Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Grant’s head had been heavy, and the feeling around his heart had become more familiar each time he thought of Brooke and this man. He had watched him walk down the street. He didn’t go to any of the parked cars but had disappeared around the corner. Who was he?

  ***

  "Jacob!” Marianne yanked the door open after finding him standing on her porch. “What are you doing here?" His tie was gone. He’d removed is jacket was hooked it on a finger over his back. "Do you know what time it is?" She finished tying the pink sash that held her robe closed.

  The question seemed silly until Jacob glanced at his watch. His face was pale as if he was fighting off an infection. Marianne knew what the infection was— Brooke. Something must have gone seriously wrong. Jacob had come to her house before, but this was the first time he’d ever shown up at four o’clock in the morn­ing.

  "Come in?" she invited. She stood back, giving him entry. Jacob walked past her. He slung his jacket on the seat of the high-back chair that graced her foyer and went into the living room, a determined pace to his steps. Marianne sighed. He looked like a lost little boy.

  Usually, they met in the kitchen, keeping everything businesslike, but tonight was different. Jacob needed someone, a friend or maybe only a compassionate ear to listen. She wondered if he’d approached Brooke; told her how he felt, and she rebuffed him. Marianne knew Brooke would be kind, but Jacob might not see it that way. Grant was definitely a factor with which to con­tend, even though he may have to be told to keep his distance for the safety of his family.

  Jacob paced the room like a big cat. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets. She watched him for several moments. He didn’t seem to remember she was there as he fought a private battle.

  "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, quietly. He turned at the sound of her voice. Jacob wasn’t much for alcohol. Carrot juice was about as heavy as he got. He was a man who needed to be in control. Alcohol would dull the senses. As far as she could remember, she’d never seen him drink anything more than an occasional glass of wine. But, by the look of him, two fingers of straight bourbon was ex­actly what he needed.

  "No," he said, dropping onto the dark green sofa. Marianne went to the kitchen anyway and popped two cups of milk in the microwave. She made some hot chocolate. It was more for her than him, but it would give him something to hold onto and possibly soothe the feelings that were so visible he seemed to wear them on his sleeve. Hot chocolate was one of her mother’s remedies. Whenever she had a problem that made her silent and withdrawn, her mother would make two cups and sit down. Eventually, they’d begin to talk.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked qui­etly, handing him the warm cup.

  He shook his head, accepting it and looking at the marshmallows that garnished the top looking like miniature snowballs.

  It was just like him, she thought as anger burned within her, to bury his feelings and never express them.

  "What did you do tonight?" She wasn’t sure he’d tell her. He paused for a long time, staring into the cup. Then, he took a drink and looked at the floating confection.

  "I learned a very valuable lesson."

  "What was that?" Marianne took a drink. The chocolate was delicious, but she had no taste for it tonight.

  He set his cup of coffee on the table. "I’ve learned in this life, there are only two ways to live, either you’re a loner or you’re on guard twenty-four hours a day."

  "And you’ve resolved to live like that, never having friends or a family? Never having children of your own?"

  Jacob stared at her as if the thought had never oc­curred to him.

  "Don’t you want to have children? You always ask about Kari. Do you know your voice changes then. There’s a tender note in it that has nothing to do with your duty or her involvement in the program. Your eyes light up, and you smile."

  His lips curved. "Kari’s easy. I’ve loved her since the minute she was born. I was there, you know."

  He had never told her that. "I didn’t."

  "I was Brooke’s Lamaze coach. I saw Kari before she did." Jacob paused. "After her delivery, the doctor laid her in my arms. She was so tiny.” Jacob was quiet for a long time. Finally, he picked up the cup and drank some of the hot liquid.

  Marianne knew the feeling. She had been a Lamaze coach for her younger sister who got pregnant while still in high school. Her labor was pre­mature, and her pains came too quickly to get her to a hospital. When Marianne held the squirming little life in her arms, her heart was as full as an Olympic-size pool.

