by Dee Davis
And when she did—she was gone.
He buried his head in his hands, wishing to hell he didn’t care. But he did. Jessie was his whole world. He’d fallen for her all those years ago, and nothing she could do to him changed that fact. So he played the game, hoping that magically he’d wake up one morning and be the man she wanted him to be.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Not without money.
And therein lay the problem. He simply didn’t have the money. He picked up an envelope from Saint Stephen’s. Tuition. According to Jessica, their daughter deserved only the best. And that included private school and all the trappings. All financed to the hilt.
And daddy’s little girl couldn’t possibly attend school without designer clothes and her own credit card. He picked up another bill. A credit card she wasn’t afraid to use. He sighed and wrote a check. One that might or might not bounce, depending on his ability to play the float. He tore the check off with a flourish and stuffed it into the envelope, wondering how he’d managed to sink so low.
Maybe now was the time to come clean. To tell Jessica the truth. Maybe she’d actually understand.
But she wouldn’t.
He licked the envelope, sealing his fate. Sooner or later it was all going to fall apart. But not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Not if Valerie succeeded with her plan.
But that wasn’t going to happen as long as Florence Tedesky remained in the mix. She wouldn’t vote against Jonathan. At least not without persuasion. She thought of the man as a son.
He’d told Valerie and Jason he’d do something about it. Promised them actually. Which meant he had to follow through. But suddenly he wasn’t certain he had the stomach for it. Which made Jessica right about everything. He was worthless. Even when given the opportunity to rise to the occasion, he balked.
He sighed. Surely he could do this. All he had to do was reach inside and find the courage. He fiddled with the metal ring on a spiral notebook, his eyes falling again to the stack of bills.
The truth was, he didn’t have a choice.
John couldn’t ever remember feeling like this. Powerful and submissive all at the same time. It was almost as if she’d become part of him. Joined in some intrinsic way. He held her close, their breathing almost in tandem. She was sleeping.
Their lovemaking had been wild the first time, and languid the second. And now he needed to rest, but he couldn’t close his eyes. He wanted only to look at her. As if somehow she could make everything okay—just by being.
It was silly. He knew it. Life wasn’t about miracles. Nothing had changed.
And yet everything had.
In the space of a few precious hours everything was different. The world filled with hope.
He stroked her hair, careful not to wake her, reality pushing at the edges of his mind. There was no hope. He was locked in a nightmare of his own making, and he didn’t have the key. And despite the fact that she made him feel like anything was possible, it didn’t change the facts.
He’d still taken company money and manipulated it for unknown reasons. He’d handed over a tidy sum to a known drug user, and he’d liquidated his assets and headed off for a vacation that evidently had never existed.
So what the hell did it all mean?
He shifted restlessly, and immediately regretted it when her eyes fluttered open.
“You all right?” The question was soft, a whisper.
He thought about lying. About assuring her that everything was fine, but that would be a coward’s way out, and somehow he wanted things between them to be based on honesty. “No.” He rolled over onto his back. “I’m not.”
She reached up to stroke the ridge of scar tissue. “Are you hurting?”
“It’s not that. I feel fine.” Better than fine actually. For the first time since he’d woken up in a Mexican hospital, he actually felt good. Glad to be alive.
“Then it’s Miller.”
He nodded on an exhale. “All of it really. I just want to understand. Hell, I need to understand.”
“Then we’ll just have to find a way to make that happen.” She continued to stroke his head, her touch soothing.
“I don’t see how. Every step I try to take forward, it seems I end up five paces back.”
“Maybe it’s a matter of perception. You just need to believe in yourself.”
He stared at the wash of light on the ceiling, the shifting shadows making intricate patterns in black on white, their edges fading to gray. “That’s not so easily done.”
“Maybe, but tell me this.” She rolled over on her side, her eyes shining green in the dark. Cat’s eyes. “Do you honestly believe you have it in you to kill a man?”
“Under the right circumstances?” His mind turned to the thugs who’d left him for dead. “You bet. But Miller? I honestly can’t imagine hurting him.”
“Even if he was blackmailing you?”
John thought about it for a moment, picturing the man. He’d been a friend, of sorts, certainly a colleague. “No.” He shook his head, suddenly certain, despite the facts. “I wouldn’t.”
“All right, then. There’s one. How about your company. It’s doing well, right?”
“Extraordinarily well, under the circumstances.” He shifted so that he could see her better, curious to understand where she was going with this.
“Right. And would you do anything to jeopardize that success?”
“No.” He shook his head, positive of that much.
“So that means it isn’t very likely that you’d have been throwing away the company’s money needlessly.”
“True. But that doesn’t rule out some nefarious reason.”
She stared at him a moment, eyes narrowed in thought. “It would if it presented a danger to the company. Besides, we know where at least some of the money went.”
“To Miller. Which brings us full circle. There just aren’t any answers, Katie.”
“We weren’t looking for answers, John. We were looking at who you are and what you’re capable of.”
