by Ana Barrons
Chapter Sixteen
Hannah spent most of the evening doing schoolwork, which made it damn near impossible for John to engage her in conversation. She had insisted that neither of them cook dinner, so they ate bagel and egg sandwiches with orange juice while she paged through a new book of colleges she’d gotten from Amazon, and wrote notes on a green spiral pad. He asked whether there was anything on her mind she’d like to talk to him about, but she just shook her head slowly without looking up. So he kept the fire going and stayed out of her way, and typed up some notes for the book he was supposedly writing.
At ten thirty, she announced she was going to bed. John kissed her lightly and asked if he was welcome to join her later. She gave him the first genuine smile of the evening and told him to let her sleep for a while before he woke her up. Then she kissed him and he pulled her into his arms. A few minutes later he had her clothes off and was pumping into her with an urgency that surprised both of them. Afterward he tucked her under the comforter and promised not to wake her up until at least six the next morning. She gave him a sleepy smile and said she wouldn’t promise not to wake him up first.
It was barely above freezing, so John grabbed his jacket and stepped outside to return Walter Jorling’s call. Jorling was a Special Agent in Charge down in Richmond, and John had worked with him on an investigation a couple years earlier. He was a nice enough guy, but John hadn’t really gotten to know him.
“Well, I was wondering when you’d get around to calling me back,” Walter said when John identified himself. “What brings you to the Grange School while you’re on leave?”
John cleared his throat. “I knew Hannah Duncan as a child,” he said, which was technically true. He remembered the pretty lady who’d taken his photo with his dad on the pier all those years ago, and that she’d had a little girl with her. “When I saw Rita Santini sitting in Hannah’s office the other day, I put two and two together and figured the bureau was investigating Bradshaw. Either that or Santini had a kid she was looking to enroll at the school. I waited to see if she would call me after that, but when I didn’t hear from her I figured maybe she didn’t recognize me.”
“What’s going on between you and Hannah, John?”
“I’ve thought about her on and off over the years.” That part he didn’t have to lie about. “I saw a photo of her and Bradshaw in the Washington Post not so long ago, and was blown away, to be honest. I mean, she’s gorgeous.”
To his surprise, Walter chuckled. “That she is. So, you figured you’d show up on her doorstep and see what happened?”
“Something like that.”
“Even with Bradshaw in the picture? He’s a wealthy man.”
Like Hannah was some kind of gold digger. “The paper made it sound like she was nothing more than his latest toy. I figured he was due to get tired of her soon.”
“Good luck, in that case.”
John couldn’t help but be suspicious of Walter’s response. Why was he so understanding? It was beyond odd, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I would have backed off fast if they were serious, but that wasn’t an issue. So I figured I’d stick around and see where this goes. Since I didn’t hear from Santini, I assumed I wasn’t getting in the way of a bureau investigation.” He paused. “I’m not, am I?”
“I’m not sure,” Walter said. “I’d like to talk to you just so we’re both on the same page. Meet me on Saturday, five o’clock at Ernesto’s. We’ll talk then.”
John didn’t want to wait that long to know what was going on. “Why don’t we meet sooner?”
“Too busy this week. See you Saturday.” Walter hung up.
John stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. He retrieved his gun from the bike, scanned the woods surrounding the cottage and took a slow walk around the perimeter. Was his uneasiness due to a presence in the woods or did it come from his weird conversation with Walter? He spent a good twenty minutes outside to be sure they were alone, then returned the gun and went in.
Hannah had been disturbed when he told her about the box he’d found in her office today, a gold-colored scarf made out of a thin, sparkly material with a kind of eastern motif, Indian maybe. The note said, A thing of beauty to match your eyes, my lovely Belle. Again, it was signed B. Someone had placed it on a shelf just inside the door where she kept a couple of extra coffee mugs and spoons. She’d been so distraught about Christian she probably hadn’t noticed it. But if the stalker had carried it into her office, why had he put it in such an out-of-the-way spot? Why not lay it on her desk where she was bound to find it?
