Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  Caleb’s fingers dug into her hips as he lifted her, and then filled her with one thrust. She gasped, and put his hands on her breasts. He’d conditioned her body to expect ecstasy with a look, and her body took note. It was off-the-charts aroused as his hands moved on her, his lips taunted her…knees splayed, pressing deep into the comforter, she rocked on him. Every hip thrust and retreat sending a wave of desire that threatened her strength, her ability to continue. She’d never felt so decadent and free, dissolving even as she remade herself with every movement.

  Caleb flipped her onto her back, increased their rhythm, until her vision blurred and she was crying out. They came together, Caleb’s face buried in her hair. Her arms held him close as she crested. She wanted nothing to separate them, to break what they’d built, so she embraced him tightly, and sored…until a peaceful calmness settled on her. She loved him. She couldn’t have him, but she did love him.

  They lay there, still, for a good long time…and then his body tensed and she knew. Their time together was over. The air had cooled, and reality could no longer be ignored. Caleb rolled off her onto his back.

  “I was told Scrivener was dead,” Caleb said. “If Harris is right, your father doesn’t have the ledger so he’s not in control of his own company.” He covered his face with his hands, scrubbing them over his eyes. “Scrivener is relentless. He’s brutal. I was told he was behind your kidnapping the same day I was told he was dead, but I believed the wrong people.” She swallowed hard, infected by Caleb’s barely restrained fear. “If Scrivener wants you…no one can keep you safe.”

  She didn’t want to believe him. “Not even you?”

  Caleb shook his head slightly, eyes wide, as if she’d asked the impossible. “This is me trying. Stay inside with your bodyguards until you know Scrivener is dead.”

  The violence of his words shocked her, and she continued to struggle to process them as he stood, dressed, and then bent over her, kissing her with a fierceness that curled her toes. He was leaving her to end this threat on her life, his parting gift, but he was also saying good-bye.

  Her father didn’t control his company, so he had nothing Caleb wanted.

  He turned and left, leaving her naked and alone…bereft…even more convinced than ever that her father needed her, and that Caleb never did.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bartleby Scrivener. The Keeper of Secrets who’d been trying to find and kill him and Marnie for ten years now. A grift gone bad. Real bad. Somehow the Feds’ intel was wrong and Scrivener was alive.

  Caleb went straight to Hamilton’s garage and knew exactly which expensive roadster he wanted. Pointing to the Audi in fuck you red, he waited until Michael jogged to the cabinet to retrieve the keys. When he did, Caleb held up his hand. The chauffeur’s aim was true; Caleb snatched them from the air and within moments slid behind the wheel. New car smell, lush leather seat, and covered steering wheel…it had his senses thrumming, wishing he could run back into the mansion and make love to Francesca all over again, but…shit just got real.

  Scrivener had Hamilton by the balls. If he had the ledger, the Feds were working the wrong target to destroy Hamilton’s empire. It was time for Caleb to bail and tell Marnie what was going on. Caleb finally had the excuse to take out Scrivener, to find closure for what the man had done to his friends ten years ago. He wasn’t a fucking teenager anymore. This time, Caleb had the full support of the F-fucking-BI.

  He revved the motor and shifted out of park just as the passenger-side door opened. Francesca slipped inside and slammed the door. “I’m coming.”

  “I told you to stay inside.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Where? You have no idea where I’m going.”

  “To stop Scrivener from hurting me. Well, I’m not safe in the mansion, either. Harris is in there, and he’s already proven he has no shame. You can’t leave me here. Take me with you, or I’m driving to Harvard. Your choice, but I won’t stay here.”

  Her abandoning her father today would raise red flags with Hamilton, and the man was unpredictable. It was still possible that Hamilton was retrieving the ledger from Scrivener and would deliver it to Caleb tomorrow as agreed. Francesca was safe in the mansion. His people were making sure of it, yet to tell her was to risk his secrets. He couldn’t do it. And…what had she said about Tate?

