Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  ***

  Grant watched Brooke go up the stairs. She had a strange mixture of hurt and trust in her eyes. Trust had won, and somehow that made him feel good. Naturally, she assumed he’d fly back to Washington. What else could he do? He didn’t know her, yet he felt a strange pull toward her. His body wanted hers. He resisted the tightening of his stomach muscles the thought produced. But more than that he also wanted to get to know her. He wanted to know what made her eyes so sad. And why did they give off such ambivalent messages? But the feeling that had passed between them when he touched her was shocking. He knew it shot from his fingers into her arm with the same erratic force that scampered up his own arm. Even if she hadn’t rubbed it away, he’d have known she felt it.

  Her daughter was ill, and that could account for part of the sadness. Yet Grant felt it was deeper than that. He made a practice of looking beyond the surface that people showed. It had helped him from the time he was a child. Foster care wasn’t the best system and he developed a keen sense of who would be trusted. A by-product of that scrutiny was an ability to tell when someone was happy or in pain.

  Brooke was in pain -- intense pain.

  When he finished the few dishes she hadn’t rinsed, he went back to the living room. It was still in the same neat order he’d left it, but he felt he knew it better on second sight. This time he lifted a picture of Brooke, who smiled from a frame which matched the one of Kari. He noticed her eyes. They held the same sadness he’d noticed when he’d first seen her standing in the backlight of the hospital window. She reminded him of someone else, but he couldn’t quite focus on whom. But of one thing he was certain, Brooke Johnson would see him again.

  He liked the feelings she evoked in him. He hadn’t felt them in a long time. Not since that day he was released from a Beirut prison and flown to a U.S. military hospital in Germany. Government protocol wouldn’t allow the families to be there when the prisoners arrived. The prisoners were dehydrated and ill, some needing surgery. Grant was lucky. He had only a cuts and bruises along with the added need for better nutrition.

  Wives, girlfriends, and family members, including Robyn flew in a couple of days after their ordeal ended. He held her, never wanting to let her go. He was in the hospital for a week and then a second week the two of them were together on the base grounds. Finally they were sent home. He was back on U.S. soil. The reception was overwhelming. He’d been briefed by the military regarding television and newspaper interviews. It was at one of these only two days after he returned to his home in Washington that it happened. He was being interviewed. Robyn stopped at the restaurant, but promised to meet him after the interview. His best friend, David, pulled him away from the throngs of reporters, who were shouting question after question about his release, to tell him there had been an accident. His beloved Robyn, on her way to the studio, was in a car that had collided with an oil tanker. In his mind, images of billowing black smoke spiraling above the city and the ensuing fire that had burned her body beyond rec­ognition crystallized as vividly as they had done on that clear day in April five years ago.

  He replaced the gold-framed photograph and hooked his jacket over his shoulder, preparing to leave. He listened to the silence and assumed Brooke had fallen asleep. His hand was on the doorknob, before it occurred to him to look in on her and make sure she was all right.

  He found her asleep in a room at the top of the stairs with muted yellow walls and beneath a blue-and-white comforter. She looked like a little girl. Feel­ings he thought were long buried surfaced, making his body warm. Suddenly, he was a knight in shining ar­mor, standing ready to protect her against whoever had taken the light from her eyes and replaced it with an ever-present sadness. Carefully, he replaced the cov­erlet over shoulders he resisted caressing. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

  Closing the door quietly, he stepped into Kari’s ad­jacent room. Switching on the light, he found the room to be a bright, happy one with pink curtains and stuffed toys filling every available corner. One group­ing had six baby bears sitting around a toy table. Min­iature cups and saucers sat in front of each bear, indicating an end of a good meal. Grant thought of the impromptu meal he’d just had. It was simple but satisfying and he enjoyed sharing it with a woman.

  A hutch with children’s books graced one corner.