“The question of the hour.” He lay back against the pillow, purposefully putting distance between them. He’d been crazy to think this could work. He had nothing to offer her but an empty head and a murky past.
But she followed him, closing the distance, laying her head against his shoulder. “Stop talking like that. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. All we have to do is keep digging.”
The word we, coupled with her heart beating next to his, was enough to make him want to believe. But he was a pragmatist. He needed something concrete to hold on to. And just at the moment, the only solid things he had all pointed toward the fact that he had been up to something. He’d lied to his brother, to Flo, maybe even to Miller.
And that all led up to the inescapable conclusion that he’d been doing something he hadn’t wanted anyone to know about. And no matter how much he believed in himself, he couldn’t get around that. No matter how much he wanted to.
“You don’t necessarily have to understand something to believe in it.” She’d been reading his mind again.
He rolled over to face her again, tracing the soft lines of her mouth with one finger. “You’re amazing. You know that, don’t you?”
She actually blushed, and for a moment he thought she was going to turn away. But instead she held his gaze, a trace of sadness reflected in her eyes. “I’m just a regular woman, John. Full of faults like everyone else.”
“Well, maybe seeing is in the eyes of the believer.
And I do know one thing, Katie.” He moved closer, until their bodies were pressed together. Two halves of a whole. “I believe in you.”
“John, there’s something I should—”
He shook his head, covering her mouth with his hand. “Not tonight. Tonight it’s just you and me. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”
She nodded, the sadness still there in the crystal depths of her eyes. Maybe she didn’t believe in
him.
He allowed himself a moment of self-pity, and then he ruthlessly pushed it aside. He needed her. And she was here. That spoke volumes, didn’t it?
He pulled her even closer and lowered his mouth to hers, just the taste of her making his senses reel. They’d face the morning together, and maybe, just maybe, find a way out of the nightmare.
But until then, they had each other, and for the moment that would simply have to suffice.
Chapter 14
The first rays of sun danced across the room, their bright color the antithesis to her black thoughts. She’d managed to get herself into one hell of a mess. The kind that had no possibility of a happy ending.
She shifted to look at the man sleeping beside her. In sleep he looked so peaceful. Almost as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But she knew better. At the very least, he had to contend with his injuries. And at the worst— well, she wasn’t going there. If she had a prayer of making this work out, she had to hang on to her belief that he was innocent.
And despite all the evidence, she did believe that.
The question was, how best to help him.
Her instinct last night had been to confess all—first to John and then to Roswell, but by the light of day she wasn’t so certain. If she told John, he’d throw her out. She was certain of that. He believed in honesty above all else. And if she told Roswell, he’d remove her from the case. Maybe even the bureau.
The latter was less upsetting than she’d have thought, but the former had the potential to harm John.
She’d been an agent for a long time now, and part of a law-enforcement family even longer. She knew the drill. Sometimes the ends justified the means to the point that innocence and guilt had nothing to do with it.
There was no question in her mind that Roswell believed John was guilty. But more importantly, he thought that John was harboring information he needed. One way or the other, he needed John convicted. Needed the leverage to get whatever it was he thought John had to give him.
And she was Roswell’s hidden arsenal.
She was supposed to dig her way into John’s life and find the evidence to serve him up to Roswell on a silver platter. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, the sunlight dappled across him. He trusted her and she was supposed to betray him.
What the hell had she done?
One indiscretion and . . . no, it was more than that. A lot more. She cared about John. Cared about him in ways she wasn’t certain she wanted to examine, something in his soul reaching out to hers. Touching her in a way she hadn’t dreamed possible.
And her job was to destroy what was left of his life.
A hell of a paradox.
She fought a wave of shame, not for the first time questioning the profession she’d chosen. Lying in order to catch the bad guys had its value, but there was so much of herself she’d lost along the way. And now here she was, wanting to give everything to someone—total honesty. Only all of it was based on a lie.
The ultimate irony. She finally wanted to open up to someone, but he’d never believe her. Not like this. She slid out of bed, grateful when he didn’t wake. Part of her wanted to pack her things and run as far away as her credit card would carry her. To pretend that this had never happened. That John Brighton didn’t exist.
But looking down at him, sleeping so peacefully, she knew that she couldn’t. No matter what the cost, above all else she wanted to help him, to protect him, and there was absolutely no way she could do that from the outside.
And to stay on the inside, she had to continue the lie. Which was like stabbing herself in the heart. Because once he knew the truth it would most certainly be over between them. She reached out and brushed the hair back from his face, wishing she were a normal person, that they’d met in a normal way.
But they hadn’t. And nothing she could do would change that fact.
Nothing.
She grabbed her running clothes and walked into the living room, her stomach tightening into a knotted ball. She’d never felt so lost and alone. This was worse than when her mother died, worse than the weeks in the hospital after Priestly’s attack.
It was almost as if everything in her life had culminated in last night. As if she’d been waiting for John. Searching for him. And now that he was here, standing in front of her, she’d already lost him. Before anything could truly begin.
