***
With morning came the aftereffects. Sandra switched on the television as soon as she rose. The news photos of the crash scene played like a memory. She sank onto the foot of the bed. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes grew by degree until they were as large as saucers. The news account of the tragedy had the effect of changing a faded memory to trauma impact. She rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door. The fact that people had been hurt in those fires and crashes that occurred in the wake of her skill as a driver hit her hard. She turned on the water to muffle the sound, but Wyatt knew she was crying. The urge to go to her was overwhelming. Wyatt left his bed and headed for the door, but stopped short of opening it
"Sandra?" he called to her. Through the door he heard her sniff. "Sandra, are you all right?"
She didn't immediately answer. He could almost see her trying to control the tears and sobs that would come through in her voice if she spoke. The image choked him.
"I'm fine," she finally answered.
"Open the door," he said.
Seconds passed before the lock clicked and the door opened a crack. She made pretense that everything was fine by pushing her hair back. The gesture was designed to distract his attention from her swollen eyes.
"It’s all right," he told her. "Last night you were fighting for your life. Today reality sets in. You're grieving over the consequences. It's daylight and everything is brilliantly visible."
"How come you're not in tears?"
Wyatt pushed the door fully open. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. "We all grieve differently," he told her.
He hadn't meant to take her in her arms, but just like the brilliant visibility of morning, it seemed the right thing to do. He squeezed her closer. She felt good, smelling of toothpaste and soap. Her arms pulled him, too. They stood there. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't want anything to invade this moment.
He forgot she was Senator Rutledge's daughter. She was a woman he wanted to know better. He kissed her neck. A tremor ran through her. He felt it. The reaction gave him courage to continue. He kissed her ear and her cheek until he worked his way to her mouth. He covered it with his own. Every part of him reacted to her nearness. He swept his tongue past her teeth and tasted her. She was vitally alive and she made him feel alive, too. Suddenly, he knew how a dying man felt when he grasped a straw, trying desperately to cling to life. Fitting her further into his body, he deepened the kiss, devouring her mouth, running his hands over her back. She'd been what he was waiting for. In all his years and the few women he'd had relationships with, none compared to the fire she ignited in him.
Sandra's mouth matched his in its aggressive plunder. Then he felt the change in her. She ground her body suggestively against him. He hardened in response. There was no doubt he wanted her and no doubt she was willing. Wyatt was close to insanity when Sandra rubbed one of her legs against his. Before the last vestige of reason left him, he grabbed her arms and yanked them from his neck. He slid his mouth from her, but kept her in the circle of his arms.
It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but in her present state of mind he would be little more than taking advantage of the situation.
"We'd better get dressed, Sandra," he whispered in her ear. His voice was thick with emotion. "We promised to meet Jeff for breakfast."
***
Sandra couldn't have been more ashamed of herself if she'd deliberately set out to seduce Wyatt. What was she thinking? That was the problem. She wasn't thinking. When he'd kissed her, emotion took over. Feelings she didn't know existed burst full-grown inside her. Wyatt only wanted to comfort her, but she'd changed that. Finding herself in his arms, she'd lost her sanity and done what came naturally. That in itself should have told her something was different. She'd never lost such complete control. She'd wanted Wyatt to make love to her.
Thank God he had better command of his emotions than she did or they wouldn't be staring at the Tidal Basin. Sandra knew it was better that they remember what was at stake here, but the lines between what was right and wrong were blurring where Wyatt Randolph was concerned. He leaned against the railing. The Jefferson Memorial stood bright in the cold morning light.
Sandra’s mind was clearer too. She wondered how this was going to end. It had to one way or another. They couldn’t keep running. And from some invisible enemy. Last night it had been the police. On the mountain it was from guys with guns. Neither of them, according to Wyatt, was on their side? And where was her father? She felt Michael was telling the truth. The senator was unavailable, but Michael didn’t know where he was and he was protecting him as he always did.
She needed protection too. Men had tried to kill her. In the cold morning air, her heart suddenly skipped a beat. Supposed they had killed her father.
***
When Wyatt first came to DC as a senator, he made it a point to visit all the monuments, read the words on the walls of the many temples to American’s countrymen. These were the people who had shaped the nation, changed the course of history and made a difference in the way people in the United States live today. He was proud to be a small part of that elite group.
He’d come to the Tidal Basin often. Usually there was a breeze and with the humid summers the District was known for, any breeze was welcome. This morning the air was still. The water was just as still. Wyatt’s thoughts were chaotic. He wanted his life back. He wanted the stillness of the water to reflect his thoughts. He wanted the trauma of the last week to end and for things to go back to what he called normal. But Wyatt wasn’t sure what normal was any longer.
He rubbed his hands together trying to produce heat in the cold air. The park police had driven by once but had taken no notice of them. The city was coming to life and it wasn't unusual to find people pointing cameras at the marble monuments. That wasn't their purpose in being here.
He dwelled for a moment on the purpose. Since he'd met Sandra he'd been at her mercy. Now they were waiting for her friend, a man he didn't know, to come and possibly help them.
