Concrete Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  She glanced around, her eyes pausing on several tourists before returning to his. “Lee, this isn’t—”

  “You’re not going to go all Queen Frostine on me now, are you?”

  “Queen Frostine?”

  He paused. Where did the name come from? Then he remembered. “Queen Frostine is from the game Candy Land.”

  Her eyes widened. “Surely you’re not that young?”

  “I told you. I’m twenty-five.” He hated the lie. He considered what he could tell her and decided the truth was safe enough. “A friend of mine has a five-year-old daughter who loves Candy Land. I’m an expert at letting her win the game. Queen Frostine is the key.”

  “And you think of me as Queen Frostine.” She sounded hurt.

  “No, I think of you as Shortcake.”

  “Why Shortcake?”

  “Because you’re short—”

  “I’m not short, you’re just tall.”

  “—and I want to taste you with strawberries and whipped cream.”

  Her breath caught. Good. “This really isn’t a good idea,” she said.

  He reached for her hand again, and this time she allowed it. They walked in darkness around the basin. She managed to drop his hand before they reached the Jefferson Memorial, and he could feel her build a barrier between them until it was as solid as the marble columns surrounding the statue of the nation’s third president.

  Damn JT. Damn the senator. Damn the campaign. Wasn’t there a better way? But with each step, he considered their options. There were few, and none had the same chance of success as the current plan.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said as they neared her building. He didn’t believe for a moment she would invite him to stay, but he wanted a few more minutes alone with her.

  They arrived at the secure doorway to her apartment building. Erica waved her keychain in front of the sensor until it beeped, and she opened the door. He walked beside her as she nodded to the concierge, who called out, “Good evening, Miss Kesling.”

  Inside the elevator, the barrier she’d built was a tangible presence. “Why?” he asked, breaking the tension-filled silence.

  “We’ve got to work together for five more weeks. Let’s not make it complicated, okay?”

  “And when the five weeks are up?”

  “You’ll be gone,” she said softly.

  The elevator doors opened, and he followed her down the dimly lit hallway. She stopped abruptly a few feet from her door. He bumped into her and saw why she’d halted. Her apartment door was ajar. They had closed and locked it when they left hours ago.

  He pushed open the door. The entryway closet was open, the contents scattered on the foyer floor. The word WHORE dripped in long red streaks on the opposite wall.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NEARLY AN HOUR PASSED before the police allowed Erica and Lee to enter the apartment. On leaden legs, she walked through her home, astounded by the extent of the destruction. A nauseating jumble of odors permeated the rooms, but above all other smells was the stench of wet paint.

  The contents of her refrigerator had been spilled across the kitchen floor. She’d had precious little food, but her paltry eggs, mustard, and relish had been dumped out and stepped on. Her mattress, pillows, cushions, and clothing had all been slashed, painted, gouged, and ripped.

  “The damage appears to have been done in a way that minimized noise, so your neighbors wouldn’t be alerted while the suspect was still here,” a police officer said.

  She nodded numbly. Her apartment looked like the site of a massacre, with red paint splashed over furniture, across the walls, dousing everything. Her few photographs and fewer electronic items had been dunked in a bathtub full of bloodred water.

  Quiet, yet thorough.

  The odor of fresh paint indicated the red splatters weren’t blood, but she couldn’t ignore the implied threat. Jake intended to finish the destruction of her life he’d started a year ago.

  She shuddered as nausea, revulsion, and shame washed through her. The one thing she didn’t feel was surprise. She’d expected Jake to do something. Just because he could.

  The vandal had left behind a gallon-size canister of red paint. “How could one gallon coat so many surfaces?” she asked.

  “The suspect was methodical. He or she cut the paint with water in the bathtub, and then poured the diluted mixture over everything,” the cop answered.

  She took a deep breath and inhaled the sickening odor. A headache grabbed hold.

  Both cops circled the room, taking photos, writing notes, and dusting for fingerprints. Lee stood by, watching everything, saying nothing.

  She wouldn’t cry. Jake wasn’t there to witness her emotional state, but still, she didn’t want him to have another victory over her.

  Her eyes strayed to her dining set—the one place she’d refused to look—and in that moment, he won. He’d found her vulnerability and ripped it wide open. She walked to the table, ran her fingers over the deep gouges, and a sob escaped.

  From behind, Lee wrapped his arms around her. She turned, collapsed against him, and cried. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “The wood can be sanded and refinished. I can restore it.”

  He didn’t understand. She’d been trying for the last year to restore her life. No amount of sanding would take away the shame or the guilt.

  Even if the deep grooves were sanded away, she would never be able to sit at that table—which had been her pride and joy when she paid cash for it a month ago—without seeing the insult etched into its surface. She’d always be reminded of Jake, Mexico, and the jail cell. She’d see the void in Marco’s eyes where a soul should be and remember the sound of his fly unzipping as he prepared to rape her.

  So she shook her head and cried into the ginger flowers that decorated Lee’s shirt while he held her and an officer paced, waiting to question her.

  Finally, she calmed, and the questioning began. “Does anyone have a grudge against you?”

