Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "They came, Wyatt. Men with guns." Her voice quavered.

  "Shh," he whispered. "You're safe. I won't let anything hap­pen to you."

  "How did they know?"

  "The phone," he explained. “It's only a radio signal. When you told your father to call you on it, you sent out a signal. It wouldn't take long to identify the source and find you."

  She tried to pull away, but Wyatt kept her in place. "They can't be that precise? It's a cheap phone. We're not talking about state-of-the-art equipment here. How could they find the exact motel room I was in?"

  "The Defense Department has the best equipment in the world."

  "But why me? Why would anyone think that I warranted a trace so important—" She stopped. "It's wasn't me, was it? They were looking for you and the diamonds?''

  Wyatt nodded and cradled her head against his shoulder. Moments later, he led her away and to a waiting car. Sandra got inside and let her head loll against the upholstery. When the car was in motion she opened her eyes. She recognized them crossing Memorial Bridge, a brightly lit connector between the Lincoln Me­morial in Washington and Arlington National Cemetery in Vir­ginia. Wyatt headed toward Alexandria. Then she noticed Wyatt's clothes. The cap of an army colonel sat on his head. She straightened in the seat as if she was coming to attention. Her eyes widened as she took in the collar inside the jacket, then the tan-colored cloth of his pants.

  "Why are you dressed like that?"

  "Don't you like it?" he joked, offering her his profile. "I thought women liked men in uniform."

  She took a second to notice that he did look wonderful, but impersonating an officer was a punishable offense. "Don't joke," she told him. "Where did you get that uniform?"

  "I bought it at the Army-Navy store."

  "Why?"

  "I went to Chip's office in the Pentagon."

  Sandra's mouth dropped open.

  "How did you get in? Their security has security at that place." She'd been in the Pentagon. Lance Desque had once given her a tour while her father attended some meeting. "Suppose you'd been caught? Do you know what they would have done to you?"

  Wyatt put his hand on her arm. "It's all right. I got in and I got out without incident."

  She didn't believe that for a moment. "Are you sure? Even when you don't know you're being observed, you are." Lance had shown her all the security devices they used to monitor the building. He’d even shown her tapes of herself entering the building with her father. “If you've been in the Pentagon, they know it."

  Wyatt pondered this for a moment. He did think it strange that he'd been able to spend so much time in Chip's office and not be discovered, but he thought it was due to Chip's death. The office hadn't been locked and anyone who knew Chip would be able to figure out his password and would know his habits. Wyatt suddenly felt exposed.

  "Where did you get this car?" Sandra looked about as if this was the first time she noticed the plush interior of the Chrysler M Class. They were passing Crystal City, a huge complex of hotels, shopping centers, and office buildings. It was near enough to the capital to provide spectacular views of the national monuments.

  On the heels of his discovery about Chip’s office, Wyatt didn't want to tell her about meeting Sam Parker in the hall­way or that this was Sam's car.

  He felt uneasy again, like he was being watched or fol­lowed. Wyatt checked the rearview mirror, but saw nothing more than a progression of taxis en route to the airport. Other cars swung from lane to lane in a traffic dance that ran non­stop through the nation's highway system. On impulse Wyatt swung into Reagan National and parked.

  "Come on." He was already getting out of the car. Sandra quickly followed him. Reaching for her hand, they moved quickly and purposefully toward the terminal as if they were late to catch a flight. Sandra suddenly remembered their clothes. She'd left them on the backseat. Wyatt restrained San­dra, whose pull on his arm slowed them and showed her fear.

  "I left the suitcase."

  He saw the shoulder straps of her backpack securing it to her right arm. The canvas bag was conspicuously absent.

  "Leave it," Wyatt decided. Their near-running steps slowed to a walk. Running would draw attention to them.

  As a cautionary move, Wyatt led her into the terminal. They went through the glass doors and proceeded through the build­ing before exiting a door in another terminal and getting into a taxi. He gave the driver an Alexandria address, and the car raced from the curb. Sandra was jostled against Wyatt as the driver jockeyed for position among the many cabs leaving the busy airport.