  He picked up Cat in the Hat, remembering he’d had this book before his parents were killed, and he was left alone. He put it back. The top shelf had more stuffed bears on it. There was a model of an old train. Inside were two bears dressed as nurses. They had their backs to each other as if they were walking in different directions. Another arrangement had seven bears dressed as knights. They were lined up on a replica of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Above his head was a shelf which circled the room. Books and toys stood behind a small, pink newel post fence. Grant smiled as he picked up a small brown teddy bear and placed it on the shelf overhead with others of its size and color. As he turned, he noticed the photo albums. Pulling one from its place, he flipped through it, finding the pages filled with pic­tures of the child he had seen for the first time hours ago.

  Robyn loved taking pictures. Grant would often find her at the computer adjusting and designing art from the photos she took. She’d taken everything from flowers to portraits. He hadn’t seen it in years, but the person who took the pictures he saw had the same style as Robyn. He noticed how well each one had been framed before the shutter opened to freeze the moment. Anyone of them could have made the wall, Robyn’s phrase for the best pictures. "This one," she’d say. "This one makes the wall."

  Grant wanted to look closer at them. He took sev­eral of the albums downstairs so the light wouldn’t filter under Brooke’s door and disturb her.

  ***

  When Robyn woke, sunlight streamed through her windows. She looked at the clock next to her bed. Kari would be in anytime now, bouncing on the bed saying, "I’m hungry." Robyn rolled over smiling, then memory flooded her consciousness. Kari was in the hospital. Rapidly, she jerked herself upright and dialed the direct number to Dr. Elliott’s office. The nurse as­sured her Kari was all right. She had slept comfortably through the night, awakened briefly at six AM, but im­mediately had fallen asleep again.

  Robyn felt a new optimism as she pulled on the matching robe to her full-length gown and pushed her feet into her slippers before heading downstairs to start the coffee maker. Afterward, she would dress and go to the hospital. She wanted to be there the next time Kari woke. Mentally, she made a note to call Marianne and Will, her closest neighbor and Kari’s surrogate grandfather. They had taken turns staying with her. She would check in with Marianne at the restaurant. But first the coffee.

  Halfway down the stairs, her heart leapt into her mouth. Grant was still here. He slept silently on the long side of the sofa. The coffee table was scattered with volumes of Kari’s baby pictures. For a long mo­ment, she stared dumbfounded. Her hands with a strength unknown to her gripped the wooden banister.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there nailed to the step or what ghosts carried her across the room, but she found herself wedged between the coffee table and the sofa. Slowly, she dropped to her knees. Grant didn’t move, but Robyn’s world tilted. She was Robyn Richards again, and this was her husband.

  "Grant," she said in a small, hoarse voice barely audible. She swallowed the painful knot in her throat and tried his name again. He didn’t stir. Robyn savored the unguarded moment. She enjoyed watching him sleep. For the first time in five years, she could gaze upon a real person, not the elusive image she was forced to create during the long nights she endured alone. But why was he here? What made him stay? For a moment, fear that he knew who she was crept into her brain. She rejected the notion immediately. After the elaborate plastic surgery and implants noth­ing about her face physically was the same. Jacob wouldn’t allow it.

  Somewhere inside her she wanted him to know. She wanted him to open his eyes and recognize her -- love her.


  Grant shifted. His arm fell off the sofa and into her lap. Robyn caught her breath sure her presence would wake him. After a moment, she relaxed, sitting back on her legs. She stared at him, remembering their hon­eymoon, remembered the nights he’d wake her when he came in from a late flight. A dreamy smile curved her lips. When his hands moved to her arm, she froze. His eyes opened but didn’t focus. "Robyn, I love you." She knew he was dreaming, but when he pulled her into his arms, her body had already decided to go. His mouth found hers in a soft brushing motion. Tenta­tively, it probed, tasted, cajoled. Whatever metaphysi­cal forces kept time and space continuing in a forward motion seemed to have stopped as he continued his slow exploration. One hand found its way into her hair, combing through it with long sensitive strokes that ended in gentle caresses against her shoulders. Warm waves, like the gentle lapping of a calm sea, washed over her melting body.

