by Dee Davis
Jason’s surprise was no longer an act. “If what you’re saying is true, then you have to agree his actions have put Guardian at risk.”
“Well now, there’s the rub.” Danny leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “My brother doesn’t remember doing anything wrong. Which means whatever it was, it’s permanently in the past. And to my way of thinking, that negates any risk.”
Jason tightened his hand on his pencil. The man was enjoying this. “With the police investigating and our names in the papers practically daily, how d’you figure that?”
“There’s nothing anyone can prove, is there? Sooner or later the furor is going to die down. And,” his gaze met Jason’s square on, “if you’re doing your job, you’ll spin this all to our favor.”
“Tall order.”
Danny stood up, his smile firmly back in place. “Well, if you can’t put it all right, maybe you’re not the man for the job.”
The pencil snapped in two, and Danny’s eyes dropped to the broken pieces. “You’d better be sure of your allies, Jason. If you count on the wrong person, you never know what might happen.”
Jason watched Danny walk out of the office. He wasn’t at all certain what the hell had just happened. As usual, Danny seemed to be straddling the fence, waiting to see which way the wind was blowing.
But no matter which way he landed, Jason had the distinct feeling that his last words had been meant as a threat. Which could mean a lot of different things— including the possibility that he’d found the secret compartment in Derek’s desk.
Jason threw the broken pencil in the trash, then pulled a new one out of his desk drawer, wishing he could handle his other problems as easily.
Running was the perfect cure for everything. For as long as she could remember she’d been running. Which was probably apropos to the way she’d lived her life. Only she wasn’t running this time. At least not figuratively.
Literally, she was running for everything she was worth. It was already blistering outside, but she ignored the cloying heat, instead focusing on the beauty of the trail. The live oaks hung overhead like a living canopy, vegetation parting now and then for a stunning view of Town Lake.
The bright red flowers of turk’s cap broke the rolling green of the undergrowth, the upside-down hearts giving it an almost festive appearance. She had passed the occasional jogger, but most intelligent Austinites were already safely ensconced in their office buildings.
Not her. She wasn’t sure what that said about her mental state, but surely there was a message in there somewhere. She slowed as she neared the next curve. Roswell was supposed to be there waiting for her, and quite frankly, she could go the rest of her life without having to talk to the man.
And that desire was even stronger when she considered the fact that she wasn’t about to win agent of the month with the things she had to tell him. He wanted her to help him nail John. And the truth was, she didn’t have anything to give him. Which was a blessing in and of itself, because it meant she wasn’t forced to make a choice.
Just a few days ago she’d have sworn that nothing could stop her from making a success of this assignment. Of proving herself to the powers that be, once and for all. Priestly was a mistake in judgment. A righteous one, but a mistake nevertheless.
She automatically traced the line of her scar. She’d been so afraid that John would be repulsed. But it had been a stupid thought. Not John. Never John.
Which made her lies that much more unbearable.
She sucked in a breath and sped up, heading around the bend. Time to face the music.
The bench along the side of the pathway was occupied, just as she’d expected. But instead of Roswell it was Jerome Wilcox. Relief swept through her. Jerome she could deal with. Maybe even convince him she was right about John’s innocence. And two arguing with Roswell would certainly be more persuasive than one. Especially when one of them was male.
She stopped running, leaning down to gather her thoughts and get her breath. There was a feeling of déjà vu. They’d been here before, but things were a lot different this time. This time she’d slept with the suspect.
Not exactly the kind of thing you want to confess to a colleague.
So she wouldn’t. She straightened, smiling at Wilcox, relieved when the man smiled back. At least her thoughts weren’t flashing across her face in neon. “I thought Roswell was coming.”
His grin widened. “You complaining?”
“No way.” She shook her head to underscore the statement. “I just wasn’t expecting you. Things okay with your other case?”
He nodded. “Bastard’s in jail. Been a long time coming.”
“You make it sound personal.”
He shrugged. “It’s always personal to some degree, I guess.”
Now, there was an understatement. She sat down beside him on the bench.
“You got anything new?”
“Nothing that brings us any closer to resolution of the case, but I think we’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“What d’you mean?” He frowned, reaching down to pluck a flower growing beside the bench.
“I don’t think John’s guilty of anything except maybe bad luck.”
Jerome twirled the stem between his thumb and index finger, the red flower twirling in the air. “I assume you have something to back up your conjecture.”
“More a lack of anything.” She leaned back, crossing her legs, trying to look more casual than she felt. “Everything we’ve got seems to be contradictory. He pays Miller money, the man winds up dead. Doesn’t really make sense to pay someone off and then kill him.”
“What about the assets he liquidated?”
“Granted, that’s not easy to explain, but there are all kinds of legitimate possibilities. And the fact remains that there doesn’t seem to be anything that gives us a motive.”
“Maybe you’re not looking deep enough.” His gaze locked with hers, his dark eyes seeing way more than she wanted him to.