"Why are you doing this?" Wyatt asked, continuing his train of thought as if she could read his mind.
"Doing what?" she asked.
"Why are you helping me? You're obviously loyal to your father. Why should I trust you?"
"Isn't it a little late to be asking that?"
"Maybe, but so far I still have the stones and I can leave this park before anything else happens."
Sandra frowned at him. She probably wondered what had brought on this conversation. He didn't even know if her loyalty was the reason. After this morning he wasn't sure of his feelings, and he didn't want to lower his guard and suddenly find himself cornered.
"There isn't any reason you should trust me," Sandra said, her voice slightly angry. "I don't believe my father had anything to do with your project."
"What do you believe?" He wanted her to tell him she believed in him. It was suddenly important.
"I'm not sure," she said. "I believe my father had nothing to do with the death of your friend or the attempt on your life, but . . ." she stopped.
"Go on," Wyatt prompted. "But . . ."
"But I have to know."
"Are you willing to work with me to find out the truth?"
Sandra hesitated. Wasn't the truth right? Why didn't she answer immediately? Had Wyatt shaken her faith in her father? Suppose he was right? He couldn't be, she told herself, but there was only one way to find out. She had to join forces with him. One of them would win and the other would lose. Sandra hated the odds.
She nodded finally. "If you're right, everything my father ever stood for would be a lie." She stared in the distance for a moment. "If you're wrong, you would have maligned an honest man. You know what that can do in a town like this."
In either case she would lose, but it wasn't so much her father she was concerned about. It was herself. She'd lose him. Or the promise of him. She missed John. Not that she still grieved for him. Her he
art no longer ached for his touch. She no longer woke each morning reaching for him. Tears didn’t crowd her eyes when realization told her he was gone. She missed being held, having someone to talk to, share her thoughts and wishes with. She missed the smell of a man, the richest and tremor of a male voice. And she missed being in love.
"I'll do it," she heard herself saying. "On one condition."
"Which is?"
"You don't hold anything back from me. Whatever you find out, you tell me. Right or wrong, I want to know."
"That goes both ways," he reminded her.
Sandra stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. Wyatt was so handsome. She wished they'd met under different circumstances, but it was too late for that wish. Turning they both look silently at the Jefferson Memorial until they heard footsteps.
On the path near the water, Jeff walked leisurely toward them. He had a brown bag in his hand. Sandra scanned the area for any police. An occasional jogger had passed them, and after last night she was suspicious of everyone. Jeff walked like a man without a care in the world.
"Any problems this morning?" he asked as he came to a stop in front of them. Somehow, she felt Jeff enjoyed this game of spies and counter-spies.
"No," Wyatt answered, then glanced at Sandra. She wondered if he was thinking of what had happened between them this morning. A heat wave racked through her.
"There were at least two cars guarding my house," Jeff laughed. "They're still there. They think I'm in bed, but I skipped over the roofs and left through Ellen Magfly's. She lives down the block and she’s kind of. . .lets just say she didn't mind." Opening the brown bag, he pulled out cups of coffee and handed one to each of them. "Now tell me what it is that's causing so much destruction among the DC Police Force."
Wyatt had liked Jefferson Taylor when he'd talked with him in his house the previous evening. After he'd helped them escape, his trust had been further built. During the night he wondered if Jeff was real. Could he be part of a plot to get his trust? He didn't know him and the only person who recommended him was Sandra, and she had an ulterior motive for working against him. Despite the fact he couldn't get her warm body out of his mind, he needed to think clearly because anything else could get him killed.
"Sandra tells me you used to work for the government."
"Computer specialist," he said. "I worked in the Intelligence area, decoding transmissions that had been intercepted from the former Soviet Union. When communism failed, I returned to the academic world."
"Do you maintain your ties with the government?"
"Some of them. A man needs friends sometimes."
How well Wyatt knew that. Since the stones had appeared in his mailbox he'd wondered if he had any friends left.
"In fact I have a dinner engagement with one of them tomorrow night." Jeff's voice brought Wyatt back to the present.
Wyatt knew he had to make a decision. They'd come this far, and without someone who knew about computer chips, he and Sandra were doomed to running until they got caught and killed.
"Have you ever heard of Project Eagle?"
Jeff sipped from his paper cup. He started to walk, and Wyatt and Sandra fell into step. Finally, he shook his head.
"I don't know what it is," Wyatt said. "But my life became worthless right after I mentioned it."
"Who'd you mention it to?"
Wyatt looked at Sandra.
"My father," she said flatly.
Jeff stopped. His gaze bounced between the two of them.
"Wyatt thinks Project Eagle is some kind of system that my father wants to sell to a foreign government," she continued.
Jeff whistled. "Treasonous undertaking." He turned to Wyatt. “I certainly hope you can back the up. With the popularity of Senator Rutledge you'll have a hard time making a comment like that stick."
"I know. I have more to lose than the senator, and his daughter here is set on proving him as squeaky clean as his profile claims, and me as black as Jesse James." After this morning, though, he wasn't quite sure of that. She dropped her gaze preventing him from confirming his words by looking into her eyes.