  “Did Tate hurt you?” He’d kill him.

  “No, but I look in his eyes and there’s no there there.”

  Caleb’s shoulders relaxed. “Where are Walter and Ralph?”

  “I sneaked out. I want nothing to do with this place. Everything here is tainted.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “Fine.” He’d find a way to make this work. “Strap in. Call your father and tell him we’re having a romantic getaway on Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “Martha’s Vineyard?”

  “Do it. And be convincing.” The garage door opened; Michael waved him through.

  She put her phone on speaker and got her father’s voicemail. “Figures.” She waited until she could record. “Father, Caleb and I are taking the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. I’m trying to convince him to stay overnight, so don’t…wait up.” She glanced at Caleb and then hung up, returning the phone to her purse.

  He shifted gears and drove out of the garage, peeling out as soon as tires hit driveway. A smoky haze trailed behind them as gravel spit under his wheels. When he hit the main drag, Caleb reached into her purse and threw the phone out the window.

  She flinched. “Okay. That was rude. And littering.”

  “Why are you really here, Francesca?”

  “I told you.” She frowned, folding her arms over her chest. “Okay. Truth? I’ll give you truth. You said you loved me, and I said I love you, too. I think we need to talk about that.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He glanced at her, saw the hope in her eyes. “I seduced you.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “Dined you.”

  “Chinese fast food?”

  “Supported you through daddy angst.”

  “Excuse me? My father wants me to marry a crook!” Francesca balled up her fists, holding them at the ready.

  “If you punch me, it will hurt. You. Use your words.”

  “I’m not going to punch you!” She growled in frustration. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten that brawl in the kitchen.”

  “Tate wanted you.”

  “Your job.”

  “He knows your father is using me—how, I still haven’t figured out—but he thinks he’ll step in when I’m gone, into your father’s graces and your bed.”

  “I’m not a prize.”

  “I beg to differ.” He winked. “But that doesn’t change one damn thing.”

  “You told me you love me.”

  “So?” He shifted gears, taking the turn so sharply she was forced to hold the dashboard. “You don’t know me. Few people do.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Francesca folded her arms and glared out the windshield. “How many other women have listened to this tripe?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “So that’s it? It was all a game and I mean nothing to you?” She brooded, and after a moment, noticed their surroundings. “Where are we going?”

  He hit the Bluetooth on the dashboard, reached in his leather jacket’s pocket and turned on his phone. He speed-dialed Marnie. As soon as the line connected, he spoke. “I’ve got Francesca with me. We’re coming in.”

  There was a long silence. So long, Caleb questioned whether or not the line had truly connected. “You positive this is a good idea?” Marnie said.

  “No. Are you all there?”

  “Yes.” Marnie disconnected the line.

  Francesca’s eyes narrowed. “Marnie? Caleb, if you think I’m going to marry you now, you’ve got another think coming. Whatever you and my father…” And so she continued, complaining about what she thought was happening. Caleb was tempted to hide her in a stora
ge container in his Candia, New Hampshire, complex, but the last time he did that to someone he loved, it wasn’t received well. Yet the danger she was in had grown exponentially, and Francesca wouldn’t stay at the mansion anymore. He’d had no choice. He had to take her in, and maybe Marnie would know what to do with an innocent lamb who thought she loved a wolf.

  “Stop shutting me out,” she said. “I see what you’re doing.” He remained silent, not wanting to lie anymore, yet unwilling to tell her the truth. “I’ve had a lifetime of being around a man who shut me out, who did what he thought was necessary to keep me on the sidelines, always close enough if he needed something, but far enough away to avoid a relationship.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  “We don’t have a relationship, Francesca.” She was a job, dammit. And she had to stay that way.

  “You’re taking your words back?” She’d grown quiet, watching, daring him to deny he loved her.

  He wanted to, but couldn’t force the words past his lips. “None of this matters.”