Probably because the guy was afraid of being caught in her office, and had just laid it down so he could slip out quickly. How or when he had gotten into her office John didn’t know, but he was obviously nearby, since he’d left things at her cottage. Most likely the guy had found a way into the school building during the night. Hannah had reported the possibility that she was being stalked, and the sheriff’s department had an officer cruise around the school periodically after dark, but that provided zip in the way of protection. With no description, there was nothing for them to go on. And John couldn’t share the information his father had given him. Not yet. Not until he had no choice but to tell her the truth. All he could do now was stick around and protect her himself.
She was still awake when he came to bed half an hour later. She snuggled into his side, and he wrapped her up tightly in his arms. As always when he held her, he felt deeply contented. And conflicted as hell.
“Let’s go to the beach on Friday,” he said. “Stay overnight. Maybe we could cut out at noon, miss the traffic and come back on Saturday.” He felt her stiffen in his arms. “What? Don’t you like the beach in winter?”
“I do. I just don’t want to be away while things feel so complicated. I don’t know. I’d rather do it another weekend.”
“When things feel complicated, that’s the time to get away. Like right now, you’re so tense. We could give each other massages, walk on the beach and clear our heads. Make love, go out to dinner. Did I mention making love?”
“We can do that here.”
He kneaded the muscles in her arms and back. “Yeah, but this bed’s so damn small. I think we need a bigger bed, don’t you?”
“This one has served me just fine.” There was no hint of humor in her voice.
“It served you fine before I came along. We could have a lot more fun on a king-size bed.”
She didn’t answer. Not a good sign.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He stroked her hair back.
“I just need to go to sleep.”
“Okay—” It nearly slipped out of his mouth, then. Sweetheart. Or some other endearment that implied his feelings went well beyond lust and that he saw her in his future. Granted, it might be exactly what was necessary to reel her in closer. But damn it, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and he just couldn’t bring himself to lie to her about that.
Not on top of all the other lies.
Ty couldn’t sleep. It was happening a lot lately, ever since Philip had come into his life. One of his dad’s guys, Louie, seemed to have vanished, and Ty wondered if his old man found out Louie used to score shit for him before Nick came along. Maybe one of his dad’s friends had fitted Louie with some cement shoes and taken him out for a swim. He wouldn’t put it past them, any of them—including his father. Goddamn him. Why couldn’t he be like a normal father with normal friends he went fishing and watched football with, or some shit like that? And what the fuck was he supposed to do if his old man went to prison?
A little weed would go down real nice right now.
Except that with Philip around he needed to stay alert in case the guy, like, snuck into his room or something.
Ah, screw it.
He got out of bed and went to the window overlooking the pool. A light was on in the pool house, but the old Mercedes his dad let Philip drive was still gone, like it u
sually was after he got home from school. Not that he was sorry, but where did the freak go night after night? Maybe he’d just check out that room some time when Philip wasn’t around, see what he was up to in there. If he discovered something really twisted, he’d tell his father for sure, even if it meant Philip told on him—because who’d believe him then?
“Fuck,” Ty said aloud. “He must be doing some kind of weird shit out there.” He just had a feeling about that guy. And what was up with him and Hannah? As long as Philip wanted to go on loving her from afar, Ty figured there was no real harm in spying on her. He’d dropped off that box in her office when she was subbing for a math class, but John Emerson had gone in there a few minutes later. If he’d suspected Ty had put the box in there, he hadn’t said anything, and John seemed like the kind of guy who’d come straight out and ask. Sometimes Ty just wanted to go to him and spill the whole thing, about it really being Philip who got Christian breathing, and Ty that brought the coke and sent him to the hospital; and even the stuff with Hannah. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He’d tell John.
But not yet. First he wanted to get a look in that room.
