Ms. V blinked up at her from behind her bifocals. In Ginny’s imagination a pair of night-vision goggles replaced the glasses, and she got the uncomfortable feeling Ms. V knew exactly what was going on. Since that put the older woman at least one step ahead of her, she decided to take refuge in deflection. “Ms. V, I hear in your day you left a trail of broken hearts wherever you went.”
“I had my fun. I won’t deny. But I’m more curious about your fun, at the moment.”
“I know better than to try and get anything past you.” She did now, at any rate. Ginny took another sip of water and wished she’d worn something other than the green, sleeveless silk tie-neck blouse. The fabric encircling her throat suddenly seemed to be cutting off all the air to her head. She resisted the urge to loosen it, and instead scanned the crowd again in another fruitless search for Shaun.
She caught a man at the back of the room eyeing her from behind mirrored sunglasses. She didn’t recognize him, but there was something familiar, and slightly disapproving, about him.
“Ms. V,” she leaned close, and lowered her voice, “who’s that man over there by the exit.”
The older woman craned her neck to see. “Oh, my. How interesting.”
“Why? What’s so interesting?”
“That’s Jim Bob Butler, the county sheriff.”
…
“How late do you think you’ll stay at the engagement party?”
Shaun’s question flowed over the Escape’s speakers as Ginny pulled into Rawley’s parking lot. “No later than ten. Three hours is plenty of time to congratulate Melody and Josh.”
“Just so we’re clear, that was me determining how soon I can expect to have you naked, wrists tied to my headboard, panting my name.”
The image he described caused a hormone cascade so powerful her knees went weak, and she thanked God she was already sitting down. “Sooner than you imagine if you keep being so clear,” she said, and cut the engine. “Though I’m not really a tie-me-to-the-headboard kind of girl.”
“You prefer I bend you over my footboard instead? Sweet Virginia, that’s no problem.”
“No. Well, maybe… It’s just I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my hands. Seems a shame to tie them up.” He laughed and a little of the anxiety she’d been carrying around since the debate lightened. “You’re not upset about the…um…the debate?”
“We should talk about it. Later.”
Uh-oh. The tone of his voice didn’t change, but the words struck her as slightly ominous. “You warned me Justin might tell Tom, but I didn’t think Tom would take aim at me like that at the end of the debate. I dodged the bullet—barely—but I should have planned a better response.”
“Better than a lie, you mean?”
Now she heard a note of censure, loud and clear. “I didn’t lie,” she replied, knowing she sounded defensive. “It was more of a ‘no comment’. What did you want me to say?”
“Uh-uh. I’m not going to put words in your mouth. I’ve got other plans for it.”
Okay, that got her cascading again, but she took the phone off speaker, even though her windows were closed, and replied, “We have to be more careful from here on out. Ms. Van Hendler cornered me after the debate, mentioned seeing a car she didn’t recognize parked on our street, and asked who I’ve been entertaining these past few weeks. She didn’t come right out and say it, because she can play cat-and-mouse like a damn panther, but she suspects it’s you, especially after what Tom said.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s like the walls are closing in.” To combat the feeling, she opened her door a few inches.
“We are being more careful,” he pointed out. “Any more careful, and I’ll have to drag my ass back to Annapolis for the latest covert training. This need for secrecy disappears after the election, right?”
“Yes.” Unless I win. Obviously, if she became mayor the secrecy would have to continue. She couldn’t risk her reputation, or hamstring her effectiveness as a leader by getting caught in a sex scandal, which is exactly what sleeping with her adversary’s son would amount to around these parts. Something told her not to bring that up right now. They were already balanced on a tightrope over what felt like a huge, gaping argument. Shaun sounded annoyed with the precautions—she refused to call it deceit—they were taking to avoid discovery. Tonight wasn’t the time to talk long-term strategies. It might not be a conversation he was willing to have—ever.
The realization hurt more than she expected. “The election will definitely change things,” she murmured.
“Good. So we’ll be careful a little bit longer. Hopefully our luck will hold out.”
Her interior light cast a glow on the strip of pavement visible beneath her door. A new penny shined up at her. She leaned down, retrieved it, and held the tiny talisman in the center of her palm. The profile of honest Abe faced up. “Speaking of luck, I just found a penny.”
“Great. Bring it with you tonight.”
“Why?” She tossed it into the cup holder in her center console.
“Heads, I tie you to the headboard. Tails, I bend you over the footboard.”
“Oh.” See? There you go. He’s all about the sex. This will fizzle out sooner rather than later. He’ll move on as soon as a job comes through. The thought should have leveled her out, but instead her misguided heart bashed into an iceberg of disappointment and started sinking into her stomach.
“It’s only fair you make the toss,” he said. “I’ve already gotten my wish.”
“Have you?”
“I get to fall asleep with you in my arms, and wake up to the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Life boats launched. Heart rescued. Still, she couldn’t help stating the truth. “I browbeat you into it.”
“Virginia, I think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you here. But since you appreciate clarity, let me be clear. I want you. In my bed. Tonight. Don’t be late.”
“Or what? You’ll start without me?”
