they were, sweat drenched them both. In a different situation, it would be a hot, erotic moment, but in this reality, it was utter torture. Barely clad, her petite frame, hard muscles, and spectacular breasts pressed against him, making him yearn to taste the sweat on her neck, lick her nipples into tight, hard buds, then slide deep inside her, easing the carnal ache for both of them.

  How had he managed to resist her last night? He deserved a fucking medal.

  She stirred in his arms, and her hip brushed his erection. Sweat rolled down his neck. He’d been told hell was hot, but he’d had no idea.

  Gently, he wriggled and slid backward until he was up against the wall and Mara was no longer in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring into the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen.

  When had he started thinking of her in superlative terms?

  When she’d marched out to face a firing squad with strength and grace. When she learned the jet had exploded and instead of falling apart called me on my condescending attitude. When she survived a sniper attack and then was disarmingly adorable and outrageously sexy in her light-headed state.

  Damn, he had it bad for this woman. But he could handle it. He was control personified.

  She rubbed her eyes and smiled, then scooted into a sitting position against the curved wall. Sweat trickled down the open V of her top, and he watched, transfixed, until the bead disappeared into her amazing cleavage.

  Her nipples hardened. He finally remembered to look at her face and felt like a sheepish seventeen-year-old as her lips curved in a knowing smile. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mara, and I am merely a man.” She wasn’t just a woman. She wa
s a damn siren. He slid off the bunk, found his pants, and pulled them over his raging erection. Unfortunately, his hard-on was no less obvious, and she let out a soft, guttural noise. Oh Christ. The sound alone could make him come.

  He closed his eyes, seeking strength. When he opened them, Mara met his gaze with desire as plain on her face as his was in his trousers.

  He reminded himself that she only wanted him because he offered distraction from her ongoing nightmare. If she weren’t so traumatized, he’d never be the recipient of that sultry, sexy look.

  But even knowing that didn’t stop his body from reacting.

  “Mara—” I want you. I want to toss you backward and taste every part of you. I want to make you come apart in my mouth, and then I want to slide deep inside and forget everything but your tight body.

  Jesus. He was in trouble. One thing was certain, they had hours until the jet arrived and couldn’t spend them on this boat, or he’d end up satisfying their desires while destroying his career.

  He stepped backward until he was against the hatchway. Three feet separated them, and he was so hard it felt as if he could span half the distance. “We may be allies now, but when this is over, we won’t be friends.”

  Hurt flashed in her eyes. Just as he’d intended. “Is everything you say calculated?”

  “No.” He paused, then seriously considered her question. “Maybe.”

  “You’re always playing chess, always looking five moves ahead.”

  “So?”

  “You should stop being so controlling. Try living in the moment.”

  “The last time I made an impulsive decision, I landed in North Korea.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Do you regret it?”

  “Putting everything I've worked for at risk so I could save the life of my defendant’s niece?” His humor fled, and he hoped Mara would hear the truth of his words. “No. Never.”

  Relief softened her gaze, and she smiled. “I think I’m having a positive effect on you, Counselor.”

  “Hardly. I’ve completely lost control of the situation.”