by Dee Davis
“Department of Defense? I thought D.E.S. produced engines.”
He shot her a look, as if debating what to tell her, and she lost it, the pressure of the day suddenly more than she could bear.
“Look, Jonathan,” she stretched out his name, each syllable punctuating her anger, “you’re not the only one with something at stake here. I’ve put my job on the line for you. This operation was supposed to be about proving myself, and aiding a suspected murderer isn’t exactly the way to do that. So make up your mind right now. Either you trust me or you don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
He moved with a quick grace that belied his condition, one finger covering her lips, his gaze colliding with hers. “I know you’re on my side. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I’m sorry.”
They stood for a moment, as if the touch of his hand held them together, linking them in some deep intrinsic way, then he dropped his hand, stepping back, purposefully reestablishing the distance between them.
She fought against the tide of emotions threatening to engulf her. John might believe that she was on his side, but that didn’t mean he truly trusted her, and without trust, there certainly could be no love.
Ruthlessly she pushed away her disconsolate thoughts. Now was not the time. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on the situation at hand. John needed her help, and for the time being that would simply have to be enough. “So tell me about the connection between D.E.S. and the Department of Defense.”
“They’re developing the guidance system for the weaponry aboard the U.S.’s newest bomber. The whole plane is classified. I had to get all kinds of clearance to even be able to work with them. That’s why I was the only one with total access.”
“That certainly explains why the Koreans would be interested. Schematics of something like that would be worth a fortune on the open market. Roswell was right.” She frowned, trying to assimilate the newest piece of the puzzle.
“We can’t know that for certain. At least not until we get our hands on the phoenix file.” He blew out a long breath. “Which brings us right back to square one. I need a way to get into the D.E.S. system.”
She tipped her head back, rubbing the small of her back. “Well, you’re right about one thing. We can’t just break in. It’s doable, of course, but not without careful planning. And we don’t have time for that. We’d be far better off to simply walk in tomorrow.”
“We’ll be recognized.”
“No we won’t. Pretending to be something I’m not is what I do for a living, remember?”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jason strode into the office, his face pink with anger. “You found my book.”
“What do you mean?” A curl of fear traced its way up Frank’s spine, but he fought it down, forcing nonchalance.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I found a page missing from my Filofax, and couldn’t figure out what the hell had happened to it. But then Valerie remembered seeing you take it. At the Magnolia Café, the night Flo was killed. It wasn’t hard to put it together after that. You needed proof it was me. So you took the page. And now I want the book back.” He held out his hand, his eyes telegraphing his fury.
Frank’s fear increased a notch. “I don’t have it.”
“I know that you do. So stop lying about it.”
Anger mixed with the fear, making him feel a little light-headed. “I gave it to the woman from the FBI. I thought it might help John.”
“What?” The word came out on a whisper, his face going from red to white in an instance, his anger dissipating like smoke in the wind.
“I said, I gave it to the authorities.” His breathing was coming more normally now, his fear subsiding. “So there’s no point in hurting me, Jason. I’ve already told what I know.”
If possible, the other man looked stricken. “I’d never hurt you, Frank. Surely you don’t believe that I . . .” Jason broke off, understanding dawning. Understanding and horror. “You think that I killed Derek and Florence.”
Frank shrugged. “It fits the facts.”
“I never . . .” he sputtered, then tried again. “I didn’t kill either of them.”
“Derek was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?”
Jason sat down, burying his face in his hands. “He figured out about the money. Said he’d turn me in if I didn’t give him a cut of the profits.”
“You were embezzling from Guardian.”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. I owed some less than savory people money. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. The next time I’d come out on top.”
“But you didn’t.” The truth hit Frank square in the face. “You lost the money gambling.”
Jason’s laugh was bitter. “I never met a bet I didn’t like. Football, horse racing, you name it. Only I always seem to wind up on the wrong end of the game.”
“So you used Guardian funds to support your habit.” Frank wondered how he could have missed the signs. He thought he knew Jason, but obviously he’d been wrong.
“You make it sound like I’m a drug addict.” Jason lifted his head, his eyes imploring. “It isn’t the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” Frank wished there were some way to sugarcoat the words, but there wasn’t.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Derek certainly saw it that way. And I can’t say that I was sorry when he disappeared. But you’ve got to believe me, Frank, when I tell you that I didn’t kill him. I’m not that kind of man.”
“Well, neither is John Brighton.” He was suddenly certain of that fact. “So the first thing you’re going to do is turn yourself over to the FBI. Maybe there’s something you know that will help.”
“It may be too late.” Valerie walked into the room, her face crestfallen.
“What do you mean?” Frank stood up, the hairs on the back of his neck rising to attention.
“I just got off the phone with Danny. It seems that John has gone missing. Katie Cavanaugh signed him out of jail, but the two of them never showed up at the federal holding cells.”
“Do they think something’s happened to them?” Frank felt his stomach sink. It seemed his efforts were too little, too late.
