Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41)

by Jamie Denton

  The knots that had been in her stomach since she’d unlocked her car less than twenty-four hours ago tightened once again. “What is it?” she asked him, her entire body filling with dread. She read the news ticker as he’d instructed. More information on the typhoon in the Philippines, followed by a blip about the World Series games starting the following week.

  Her picture flashed on the screen. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “This can’t be real.”

  Jared slipped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s real enough, sweetheart.”

  The practiced seriousness of the anchorman’s voice barely penetrated Peyton’s surprise at seeing her photograph being broadcast over the cable news program. She caught phrases such as, “Wanted for questioning,” “Material witness,” “Use extreme caution” and “Believed connection to an unsolved murder.”

  The latter phrase spurred clips from the investigation into the deaths of Santiago and Dysert, followed by another clip of Jared, who’d been interviewed after an arrest he instigated a few years ago made headlines and led to a commendation.

  “Anyone with information is asked to contact the FBI,” the anchorman stated before offering a toll free number.

  Jared tucked his finger beneath Peyton’s chin and raised her face toward his. “Are you okay?” he asked. Compassion filled his green eyes as he looked down at her. “I know this is rough on you.”

  She looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “Okay? I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

  “You will, Peyton,” he said, then placed a gentle kiss across her lips. “I promise you.”

  How could she trust him when he’d let her down before? How could she not trust him when he was the only one who believed her not guilty of crimes she didn’t commit?

  “Let’s go,” she said suddenly. Needing distance emotionally and physically, she pulled away from him and stood. She couldn’t think straight when he went all sweet and tender on her.

  “Have a burning need to get the hell out of Virginia?” he asked. The lightness of his tone didn’t fool her. Not with worry clouding his compelling gaze.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and plucked her briefcase from beside the chair. “No, I think it’s more like a burning desire to stay alive.”

  7

  SUNNY MACGREGOR became a federal agent for one reason, and one reason only—because she loved to solve complex puzzles. And since she could barely manage to balance her checkbook without getting into trouble, a career using math or science had been out of the question. Since joining the bureau, she’d quickly learned that her skills went beyond basic problem solving.

  Most agents dreaded what they called dead work, but she loved stakeouts, surveillance and paper trails. She could read through reams of investigative files on some of the bureau’s most wanted criminals like most people read the latest legal thriller. On those rare opportunities when she was allowed to go undercover, she’d discovered she had a knack for that type of work, as well, and could easily slip into any persona required of her to do her job. Her biggest thrill came from being the agent to discover the single shred of evidence, no matter how small or insignificant, that resulted in a bust. Solving a puzzle like that was a high unsurpassed by anything else, in her book.

  She pressed the End Call button on the cordless phone and stared at it, not quite sure whether she was dreaming or not. She glanced down at her breakfast, growing cold on the dinette table near the sliding glass door overlooking the small balcony of her miniscule third-floor apartment. The call had been real enough, and shocking.

  Receiving work-related calls at home was nothing new or unusual, except this one came directly from Vivien Kent, the bureau’s assistant director. That fact alone had sent Sunny’s investigative instincts into high alert. Why would AD Kent be calling her at home to give her an assignment? Sunny had been only one of two or three hundred agents who performed intensive background checks on presidential appointees going before the Senate Judicial Committee for approval on several occasions. Those type of assignments always came from her direct supervisor, handed down from his direct supervisor, Gibson Russell. If there was one thing the bureau adhered to, it was the chain of command. So why had Ms. Kent personally contacted Sunny and instructed her to report directly to her? It was downright strange, as far as Sunny was concerned.

  But an order was an order, and she’d definitely just gotten hers. The bureau had received word from the Judicial Committee chair, Senator Martin Phipps, that first thing Monday morning, the president would announce the appointment of Theodore James Galloway to fill the opening left on the Supreme Court by the retiring Justice Elliot. Kent had called Sunny at home to give her the assignment of conducting the standard background investigation on the presidential appointee. A normal assignment surrounded by a cloak of mystery.

  Sunny could blindly accept her assignment and not think about the whys behind the method, but her parents, from the peace-and-love generation of the sixties, had taught her to question everything. Just how did one question the second in command of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?

  With no easy answers to satisfy her natural sense of curiosity, Sunny returned to her poached egg, twelve-grain toast and the cable edition of the midmorning news.

  Maybe it was her attention to detail, she thought. Her superiors often commented on it. She would’ve made a great lawyer, except the thought of more schooling than absolutely necessary gave her hives. She’d even hoped to avoid further education altogether and had joined the Coast Guard for a two-year tour of duty, but once she’d discovered her life’s calling, the no-college option had been quickly eliminated. The best way to satisfy her need for solving puzzles was to become a federal agent, and unfortunately, that had required four years of college for a degree in criminal justice with a psychology minor.