  She took a deep breath. “No,” she said with as much earnestness in her voice as she could muster. “I can’t think of anyone who would do this.” She pulled on her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger, then remembered reading in a psychology book that people often touched their face when they lied. She dropped her hand.

  “Someone trashed our office at work this week too,” Lee said.

  The cop raised an eyebrow.

  She felt her face heat. She should have told the police about that sooner. The cop stared at her, waiting. Lee pulled her close against his side and explained the situation to the officer.

  “You share the office,” the cop said. “Where were you, Mr. Scott, while Ms. Kesling’s apartment was being destroyed?”

  She cleared her throat. “He was with me. On a date.”

  Lee lifted her chin to catch her gaze. “I knew you’d come around.”

  In spite of everything, she found a weak smile. He kissed her temple.

  After the cops finished taking their notes, they told them it was okay to clean up, and left. She picked up the blanket she’d used to cover her beat-up couch. The quilt had been a particularly good thrift-store find but was now garbage. She dumped the shredded fabric in a corner and sorted through other items in the living room on automatic pilot.

  Her rent ate up most of her budget, but she’d paid it because the building had good security. As she worked, she couldn’t, wouldn’t look at the table. The table she couldn’t afford but couldn’t resist. She’d scraped and saved for months to buy it. The table where she’d hoped to entertain friends and have a dinner party like the old days, before she accepted the job from Jake Novak that not only ended her career but caused every friend she had to treat her like a pariah.

  A dinner party that would fill her empty apartment with warmth, love, and laughter.

  But it was just another fucking pipe dream.

  “I think that cushion has been mangled enough, don’t you?” Lee said.

  She glanced down at
her hands and realized she had taken a ripped cushion and thoroughly gutted it. She faced Lee again, and tried to think of something to say. But she was empty. She had nothing. Was nothing.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s clean the kitchen floor so the food doesn’t rot. Then we’re leaving. You’re staying with me tonight.”

  The incredible kiss they’d shared earlier flashed through her mind, and the idea of finding oblivion in sex was enticing. She could wrap her legs around his hips, take him deep inside, and escape the reality of her rotten life.

  “You’ll stay in the guest bedroom,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts. “I won’t take advantage of you right now.”

  Then maybe she should take advantage of him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LEE AWOKE TO THE SOUND of the front door closing. It took several seconds for his eyes to focus on the clock. Seven a.m. What was Erica doing up this early? They hadn’t gone to sleep until after three in the morning.

  He slipped out of bed and pulled sweatpants on over the hard-on he’d gotten while dreaming of her, while the fog in his mind began to clear. Had she left? He felt a ripple of fear for her safety. Her apartment had been brutally trashed last night. She shouldn’t go out alone.

  He entered the hallway, stopped at Erica’s door, and silently opened it. She lay in bed, sound asleep.

  Crap! JT must have arrived. He bolted for the living room.

  He was there. “You’re up,” he said, his voice sounding like a bellow in the quiet apartment.

  Lee launched himself toward JT, but he continued talking, oblivious. “I’m anxious to hear what you found out about Er—”

  Skidding into the couch, he slapped his hand over JT’s mouth just in time. “Quiet,” he hissed, then straightened and rubbed his aching shin, which had hit the coffee table.

  Erica stumbled into the room, more asleep than awake. “Lee, what’s going on?”

  His breath came out in a rush at the sight of her. The threadbare T-shirt he’d loaned her reached her knees but was just as sheer as he’d hoped it would be. More enticing than a teddy, it draped her full breasts and left nothing to the imagination. But most stunning was her hair, which fell past her waist in a tousled curtain of shimmering black.

  She was a vision that would feed his fantasies for days, weeks—hell, probably years—to come. But this wasn’t the time. He scooped up the blanket they’d snuggled under while watching the movie, crossed the room, and wrapped it around her.

  She rubbed her still-unfocused eyes. “I heard a noise. What’s going on?” she asked again.

  “JT is here,” he said softly.

  Shock lit her face. She glanced down at the blanket and T-shirt, made a sound that was part yelp, part curse, part muffled groan, and fled the room. Her door slammed closed.

  “Damn. I’m impressed.” JT spoke softly so his voice wouldn’t carry. “She turned me down cold.”

  He swung to face JT, also keeping his voice low. “You hit on her?”

  “She’s a suspect. I wanted to get to know her.”

  Lee ran his fingers through his hair. Part of him wanted to throttle JT; another part understood. Hell, he’d been doing the same thing. “Don’t hit on her again.”

  “It’s obvious she made her choice. Good work.”

  Dammit, he wanted to go after her, but he needed to talk to JT first. With a sigh, he plopped down on the couch. “We need to get our story straight.”

  ERICA FRANTICALLY PULLED on the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn last night. She cursed the vanity that made her select her smallest, tightest, most cleavage-showing, V-neck shirt to wear for Lee. What had she been thinking? As if it wasn’t bad enough she’d just appeared practically naked in front of the company CEO, now she had to go out and talk to him wearing the sluttiest clothing she owned—which, thanks to Jake, was now the only clothing she owned.