“I’ll start when you get here, but you can forget about choices like headboards or footboards because you won’t make it past the hood of your car.”
Next thing she heard was a dial tone. She hit disconnect, slipped her phone into her purse, and stared out the windshield at the hood of her car. The height and angle offered a thousand fascinating possibilities, and she wondered what constituted “late”. What if she started the engine and drove to his place right now? It was well after ten o’clock…somewhere.
A knock on her driver’s side window startled her out of her panty-melting musings. She turned to see Ellie standing on the other side, Tyler just behind her. Lifting her bag onto her shoulder, she exited her car. “What up, party people?”
“Your polls, from what I hear,” Tyler drawled, and led the way to the pub. “Ellie says you kicked ass at the debate this afternoon.”
“I said you kicked butt.”
“Well, thanks, either way. I felt like it went well.”
“Sorry I missed it.” He held the door open for her and Ellie.
They passed through and stepped into the crowded bar. “That’s okay. I know you were working. And you’re doing good work. Melody’s over the moon about the plans for the cottage.”
“We aim to please… Hey Junior.”
Junior closed in on them, a couple of longnecks dangling between the fingers of his right hand and a glass of white wine in each fist. Voice like a bullhorn even in the crowded bar, he boomed, “Hey Ty, Ellie.” He passed Tyler a beer, gave Ellie a wine, and then turned to her. “Red, LouAnn told me you handed Tom Buchanan his ass in his hat today at the senior center.” He passed her the other wine and tapped his beer against the rim of her glass. “I salute you.”
Around them, other patrons turned their way, lifted glasses and cheered their agreement.
“Thanks Junior. Thank you, everyone. Remember to vote on Tuesday.”
The reminder garnered her a halfhearted respon
se, which told her apathy might be her real opponent, because Tom’s cronies would be the first ones in line at the voting booth come election day. But she didn’t intend to turn Melody and Josh’s engagement party into a political rally, so she let it go.
“Where’s LouAnn?”
“Aw, she’s around, just avoiding me,” Junior replied. “Double D’s pissed because I didn’t go with her to the debate this afternoon, even though she knows damn well we had a fuckload of antique barn wood coming in today at the Browning site.”
“The place is really coming along. I was out there yesterday evening and I could almost visualize the end result.”
“That so?” His eyebrows nearly disappeared under the rim of his backward-facing ball cap. “Who gave you the tour?”
Holy crap. Not a drink in her and already she’d put herself in a compromising position. She couldn’t stand in the middle of Rawley’s and respond, Shaun Buchanan. You almost caught us skinny dipping.
“No tour. I was out that way just…because.” Smooth. “I got a glimpse at some of the progress, from a distance. Oh, look, there’s LouAnn, standing by Melody and Josh. I’m going to pop over and say hi to them.”
“Tell LouAnn to let me out of the dang doghouse. If she knows you’re not holding a grudge against me for missing the debate, maybe she won’t either.”
“Don’t worry.” She patted Junior’s burly forearm. “I’ll smooth things over for you.” With that assurance, she winked to the rest of the group and made what she considered a very narrow escape from the trap her big mouth had nearly landed her in. What the hell was wrong with her?
You’re not used to keeping secrets. You’ve always been free to talk about whatever’s top of mind. And Shaun occupied the top slot more often than not these days. Not because he should have been off-limits, or because being with him put one of her most important goals in serious jeopardy, or even because he completely owned her body with barely a touch. Shaun occupied her thoughts so pervasively because he was…Shaun. A cocky, controlled, tortured, sweet, complicated, aggravating man—and if she didn’t watch herself…
Right. Something to keep in mind while trying not to accidentally out herself to the entire bar as one half of the most scandalous couple since members of the flock caught Pastor “Fire and Brimstone” Johnson giving his own personal brand of communion in the rectory with a Russian mail-order bride.
Three hours later, as she said her good-byes and walked to her car, she gave herself a mental high-five for succeeding—at least in part. She’d nursed her single glass of wine all night, congratulated the happy couple, spoken to almost everyone at the pub, and managed to keep her lips zipped about her personal life. But despite the triumph, the evening planted a seed of something restless inside her—or maybe the seed had always been there, dormant, waiting for optimal conditions to take root and grow. Conditions like watching Josh and Melody cuddling, whispering and glowing with happiness all night, noticing how the hand he rested casually around her waist slipped down to squeeze her butt when they thought nobody was looking. Layered on that? Tyler and Ellie. They weren’t joined at the hip tonight, but his silent, obvious radar tracked Ellie no matter where she circulated, and her brown eyes always slid back to him as if she felt his gaze as palpably as a touch.
Roger Reynolds, Bluelick’s golden boy—not to mention Melody’s high school sweetheart and ex-fiancé—had come with Doug, a friend from law school. As she’d talked and joked with them, the real reason Roger and Melody had never worked out slowly dawned on her. Gosh, what a waste, she thought, looking at the two gorgeous men, but when she noticed how Doug’s gray eyes zeroed in on Roger’s mouth when he spoke, and how Roger’s hand constantly found Doug’s shoulder or arm, she realized not a damn thing was going to waste.