Chapter Seventeen
By Saturday afternoon Hannah was feeling much more relaxed. John had gone out of his way all week to be helpful and undemanding, and she appreciated it. Occasionally she got the feeling he was studying her, waiting for her to say something, but he didn’t push. Today they’d taken a long walk, made pizza and brownies, and tried to give each other a massage, but both times the massage lasted about two minutes before it progressed into lovemaking. It would start out slow, almost tortuously so, but before long it would become frenzied. Explosive. Mind-blowing. She sometimes wondered how other women went through their lives without a lover like him—and found herself hoping more and more that she wouldn’t have to.
She had fallen hard for John Emerson, and it terrified her. But there was no going back.
All the same, he was going to be gone for several hours that evening and she was looking forward to the time alone. Much as she loved having him around, she had grown comfortable with her solitude and found that she missed it. Being around students and teachers and parents all day drained her as much as it energized her, and she needed time alone to recharge. Of course, John had practically begged her to go over to Larissa’s house, or anywhere with other people around, but she’d been adamant about staying in her own house. As long as she kept her doors locked and her cell phone charged she’d be fine, she’d told him.
At four fifteen, John kissed her hard, made sure she had his cell-phone number punched into hers and took off on his motorcycle. She’d warned him about the rain, but Mr. Macho had dismissed the forecast and said he’d ride between the drops. At five o’clock it started pouring. At five ten her cell phone rang. It was Rita Santini.
“I’m sorry for the short notice,” Rita said. “But I just got word. The meeting’s on for tonight.”
A knot tightened in Hannah’s gut. “Tonight? You mean I have to go over there…soon?”
“I’ll be at your cottage in twenty minutes. We’ll run through the scenario several different ways, get you comfortable with it. Bradshaw cares about you. He’s not going to hurt you, and the bug won’t activate until you’re out of the house, so there’s really no way for you to get caught. It will be okay, Hannah, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Then Hannah had a disturbing thought. “Where will Ty be?”
“Shipped off to his grandmother. Like he’s been every other time this group has gotten together. He won’t see you, so don’t worry about that.”
When they hung up, Hannah went right to the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of Merlot to calm her nerves. She wasn’t ready for this. What on earth had she been thinking, agreeing to help the FBI? She took a sip of her wine, then a few more, desperate to feel calmer. Little by little the knot in her gut unwound, and she carried the glass into her bedroom to figure out what to wear.
Rita had told her to dress up a little, so Thornton would feel she had made an effort. They had agreed she would tell him they needed to talk, and that she had come over on impulse before she lost her nerve. Well, when he smelled the alcohol on her breath, he’d believe the impulsive part. Of course, he would explain he was in an important meeting and couldn’t talk then, at which point she would apologize for disturbing him and leave, but not before she’d put the bug on him.
Simple. Not such a big deal. She’d be in and out in a couple of minutes.
If John had any idea what she was up to, he would freak out.
The certainty that he wouldn’t want her to do this made her love him even more. She couldn’t wait until tonight when it was over and they were lying together in bed with their bodies wrapped around each other, feeling safe and warm. In the morning she would tell him all about it, so they wouldn’t have any secrets from each other, and then, after he stopped ranting and raving, she would call Arthur.
She sighed and starting rummaging through her closet.
John pulled over at a gas station when the rain started and drew on thicker gloves and his rain gear so he wouldn’t look like a drowned rat when he showed up at Ernesto’s. Since he was there, he also filled up his gas tank and decided to give Walter a call, in case anything had changed.
“I was just about to call you,” Walter said. “I may be a little late, so go ahead and cool your heels at Ernesto’s. Have a beer or something.”
“I’m only about halfway to Richmond,” John said. “If you think it’s going to be a while maybe I’ll drop the bike off at my apartment and pick up the car.” And check on Hannah.
