Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  “Mr. Duralde was afraid you might try to act the hero, come out where you could be picked off like a sitting duck, instead of staying inside where it was nice and safe.”

  “I don’t much like the idea of other people serving as decoys for me.”

  “See there? He was pretty certain you wouldn’t go for it. But he was sure, from the way these guys acted, that they weren’t positive you were here with us. He thought the best thing would be to encourage them to come in for a closer look.”

  “They might have just shot everyone in sight,” the senator objected.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t in the cards for him and Kelly here to go chasing outside. What happened there, honey?”

  It was a moment before Kelly, digesting what they were saying, realized George was speaking to her. “A — misunderstanding.”

  “Must have been a humdinger for him to let you get away from him like that, but then you’ve been giving him the devil all week, haven’t you?”

  The senator, perhaps sensing Kelly’s embarrassment, said, “About that drink, there’s a beer down at the cottage.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” George said. “How about you, honey?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kelly answered. “You two go ahead.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to come with us, for the company?” the senator suggested.

  “I would just as soon be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s not for us to say one way or another, if that’s what you want,” he returned gently.

  “No,” George agreed, “but you can be sure Mr. Duralde will have something to say if we leave you by yourself.”

  “Why? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “That’s not the point. He’s the protective sort, and he’ll expect me to look after you while he’s not here.”

  “What I do is none of his business.”

  “Try telling him that.”

  “I intend to!”

  “You probably will. Lord, but I’m not sure which one of you I feel sorriest for.”

  “You needn’t waste your pity on me.” Kelly did not wait for an answer, but turned on her heel and made for the steps of the veranda. She did not think George would try to stop her, and she was right. The two men hesitated, talking in low voices. By the time she had reached the living room and began to close the drapes, they were moving off in the direction of the cottage.

  Kelly let her shoulders sag as she turned away from the windows. Her wine glass, still half full, sat where she had left it on the end table. She picked it up, lifting it to her lips to taste the pale yellow liquid. It had grown warm, but she drank it anyway, wandering about the room with the glass in her hand.

  It was clear that Charles expected her to be there when he got back from filling out a formal complaint against the would-be killers. Whether by accident or design, he had made certain of it by taking her car keys with him. Why couldn’t he have left her a way out? She wanted nothing so much as to be gone, to never have to face Charles Duralde again after what had passed between them. She wanted to throw her things into her suitcase and run, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the lake house. She wanted to leave all this behind her, to forget it as quickly and thoroughly as she could.

  She felt like such a fool. How had she come to make such a mistake? It had been Charles’s attitude, his odd determination to have no one know the whereabouts of the older man, all combined with the phrasing of the words she had overheard between him and George. She was still not certain what was going on, though she was beginning to have an idea. And yet, she would gladly let it remain a mystery forever if it would keep her from having to see Charles again.

  Hot embarrassment flooded over her every time she thought of the scene between them on the veranda. A diversion, George had called it. Well, that was as good a word as any. She realized now, looking back, the reason for the open drapes, the loud music, his invitation to dance. He had suspected the men who had been in the boat with the spotlight the night before would be back. He had wanted them to see a couple having a good time, enjoying each other’s company. He hadn’t wanted her to go outside on the veranda; she remembered that now. But once they were there, he had managed to keep the show interesting. Only she wasn’t supposed to take it seriously, she wasn’t supposed to have jumped up and run crying into the night.

  Had he meant anything he had said, or had he just gotten carried away with his role? He had not liked being told that she had been play-acting. The violence of his kiss still had the power, even in memory, to make her shiver. It was some consolation that she had not allowed him to guess how strongly she was attracted to him. A little, but not much.

  What a mess everything was. If Charles had only trusted her enough to tell her the truth. If she had relied on her instincts that told her he could not be a killer. If she had not let down her guard against him in her attempts to encourage him to grow attached to her. If he had not spoken of love, instead of the physical desire that was all she had expected him to feel. If.

  What was the use? She had fallen in love with him. She had allowed him to get past her defenses. Regardless of what he might have felt, she had made him despise her with pretense and distrust. That he had given her ample reason for both made no difference. She would not get a second chance, not in these circumstances. Not that she wanted one, of course.

  Tomorrow she could leave. He had promised that much before the excitement started. With any luck, she would do no more than say a quiet and dignified good-bye and depart. He might feel that a few words of explanation were called for, and if so, she would listen, but that was all. She would go without maudlin scenes, without telling him she loved him, and with her pride and self-respect intact.

  Moving slowly, leaving the lights in the living room on behind her, Kelly went to her bedroom. She closed the door and set her empty wine glass down on the dresser. She picked up her hairbrush and with sudden fierceness whipped off the blue ribbon and brushed the trash and leaves from the gold-brown waves. That done, she undressed and put on her green nightgown. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. Taking a deep breath, she turned back the covers of the bed and climbed in. It was not what she wanted, but it seemed there was nothing else for her to do. And if warm tears slid from the corners of her eyes to make wet tracks into her hair, who was there to know?