  "Don’t you want to know that feeling again, with your own child?" she asked, immediately regretting the question as an image of herself and Jacob, clad in surgical green, holding their own child leaped into her mind.

  "Marianne, I feel awful." There was a raw quality to the pain in his voice. "I don’t know that I can for­give myself for what I did. Brooke certainly will hate me for the rest of my life."

  "What did you do?" She refrained from leaving her seat and going to comfort him.

  Quietly and without emotion, as if it had been drained from his body, he related the story of discovering Grant had left Washington and was on his way to see Brooke. He told her what he’d done in coming from her bedroom as if he were her lover. Laughter and horror warred within her—laughter that Jacob, with his stiff-as-a-board personality, would play such a role and horror that her friend had been so humili­ated in front of the man she loved.

  "I feel like a heel," he finished. "Like some rookie with no idea how to handle the situation. My choices weren’t thought out or analyzed. They were—"

  "Emotional," she finished for him. The word was foreign to Jacob. Marianne could tell by the blank expression that took over his dark fea­tures. For too many years, he’d suppressed any and all feelings for people living only for the job. She had been sure she was getting through to him on a differ­ent level. But whenever he could, he’d crawl back into his shell, and the world would pass by him like a bat­talion of retreating soldiers.

  "How is she?" Marianne asked.

  "I put Valium in her tea. She fell asleep immedi­ately."

  "Jacob, are you in love with her?" The question surprised Marianne. She hadn’t intended to ask it. But it was out, and she couldn’t take it back. She sat straight in her chair, her body poised for his answer, afraid of both yes and no.

  Jacob didn’t think he’d heard her right. Then, he remembered how well Marianne read him. No matter how often he refused to react to situations, she always could tell what he was thinking and feeling. He sat forward and looked her directly in the eye.

  "I suppose that was very apparent."

  "Only to me." She shook her head. "I’m sure most people don’t know. I’d be surprised if Brooke knew, and she’s very perceptive." Marianne had to force her­self to breathe normally. The air in her lungs wanted to rush out as if they’d been punctured.

  "I knew it was impossible," he told her. "I’ve al­ways known, but I couldn’t stop feeling the way I felt. As director of the program in which she is a partici­pant, I couldn’t possibly have any relationship with her."

  Marianne stared at him as he studied his hands. It was true. A dagger stabbed into her heart. A white-hot heat burned through her, forcing her to clamp her teeth together to keep from screaming. She hung her head and placed the empty cup on the floor. Her fingers were shaking too much to hold it. Chocolate smears coating the sides looked like dirty snow. Jacob could have no relationship with a witness, just as she could have no relationship with him. Not because of Brooke or her love for him, but because of who he was and who she was. They both worked for the Witness Pro­tection Program and had a certain fiduciary relation­ship to the participants. Any alliance between them was suspect. There was no written rule to keep them apart, but Chase Dalrymple would frown on any attempt to exercise the practice.

  Leaving her chair, she went to the sofa. She sat next to Jacob, their knees only inches apart. She took his hands
. He looked at her, and she wanted to melt.

  "I’m sorry," she whispered as if she was trying to soothe the wounds of a child. "Jacob, I’m your friend. I’ll always be that." If she could have nothing else, she’d offer friendship.

  "Thanks," he said, a twisted smile curving his lips.

  She shivered slightly. He misinterpreted the action and pulled her toward him.

  "You’re cold," he said.

  She wasn’t, but to be in his arms was better than telling him the truth. Marianne let her head fall on his shoulder. "How did you come to work for the Service?" she asked, no longer wanting to talk about Brooke or Jacob’s love for her. She wanted to hold onto him just for the night, keep herself wrapped around him until the sun rose. For she knew in the light of the coming day, her life would change ir­revocably.