Last night she’d taken the easy way out. Let him stop her from telling the truth. If she’d had more courage, maybe there would have been a chance. Maybe she could have explained. But not now. It was too late. She’d lost him. If she’d ever really had him at all.
God, what had she done? Wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to hold back the tears. She never cried. Never.
Until now.
It was if her insides were being shredded, cut into tiny pieces bit by bit. How had she let this happen? She was always so careful. Keeping everyone at arm’s length.
Damn it all to hell.
She was a professional. And this was supposed to be a job. Just a job. But somehow, when she hadn’t been looking, things had changed. The stakes were much higher. And now she was locked in checkmate, with no hope of escape. She was supposed to be protected. Insulated. Nothing was supposed to be able to penetrate her fortress.
But he had. He had.
And now she was standing here waiting for her world to fall apart. And she hadn’t a clue what to do. Life was so damn complicated. Which was exactly why she’d avoided one of her own. Pretending to be other people was much easier. Push come to shove, dealing with the scum of the earth was easier. But that didn’t change anything. She was here. Now.
With John.
Maybe that was the truth of it. Life found you. No matter how you tried to hide away, it found you. And the reality wasn’t always pretty.
She sighed, rubbing the small of her back, wondering how she’d come to this point. Wondering how she was going to find the strength to continue to lie.
Because that’s what she was going to do.
If nothing else, she’d help him out of this mess. He deserved it. Someone had killed Derek Miller, but it wasn’t John. And if she could, she was going to help prove that to anyone who’d listen. A last gift.
And then she’d ride off into the sunset—alone. After all, she’d gotten damn good at dealing with things on her own. She’d made her bed.
She’d simply have to lie in it.
Lie being the operative word.
“You’re in early this morning.” Danny stood in the door to Jason’s office, smothering a yawn.
“Just trying to put out a few fires.” Jason leaned back in his chair, and reached for his coffee. “You don’t look so good.”
Danny shrugged, his handsome face splitting into a mischievous grin. “Late night.”
Jason returned the smile. There was something disarming about Danny Brighton. Like a little boy lost or something. No matter what he said or did, you still wanted to play on his team. “You still seeing the redhead from Hobson?”
“Rachel?” Danny dropped down into a chair. “Nah. Old news. Been seeing a hot little blonde.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose in admiration. Danny could really rack up the bonus points when it came to the opposite sex. Sometimes it seemed all he had to do was wag a finger and they came running.
Even Valerie. Although it had been a long time ago, and their parting had been amicable. “So who’s the lucky lady?” He actually thought he knew the answer. But he was curious to see if Danny would admit it.
“You know I never kiss and tell.” Danny’s grin turned apologetic.
“I can understand that.” Jason sipped his coffee, enjoying himself. “It’s just that I thought I saw you with someone last week. At Deep Eddy. Looked like Wilson Harris’s secretary. Amber or Anita . . .” He trailed off, waiting for the other man’s reaction.
Danny’s grin faltered for a moment, then regained its wattage. “Angela Thomas? Give me a break, the woman isn’
t even in my league.”
Arrogant son of bitch. Still, there was truth in what he was saying. And the bar had been dark. Besides, what the hell did he care who Danny was screwing? “I really didn’t get that good a look.” He forced a casual shrug. “It probably wasn’t even you.”
“What were you doing at Deep Eddy anyway? Not your usual kind of hangout.” Danny’s grin had turned to a frown.
Shit. When would he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? “It’s not. I was just meeting an old friend.” Actually, the man had been anything but a friend, but he wasn’t about to share that.
Truth was, he was in trouble. Big trouble. He needed cash, fast. Without it, he was likely to be joining Miller at the bottom of Lake Travis. He shivered, imagining the murky water closing over his head.
“You hearing any more complaints?” Danny’s question pulled him away from his morbid thoughts.
“I’m fielding two or three calls a day. No one’s threatening to pull out yet. But they’re worried. How did John’s talk with Harris go?”
“As well as could be expected. I think the jury is out, but for now he’s hanging tough.”
“Well, that’s something. I guess we’re not going to see an end to this until the police make an arrest.”
“Doesn’t seem like they’re getting any closer. I mean, every new thing that turns up just seems to create more questions.” Danny’s expression was inscrutable.
“Yeah, but it all still points to your brother.” Jason hated to push too far, but Danny’s siding with them was a necessity if they were going to push Jonathan out, and this was as good a way as any to try to determine where the younger man stood.
Danny blew out a breath. “I know. It’s hard to see it all happening like this. I mean, Jonathan has been through so much. But at the same time, I don’t want to see Guardian fall apart because of something my brother may have done.”
Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the sincerity of Danny’s comments. The man was a hell of a poker player. “So you think there’s a possibility Jonathan is guilty?” He strove to put just the right amount of surprise in his voice.
“Of killing Miller? No. I don’t think he has it in him. But I think it’s possible he was mixed up in something he shouldn’t have been. Jonathan has always liked to push the envelope.”