  Ten

  Once before this past week she had awakened to the smell of coffee. This seemed a repeat of that time, for the fresh aroma was strong, and there was the glow of morning beyond her closed eyelids. Charles must be up. She burrowed her head into the pillow, unwilling to think of him, unwilling to leave the last gray vestiges of soothing slumber. She had not enjoyed that oblivion for long. She had been awake, staring with burning eyes at the ceiling, when he had returned. He had not gone to bed at once, but had paced about in the front part of the house. It was only after he had finally settled down in the room next to hers that she had been able to doze off. Why he was up again so soon she could not imagine, unless he was determined to see her gone from this place early, before he left himself.

  He was an unpredictable man. On the other occasion when she had been brought from sleep by the smell of coffee, he had invaded her room to put the cup on her bedside table, practically under her nose.

  Caution asserted itself. At the faint chink of china, her eyes flew open. Charles stood beside her bed, just placing a cup and saucer on the bedside table.

  She rolled over, sitting up with a rush, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. “What are you doing?”

  He lifted a brow. “That must be obvious.”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone acerbic as she pushed her hair back with her fingers, “but why?”

  “I wanted some answers and, as I recall, you respond better to a compromising position than to simple questions.”

  Indignation flared in her eyes. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “Isn’t it?” he agreed, his smile genial.

&nbs
p; “If you are talking about that display of sheer brute strength you put on when you wanted to know my name —”

  “You do remember?”

  She did, vividly. She was not certain she would ever forget the way he had held her on the couch with his lips fractions of an inch from hers as he had demanded to know her name. The mere thought of it was enough to make her face feel warm. “Why not?” she inquired. “I have never been treated so callously in my life!”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think it was the brute strength, as you call it, or the callousness, that made you answer.”

  “Just what was it then?”

  “The certainty of what was going to happen if you didn’t, something you might keep in mind now.”

  She sent him a smoldering glance. “It’s all very well for you to talk, but if anybody deserves answers, I think I do!”

  “Fair enough. Where would you like to start?”

  She eyed him suspiciously as he seated himself on the side of her bed. He looked fresh and alert in an open-necked sports shirt and a pair of twill pants, in marked contrast to the way she felt.

  He waited a moment, then leaned to pick up her coffee cup, handing it carefully to her across the width of the sheet. As she took it, his dark gaze moved over the tousled glory of her hair, coming to rest on the shadows under her eyes and the look of recent tears. She lowered her lashes, sipping at the hot, aromatic brew colored slightly with cream, just the way she liked it. When she looked up again, she was in time to see the smile that softened the bronzed planes of his face for an instant before it vanished.

  At the thought that he might be laughing at her, her lips tightened. “To begin with,” she said, her tone hard, “who is the senator, and why are you keeping him here?”

  “His name is Landry,” Charles answered without hesitation, “and he was a friend of my father’s. As to keeping him here, I’m not.”

  “But you are. George said —”

  “Yes? Just what did George say?”

  She swallowed, taking another sip of her coffee. “I don’t remember exactly.”

  “I think you remember enough.”

  She gave him a straight look. “All right. He said that the senator was getting restless and hard to handle, wanting to go home to his family. He said it looked like he should have sense enough to be afraid, and he meant afraid of dying.”

  “George said this to you?” he asked, frowning.

  “I — overheard it.”

  His face cleared. “I begin to see. And you took what you heard to be proof that we were holding the senator against his will?”

  “For a payoff that would come in less than two weeks.”

  He shook his head. “I know you mentioned the possibility at first, but I thought surely you had rid yourself of the notion by now. Once I even as much as told you it was untrue.”

  “You can’t deny you encouraged me to believe it that first evening. Later you set me a riddle; I could think the best or the worst of you. But that isn’t the same as a plain statement of fact.”

  “And the way he was housed without restraints, cosseted with television, ice cream, meals on trays; didn’t that suggest anything?” His black eyes held hers, their expression demanding.

  She gave a small shake of her head. “Not compared to what I had heard.”

  “My God, Kelly, do I look like a kidnapper?”

  “Whether you looked like one or not, you certainly acted the part where I was concerned,” she said, her tones becoming heated. “You wouldn’t let me talk to him. You forced me to stay here after you knew I had seen him. You wouldn’t tell me who you were, or what you were up to; what did you expect?”

  “I expected you to believe what I told you, that you were safe, that what I was doing was for your own good, and that you would be free as soon as possible!”

  “And I was supposed to take your word, just like that, without explanation or knowing the first thing about you? Doesn’t that strike you as being a little high-handed?”