  Then, with sudden swiftness, passion flared, and his tongue pushed past her teeth to taste the wet nectar inside. Her body arched, straining closer to him. Arms she’d forgotten were hers wrapped around his frame. Excitement flowed through her fingers as she felt the play of sinew, bone, and muscle that rippled in re­sponse to her searching hands. His chest crushed her full breasts in a wonderfully erotic pain as he shifted position and slid to the floor. Fervently, he ravished her mouth, her neck, and her shoulders. Dark brown erect nipples pushed back against him with unbridled restraint. Her head fell back, allowing him access to the full column of her neck. Torrents of heat invaded her body. She felt herself dissolving into him. She wouldn’t be able to stand this assault on her emotions much longer without screaming for him to make love to her. Already her body was hot and longed for him to push her back into the soft carpeting and give her the fulfillment she hadn’t experienced in five years.

  Chapter 4

  "Oh, my God!" Grant said forcing his mouth from hers. He slumped against her as he buried his face in her hair. "I’m sorry, Brooke. I had no intention of doing that."

  Robyn’s breath came in ragged gulps. She was con­scious of everything about her body, even feeling the blood rushing through her veins. She tried to speak, but opening her mouth only provided an additional vessel for the air she craved. Grant rolled away from her, but the confined space kept them touching from chest to toe. Finally, control returned to her muscles and she pushed herself up.

  "You mentioned your wife last night." Her voice was breathless, and she rested her head on the sofa. "It’s only natural you would dream of her." Forcing herself to look at him, she continued, "When I woke you, you thought I was her." She was amazed how calm her voice sounded, almost clinical.

  "You must be the most amazing woman in the world."

  "Why?"

  "Anyone else would have slapped my face for calling her by someone else’s name and kissing her the way I kissed you."

  Color crept up Robyn’s face to her ears. She hadn’t completely recovered from being lost in his arms, and his comment brought back graphic images of them from moments before. "I thought you were asleep when you did that."

  "I was, but you weren’t."

  "I didn’t. . .I mean. . ." She dropped her eyes, confused as to what to say.

  "Why did you let me go on?" The softness in his voice made her want to tell him the truth.

  Robyn looked him in the eye for a silent second, then dropped her gaze to her hands. She couldn’t tell him she was his wife and wanted nothing more than to be held in his arms and smothered with his kisses. "It’s all right," he paused, lifting her chin with one finger. "You don’t have to answer. But I do apologize for calling you Robyn."

  "Apology accepted." She managed a smile. "Now, how about some breakfast?"

  "Sounds good to me." He helped her up, and they entered the kitchen together. "Have you called the hos­pital?"

  "Yes, Kari is doing well." Robyn busied herself pre­paring the food. She usually sat with Kari, laughing during their breakfast ritual and listening to her ex­cited conversation about the day before. Since begin­ning life as Brooke Johnson, widow with child, she’d changed significantly.

  "Ah, maybe I’ll get to see the real girl before I go back. I guess by the look of the room, you no­ticed I glanced through a few albums."

  "I noticed one or two." She laughed, realizing it seemed like years since she’d last laughed.

  "I planned just to look in on you and leave, but then I saw the photo albums. My wife was an amateur photographer. The pictures reminded me of. . ." He stopped as if the memory was too painful. "Anyway I must have fallen asleep."

  "It’s all right. I don’t mind you talking about her. Robyn, right?"

  "Yes, she liked photography. Did you take the pic­tures in the albums?"

  "It’s a hobby of mine. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to really get into it."

  Grant was quiet a moment. Robyn was sure he was thinking of the Robyn he lost. A pang of guilt hit her. "Tell me about her." Robyn said, putting a cup of coffee in front of him, but keeping out of his line of vision as she cooked bacon and eggs. "How long were you married?"

