Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Lance let her shoulders go. "There isn't much time, Sandra. You have to make a decision now. There's no telling what the FBI will do. They have to be getting close to you and Wyatt or homing in on where you've hidden the stones." Her head snapped up. "You know Jeff had the stones."

  "That's only a matter of deductive reasoning. You and Wyatt were chased from Jeff's house."

  "That was only alleged. None of the police officers could say with any certainty that they actually saw us driving the car."

  "But it was you?" He smiled with all the finesse he was known for.

  Sandra ignored the question. Checking where they were, she saw the Washington Monument in the background and the Tidal Basin in the distance.

  "Several days later, Jeff is found dead and you show up at my lunch table. I don't think I need much more to convince me." He paused a moment. "So tell me, Sandra. Where have you hidden the stones?"

  Sandra smiled. He wanted the stones bad. And why not? They would mean greater visibility for him and certainly a promotion. For her, they were a bargaining point. But she was bargaining with something she didn't have.

  "If I were to give you the stones, Lance, what would you do with them?"

  "I don't understand."

  "You said you'd take them back to the Defense Department, to the people better able to put them to use than Senator Ran­dolph or myself."

  "I would," he agreed.

  Sandra sighed. "I can't give you the stones, Lance."

  She saw him recoil. It was as close to a reaction as Lance had ever let another human being see.

  "Why not? You can't stay out there with them. There are too many people who want them. The Japanese can't wait to get their hands on them. Any government would kill, kill, San­dra, to have what you've got. Do you know what you're do­ing?" He stopped, took a breath and straightened his tie. "Unless you're planning to sell them yourselves."

  Sandra stared at him as if she'd never seen him before.

  "Is that what Senator Randolph has convinced you to do? To take the stones and sell them? That's what he wants, you know."

  "God! I don't have to listen to this." She rapped on the darkened window. "Let me out of here."

  "No." He reached over her. "Think about what you're do­ing, Sandra. Randolph has obviously filled your head with a lot of nonsense. You're a logical person. Think about what will happen to you when you get out of this car. You're a hunted woman. There's no way you can survive without my help."

  "You'll save me and sacrifice Wyatt. I don't like that solu­tion. The stones were sent to Wyatt. He should be the one making the decision to turn them over."

  Lance straightened in his seat. Realization dawned in his face. "You're in love with him."

  She didn't deny it. She wanted to know where he was, but Lance was going to be no help. He was only interested in getting the stones.

  "Sandra, he kidnapped you. And you fall for him?"

  "He didn't kidnap me."

  In the condition she found him, he could have done nothing to her. He couldn't even help himself. She wondered if he could help himself now. Where was he and why had he left the hotel? Checked out of the hotel, the clerk had said. Wyatt had promised he'd be there when she got back. Was he lying? Was he truly the way her father and Lance painted him? She'd spent the better part of the last three weeks in his company and she had a different opinion. Of course, she was looking through the eyes of love. There was a lot of money involved, millions, maybe billions, of dollars. Was it enough for a man to compromise his principles?

  "Lance, I don't have the stones. I promise to talk to Wyatt about them." As soon as I find him, she added to herself.

  ***

  Sandra knew Lance thought she'd lead him to the stones. After she'd hopped out of his limo she'd darted into a metro station, crossed the street underground and exited on the op­posite side. Walking up several streets and taking a bus going north on Independence, she wondered what she should do now.

  Cars sped up and down the streets. The lunch hour was nearly over, but Washington never seemed to be completely free of foot traffic. Keeping her head down, she walked toward the Capitol.

  Fear suddenly seized her. She was alone. Lance was looking for her, the police were looking for her, even her father was looking for her. She didn't know what to do any longer. Where was Wyatt? She needed him. She wanted to feel his arms around her again, feel his kiss and tell him she loved him.

  She found herself standing on a corner. The traffic light turned green and she stood there. Where was there to go? She had no clue. Turning around, she spotted a phone, went to it, and picked up the receiver. Who was she going to call? She put it back and stared at it.