  She’d really wanted to be a part of the Behavioral Sciences Unit, but as yet, she was still earning her way through fieldwork. Still, what better job for a natural-born problem solver than an FBI profiler?

  Although she’d never been the best of students, she’d still put her G.I. Bill to work and struggled through classes, maintaining a barely acceptable grade point average, but enough for her to gain acceptance into the bureau’s training program at Quantico.

  That’s when Sunny had found her stride.

  A quasi-reformed tomboy, she’d found joining the bureau the best possible career choice for a girl who liked to get her hands dirty. Besides, where else could a twenty-seven-year-old woman get paid to wear blue jeans to work, not have to spend a small fortune having her straight, shoulder-length blond hair done or her makeup perfectly applied to an only passably pretty face? Oh, sure, her closet contained the requisite blue suits that were the standard uniform for any FBI agent, but thankfully those were reserved for cases that were simply investigative in nature, such as the one AD Kent had just assigned her.

  Sunny finished off her toast and was considering indulging in a second slice when the television picture changed. She stopped and stared at the official bureau photograph of former superagent Jared Romine. Although she’d never worked directly with Special Agent Romine, she knew of him, and not just because of his alleged crimes. He’d been one hell of an agent, someone she had looked up to and could only hope to ever be half as good as.

  The screen changed again, adding a photograph of a woman Sunny recognized from the few occasions she’d been called to testify in court. Justice Department Counsel Peyton Douglas, and if rumors were to be believed, Romine’s former live-in lover.

  Her natural curiosity piqued a second time, and Sunny hung on to the reporter’s every word. The piece started out with the usual rundown of the murders of Senator Phipps’s aide, Roland Santiago, and the bureau’s own Special Agent Dysert. Romine was not only their prime suspect, but now it appeared that Ms. Douglas had been implicated in Romine’s crimes, as well. Both were wanted for questioning.

  Something about the Romine case had always
bothered Sunny, but she could never quite put her finger on the problem. Although she hadn’t been assigned the task of tracking down one of their own, if she’d been allowed the time, she knew she could figure out why the case didn’t sit right with her. The Romine case was a puzzle of legendary status.

  By the time she finished her breakfast, showered and prepared to leave for a lazy Saturday afternoon at her parents’ small horse ranch in Virginia, she still hadn’t been able to shake the niggle of doubt the Romine case was stirring in her mind, or her unease of being personally handpicked by AD Kent. But Sunny loved puzzles. As she made her way down three flights of stairs to the carport, she realized she now had two to keep her mind occupied.

  IN BETWEEN WORRIES and concerns over the events of the last twenty-four hours, Peyton knew her primary focus should be centered on her immediate future. As they made their way from Roanoke into Pittsburgh early Sunday morning, she couldn’t seem to get her mind off Jared and how sexy he’d looked wearing only that towel. Hard. Sleek. And way too tempting for her to find anything remotely close to peace of mind. Unfortunately, the cute little smile he’d tossed her way demanded equal attention. And there was no way she could possibly forget about that sweet, tender kiss he’d brushed over her lips back in the motel room.

  She definitely had a problem. Those kinds of thoughts were sure to classify her as a candidate for the funny farm. She couldn’t even say the lights were on, let alone anyone home.

  Avoidance, she thought, and gave a sigh of cautious relief. That’s what all these naughty thoughts were—her mind’s way of avoiding the fear threatening to choke her. Like the way she avoided mundane, boring tasks. No difference whatsoever in how she’d rather wade through pounds of investigative reports than dictate page-line summaries from depositions in preparation for trial. Or cleaning toilets, for that matter. Now there was a chore she absolutely detested. Ironing underwear would be a hundred times more preferable than scrubbing a toilet, and Lord knew how much she hated ironing.

  The only problem was, in avoiding all those little unpleasant chores, she was now living a way of life that was completely foreign to her, one that included twenty-four-hour jeopardy. A life that required complete dependence on her ability to focus and concentrate on events unraveling faster than a kitten who’d discovered a ball of yarn still attached to a sweater in progress.

  She needed to do something—move around, take a short walk, anything. The long hours in the Expedition were getting to her. She’d attempted sleep, but other than an hour here and there, real slumber remained elusive. Truth be told, she couldn’t close her eyes without revisiting the image of Jared’s naked body, that smile or his sweet, tender kiss. Nor could she muster the strength to quash the erupting fantasies. Like what would have happened if she’d gotten out of bed and flicked that towel away from his body.