  He lifted the morning potion to his lips and tenta­tively tested the hot liquid. "Two years. We were tech­nically still honeymooners. We had a house in Washington. She did all the decorating."

  Robyn remembered that house. She could see the beige curtains that hung from the windows of their bedroom. On breezy days, the wind played hide-and-seek with them. Grant had found the house before they were married, just off Connecticut Avenue. She smiled, remembering the two of them walking to the Washington Hilton for Sunday brunch, then her face clouded when she thought how short their marriage had been.

  "Do you still live there?" Robyn dragged her thoughts back to the present. Her eyes were smarting, but she kept them averted from his by giving her full attention to the work she was performing. Jacob hadn’t given her any information on Grant. He said a clean break was best for all concerned.

  "Not anymore. I tried it for a while, but there were too many memories. I kept expecting her to walk into the bedroom or find her in the kitchen at dinnertime. Finally, I sold the house and moved into a condo."

  Robyn’s heart sank. She had imagined him living in their house. But now she was glad he had moved. He was only thirty-seven, a virile man. She’d hate to think of him and another woman in the house where they had shared so much love.

  Giving him a plate and taking the opposite chair, she said, "You must have loved her a great deal."

  "I did. What we had in the two short years is more than other couples get in decades of marriage."

  Something caught in Robyn’s throat. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  "How did she die?"

  It was a question Robyn had asked Jacob, but his answer had been she didn’t need to know. She could hear his cocky reply. "The details of Mrs. Grant Richards’s demise are on a need-to-know basis, and you do not need to know." End of discussion, file closed. No manner of coercion could get him to release any details that he had not been specifically or­dered to divulge.

  "She died in an automobile accident. A plane I was flying was hijacked to Beirut. We were held prisoner for five months." He touched the scar above his eye. Robyn noticed the gesture. "After our release there were news interviews. She planned to meet me after one of them. The car Robyn was riding in hit an oil tanker."

  Robyn flinched. All the air threatened to leave her body, but she forced herself under control. For months, she had taken classes, brainwashing lessons, that taught her how to act and react under unexpected situ­ations. So that was how they’d done it. The story they told him must have included her body being burned beyond recognition. Oh, Jacob, she thought wryly, you are thorough.

  "Excuse me," Grant interrupted her thoughts. "I didn’t mean to surprise you."

  "That’s not it. I’m so sorry for you. It must have been terrible, being a prisoner. Then, just when you were free, to have your wife die when trying to reach you." She reached across the tab
le and took his hand. The static electricity which began snapping along her arm wasn’t at all unpleasant. His hand tightened.

  "You’re a very perceptive lady. I like you. And there’s more meaning in that phrase than the words convey."

  Robyn took her hand away, raising her coffee to her mouth. It was cold. She took both cups and moved to refill them. "Do I remind you of her?" she asked when she sat down again. She wasn’t afraid of the answer. The changes made to her included everything—even her voice. The implants in her face elevated her voice while eliminating the almost husky quality she’d had when she and Grant first met. However, of all the al­terations forced on her, she did like her new voice. Now, when she sang each night in the lounge she owned, she discovered her range had been increased by several high notes.

  "Not much." Grant was saying. "Seeing you yes­terday, I was taken by your hair color, but today I don’t think it looks like Robyn’s at all.

  "But I can see a warm, sensitive, and sad person." He went on with her character analysis.

  "I’d better get dressed now." She could feel the at­traction he had for her. She knew it couldn’t go on, wouldn’t be allowed to grow and blossom into the love she’d locked safely away never to be taken out and held again. "If you’d like to clean up, there’s a bath­room Kari’s grandfather uses when he stays the night. I believe he keeps a razor there." Robyn remembered she still needed to call Will.

  Grant’s hand scratched across the stubble on his chin. "I could use a shave."

  She showed him to the room that Will sometimes used when he spent the night with Kari, then went to her own room to dress.