  “At least you left me in no doubt that it struck you that way,” he said grimly, then held up his hand as she started to answer. “No, wait, let me think this through. It changes the whole problem.”

  The minutes ticked past. Kelly tried to conceal the faint trembling of her hands by holding on to her coffee cup. She glanced at Charles, at the frown that drew his brows together. Her heart seemed to contract in her chest, and she looked away once more.

  He drained his coffee cup and set it on the table before he turned to her. “All right. Let’s take this from the beginning. You know who my father was?”

  “A friend of Judge Kavanaugh?”

  “Yes, and also of the senator, though that’s not what I am getting at. He was a politician, of sorts. At one time he ran for office and was elected as representative of his district. Once in the state capital at Baton Rouge, however, he found his sphere of influence limited. Too, he ran into the public’s attitude toward elected officials as all of them being in it for what they can get.”

  “I see,” Kelly murmured. That explained the reference George had made that morning to the time when old man Duralde, Charles’s father, had been in Baton Rouge, and of the railroad spur and post office that had a part of the operation, whatever that was, at the time.

  “When his term ended, he refused to run for reelection, but still maintained a certain influence behind the scenes. He was — not a poor man, and he had a strong sense of fair play. He made it his business for quite a few years to see to it that the political machine in his section of the state kept its nose clean. After thirty or forty years, he knew most of the people in public office, knew their strengths and weaknesses and backgrounds, knew who was suited for what post, and who wasn’t.”

  “A king-maker.”

  “Not exactly, since he had nothing personal to gain, but I suppose that description comes as close as anything.”

  “That’s interesting, of course, but I don’t see what it has to do with the senator and why he is here.”

  “I’m coming to that. Senator Landry is in a position a great deal like that of my father, except that he never ran in a public campaign. He was once appointed to fill the unexpired term of a senator who died in office, however. He declined to try for a full term, but he enjoys the honorary title and he likes to stay involved in the political game.”

  “A pair of king-makers.”

  “If you like, though their interference in the democratic process was limited to supporting the man they felt to be best qualified for the job and lining up other support, helping arrange financing, planning strategy. There was nothing underhanded or illegal about it, just a nice, clean fight decided by the voters. Until the last two election campaigns.”

  Was this the reason he had been interested in her opinion on the subjects of money and politics? She could not see what difference it made what she thought. Perhaps it had been an idle question, an attempt to find some common ground between them for conversation, and nothing more? It did not follow that because he had asked what she thought, he had a personal interest in her answer. Realizing, suddenly, that her mind was wandering, she tried to pick up the thread of what he had been saying.

  “I read something about the elections scandals in that area during the last campaign.”

  He nodded, the look in his eyes somber. “My father suspected from the first that organized crime was behind it. He and the senator set out to prove it, and to expose the fraud. They succeeded. The whole thing was blown wide open; corruption, vote buying, illegal contributions, the underworld connection, the whole dirty deal. The media got wind of it and put a bright light on the operation. People were arrested and brought before the grand jury where they were indicted and bound over for trial. My father and the senator were called as witnesses.”

  Kelly stared at him with horror in her eyes as she recognized the trend of his story. “And then your father was killed in an accident.”

  “Only it wasn’t an accident. His car was de
liberately forced off the road and into a canal. An attempt was made on the life of the senator, but he was luckier. After that, he was given police protection. The officer guarding him nearly let a sniper make good at his second attempt. There was some doubt as to how hard he had tried to provide protection, and the question arose of a possible bribe being passed. It became clear that something had to be done. I had a special interest in seeing that the men behind the death of my father were brought to justice. More than that, Landry was my father’s friend; I had known him all my life. I thought of the judge, and this place, and so we came here.”

  It made beautiful sense, once you knew, though there were still a number of things she didn’t understand. “How does the payoff come into it?” she asked, her brows drawn together as she stared at him. “I’m sure I didn’t make that up.”

  “If memory serves me right, I was talking about a payoff not in money, but in justice that would come as soon as the case went to trial. That would be after this week, on Monday when court reconvenes for the fall, or at least when the evidence that the senator has to present is given, in two weeks at the most.”

  Her gray eyes were still troubled as she tilted her head to one side. “I don’t mean to sound like a lawyer, but isn’t it a little unusual for a judge to try a case where he has given shelter to a witness for the prosecution?”

  “You mean Judge Kavanaugh? The case will be tried out of his district. His only connection with it has been his interest in seeing my father’s killers brought to justice, and the loan of his house for a place of safekeeping. He was more than a little concerned when he heard that you were mixed up in the business. It was all I could do to keep him from flying home to talk to you. He sent instructions that I should tell you the truth and rely on your good sense, but George had neglected to explain to him just how angry I had made you. I wasn’t too sure that seeing me in trouble wouldn’t have suited you just fine.”