  "I was on the police force in Chicago. A case I was working went bad." She felt him stiffen and knew it was a subject he didn’t speak of much, like so many of the subjects Jacob had buried. "I took some time off. When I returned, I resigned. An offer came from the U.S. Marshals Service and I went with them. Three years later Clarence asked me to join the bureau. It gave me a chance to change my life." There was a special relationship between Jacob and the director. Marianne had even heard of it from some of the other agents with whom she’d trained. It was no secret. Ja­cob was envied and respected. He might know Chase Dalrymple, but he was solid in his perfor­mance.

  Marianne snuggled against him. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Are you glad you went there?" She closed her eyes, imagining herself next to him on her bed upstairs.

  Jacob hadn’t thought of that before. Was he happy he’d gone to Washington after Cynthia died? Where would he be now if he hadn’t taken the job? He wasn’t used to thinking about what might have been. He only had time for what had happened to bring him to this point. And, usually, his mind was on someone else, never himself.

  "I don’t know," he finally answered. "I’ve never given it much thought." He yawned and slid down on the sofa. Marianne was practically lying across him, but she didn’t move. She just kept her eyes closed.

  "In Chicago," she said. "Before I joined, there was a woman."

  It was a statement. Jacob was used to Marianne knowing him. He even liked it that she did.

  "Cynthia," he didn’t hesitate. He wanted her to know about Cyn­thia. "She died before I left."

  "You were protecting her when she died."

  It wasn’t a question. Jacob didn’t have to answer. He knew an answer was unnecessary. Marianne knew the truth. He slipped his fingers into her hair. His thumbs gently massaged her head. She stirred against him. Her hands passed over his legs and hugged his waist. And there she slept.

  ***

  Jacob wasn’t used to waking up next to anyone. His effort to turn over had brought him up against a soft, warm body. His eyes flew open, and in the draped-darkness of morning, he saw the wispy red curls riot­ing over her head. He smoothed them back, but they had a mind of their own. Marianne didn’t move. He looked at her as she slept soundly.

  He liked Marianne. She was an honest woman and a true friend. She’d never tell the things she knew about him, and with her, he could be open and hon­est. With her, there was no guard, no reason to hold his tongue or be careful of his words. He trusted her with his life.

  Chapter 15

  Friday night, the restaurant was crowded. It had been this way for weeks, and Robyn was thankful for the work. She had been too busy to dwell on the night Jacob had come from her bedroom and Grant had jumped to the conclusion that she was sleeping with him. Of course, that was exactly what Jacob had in­tended.

  She wanted to call, explain, tell him the truth, but each time she picked up the phone, she thought of Kari and of Jacob telling her how both their lives were still in danger. Would this ever end?

  Sue-Ellen passed her with a timid smile. She was helping out at one of the receptions. There had been a wedding in the afternoon, and two receptions were presently underway. For the first time in weeks, both Robyn and Marianne were on hand. For several months, either she had been gone off with Grant or Marianne had been away on one of her mysterious weekends. Robyn assumed Marianne was seeing a married man. She never mentioned the trips, and of late, her returns didn’t warrant a new chocolate des­sert. She was glad Marianne was happy. She even en­vied her. While Robyn was unable to go from one relationship to another, Marianne appeared to bounce back without the slightest damage to her ego. There must be a new man in her life. If he was married, however, her friend was headed for the same heartache Robyn knew.

  "Now, that’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on your face in weeks." The subject of her thoughts whis­pered from a point behind her.

  "Well, we certainly cannot say the same of you." Robyn tempered her sarcasm with a broad grin. Mari­anne blushed. "Tell the cook I need some Alaskan crab legs and a two-pound lobster." Before Marianne had time to question her, Robyn turned her attention to the couple standing near the end of the bar. "Susan, David," Robyn called. She rushed to hug them as if they were long lost friends she hadn’t seen in years, instead of the two weeks since their wedding. "I’m so glad you came by. You look wonderful."

  "So do you," Susan said. "Has Grant ever seen you in that outfit?"

  Robyn’s face fell slightly. She wore a black lace dress with a high bustle. "I don’t wear it all that often," she hedged. The mere mention of Grant’s name had her heart pounding. "Why don’t we sit over here?" Robyn ordered a bottle of champagne, then led them to a table next to one of the windows.

