by Lucy Farago
She recalled how he’d dropped the bombshell, the look in his eyes when Jessie’s name was mentioned, the gleam of affection. Holy shit. Was she sleeping with him? Ten minutes ago she’d have said that was ludicrous, but ten minutes ago she believed her perfect friend wasn’t capable of lying. “I hate to say this. But the senator and his wife aren’t in a happy place. What if Jessie… What if he and Jessie…were having an affair?”
“Wow. You don’t think you’d know if your roommate was sleeping with a United States senator?”
“I didn’t know she knew him,” she countered.
“True, but that’s a far cry from sleeping with the guy.”
It was. Yet Jessie had been acting strangely for the last two weeks and now she was missing. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Maybe it was true and someone found out. Or he didn’t want anyone to find out.”
“Look, from what you told me about her, she doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“You wouldn’t think so. But why lie?”
“I don’t know, but jumping to the conclusions isn’t the answer. She had her reasons for not telling you. Why assume the worst?”
“Damn,” she muttered as if she had not heard him. “I need to ask my dad if he knew, but I can’t do that without telling him how I found out.”
“I wouldn’t bother. If he knew, he’d have told you, or if he didn’t tell you for a reason, he won’t tell you now.”
She nodded, bringing her mug of tea to her chest, taking comfort from the warm cup in her hands. This sucked.
“You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
“The one person I thought would never lie to me did. I expect that from other people but not Jessie. Never Jessie.”
“She didn’t exactly lie to you. She just never told you.”
Grace clucked her tongue. “That’s not going to cut it with me.”
“I think you’re looking at it all wrong. You’re seeing it as some kind of betrayal. She withheld information, but she’s entitled to that. She must have had her reasons and those reasons didn’t concern you,” he argued.
“And maybe if she’d told me, I’d know where to find her.”
“That’s if Stanton is responsible. We don’t know that yet.”
“So what do we know? Did you do some snooping?”
Cowboy considered not telling her. Even with her no-lying rule, he didn’t want her any more involved than she needed to be. And although he’d made a deal with her, he also didn’t want her snooping around the house on her own. “Two things, but I don’t know if they mean anything. I found labs results in Lyle’s study in the trash can, but more important, I found a picture of a young boy in his locked desk.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Locked?”
“That’s what you heard? The part about the little boy didn’t grab your attention?”
More lightning was followed by an almost deafening boom. It was one hell of a storm. He allowed himself some comfort in knowing Grace was spending the night with him… in the same house.
“Hmm. Could be a relative.”
“No, it was taken with a high-powered lens.”
“Where is it now?” she asked.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled to his pictures, and showed it to her. As she examined the picture he said, “I’ve sent it to a friend. He’s kind of a computer geek. He’ll try to find the buildings in the background, narrow it down to a city.”
“He can do that?” she said, looking up.
“Satellites. I’m not a hundred percent certain how it works, only that he has these magic fingers. I don’t ask. The nerd wouldn’t shut up about it if I did.”
“Huh.” She glanced back at the picture. “You think Lyle is a pervert?”
“I think Lyle is a lot of things.”
“Maybe Jessie thought the same thing.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’ll impair your judgement.”
“You think like a reporter. What about the lab results? Is someone sick? Had their yearly physical?”
He scrolled through his pictures again, found the shot he wanted, and handed her the phone. “You weren’t a medical student in a previous life, were you?”
“No,” she said taking the phone just as the lights flickered but stayed on. “But I wasted two semesters studying forensic science before I remembered I have a weak stomach I hadn’t outgrown.” She moved the picture around, making this and that bigger, scrolling the picture up and down trying to get a better view.
“I’ll have it printed tomorrow,” he said, hopeful she could read it.
“Sure. But these are results for blood chemistry. Whoever these belong to is in trouble. They measured white cell differentials and a whack of other tests normally done on leukemia patients. Although there are other diseases with similar tests.”
“Cancer? This person has cancer?”
She nodded. “From what I see here, yes. Question is, who? The Stanton family hasn’t come forward with this news. Could be they want to keep it private.” She handed his phone back to him. “But if he’s running for office again, I doubt this is Presley Stanton’s. Maybe Mrs. Stanton isn’t actually in rehab.”
“The internet says she is. Someone posted a picture.” He didn’t want her knowing where he got his information. But not only did they know where she was and what room she was in, they knew her progress.
“Could be Lyle’s. Maybe that’s why he’s such a jerk.”
“I have a feeling he was born that way.” He didn’t remember Lyle as anything but miserable.
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.” But it looked like Monty was going to have to break into hospital records. One of his favorite pastimes.
She picked up her iPad and, after taking a final sip of her tea, went to the kitchen sink and placed the empty cup inside. She rolled her shoulders, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. “I knew this was going to happen.”
“Stiff?” he asked, following her.
She nodded. “I carry stress in my neck. I think I need a couple of anti-inflammatories and bed. I better go find Lily. Hopefully she isn’t already asleep.”
“They put you in the room across from mine.”
“How did you—?”
“I saw her deliver a towel, toothbrush, and your dress.”