  She'd talked to the hotel more than once. Wyatt simply wasn't there and he wasn't going to be there if she tried again. He didn't know where she was, either. If he tried the car phone she was a hundred miles away. She couldn't hear it ring.

  There was one phone call she could make. Annie had told her, if she got backed into a corner to call somebody. What was the name? Sandra grasped the receiver but didn't lift the handset. Think, she told herself. What was his name? Rich-man? Richie? Roberts? "No," she said to herself. "Grant. . . that was the first name." She looked down for a phone book. Nothing. Annie had said he was listed in the phone book. Behind her was a federal building. Sandra walked through the door. She no longer cared about being recognized. Along the far wall was a bank of phone booths. She went into the first one and closed the glass door. The heavy Chesapeake and Potomac directory came up and she went to the R's.

  Richards, it came to her. His name was Grant Richards. She found the listing. Dialing the number, she asked to speak to him.

  "Mr. Richards, this is Sandra Rutledge."

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  ""Yes," she swallowed.

  "Suzanne told me you might call. Do you need help?"

  Sandra needed help, but she didn't know Grant Richards and she and Annie hadn't been on the best terms in years. His name sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd seen or heard it.

  "You're wondering if you can trust me?" he said.

  "Frankly, yes," she told him. "Annie . . . Suzanne doesn't usually do favors for me."

  "I know," he said.

  Sandra was surprised. Did he really know? Did he have any idea what was between her sister and herself?

  "If it's any help to you I had a minor part in Project Eagle. At one time I had the gem stones."

  "You're my last hope. I can't find Senator Randolph. I think he's been . . ." She couldn't say it.

  "Where are you, Sandra? I promise there will be no police or anyone connected with the law."

  She didn't care anymore. She was tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, and without Wyatt she just didn't care.

  "I'm in a federal building at the corner of Fourth and In­dependence Southwest."

  "Stay there. A car will pick you up in ten minutes."

  "All right," she said, defeated.

  Sandra left the building, nodding to the guard as if they saw each other every day. As Grant had promised, ten minutes later a stretch limousine pulled up at the curb. The driver, clad in a black suit and a flat-top hat, got out and opened the door for her. "Ms. Rutledge?" he said.

  Sandra hesitated only a moment before entering the soft leather interior. The car was occupied, but not by anyone who could be Grant Richards; rather by a pregnant woman with long black hair that must have curled to her waist. She smiled and rubbed her protruding belly.

  "Brooke Richards," she said, offering her hand. "You don't have to tell me who you are."

  The car pulled away from the curb. Sandra glanced at the window but saw only her own reflection. The windows were completely black. The divider between the two passengers and the driver was also black. She felt claustrophobic but said nothing.

  "Are you involved in this, too?"

  "No." She shook her head. "I only help out when needed, and Grant
thought I could do more for you than he could."

  "Do you know what happened to Wyatt . . . Senator Ran­dolph?"

  "I'm afraid not. I only want to assure you that you're safe."

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "I won't be going with you. The driver is taking me to my restaurant. He has instructions to take you to another loca­tion."

  "Where is that?"

  "I'm not privileged to that information, but don't worry, you're in good hands. Nothing will happen to you while you're with Grant."

  Sandra was anything but reassured. The black windows bothered her. She had no idea which direction they were going in.

  "Look," she began. "I've been shot at and chased by too many people to name. Now I'm in a car with windows you can't see through and a pregnant woman telling me to trust her? Give me one good reason why I should?"

  "Because you don't have anyone else you can trust."

  Sandra fell back against the upholstery. It wasn't a good reason, but it was the truth. She had no other place to turn. Wherever she was going had to be better than continuing to run through the streets of Washington.

  Sandra checked her watch when the car stopped. She'd been riding for half an hour. The door opened and Brooke took her hand. "Good luck," she said. "Call us if you need us."