  Wyatt put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. Behind them, in the parking lot where Wyatt had left the car, the bomb exploded.

  ***

  Suzanne admitted the room-service waitress into her suite. With quiet efficiency, the woman set the dining table for two. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, toast, crois­sants, cereal and milk, Canadian bacon, fresh fruit, and hot coffee. Suzanne loved breakfast. Jordon never commented on what she ate. As long as she got into the size six gowns she was fine.

  She signed the bill, and the woman turned with a smile. Jordon came in as she pushed the food tray into the hall.

  "Good morning." He took a seat and immediately opened the silver covers, inhaling as if food was the best thing on earth. Suzanne thought he did it to irritate her. So often she had to refuse foods, but not today and not breakfast.

  She rifled through the mail next to the fresh flowers the hotel changed every day.

  "Why do they keep inviting me?" she asked, holding an invitation to an embassy party. The agency handled her mail. Bills were sent to her accountant and anything important they forwarded to her wherever she was.

  "You are the daughter of a U.S. senator, not to mention all the dignitaries you've met and friends you've made in your travels," Jordon answered. "You'd be upset if they didn't," he added absently. He poured a cup of coffee and drank it black. "Who's it from?"

  "There are three new ones today." She dropped one and looked at the embossed emblem on the invitation. "One from Egypt, I haven't been there in years."

  "Ah, but you're remembered, my dear."

  Suzanne threw him a cutting glance. "The other two are from the Japanese Embassy and the Embassy of the Republic of China."

  "You might want to consider the Chinese one. It could be useful if we have to go there for a shoot. And of course, it's only polite to attend the Japanese one since you are wearing their clothes."

  Suzanne deliberated over adding marmalade to her toast. She was eating it dry and wanted the sweetness, but decided to save the calories for something else. "I'll think about it," she said.

  "You usually like these parties." Jordon eyed her suspi­ciously. Suzanne kept her gaze on her plate. "What's different about these?"

  "Nothing," she said, bringing her gaze to him. "I just want to get this assignment over with and get back to New York."

  Jordon didn't reply. He stared at her, his eyes so piercing that Suzanne felt as if he were delving into her mind. Another of his habits which she detested.

  "She's beautiful," Jordon began changing the subject, his stare never leaving her face. "High cheekbones, lovely eyes, and skin that looks like nature sculpted it. We'd need to do something about her hair, but I couldn't resist looking at the two of you through the lens of my camera. Who is she?"

  Suzanne stopped with the toast halfway to her mouth. "Jordon, you didn't take our picture?"

  "Would that be a problem?" Jordon folded his arms on the dining-room table. He stared directly at her. Suzanne smiled at him, changing her mind and adding the marmalade to her toast.

  "You know you need permission to use photographs of strangers."

  "I never said I wanted to use it. I just want to know who she is."

  "Her name is Sandra Rutledge. She's making news with Senator Wyatt Randolph by leaving a path of destruction wherever she goes." Suzanne pushed the newspaper toward Jordon. The story of the car bomb
at Reagan National was the lead story on the front page. The car was identified as belonging to Colonel Sam Parker who reported it stolen from his home yesterday. Several cars had been burned in the lot, but no body was found.

  Sandra still had that going for her. So far she and the sena­tor hadn't killed anyone, but on the path they were headed, it wouldn't be long.

  "Sandra is your sister." Jordon made it a statement.

  "She is."

  "What do you think of this?" Jordon slapped the paper with the back of his hand.

  "Nothing. It’s Sandra's life for as long as it lasts."

  "She’s in trouble, Annie. Can you really be that cold?"

  Suzanne's eyes flashed at him. "Jordon, you don't under­stand."

  "What is there to understand? Did she come to ask for your help yesterday?"

  Suzanne nodded.

  "And you refused her?"