“Oh, I won’t be that long,” Walter said. “Go on down and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
John put his phone away, frowning. Since when did a SAC tell him to have a beer? Granted, he was on leave, but this meeting wasn’t a social call. It was technically bureau business. Either there was something strange going on with Walter or he was getting paranoid. Thoughts swirled through his head as he rode through the rain down I-95. The rain was mixing with sleet, and the tiny pellets pattered against his helmet and visor.
He had to be prepared for the worst-case possibility in this meeting—that Walter Jorling was going to order him to stop seeing Hannah while they investigated Bradshaw. Would he trade his career to save his father? If it came to that. Because there was no way he was going to stay away from Hannah. She was potentially too important to his own investigation.
But what disturbed him even more as he took a corner too fast and barely avoided skidding, was that he was no longer sure Hannah’s memories were the main reason he couldn’t stay away from her.
Hannah opened the cab door and stuck the umbrella out. It took a couple of tries before the button unstuck and the umbrella popped up, allowing her to step out without getting completely soaked. A man in a white gatehouse stared at her. He was speaking into a portable phone or walkie-talkie, she wasn’t sure which. Thank God she had fortified with a couple of glasses of wine or her knees would be knocking together right about now. Liquid courage. Just what the doctor ordered. Rita had dabbed some wine behind Hannah’s ears and ran some through her hair, so there would be no doubt she’d been drinking. Thornton had to believe her visit was an impulsive move—particularly considering the weather. She’d definitely have to be crocked to go out in this mess.
The man seemed unwilling to come outside, so Hannah walked right up to the gatehouse. The door was open, but he held up his hand before she could step in. As Rita had coached her, she dove right in before the guard had a chance to speak.
“Can you open the gate, please?” she said. “I need to talk to Thornton now.”
The man looked her up and down, then focused on her face. She put on a pouty expression, which wasn’t difficult considering she was standing out in the most god-awful rain and sleet mix.
He frowned. “Who are you?”
“I’m Hannah Duncan. Can’t you call him or something? I�
�m freezing out here.”
The man looked torn. “Is Mr. Bradshaw expecting you?”
“No, but I really don’t think I need an appointment to see him.”
“I’ll have to frisk you, Miss Duncan.”
Hannah drew back in alarm. She didn’t have to fake that, either. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you dare put a hand on me! Just call Thornton and he’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I’m waiting for him to come to the phone.” Someone came on the line then, and he picked up the handset and turned away from her. “Yeah,” he said. He listened. “Tell him it’s Hannah Duncan.” Pause. “No, but she says she doesn’t need one. I’ll hold.”
Hannah pulled her coat closer around her and gripped the handle of her umbrella tighter. “Maybe I should just leave. This is ridiculous. Can you at least call me a cab?”
Someone came on the line, and the guard’s expression went from apologetic to worried. “Yes, Mr. Bradshaw. Of course, sir. Right away.” He laid the handset down. “I’m sorry, Miss Duncan. Mr. Bradshaw told me to take you right up to the house.”
“Did he tell you to frisk me?” she asked, annoyed.
The man looked sheepish and stepped aside. “Come on in.”
She entered the booth. He pushed a button and a door behind him swung open. He took her arm and guided her though the door and down two steps, which led to a covered brick patio just inside the gate. A large black Mercedes Benz was parked on the driveway, and he ushered her into the backseat. Her legs and shoes were wet, but she was too nervous to care.
What have I gotten myself into?
She fingered the tiny button-like bug in her pocket.
Just grab his lapels and kiss him, first thing, Rita had told her. But remember to peel the adhesive off first so it sticks to your finger and then to his jacket.
Hannah had a moment of panic when she realized it would take two hands to deal with her umbrella. She’d have to close it first, then reach into her pocket and remove the adhesive with one hand, grab on to Thornton’s lapels and—oh, God, it wasn’t going to work! Her fingers felt numb, she was so scared. And her coat was soaking wet. Thornton would want her to take it off before he kissed her. Shit. What in God’s name had she been thinking, agreeing to do this?