“Maybe. But he’s been really forthcoming. And not just with me. He’s been totally open with D’Angelo. Even with Roswell.”
“Yeah.” Jerome grimaced. “I heard he was on-site.”
“Son of bitch could have blown the whole investigation.” Which turns out might have actually been a good thing. But then, hindsight was always twenty/twenty. “But it worked out okay. And the point is that John was up front with him.”
“You know better than I do, Cavanaugh, that some of the best con men in the business can seem like one thing on the surface and be something completely different underneath.” His eyes held a warning, one she chose to ignore.
“Of course I know that. But I’m also a damn good judge of character. I have to be.”
Jerome flicked the flower across the path. “I’m not doubting your judgment. I’m just saying that you’re not presenting any evidence that clears Brighton’s name.”
Katie fought against irritation. “And I’m saying that we don’t have anything that would hold up in court should we try to convict. It’s all supposition.”
“Which is why you were put on the job in the first place.”
“I know that.” She pushed the hair out of her face, her gaze meeting Jerome’s. “I’ve just got a feeling about this one.”
“Feelings don’t count. Especially with Roswell. Bring me something concrete. Something that clears the man, and then we can talk. Until then, we play it Roswell’s way.”
“Which is?” She already knew, but perversely she wanted to hear him say it.
“Guilty until proven innocent. Miller had something on someone at Guardian. And right now Jonathan Brighton is looking like our man. Roswell certainly believes so. And I trust his judgment.” Katie opened her mouth, but Jerome held up a hand to stop her. “Despite his feelings about women in the bureau.”
“So I just have to keep digging.”
“Seems to be the best plan.”
She chewed the side of her
lip, trying to decide if she should push some more.
“Maybe you’re right about him, Cavanaugh.” The man was reading her mind. “But that won’t hold up in court either. So one way or the other, you’ve got to find out the truth. Does he suspect anything?”
“No.” She shook her head, unable to keep the sadness from her eyes. “I’ve done a bang-up job.”
Jerome reached over to take her hand. “You asked me earlier if my case was personal. And I said it was. But there are all kinds of degrees of personal, Cavanaugh.” His expression held only concern now. “Don’t let it go too deep, Katie. It’s not worth your career.”
She pulled her hand away, and feigned a smile. “Thanks for the pep talk. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
And she had.
But then, maybe that was the problem.
The sunlight slapped him in the face as if it were trying to wake him up. He opened his eyes, at first disoriented, and then smiling as memories of the night came rushing back. He rolled over, reaching for her, only to find an empty pillow.
She was gone.
Irritated, he sat up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The pounding in his head had returned and his leg ached. But it had been more than worth it. Truth was, he’d never felt more alive.
He swung out of the bed, careful to support his leg, surprised when it responded almost like normal. Maybe there was hope.
Hell, he’d settle for cautious optimism.
Still, there remained the fact that the woman responsible for his positive outlook was MIA. And right at the moment all that really mattered was finding her. He reached for his sweats, using the bed for support while he pulled them on.
Maybe she was in the living room.
He strode to the door and stopped in the doorway, disappointed. She wasn’t there.
“Nice night?” Danny was sitting in the armchair, the shadow from the draperies keeping him almost hidden from view.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled at his brother, surprised at the depth of his animosity. He didn’t want to talk to Danny. He wanted to find Katie. But evidently his brother had other plans.
“Good morning to you, too, bro.” Danny smiled, and pointed toward a pot of coffee on the table. “Maybe a little caffeine will improve your disposition. I take it you had an active night?”
“None of your damn business.” He crossed to the pot and poured a cup, trying to pull his thoughts together.
Danny held up his hands, barely containing his amusement. “I just thought you were going to take it slowly. If this is your idea of slow,” he nodded toward Katie’s bedroom door, “then I’d hate to see you at full throttle. She in there?”
John fought against an out-and-out scowl. “No.”
“Too much of a good thing, huh?” Danny’s tone was teasing, but John was still irritated.
“I told you, it’s none of your business.” He took a sip of coffee and immediately spit it back out, his tongue scorched. “Son of a bitch.”
Danny was openly laughing now. “Too hot?”
John wasn’t certain whether he was referring to the coffee or his night with Katie, but either way, he wasn’t playing. “I’m fine. You gonna tell me what you’re doing up here this early in the morning?”
“First of all, it isn’t that early.” Danny’s gaze moved to the clock on the mantel, and John was surprised to see that it was almost ten. “And second of all, unless things have changed since yesterday, this is now your office.”
“The study.” He sounded crotchety and he knew it. But just at the moment he had more important things to think about than business.
“So I’m not allowed in the rest of the apartment?” Danny’s smile broadened. “Things that hot and heavy?”
“God, Danny, get your mind out of the gutter. Of course you’re welcome here anytime. I just wasn’t expecting to find you here, that’s all.” He sat down on the sofa, then carefully took another sip of coffee, the steaming brew doing wonders for his head. “So what d’you want?”