  "We didn’t know the restaurant had a theme." David covered Susan’s comment when they were seated.

  "I think people like it," Robyn smiled, swallowing her pride. "They can look at it as a trip back in time or as a Halloween party. But to tell you the truth," she leaned closer, "I just love getting dressed up. In any case it seems to work."

  "It’s beautiful." Susan looked at the mirrors and photographs of 1800’s showgirls and 1920s flappers above her head.

  "I’ll give you a tour before you leave," Robyn of­fered.

  "I’d like that," David said.

  The waiter arrived with the champagne. He went through the ritual of showing her the label with a flare of ceremony that made Yesterdays stand out from other establishments. Then, he poured the pale sparkling liq­uid into the three fluted champagne glasses and left the bottle in a stand next to the table. David lifted his glass and toasted the two women.

  "You will be staying for dinner," Robyn stated. Their presence had lifted her sagging spirits. And, if only she’d admit it to herself, she was starved for news of Grant. Spending the evening with them would be like getting a little of her old life back. And this wasn’t breaking the rules. She had invited them before she’d promised Jacob anything. She’d promised not to see Grant. David and Susan weren’t part of the deal.

  "And the show," David said.

  "We’re not going back until tomorrow," Susan vol­unteered.

  "You’ll be my guests." Robyn lifted her glass and sipped the wine. "Anything special you’d like for din­ner? I’ll have the chef make it."

  Both of them shook their heads. "We plan to order straight from the menu." Susan took David’s arm and smiled at him. It was obvious these two were in love. Robyn had never seen her friend look so soft or David so protective. They were still on their honey­moon. All the signs of being newlyweds were there. Robyn had seen a lot of newly married couples. In her garden, weddings were performed every weekend during the summer.

  "How’s Kari?" Susan asked. "We only got to see a little of her at the wedding. But she’s a sweet little girl."

  "She’s fine." Robyn beamed. "She’s home with her grandfather."

  "She’s certainly taken with Grant," David said.

  "And he with her," Susan added.

  Robyn dropped her eyes to her empty glass. She knew how much Kari liked Grant. She’d mentioned him several times in the past couple of weeks. Bu
t Robyn couldn’t explain to a four-year-old that some relation­ships weren’t always for the best. She told Kari that Grant was very busy and he couldn’t come and see them.

  "More champagne," David lifted the bottle and re­filled their glasses.

  "It was a lovely wedding," Robyn said moving the subject away from Grant.

  "I’m sorry you had to leave before we had a chance to talk," Susan said.

  "It was a big weekend here," Robyn provided an excuse. "We have weddings booked, and with the res­taurant, both of us really need to be here." Robyn hoped they bought the story. She’d fallen back on the restaurant so often. Either Marianne or Robyn could run it alone if they had to. With the staff they had now, most problems were solved before they reached crisis level.

  "It is very busy," David looked at the number of people in the bar. It was crowded and the dining room was fully booked for the evening. Robyn was proud of the work she and Marianne put into the busi­ness.

  "How is the jewelry business? I’m told your designs are beautiful." She sidestepped mentioning Grant’s name.

  "Yes, it’s how I spend the better part of the day." Susan looked pleased. "David is good with the public, but I like the background work."

  "Well, women do like a good looking man telling them they look great in expensive stones." Robyn smiled at the man next to her best friend.

  "You two talk about the store. I need to make a call," David said, pulling out his cell.

  "You can use my office." Robyn stopped one of the waiters and directed him to take David to her office. She looked after the man who slid his hand along his wife’s neck before leaving the table. Turning back, she said, "You really look happy, Susan. I’m so glad for you."

  "Thank you. I love David more than anyone else in the world."

  "So tell me about the store. I want to know every­thing."

  "I don’t want to talk about the store. Tell me what happened," Susan began without preamble. "After the engagement party, Grant was frantic when you disap­peared. Where did you go?"