“Are you staying up?” she asked with just a hint of hesitation.
Should he read something into that? “Maybe. Follow me. And you should know, I’m famous for my neck rubs.” He actually was good at them. Get bucked off a horse enough times and you learn which pressure point relieved which aching muscle. He led her out of the kitchen, upstairs, and down the dark hall to their rooms, a small emergency light close to the floor illuminating their path.
“Are you offering to rub my neck?”
He’d rub anything she asked him to. Those pressure points were good for all kinds of things. “My hands are here if you need them.”
“Thanks,” she said when he stopped in front of her bedroom door. “But then I’d be indebted to you even more.” She smiled. “As it is, I’m not sure how I’ll pay you back.”
He was a gentleman and no way would he dare say where his mind was going. Instead, he had a more appropriate idea. “I just need you to be safe. We don’t know what’s going on and I’m certain your daddy wouldn’t appreciate you involving yourself in his ongoing investigation. Be careful. If it doesn’t feel right, stay far away from it. Trust your gut.”
“That’s not how I operate. I go on facts.”
“Is that the reporter in you or the little girl who never got a fairy tale bedtime story?”
“Both,” she replied. “I don’t have issues with the way my father raised me. Would it have been nice to have those dance classes? Sure. But he did me a favor,” she said with far more enthusiasm than the woman who’d loved the carriage ride to dinner.
Was this her reaction to finding out Jessie hadn’t been forthcoming about her relationship to Sta
nton? Not that he blamed Jessie. In fact, he’d have been surprised if she had told Grace the truth. They’d gone to such great lengths to keep what had happened a secret, he doubted Jessie would want to hash it all up again for fear the whole truth would come out. To say he was relieved that Grace didn’t know was an understatement.
“Escaping reality for a little while isn’t always a bad thing.” It had saved his life. “Bad stuff happens, Grace. Dwelling on it, well that’s counterproductive and makes for one very miserable existence.” Then he bent down and kissed her cheek. He didn’t know why he did it. It just happened. Her face was soft and warm and she smelled of fresh rain and flowers. His lips lingered, wanting more but not daring to wander to her mouth. He’d satisfy himself with this because, in the end, he was no good for her. She hated secrets. He was nothing but secrets. Two people couldn’t be more different.
“Good night,” he whispered in her ear, then headed across the hall to his room. He opened the door, wishing like hell she’d join him.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.” He turned. Even in the dim light, she was beautiful and damn it to hell, how he wished things were different.
“In case I haven’t said it enough, thank you.” Then she couldn’t have shocked him more if she’d called him by his given name. Coming forward, she climbed onto her toes, tugged his head down with her hands, and kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft, silky almost, and when she pulled away, the imprint of those lips remained. “Good night.”
Chapter Eight
At four a.m. the rain finally stopped. Grace knew this because she was awake, her mind racing between Jessie having lied to her and Daniel kissing her…then her kissing him. Fine, it was two simple kisses on the cheek.
Except it wasn’t. When his lips touched her face followed by his warm breath in her ear as he’d said good night, she had clenched muscles she didn’t know she had to keep from shivering. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Sure, she’d had good sex, great sex, but men didn’t make her tremble. Yet, his mouth on her cheek and her universe turned upside down. If he could do that to her with a simple gesture, what else could he do?
Then, of course, she’d been dumb enough to kiss him back. The man was tall, impossibly tall. But the brightest of lightning and the loudest of thunder paled in comparison to the tremors that had rocked her to her core at the idea of climbing up his body and wrapping herself around him. She tossed and turned imagining the many ways to scale that man, and when it became too frustrating to bear and she forced her wild daydreams down, Jessie, her never-lying, loyal friend took his place.
She hadn’t wanted to debate semantics with Daniel and she sure as hell wasn’t going to debate it with herself. Jessie had kept her… what? Had she kept her former—or her current—relationship with the senator a secret? She wouldn’t know because her best friend, the one person she trusted implicitly, hadn’t filled her in. Why? And if it was that big a why, could it be responsible for her disappearance?
Five thirty a.m. She gave up trying to sleep. The sunlight slid under the dark drapes and into the room. Still wearing Daniel’s t-shirt and gigantic shorts, she retrieved her iPad and recorder from the oversized chair she’d dropped them on and returned to bed, praying the internet was working. She clicked on the power button and hissed “yes” when four bars winked at her. In case something were to happen to the recorder, she began typing everything Senator Stanton had said, stopping only a few times to rewind and listen again. When she finished, she emailed it to herself.
Six thirty a.m. She’d been awake long enough to crave coffee. She headed to the kitchen and, not wanting to wake the housekeeper, figured out how to make a pot of coffee. Proud of herself, she decided to check out the den the senator had told Daniel about. Surely the invitation would extend to her, right? Well, that was her story and she’d be sticking to it… should she get caught snooping.
The first door she opened, clearly not the family den but an office, was nice, although a tad on the ornate side. She preferred cleaner, sleeker lines, with no place to hide clutter. She kept her work spaces neat and tidy. When she needed something, she wanted to know exactly where it was. Digging was an act left for stories.