Hell, even LouAnn and Junior threw off sparks. He circled around her, trying to charm his way back into her good graces, not to mention her skimpy halter dress. She pretended to make him work for it, even though they definitely won tonight’s unofficial vote for couple most likely to be all over each other as soon as they stepped into the parking lot.
Everyone she knew seemed to be pairing up, falling in love, and riding off into the proverbial sunset. And she was thrilled for them, really, but witnessing all the coupledom made her wish for the same.
She climbed into her car and faced facts. Love simply wasn’t in the cards for her right now. There were too many other things in the way. She started the car, steered out of the parking lot, and herded her wandering thoughts into a strict line. Why couldn’t she enjoy amazing, illicit sex with a man she genuinely liked, and leave well enough alone?
Because you’re falling in love with him.
Oh, God. She was. Totally and hopelessly. Her heart lurched into her stomach. What the hell was she going to do?
You’re going to turn this car around right now, because the road you’re on leads straight to heartache.
A self-preserving or chicken-shit instinct kicked in. She glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t surprise anybody, and then whipped a U-turn in the middle of the empty street.
Red and blue lights immediately flooded her car and, behind her, a siren blared. Goddamnit. She drove a few more feet to where the shoulder widened enough to allow her to pull completely off the road, stopped her car, and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. First time she’d been pulled over in her entire life, and it had to happen now. Maybe the deputy—hopefully Trent—would let her off with a warning? The slam of the cruiser door had her lifting her head and reaching into her glove compartment for her registration. With her free hand, she hit the button to lower her driver’s side window. The crunch of footsteps on gravel stopped by her door.
“My registration is in here somewhere,” she said, without looking up. “Just give me one second.”
“You’ve got one second to put your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”
What? Her annoyance congealed into dread. She straightened, put her hands on the steering wheel, and came face-to-face with Deputy Crocker. Did he remember her?
“Show me your registration, license, and proof of insurance.”
“They’re in my glove compartment and purse, respectively. I need to move my hands off the wheel to get them.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Miz Boca.”
Yep, he remembered her. “Just giving you fair warning.” She released the wheel and dug into her purse for her license and insurance card, pleased her hands remained steady and her voice sounded calm. Hopefully Crocker couldn’t tell her heart was trying to pound its way out of her ribcage and a cold line of sweat ran down her spine. She handed her license and insurance card over, and then fished the registration from the glove compartment and passed the document to Crocker as well.
“I’ll be back,” he warned and sauntered to his cruiser.
She faced forward and fought back shivers as she watched him through her rearview mirror. When he crammed himself into his car and got on the radio, she grabbed her jacket from under her purse and slipped it on. In the process she tipped her purse over and some of the contents spilled out onto the passenger seat. She stuffed her wallet, brush and breath mints back into the bag, picked up her cell phone to do the same, but then paused. Crocker and his “get your hands on the wheel” attitude freaked her out, and that freaked-out part of her really wanted to call Shaun and…what? Have him monitor the situation via cell phone? That made no sense. Especially since Josh, the fire chief, and Roger, a respected local attorney, were less than three hundred yards away, in Rawley’s. She should call one of them to come out and make sure Crocker didn’t shoot her if she scratched her nose without permission.
The slam of the cruiser door took away her options. No time for a call. Going with a rogue impulse, she hit the camera icon on her phone. It took her only a second more to toggle to video. She pressed play and dropped her phone into the pocket of her jacket. The camera wouldn’t pick up anything worth viewing, but the aud
io…
Crocker opened her driver’s side door and stared at her in a way that made her feel like a raccoon caught in a foothold trap. “Miz Boca, step out of the car.”
Uh-oh. She did as he asked, never taking her eyes off him. “Is there a problem, Deputy?”
“Several problems. Making an illegal U-turn, reckless driving, driving while intoxicated, fleeing police…”
“What?!”
“You heard me.” He turned her around so she faced her car, and brought her wrists together behind her back.
“I made a U-turn on an empty road. I didn’t drive recklessly and I’m not intoxicated. Administer a field sobriety test, or, better yet, breathalyze me.”
“We’ll test you at the station.”
Cold metal touched her wrist. Handcuffs. She blinked back tears. This could not be happening. “It will show I’m not drunk. I also didn’t flee—”
“You continued driving after I flashed my lights at you.” He secured the cuff around her other wrist. “I turned on my siren and gave chase.”
“I’m a measly fifty yards from where you flashed your lights. I never accelerated. I pulled over at the nearest safe place.” She tried to turn around, but he manhandled her back against the car.
“Tell it to the judge. Virginia Boca, you’re under arrest.”
Chapter Fifteen
At ten o’clock, Shaun uncorked another bottle of Chardonnay he “borrowed” from Tom’s wine cellar, poured a glass for his soon-to-arrive guest, and strolled outside to sit on the porch steps. At ten thirty, he went inside, grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen counter and checked the display. No missed calls, no voicemails, no texts. By eleven, he’d left a voicemail on Virginia’s phone and then sent a text. When eleven thirty came and went, with no response to any of his messages, including the additional text message he sent, he gave in to the worry gnawing at his gut, and got in the Jeep.
Falling for the Enemy Page 14