  “You’re probably right.” Her chin quivered, and though she turned away, looking out the side window, he saw her tears. “You’re just like my father. The walking dead. Without feeling or hope.”

  Caleb received her words like blows. Like her father, he lied to her, used her, continued to use her, and allowed his needs to take priority over her happiness, but unlike her father, Caleb hated it, and every advancement felt like a punishment. He wanted something he could never have, shouldn’t have. Francesca at his side was her death sentence.

  Twenty minutes later, suffocated by the silence, Caleb parked in front of his Dorchester safe house. Marnie, MacLain, and Sullivan were waiting on the porch, their pastel polo shirts, wigs, and glasses gone. The detectives were in standard stakeout clothes: jeans, buttoned-up shirts, with holstered guns on their belts. Marnie’s black hair hung down her back. She wore her usual black jeans, T-shirt, and Doc Martens, and was unrecognizable as the wedding planner she’d presented to Francesca.

  He shut the car off and sat in silence, waiting for Francesca to process. Bewilderment then shock had their moment, and moved aside for hurt, of a magnitude he found physically painful to witness. She needed her eyes opened to reality or risked more than hurt feelings; she’d risk her life. So Caleb welcomed this moment. His sins exposed, but at least they were the right sins, his true sins, and not some fairy tale. Hell, it was long overdue.

  “You’ll stay here until tomorrow,” he said, “maybe the next. It will be over by then.” His words hung in the silence, and just as he was about to reach for the door handle, she touched his arm.

  “What will be over?” She dragged her gaze from the porch to him, still stunned and confused. “What have you done?”

  “It’s not what I’ve done, but what I’m about to do. They’ll keep you safe until then.” He got out of the car, unable to continue sitting there under the weight of her judgment. He hurried to the porch and announced, “Scrivener’s not dead.”

  “No shit.” Marnie scowled. “You had your fucking phone turned off, and then when you finally called, you delivered your own little bomb.” His phone was off so he couldn’t be tracked. Marnie knew that.

  “Scrivener has Hamilton’s ledger.” Caleb searched their faces, watching them process the bad news.

  “She’s running.” Sullivan nodded toward something over his shoulder. “Do you want to round up your girlfriend before we have a collective freak out?”

  Caleb dialed a number on his phone. “Jimmy? I’m at my Dorchester place. I need you to pick up Francesca Hamilton, who’s running south on Dot Ave. Call this number when you get in the area. A Detective Sullivan will take over from there. I’m texting you his contact info.”

  “I’m five minutes out,” the cabbie said. Caleb disconnected the line.

  “Tag. I’m it.” Sullivan grimaced.

  “Bring her back here. I don’t care how, but get her ass back here.” Sullivan grimaced, but hustled after Francesca. “Maybe Sullivan can talk some sense into her.” Caleb sat on the stairs, ignoring Marnie and her husband, who acted more like adversaries than compatriots. He waited until Sullivan reached Francesca and then dialed his number. When he answered, Caleb said, “Give the phone to her.” He saw Francesca reluctantly take it from the detective.

  “What?” Francesca said. He could still see her quickly walking down the street, her free arm swinging as she walked at a fast clip.

  “What are you doing, Francesca?”

  “Getting away from you. I’m not coming back.”

  “Come back.”

  “I’m catching a cab to Cambridge.”

  “I’ll give you thirty seconds to change your mind, and then I’ll come after you and throw you over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, if necessary. You’re putting yourself at risk with every step you take.”

  She stopped and turned toward him, though she was far enough away that he couldn’t see her features clearly. “How do I know you weren’t behind the kidnapping? How do I know your friends weren’t the masked people?”