Furnished with an expensive leather couch and two matching caramel colored arm chairs, the room held a beautiful oak partner’s desk. A flat screen hung on one wall. Below it, on yet another antique sideboard, a silver tray held a whiskey decanter and six matching crystal glasses. Built-ins took up two of the walls. They held books; family portraits; and, oddly enough, sport trophies. Reading the name on the various statuettes, she realized these couldn’t have belonged to Presley Stanton but to his son. Was this the senator’s office?
On the last wall hung floor-to-ceiling, navy drapes. She parted the heavy fabric to find large French doors. Peering through, she saw a stone terrace with steps leading down to a secondary terrace and then the pool. It was beautiful.
Nothing beat the aroma of wet earth after a solid downpour, the air charged with new energy. And after last night’s storm, she meant that figuratively and literally. Her hand poised over the handle, she thought better of the idea. What if she set off an alarm? She was about to step back when someone turned the knob on the office door. Holy shit.
Hiding under the desk would be stupid. One, it wasn’t enclosed and two, she wasn’t in a movie. Would the curtains be heavy enough to conceal her? Not having much of a choice, she thanked Weight Watchers for the five pounds she’d just dropped and, squeezing herself in the largest gap she could find, she held her breath as the person stepped inside.
The heavy sigh came from a man and not the one she’d hoped had decided to do some more snooping of his own. As there were only two in the house, it had to be Senator Stanton. Just her luck, he was an early riser. The soft squeak of a chair and of keys being tossed down told her he was sitting at his desk, not six feet to her right. She made herself breathe, softly exhaling and inhaling, thankful she was reasonable enough to know only she could hear her pounding heart. The angry pounding of numbers on the telephone made her involuntarily clench. Maybe if he’d stayed in bed he wouldn’t be so cranky. Still it wouldn’t bode well for her if she was found out.
“Did you do what I told you?” he growled at whoever had been unfortunate enough to answer the call.
Fucking petunia. It wasn’t Senator Stanton. Her…er…predicament, had just gone from bad to so-dead-if-caught worse.
“I don’t care what time of the morning it is,” Lyle Stanton snarled. “Time is running out. Find him or you’ll wish you had.”
Not very original as far as the threat department went, but she knew enough about the old bastard to understand you didn’t make an enemy out of him. Money and power were on his side and, if the rumors were true, he had connections the cops would kill to nail him with. Not that the public knew any such thing but she may have—accidentally, of course—overheard her father talking to a fellow cop. And as he didn’t know she was around, she couldn’t very well have told him to keep his voice down.
“I’ll be home for the rest of the day,” he continued to bark. “Bring extra men to help you. I don’t care what it will cost. Just find him.”
He slammed the phone so hard on its cradle that she jumped, then froze. Had she made the curtains move?
Lyle, thanks be to everything holy and then some, picked up his keys and left his office. Grace wrapped her arms around herself to keep from trembling and waited at least five minutes before leaving her hiding spot. She wasn’t about to push her luck. She eased the door open, careful to make certain no one was in the hall, then booted it to her room fast as her tippy toes could carry her.
Seven fifteen. Heart still pounding, she forced herself not to think about what would have happened if Lyle had discovered her. She sat at the edge of the bed, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, giving her brain the oxygen needed to think clearly. Feeling more like herself again, she began to analyze what she’d overheard.
Who was he trying t
o find? And why was he desperate to find him? Could this have anything to do with Jessie’s disappearance? If only she knew who Lyle had called. What if she told her father? He’d be pissed for sure, but what if she and Daniel had stumbled onto something? Then again, what did they have? Her father would make to it so she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the senator. Daniel had said he had a friend. Maybe that friend knew how to tap into phone records? It was worth a shot.
She left her room, crossed the hall, and poised her hand near Daniel’s door, ready to knock. Was she doing the right thing by trusting a man she barely knew? A couple of rides and a great dinner didn’t make them besties. Then again, being acquainted with someone for a long time didn’t mean you knew them. Stop it. This wasn’t about hers and Jessie’s friendship. This was about finding Jessie. She knocked softly and waited.
He didn’t answer. She knocked again and still nothing. Was he a sound sleeper? She shouldn’t do it. He could be naked and she might very well see what she most definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. She turned the knob, rationalizing that she had knocked twice. Opening it a small fraction, she whispered through the crack, “Daniel?” He didn’t reply. “Daniel,” she repeated a little louder. When still she heard nothing he gave her no choice. She stuck her head through the crack and into the darkly lit room. Glancing toward the bed, the sheets were rumpled, half on, half off the bed but sadly no Daniel. She stepped inside, now able to hear the shower. He was up. And indeed… naked.
She should come back in twenty minutes, give him time to dress. She bit her lower lip debating the best course of action. What had he said? Superman had x-ray vision. Yeah, no way anyone with x-ray vision would not be staring through that door right now. Superman was a pervert. She was a pervert. With a heavy sigh, she turned to leave. Having morals sucked.
“Hey, you’re up.”
And now she’d have to explain why she was in his room. Embarrassed, she spun around. “Sorry, I—”