Danny’s expression grew serious. “I had a little talk with Wilson Harris this morning. I don’t think he’s satisfied with Frank’s involvement in the project.”
“I thought we had that all settled. I told him that anything he didn’t feel like Frank could handle I’d see to personally.” John felt the now familiar surge of anger. It seemed that every time he thought he’d put out a fire it popped back up again.
Danny nodded. “He mentioned that. And for anything beyond the routine, he’s happy to come to you, but my feeling is that he wants Frank off the project altogether.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in so many words, but his message was pretty clear. So I’m thinking, if we reshuffle things a little, I could take over the day-to-day operations.”
“Have you mentioned this to Frank?” The man already had an inferiority complex, and being taken off of an account wasn’t going to sit well at all.
“No. Of course not. In fact, I didn’t make any promises to Wilson. I just told him I’d talk to you.” Danny reached for the pot and refilled his cup. “So what do you think?”
John leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, his head still throbbing. “That Frank is going to shit a brick. Still, we can’t risk the D.E.S. account just to protect Frank’s ego.” He closed his eyes, trying to maintain focus. Why was everything so damn difficult?
“Why don’t you let me call Wilson. I can even tell Frank, if you want.”
He opened his eyes, resigned. “No. We’ll split the difference. I’ll tell Frank. You talk to Harris.”
Danny stood up, looking pleased. “I’ll get on it right away, and leave you to,” he waved a hand toward the bedroom, “whatever. But remember what we talked about. Until we know what’s what, watch your back. Okay?”
Not bad advice actually. Except where Katie was concerned, it wasn’t his back that needed watching.
It was his heart.
Chapter 15
Katie watched as John lifted the weight, his bicep straining with the effort. There was something so paradoxical about him. Strength and vulnerability twisted together to make the man. She wondered if he’d been the same before the shooting.
People often changed dramatically after a head injury of that magnitude. But usually not in a Hollywood kind of way. Far more often the changes were not for the better. And although he had complained of increased anger and frustration, she wasn’t seeing anything that would indicate he’d gone from hardened criminal to responsible citizen with a bullet.
Under normal circumstances, she was put in place to find evidence that led to conviction, but nothing said that she couldn’t use the same talents to find proof that someone was innocent.
The trick was to do it without tipping anyone off.
More lies.
She blew out a breath and stepped into the gym, letting the door swing shut behind her.
He stopped immediately, sensing her presence, and slowly turned, their eyes meeting as Katie’s breath caught in her throat. She honestly hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way about another human being.
“You were gone this morning.” His voice was low, almost husky, and it sent ripples of heat rolling through her.
She nodded, struggling to find the control to speak. “I was running.”
“I missed you.” His smile was slow and a little crooked, and she thought her heart might just stop beating right there on the spot. So much for cool and collected.
“I, ah, didn’t want to wake you.” There went suave and sophisticated, too. “I thought maybe you could use the sleep.”
His smile widened. “I could think of things I would have preferred.”
She felt the heat staining her face and ducked her head so that he couldn’t see, not certain why she was embarrassed. Only knowing that she was afraid to meet his eyes, to face the thoughts reflected there.
His hand wa
s warm against her skin, lifting her chin so that her gaze collided with his. “Last night was amazing, Katie.”
She nodded again, still having trouble forming words. She’d never met anyone like him. Not ever. And she’d certainly never known anyone who could render her speechless. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyes still locked with his.
There really weren’t words.
Thank God he was of the same mind. He bent his head, his lips touching hers, sending sweet fire spreading through her body. She pressed closer, grateful for his touch. Needing it as much as she needed to breathe.
There was something in their joining. A strengthening. A feeling that nothing could happen as long as they were together. The rational part of her brain recognized the fallacy of the thought, but her heart was beyond listening to reason.
Beyond anything but the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, and the touch of his lips against hers, the taste of him spicy against her tongue. His hands were urgent now, kneading her breasts through the thin cotton of her jogging bra, tracing the circles of her areolas, first one and then the other.
She tipped back her head, and his mouth followed the curve of her throat, ending at the sensitive hollow at its base. She shivered with anticipation and delight, her hands curving around the hard planes of his buttocks, pressing him to her, tight against the warm juncture of her thighs.
“Ah, God, Katie, I’ve never wanted a woman like this.” His voice broke on the last, his breath hot against her breast, and she felt tears spring to her eyes.
Slowly, almost reverently, he pushed up the jogging bra, the refrigerated air cold against her skin. Then with a smile worthy of a pirate, he drew her breast into his mouth, the sweet suction threatening to send her spiraling out of control.
They moved backward in a passionate dance, until she could feel the metal edge of the workout bench at the bend of her knees. Pulling him with her, she sat down so that he was standing over her, his legs straddled across her body.
Their gazes met and held, the promise in his taking away what was left of her breath. She wasn’t sure how they managed, but somehow, with fumbling hands and shaking fingers, they were skin to skin, his heat filling her. And for a moment they stayed like that, balanced on the edge of the precipice, locked in the magic of each other’s eyes.