  "Jordon, hold on to your blood pressure. She wanted money and I told her I'd get it."

  Suzanne grinned. She had the five thousand dollars safely hidden in the dresser drawer. She'd had a ball driving around the beltway and stopping at shopping centers to hook her lap­top up to pay phones and begin her worldwide network of wiring funds from bank to bank. Finally, after enough trans­actions that would have an expert unraveling them for a month, she'd walked into Riggs National Bank and withdrawn the cash.

  "Annie, tell me what happened between the two of you."

  She got up. Her white gown trailed behind her as she walked away. She knew how to walk. She'd practiced putting one size-seven-foot in front of the other on every major run­way in the world.

  "How much longer do you think we're going to be here?" She changed the subject.

  "You're not going to answer the question?"

  "Which question was that?"

  "Don't be obtuse, Annie. What happened between you and your sister that makes you get money for her, but won't allow the two of you stay in the same city?"

  "Jordon, stay out of it. This has nothing to do with you or anything that you should get involved with."

  "Well, let me tell you something, Annie. It affects every­thing you say and do." He got up and walked toward her. Suzanne was surprised by the vehemence of his voice. She'd known Jordon since she took her first modeling job, yet she'd never seen this side of him. '"If you don't let go of this anger, it's going to eat you up until there's nothing left."

  "Jordon, what is wrong with you?" She frowned.

  "Wrong with me? I'll show you what's wrong with me."

  His hands grabbed her arms and pulled her against him. Without warning she felt his fingers thread through her hair and crown her head. His mouth clamped to hers possessively.

  Suzanne had no time to stop him. His mouth was wet and warm and she found herself reacting to him. She turned toward him, fitting herself into his body as passion flared between them. All thoughts of Sandra were away as Jordon deepened the kiss. Her arms tightened, pulling him closer. He felt wonderful, and she wanted him to continue kissing her. His tongue swept within her mouth. Suzanne thought she would incinerate from the heat being produced by the two of them. Inside her a deep hunger burst free and surfaced. Her kiss answered his as she molded and wound herself against the length of him. Jordon's mouth de­voured her and she'd never felt more like surrendering in her life. Then he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

  ***

  "You lied to me!" Sam Parker shouted. He slammed a copy of The Washington Post on to the polished sheen of the con­ference room table. "They could have been killed. Innocent people could have been killed." He paced the room like a caged tiger. Sweat soaked his brow. He was hot everywhere.

  "Sam, calm down, everything is under control."

  "How can you say that?" He pointed to the paper. "Do you see what it says here? They've been accused of terrorism and trying to blow up the airport."

  "Nobody got hurt."

  "Much to your disappointment. If you'd had your way, Wyatt would be charred meat this morning, not to mention Senator Rutledge’s daughter." Sam took a breath. "And I would have helped you do it."

  "Sam, why don't you go back to work and forget about this?"

  "Forget that I betrayed a friend, that I was party to the death of a man I respect? Forget that I came to you when he called me and agreed to your plan, forget it could have cost him his life? I don't think so."

  Sam Parker slammed the door on his way out of the con­ference room.

  "He’s going to be a problem," one of the two men left in the room said.

  "I agree."

  "We'll have to get rid of him."

  "Leave it to me. I'll do what's necessary."

  "What about the sister? I hear she's in town."

  "She's staying at the Hyatt near the Capitol."

  "Anybody watching her?"

  "I've got a man stationed there, but I don't expect anything. The sisters haven't been friends for the last few years. I'd be surprised if we found the two women together."

  "Nevertheless, make sure someone keeps track of her."

  ***

  "Honey, wake up," Wyatt crooned into Sandra's ear. He cra­dled her against him, grabbing at her arms as she fought de­mons in the air. "Wake up, you're having a bad dream." He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her on the cheek. Her face was clammy with sweat, but she shivered. "Wake up, Sandra."

  Her eyes flew open. "Wyatt," she whispered in a breathy voice that sounded as if she'd just run a marathon.