  “You don’t,” he said. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  Francesca gasped. “Trust you? You’ve lied to me from the beginning! Over and over again! Playing pretend—”

  “Playing?” He’d spent a lifetime altering who he was to survive, whether as a child on the streets or as an undercover agent trying to save the fucking world, and with one word she denied his sacrifices. He stood, frustrated, too angry to see straight. “I’m playing pretend? What about you?! Your father’s a fucking murderer! An extortionist! A monster!”

  “Stop!” she said.

  But he couldn’t. It was as if a seal had been lifted and all his rage burst forth. “And I’m the guy who’s taking him down!” She disconnected the line. Caleb glared at the phone, stunned. “She hung up on me.” He exchanged glances with the others, a million expletives caught in his throat.

  MacLain shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t like you dissing daddy.”

  Caleb squeezed the iPhone, glaring at it. “Fuck!”

  “Women problems?” Marnie was still sitting on the stairs, taking it all in, and Caleb wasn’t sure which hurt more, that his breakdown was being witnessed or that their gazes dripped with sympathy.

  “Fuck you both.” Caleb sat on the stairs next to Marnie, who patted his shoulder.

  MacLain cleared his throat, sitting on Caleb’s other side. “You showed our hand. She now knows we’re out to destroy her father.”

  “Fuck.” Caleb dialed Jimmy. “You got her?”

  “I’ve got the detective. Your girl is gone.”

  Caleb took a deep breath, struggling to control his rage. “Put him on the line.”

  “She slipped into another cab,” Sullivan said. “The only way to stop her was to manhandle her and I won’t do that, Smith. We’re in pursuit though.”

  “Hold on.” Caleb put him on hold and then verified on another line with his security team that they had Francesca in their sights. They did. “Keep her safe,” he told them. “No matter what. Understand?” His people reassured him, he disconnected, and then pulled Sullivan back up on the line. “Tell Jimmy to drive you back here. I’ve got my security on Francesca.”

  “She’ll run to her father,” Marnie said. He knew. But Caleb didn’t have it in him to hurt Francesca anymore…to control her anymore. She would be safe with Hamilton. That had to be enough.

  “So we adapt,” Caleb said. “Our best lead is that Scrivener has the ledger. So we run with it and hope for the best.”

  “So…we’re really doing it?” Marnie said. He heard the hesitancy in her tone, saw the fear in her gaze.

  “Yeah.” None of them were happy about it. “We’re stealing the ledger from Scrivener.” Caleb shook his head. “I fucked up. Sorry.” They nodded. “Scrivener has either been holding it for Hamilton in his vault—unlikely because of the risk to Ha
milton—or he got it somehow and is extorting Hamilton for its return. I saw a past due notice on Brent Levine’s desk from Scrivener dated a month ago. Hamilton owed him for something, though the note didn’t say what. Maybe Hamilton bought time by leveraging the ledger, but it doesn’t explain why Scrivener tried to kidnap Francesca. We’re missing a piece to the puzzle.” Caleb exchanged glances with the MacLains. “Unfortunately, I think this is all the intel we’re going to get. We need to strike now, before Hamilton and Scrivener learn we’re on to them.”

  Marnie lowered her head into her hands. “I’m not happy.”

  “Marnie, honey.” Caleb swallowed hard, remembering the last time she and he went up against the Keeper of Secrets; before, when their friends were alive, and their youth made them feel immortal. “We’re uniquely qualified for this operation, you and I. What are the odds the Feds knew this was coming? Set us both up to be exactly where we are now?”

  She lifted her head, searching his gaze. “Fuck.”

  MacLain frowned at him. “So it’s go time.”

  Jimmy pulled the cab up and let Sullivan out. With a wave, the cabbie was gone and Sullivan was lumbering up the stairs. He raked his blond hair off his forehead. “So…I call Harper, or not? What’s the likelihood I don’t survive tonight’s operation?”

  “MacLain’s sister will read you like a book and worry,” Caleb said. “Best-case scenario, you’re home in bed before sunrise.” Worst-case? Caleb didn’t want to think on it. Either case, he’d never see Francesca again.