  The driver helped her out of the car. He closed the door as Sandra tried to glimpse something that might tell her where they were. Moments later the car started up again and they were off. She clocked the time against her watch. They drove for twenty minutes. Outside, she heard the unmistakable roar of helicopter rotors beating me air. A cold burst of air invaded the compartment when the door opened.

  She got out. A man extended his hand. "Grant Richards," he said. "You just met my wife."

  Sandra took his hand.

  "I'm your pilot."

  "Can you tell me where you're taking me?"

  "To a safe house," he smiled.

  He led her to the helicopter which also had black glass in the windows which wouldn't permit her to see where they were going. As far as she could tell, he was the only other person on board. Again she clocked the distance. It took them forty minutes before they set down. Assuming this helicopter was at least as powerful as her mother's Starfighter, she clocked the distance at about a hundred miles.

  But a hundred miles in which direction? Was she in Mary­land or Virginia? Had the helicopter crossed into Pennsylvania or gone farther on to West Virginia? Why couldn't she relax? Both the Richards’s had assured her she was safe. She hadn't been safe in so long, yet when Wyatt was close she felt less afraid. Would she ever see him again?

  The door opened and the wind was colder. When she got out there was little to define the area. She was in the middle of nowhere. All she could see was mountains. Another stretch limousine sat next to the helicopter pad. Grant opened the door and followed her inside.

  This drive was short and the windows weren't camouflaged. The car stopped in front of a small cabin. The grounds, though covered with snow, had been cleared. Bare-leaf trees were everywhere. Sandra had an inkling of where she was, although she’d never been to this place before.

  Grant helped her out and walked her to the cabin door. He opened it with a key and stood back extending the key to her.

  "This is where I leave you."

  Sandra took the key. "Before you go, I'd like to ask you something."

  He said nothing, but gave her his attention.

  "Annie . . . Suzanne, my sister. How does she fit into all this?"

  "I'm afraid she'll have to explain that to you."

  Sandra wasn't satisfied, but she didn't think she could get him to tell her anything more about her sister. So much didn't make sense. "Is there anyone else here?" Sandra asked him.

  Grant smiled and left her. She watched him leave, then went inside and closed the door. She remembered then where she'd heard his name. At the airport when she and Wyatt arrived. She'd left the helicopter in a hangar with a sign the said Richards Air. Was he that Richards? she wondered.

  She looked around. Where am I now? she wondered. What will happen here and where was Wyatt? She stood in a large room. Taking several steps, she moved to the middle, close to a fireplace that warmed the room. After the hotel rooms she and Wyatt had oc­cupied this was homey. It reminded her of her family cabin in the Pocono Mountains. She felt she left it a lifetime ago. Maybe she’d never see it again.

  Thoughts of Wyatt clouded her short-lived cheer. Anger rushed to defend her volatile emotions. When she found him, she'd kill him for what he'd put her through. They'd argued the she should stay with her father. Would he have checked out so she would be forced to take his advice? Was he sac­rificing himself for her?

  She removed her coat. Throwing it over a chair, her anger seemed to go with it. She was just tired. And worried. Worried about Wyatt. Suppose he hadn't checked out on his own. Suppose he'd been caught? He could be hurt. He wouldn't do this to her without discussing it. The only expla­nation had to be that he'd been caught. Where did they take him? How would she find him?

  "Wyatt," she whispered. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever get the chance to tell him she loved him?

  Anger loomed again. "Wyatt, where are you?" she screamed.

  "Here," he said.

  Chapter 14

  "Wyatt!" Sandra cried, swinging around and looking toward the sound. He stood at the top of the stairs. Tears sprang to her eyes and she seemed rooted to the spot. She never ex­pected to see him again. She'd told herself he was dead and that the next time she heard of him it would be an account of someone finding his body.

  She couldn't move. The only part of her that functioned, other than her pounding heart, was her tear ducts. Rivers of water poured from them. Wyatt ran down the stairs and pulled her into his arms.