  She twisted her hair into a tight knot and began ramming pins into the heavy mass. At least she could make her hair look professional. She was going to hurt Lee. Badly. He could have told her JT would be here. Hair restrained, she reached for the doorknob, intending to hold her head high as she marched into the living room.

  She faltered. What the hell was JT doing here? What was his relationship to Lee?

  The man had hit on her the other night. But it had seemed like an afterthought, like he suddenly realized he had an itch she could scratch.

  He must think she’d slept with Lee. Would he be jealous? She didn’t think for a moment JT had actually been interested in her, but when egos became involved, anything was possible.

  Another worry came to mind. Company policy allowed coworkers to date, but Lee was her subordinate. Could she be fired for sleeping with her intern?

  I didn’t sleep with him.

  But she’d wanted to. Lee had been a perfect gentleman last night—this morning—hell, a few hours ago. He’d tucked her into bed, and when she tried to turn his platonic good-night kiss into something more, he’d pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. “I want you,” he’d said. “But not like this.” Then he kissed her forehead and left her alone.

  She leaned against the closed door, fighting the urge to bang her head against it. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about. Last night Jake had destroyed everything she owned. She bit on a knuckle to keep from sobbing.

  “Erica?” Lee said from the opposite side of the door.

  She jumped back as though she’d received an electric shock. She needed to compose herself. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  Lee stepped inside, shut the door, and leaned against it. His gaze raked her from head to toe, a lopsided grin warming his chiseled features.

  “I was just coming out,” she said hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “I think you should open the door.”

  “JT’s gone. He went to get coffee and won’t be back for at least an hour.” A frown marred his handsome face. “Why did you put up your hair?”

  She ignored the question. “Is he going to fire me?”

  “For putting up your hair? I doubt it, but it’s worth considering.”

  The knot in her belly tightened. “Dammit, Lee, I’m serious!” She took a deep breath. She would act calm. Dignified. If nothing else, it was practice for when she faced JT. “What did you tell him?” She enunciated each syllable with precision.

  “Your hair is beautiful. You should wear it down.” His voice was low, husky.

  Heat slid down her spine. “You didn’t tell him that.”

  “I didn’t need to. He’d have to be blind not to notice for himself.”

  Her nipples hardened. How could he do that—in this situation—with just words? He wore nothing but a pair of sweatpants. She kept her gaze fixed on his eyes, willing herself to ignore his muscular torso. She would not think about how much she enjoyed snuggling against him last night, or how safe she’d felt with those thick arms wrapped around her.

  He plucked out one of her hairpins, and the heavy mass loosened but didn’t fall. She crossed her arms and took a step backward, but his feet moved forward, in sync with hers.

  “I want to know why JT Talon was in the living room,” she said, but her voice came out huskier than she’d intended. “And I want to know what you told him about me.”

  “This is JT’s condo. He’s letting me stay here during my internship because he’s only in DC periodically. He lives in New York City.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on her mouth. “I convinced JT there’s nothing going on between us. Not that he’d care, by the way, but I figured you would.” He reached around her and pulled her to him. His other hand removed another hairpin, and several strands fell. “Want to make a liar out of me?”

  Foolish laughter bubbled up inside her, and she tucked her head on his chest. Was this what it felt like to be on the edge of hysterics?

  A pleasing truth penetrated her jumbled thoughts. JT had given Lee the job and apartment. Lee couldn’t be working for Jake.
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br />   She pushed him away and stepped back. “Why didn’t you tell me this is JT’s place?”

  “JT and I didn’t want anyone to know we’re acquainted.”

  “You’re staying in his apartment. You’re more than acquainted.”

  “His family and my family go way back. He’s helping me out.”

  “So why the big secret?”

  “I’m an intern, and I’ve got to do the scut work, just like everyone else. If you’d known I was staying at JT’s place, would you have treated me the same?”

  “Yes.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She hesitated, admitting to herself that if she’d known his connection to JT, she’d have tried to figure out a way to use that to her advantage. JT was Menanichoch, after all. “You should have told me JT would show up.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming. I’m sorry.”

  She was slightly mollified. “Does he know why I’m here?”

  “Yes. He also knows we’ve only gotten four hours sleep.” He took her in his arms again. “I’m going back to bed. You’re more than welcome to join me.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “It’s a spectacular idea.” His lips traced her hairline as he removed the last of her hairpins. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to my conscience last night.”

  She rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for that.”

  “I won’t be so noble next time.” His fingers threaded through her hair; then he leaned down and dropped a kiss on her collarbone. His tongue traced the line of her V-neck, and she felt goose bumps form.

  She gently pushed him away, fighting the reckless urge to pull him to the bed and forget everything in a rousing romp of mindless sex. She couldn’t give in to the wild impulse. She’d known him all of five days, and in that time, her carefully constructed life had collapsed.

  “JT will be around all weekend. Get some sleep. Later you can tell him I keep trying to seduce you. You might get lucky and he’ll fire me for sexually harassing you.”