“He doesn’t know. The Feds seem to think that they’ve run off together, but according to Danny, the police think it’s more likely they’re holed up here somewhere, trying to find answers.” Valerie looked less authoritative somehow, and certainly less alluring. Or maybe his perspective was what had changed. Either way, he almost felt sorry for her.
“Where’s Danny?”
“He’s at the police department. The call came from that detective who’s been hanging around here. Apparently, the FBI didn’t think it was worth the time to let Danny know.”
“How’s he taking it?”
“He sounded all right, but Danny never shows his emotions. I’ve tried to call John, but he isn’t answering his cell phone. I’m sure Danny’s tried, too.” Her face reflected her worry.
“Valerie, just because he isn’t answering his phone doesn’t mean he’s been hurt. If he’s on the run, he’s not very likely to answer his phone, now is he?”
She nodded, her expression relaxing. “So what do we do? I feel helpless standing here. The company is certainly not going to survive this without a lot of damage control.” Now, there was the old Valerie. Frank was almost grateful. Too many things had changed. He needed something he could rely on, even if it was only Valerie’s unabashed self-interests.
“Well, for starters, I think Jason has a date with the FBI.” He shot the other man a pointed look. “It’s past time to tell the truth, don’t you think?”
“I don’t see what good it would do.” Jason narrowed his eyes, daring them to argue. “Not with Jonathan on the lam.”
“So, what, you’re going to wait for them to come to you?”
“Maybe they’ll lose interest.” His self-justification was just this side of pathetic.
“It’s the FBI, Jason. They don’t lose interest. They’ll get you now or they’ll get you
later. It’s that simple.”
“Unless he runs.” Valerie’s eyes were thoughtful behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You knew about this?”
She shrugged. “I suspected.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” Frank tried but couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.
“I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t see how it could help Guardian. So I didn’t press the issue.”
“Meaning you wanted John to fall so badly that you were willing to let Jason get away with murder.”
“I told you I didn’t do it.” Jason’s retort hung between them in the air.
“She didn’t know that.” Frank felt sick. These people were supposed to be his friends.
“Well, I do now.” She shot them both a sanctimonious look.
Frank ignored her. “What matters now is doing the right thing. How about it, Jason?”
Jason’s face suddenly looked haggard, and he sighed in defeat. “I don’t see that there’s any other way.” He shrugged, his gaze meeting Valerie’s. “I’m not the running type.”
The clouds cast dancing shadows across the motel room, light feathered against dark, creating patterns on the floor and walls. Lightning—the real kind—flashed intermittently, the smell of rain comforting, the touch of the breeze cool against her face.
John was sleeping, his soft breathing rhythmic against the night. Katie leaned against the window, looking at the play of light against the sky, the reflection like a fractured mirror in the water below. With the exception of the circumstances, this was life as it was supposed to be. Two people alone, sharing the intimacies of the night.
But the truth was, they were only together because of the circumstances, and she wasn’t sure if there would be anything left to build on when the dust settled. If it settled. Everything depended on tomorrow, her skills at passing unnoticed and John’s skills with a computer. If all went as planned they’d have answers, and hopefully a way out of this mess. But nothing would ever be the same, for either of them.
The reflection in the water was dancing now, raindrops distorting color like an impressionist painting. When she was little, her mother had woken her when it rained like this—soft rain, gentle rain—and the two of them had snuck from the house, reveling in the sweet fall of water, the midnight hour bewitching them. It had been magical. A moment captured forever in her heart.
And here it was again, far from home.
Midnight rain.
“You’re awake.” He’d come to stand behind her, his big body warm, familiar, his breath teasing her senses as it brushed against her cheek.
“It’s raining.” The words were stark, devoid of magic, but she had no way to tell him, to explain her memories.
Silence stretched between them, accentuated by the soft patter of the rain. Finally, with a sigh, he moved to stand beside her. “We need to talk.”
“About tomorrow?” She knew that wasn’t it, but some perverse part of her wanted to hear him actually say it.
“No.” His dark eyes met hers, the intensity there robbing her of breath. “We need to talk about us.”
“Is there an us?” She turned to search his face, uncertainty mixing with fear. There was so much between them. So much at stake.
“I honestly don’t know. There shouldn’t be, but somehow I can’t seem to let it go—to let you go.” The words were what she needed to hear, but there was so much anger behind them. Anger and doubt.
“Flo told me once that real love can survive anything. If that’s true, then—”
“Flo is dead.” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “And I don’t know if I even believe in love anymore. At least not the kind that conquers all.”
He looked out at the rain-swept night. “When I woke up in the hospital after the shooting, I couldn’t remember much of anything. I mean, I knew who I was on a technical level, but a lot of the emotion surrounding the memories was gone. And even though eventually most of it came back, I never lost the feeling of disenfranchisement. It was as if I’d lost my way somehow, and couldn’t get on track again. And to make it worse, everybody kept telling me how I was supposed to feel.