  "Where did you go?" she hiccupped. "I called and called."

  Wyatt didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too glad to see her. The lump in his throat and the one squeezing his heart made speaking a useless effort. He kissed the tears from her eyes. A hunger deep in his body roared to life, tensing his stomach muscles and heating the air around them. He admitted he hadn't had much time for women in his career, but this one was different. He wanted, really wanted to make time for her. His mouth kissed her face from her forehead to her cheeks and neck. He didn't seem to be able to stop himself. At the corner of her mouth he felt the wetness of her lips. Her mouth turned toward his, but he raised his head, looking deep into her eyes. Their brown depths seemed to melt and swim before him.

  She completely captivated him, like a gypsy witch with a potion that was meant only for him. He drank willingly of the liquid and wanted more, much more.

  He stared at her lips. They trembled ever so slightly, making his insides turn to pulverized jelly. For an eon he hovered above them before he could keep himself in check no longer. His mouth covered hers, and the explosion that had been building in him detonated like an atom bomb. His mouth de­voured hers, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth finding all the sweetness he knew was there. His hands went into her hair and released the clamp that held it in place. He felt its silkiness as it cascaded over his hands.

  Time between them seemed to slow down. He could feel the slightest sensations related to her, the way her hah- felt as the tips touched his fingers, the smell of her skin, the soft sounds that gurgled in her throat His hands moved to her shoulders and he pushed the coat aside. It slipped down her arms and came to rest at her feet. He felt the pearls at her neck and raked the back of his hands down her smooth arms. Taking her waist in between the span of his large hands, he fit her closer to his aroused body. He shuddered as she moved against him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to let her go.

  In a movement as natural as breathing he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the winding staircase. Standing before the long-size bed in the master bedroom, he lowered her to the floor.

  Sandra slid down his body, feeling every deliciously hard inch o
f him. He stared at her as if she were a queen. She never thought she could feel like this again.

  She was breathless under his stare. His hand went behind her back and found the zipper of her dress. He didn't immediately pull it down but waited. She opened her mouth to breathe. Her body was hot, her nipples already erect and he hadn't even touched them. No one had ever made her feel like this. Slowly the zipper began a downward movement. She felt the air touch her skin. It was cool and helped to damp down the flames Wyatt created in her. But it was no match, for with each inch of freedom the furnace inside her intensi­fied. She arched her back, leaning into him.

  "Wyatt," she groaned. The zipper had reached the curve over her buttocks. Wyatt let his hand rest there. He urged her forward. Her hips ground into the hard strength of his erec­tion. A pleasurable sound defying description escaped her throat. Sandra floated away from the dress. It pooled around her in a circle of royal blue. She wore only a blue bra and panties, high heels, and white pearls. Wyatt moved his gaze from her face to her feet, taking in every sensual inch of her. Sandra felt no shame in her nudity. She wanted him to see her, wanted him to touch her and make her his.

  Wyatt leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. Their mouths barely touched, yet the intimacy was overwhelm­ing. Her hands, with less finesse than his, fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. She freed one of them, then another. Her knuckles brushed against his skin. It was hot like fire, but a fire she wanted to touch. She let her fingers splay against him when his shirt fell to the floor in a love match with her dress. His heart pounded under her fingertips. Its rhythm matched the thundering of her own heart.

  She released the belt hook at his waist and unzipped his trousers. Her hands brushed against his hardness and she trem­bled. He was big. Anticipation flowed between her legs. Her eyes closed as her hand massaged him. He groaned a loud guttural sound. "Sandra," he moaned.

  In a flash he pulled her to him and kissed her hard. His mouth grazed hers. His hands were like ropes of fire as they massaged her back, moving with ease across her skin. With the flick of his fingers he dispensed with her bra. Her full breasts were freed of their lace confinement. They stood erect, anticipating his touch to blossom to full life.