Wyatt gave his attention back to Jeff and explained everything he knew about the stones and the concealed chips. When he finished, he pulled out the small box containing the huge stones and poured them into his hand.
Jeff took one and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. He felt each of the facets, then held it up to the light. After careful perusal, he took another one and followed the same procedure. When he was holding the third stone up to the light, he asked. "Will you let me keep these for a while?"
"How long?"
"A couple of days." Jeff continued to examine the stones. One by one he went through the same procedure.
Wyatt looked at Sandra for some sign. She nodded.
"A couple of days," he agreed.
"I can't tell you much until I get a good look at the chips inside these."
"Any idea why someone saw fit to put them inside fake diamonds?"
"Not a clue," he said, bringing his gaze back to Wyatt. "But in a couple of days I should at least have a theory."
"Thanks, Jeff," Sandra said. "I knew you'd help us."
Jeff smiled. "Did she ever tell you she was one of my best students?" He resumed walking.
Wyatt shook his head.
"Logic, 101. . .she was head and shoulders above the rest of the class. I wanted her to stay here and teach, but she chose some tiny college up in the wilderness of New Jersey." He bastardized the pronunciation of the state name and screwed his face as he said it.
"Jeff," Sandra warned. "Rutgers is not some tiny college. It's the state university. And New Brunswick is not a wilderness as well you know, since you were born and reared there."
Jeff smiled again. He hugged Sandra, taking the bite out of his words.
"I'll see you in a couple of days. Now you better get out of here before the park police drive by and recognize one of us."
Wyatt shook hands with Jeff. "Be careful," he said. "Someone is trying to kill me over what those stones represent."
Jeff nodded and left them. Wyatt adjusted the baseball cap, casually taking Sandra's arm. Together they headed toward the street.
Wyatt felt numb as he moved forward. He was uncomfortable about giving all the stones to a man he was unsure he should trust. But he also felt relieved that he no longer had possession of them. Without them he could be normal. His life wouldn’t be in danger and he wouldn’t put Sandra in the line of fire. But he knew the mere transference of possession did not remove him from the crosshairs of someone’s rifle.
He'd made the first step and now he needed to go one more. This time Wyatt didn't want Sandra with him. He knew he'd just promised he'd tell her everything and he would—after it was over. He needed to get some inside information, and that could be dangerous. Last night they'd been running from the police. He was sure they'd had orders to take him into custody, but knew nothing about what secrets he held, secrets he didn't even know. He hoped Jefferson Taylor would be able to throw some light on what those secrets were.
He still needed to talk to the guys in the department. He had been their friend, but he was no longer sure who his friends were. He might not come out of this, and if he walked into a trap he didn't want her going in with him.
"Sandra, I think it's time we moved to another motel," Wyatt began, leading into a conversation that would give them reason to split up for a while.
Sandra thought the same thing.
"How are we fixed for money?"
Wyatt liked the way she included him in the "we."
"Not a lot," he said. "I have enough for another couple of days. After that we're going to have to go to a cash machine."
"I have some," Sandra revealed. "I'd planned to spend the rest of the winter at the cabin. I left most of my money when we escaped, but I have enough for about a week." She didn't know how much more they'd need or how long this episode would last. They
both would know better after Jeff had a chance to look at the stones.
"Why don't we follow the same method we devised before?"
It was cloak and dagger and she knew it, but after the narrow escape they'd had last night she was inclined to go along with Wyatt. She also wanted to call her father again, and she needed help she didn't want to tell Wyatt about, despite her promise. She was going to have to call Annie. No matter how her sister felt about her, they were sisters and Sandra needed her now more than she'd ever needed her before.
Annie had to help her.
Chapter 8
Suzanne tilted her head back as she'd been directed. The tassels on the Japanese headdress swung like pendulums next to her ear. She'd been at this for hours and she hated it. The dress was too tight, the headgear weighed a ton, and if she leaned any further back she'd fall over.
"That's fine," Jordon called. He was all business today. The attack-Annie mode of a couple of days ago had all but vanished. Attack-Annie, that's what she thought of him when he constantly brought up her family. He knew she wanted to forget that she had ever had anything to do with her senator stepfather and her perfect professor sister. She had nothing against her mother, but their schedules kept them apart, so there was little conflict.
"Got it. Why don't we try a couple over by the columns?"
Suzanne shivered as she slipped her arms into her coat. The weather had been mild so far, but it was January. Jordon was having fun. The day was overcast, and he loved this kind of light. He reveled in what he could do with the sky and the way it bounced light off the white marble stones. She didn't understand this shoot. If they were all made up in this pasty-colored makeup, dressed in kimonos and wooden flip-flops, why hadn't they done this shoot in Japan? American women would never dress in this kind of clothing. The female workforce called for business suits and low-heeled shoes, clothes that were smart, chic, and functional. She couldn't see any functionality to a garment in which she had to first kneel before she could sit. And the only good thing about the headdress was that it promoted good posture. If she didn't stand up straight she'd pitch over. She couldn't see secretaries filing with this on their heads.
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 43