“It was like I was only pretending to be me. Only that’s not even a good way of explaining it. Mostly it was like being alone in a room full of friends. Danny, Valerie, all of them. They said the right things, and I could see that they cared, but they couldn’t understand that I was different from before. They refused to allow me to change. Everything was about regaining what I’d lost. When in reality, I wasn’t certain I wanted it back.
“Then you came along, bursting into my life with no knowledge of me as anything other than the man I am now. You accepted me as is—no questions asked.” He tipped back his head, sighing. “You even made me believe in myself again. Somehow, you became my talisman against the dark. I thought that with you by my side, anything was possible.
“And then Danny told me who you really were.” His gaze met hers, pain etched across his face. “And I died all over again. The only thing I thought of as real turned out to be a lie.”
“How can you say that?” She wanted to wipe the anguish from his face, to take away his pain, but she wasn’t certain she could find the words. “There were lies surrounding it, certainly. But the night we made love, that was real, John. I made love to you. Me. Katie. Not the FBI agent. And not some physical therapist. Me. The real me.”
“I want to believe that. But how can I?” He studied her face as if he were memorizing it.
“You listen to your heart.” She touched a finger to his chest. “And you step out on a limb. No one is perfect, John. You of all people should know that. People make mistakes.”
“And they live with the consequences.”
“I know that. But does that mean we have to lose everything? Look, I should have told you who I was the night we made love. I wish I had. God knows, if I could go back and change it, I would. But if I’d told you, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. You’d still have felt betrayed, and we’d still probably be standing right here.”
“So what do we do now?”
Wordlessly she held out her hands, not knowing what it was she wanted exactly, but certain that she wanted it with him. He allowed her to pull him through the sliding glass door and into the night, the rain falling around them, like fairy mist—and just for the moment she let herself believe that anything was possible.
Anything.
He framed her face with one hand, his fingers strong and sure, and she reached for the other, the weaker one, kissing first one finger and then the next, loving each one as a part of him. And when she’d finished, she kissed his palm, the feel of his skin against hers lighting something deep inside her.
A candle in the window to lead him home.
There was magic afoot tonight.
With a groan, he pulled her close, his mouth finding hers, his kiss gentle, yet possessive. But she wanted more, wanted to taste him, to brand him with her heart and mind. To show the world that he was hers. Now and forever.
No questions asked. No matter what happened.
His tongue met hers, and they dueled together, an ageless battle fought since the beginning of time. Giving and taking, melding together, one body, one soul. His hand found her breast and the touch sent fire dancing along her synapses, pooling hot and heavy, deep within her. She pushed against him, wanting more, wanting him.
He pulled her nightshirt off her shoulders, his kisses hot against the curve of her neck and shoulders. She shivered from the touch, waiting, waiting, until his mouth, hot and hungry, closed over her breast, her nipple held captive with tongue and teeth.
She writhed against him, moaning with joy, the cool rain a constant counterpoint to his touch—his heat. He tugged at her breast, teasing, loving, the low sound in his throat a testament to his fever.
She arched back, closing her eyes, offering herself in a way she never had before. Offering her spirit as well as her body. And he accepted her gift,
his hands and mouth caressing, honoring—their coming together a commitment neither could ignore.
He pulled her upright, his eyes meeting hers. “This is for keeps, Katie. If we make love here, now, it’s forever.”
She shivered against the rain, and pressed against him, letting his warmth seep into her. “I want you, John. I’ve never pretended otherwise. I . . . I love you. And nothing that happens is ever going to change that fact. Nothing.”
The words came out of her of their own volition, and she was surprised at how easily they came. Painless. Joyful. A promise made. A promise to be kept.
He tilted his head back, the lightning illuminating his face, raindrops clustering on his eyelashes. “Then let me show you how much I love you.”
She nodded, and wordlessly let him lead her inside to the bed. With gentle hands he pulled off the nightshirt, kissing her skin as he bared it, licking away the remnants of rain, replacing its cool moisture with the heat of his tongue.
His hand dipped lower, past her abdomen, to the soft skin of her inner thighs, caressing, teasing, the tension at once wonderful and terrible. Her legs were shaking. Her breath ragged. His touch driving her closer and closer to the edge.
And then, just when she thought she would explode, his hand moved, inward, upward, thrusting, stroking deep inside her. His mouth found hers, his tongue matching his fingers stroke for stroke. She pressed hard against him, needing more.
With fumbling fingers, she pulled at his clothes, sliding off the sweats, needing to feel his skin against hers, his heat joining with hers. She stroked the work-hardened muscles of his back as they fell onto the bed, their bodies locked together in a passionate embrace.
He shifted his weight, moving to place a knee between her legs. She opened for him, wanting him deep inside her. And she murmured her protest when he pulled back, bracing his elbows on either side of her, his gaze locked on hers.