  "I'm here, dear." Wyatt hugged her close, as if she were a small child. “You're all right. It was just a dream."

  "It was horrible." Her arms ran around his waist. “You were in the car. I was running toward you. The car blew up." Tears clouded her voice. "Flames leapt at me. I could feel my arms burning." She rubbed them, convincing herself they were still there and free of the dream-heat.

  "Shh, it's all right. You're safe. You're with me." He kissed her forehead.

  "Hold me," she pleaded as her arms tightened about him. "Don't let me go."

  He held her until her arms slacked and she went back to sleep. Then he laid her back in the bed and crawled in next to her. She needed the rest. At any other time she'd have been the only thing on his mind, but Sam Parker's betrayal held dominance over his consciousness. He'd been awake all night thinking of the man he'd trusted and the near disaster that would have fallen on them. If Sandra hadn't told him about the security in the Pentagon, both of them would be statistics this morning.

  Randolph and Rutledge Killed in Car Bombing, he envi­sioned the headline if they had in fact died. Wyatt berated himself. He'd convinced Sandra not to trust her own father and then he'd let himself fall into the trap of trusting an old friend. It wouldn't happen again. Until he got to the bottom of Project Eagle they were on their own.

  Sandra shifted, throwing her arm over him. He caressed it gently. Her breathing was even and she settled into a com­fortable sleep. Wyatt watched her relaxed features and hoped he could keep her safe until she was no longer a target. He couldn't let her go. There was no place she would be safe until this ended.

  Just how it would end he was afraid to think about.

  ***

  The rain woke her. Sandra opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. The heavy curtains that blocked the windows only let slivers of light into the room. She could hear the water pelting the outside glass.

  Wyatt lay beside her. His arm around her waist cradled her against him. His body was warm against her bottom. She hadn't awakened next to a man since John died. She liked the security of knowing he was there, and she liked waking up in his arms. Turning over, she faced him. His head was higher on the pillow than hers and she had to keep herself from reaching up and kissing him awake.

  Why couldn't they be just two people getting to know each other and falling in love? Why did they have to be on the run, trusting no one and wanted for a list of crimes that in­creased each time they stepped outdoors? Sandra shivered slightly and Wy
att scooped her closer to him. She had no place to put her arms except around him.

  She stiffened slightly, knowing she shouldn't enjoy the feel of his strong arms, but he was asleep and it couldn't hurt. She ran her gaze over his dark arms. Her fingers danced lightly over his skin. It was smooth to her touch. She liked the feel of his muscles as they quivered and relaxed. Shifting her head on his shoulder, she stopped short of running her hand over his chest. Wyatt only had the uniform now. He was near-naked next to her. The thought was arousing. She could feel an ache in the pit of her stomach and her nipples were hard and erect against his chest. She knew better than to let anything get out of control. He was still trying to prove her father guilty of treason, and despite what had happened, she was convinced there had to be a logical explanation for her father's apparent collusion in a plot against both her and Wyatt. Even with that between them, she was attracted to him. She knew he found her attractive, too. After the way he kissed her, she could be in no doubt. Sandra settled next to him and closed her eyes.

  Behind her lids the image of Wyatt formed. Sandra had thought she'd never replace John with another man, and while she hadn't replaced John, she had relegated him to a safe place in her heart. He had been her husband. She'd loved him with all her heart, thought they would have a family and grow old together. The cruelty of the illness that took their future had long since been resolved. Wyatt could be thanked for giv­ing her back the will to live. Now that her life appeared so close to ending, she found she wanted to live. She didn't just want to fill her days with so much work that she had no time to think. She wanted to have a purpose and . . . Wyatt? Did she want Wyatt in her life?

  Sandra frowned at the impact of her thoughts. If the two of them survived to expose Project Eagle, her father could be in­volved in it as Wyatt suggested. What would that do to them? Could she fall in love with a man who ruined her family?