  The possibilities were endless, and would have been oh so satisfying.

  She let out another gusty sigh. She didn’t have bats in her belfry. Oh, no, Peyton Douglas’s belfry housed snow geese. Big ones, with enormous flapping wings that created even more confusion to her already jumbled thoughts.

  What she couldn’t quite figure out, however, was how all of these illicit thoughts were even possible, not just because of her current situation, but because of her engagement to Leland.

  She leaned back against the headrest and attempted to focus her attention on him. He was a good man. A man who deserved better than a fiancée who harbored erotic fantasies about another man.

  Leland was driven. Ambitious. Thoughtful and caring. Not to mention understanding, especially of her past with Jared. Leland had admitted he couldn’t quite fathom the attraction, considering she and Jared were such opposites.

  Since when had love or animal lust ever made sense?

  Jared had always been more outgoing, not afraid of anything and always willing to try new things, even if he did tend to keep his emotions in check. In comparison, she tended to analyze a situation to death before acting.

  But hadn’t that been part of the attraction? she wondered. The fact that they were opposites? It certainly hadn’t meant she’d loved him any less. Yes, Jared was exciting. He always had been, while Leland tended to be more like her—analytical, never taking a step without viewing it from all angles. Come to think of it, compared to Leland, she could be considered downright impulsive.

  She tried to imagine Leland’s smile. All her mind’s eye would allow was the sexy tilt of Jared’s mouth.

  She closed her eyes and attempted to conjure Leland’s image. Instead of his perfectly trimmed brown hair and rich brown eyes, she saw Jared’s vibrant green gaze filled with heated passion.

  In a vain attempt to shake the traitorous thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on Leland’s kisses. Her body heated as she relived the wild, erotic kiss she had shared with Jared back in the D.C. motel room.

  Her eyes flew open as a horrible thought pricked her conscience. What if Kellie was right? Could she have agreed to marry Leland to avoid a roller coaster of emotion, like she’d once had with Jared? What if she was playing it safe by agreeing to become Leland’s wife? Could her subconscious be trying to tell her that what she really wanted wasn’t beige, after all, but a lifetime of red-hot and sexy?

  Sex with Leland wasn’t exactly boring, she silently argued on his behalf. Just because he wasn’t the experimental type didn’t mean he couldn’t please her—some of the time. So what if they’d never shared the intense pleasure of oral sex, or something a little more adventurous than making love in a bed? Just because Leland didn’t approve of what he termed nontraditional sex didn’t mean her marriage was doomed. Nor did it mean Jared’s prediction held any merit, either.

  Or did it?

  Would marriage to Leland have her screaming from boredom, in and out of the bedroom, in less than a year?

  Answers that had rolled easily off her tongue twenty-four hours ago suddenly weren’t so readily available.

  She tried to convince herself that her jumbled thoughts were only a result of the confusion of her current situation. Her world had been turned upside down, emotionally as well as physically. All her silly notions about Jared and the fantasy of flicking away that scrap of terry cloth were nothing more than a product of immense stress. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her relationship with Leland. She was only confused because the uncertainty of her future was tangled up in fear. Especially her immediate future.

  Maybe, she thought, after pulling in a deep breath that failed to calm her.

  Or maybe not.

  It was the maybe not that had her worried. When was the last time she’d been anxious to rid Leland of a towel? Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember ever having seen him wearing anything more daring than a silk robe during those times when she had stayed the night at his place.

  When had she ever allowed her mind to wander into erotic territory with Leland in the starring role of the seduced? She frowned. Or the seducer, for that matter? Her thoughts of Leland, or fantasies, if she could call them that, were so…so practical. They were spun in terms of their future together, not mind-blowing sexual escapades. A weekend house in the country versus the joys of a painter’s tarp and baby oil. Dressing for an elegant evening at any one of the many dinner parties he was invited to attend, as opposed to undressing him with her mind for a night of seduction and pleasure. Purchasing something practical, like a lawn mower or microwave oven versus splurging on a Herme’s scarf to use as a blindfold for the sole purpose of heightened sexual pleasure.

  Beige versus red-hot and sexy.

  Oh, God.

  Had she learned nothing in the last three years? Had the pain and heartbreak she’d suffered been so traumatic that her subconscious had buried the real Peyton Douglas so deep she no longer recognized her true self? She was no stranger to loss, but when Jared ran, the pain had been horrendous, followed by even more heartache that had run deeper, reaching inside and tearing out more than her heart. Her soul ha
d been ripped to shreds.

  Peyton had no intention of repeating history. Not only did she need to regain control of her life, she desperately needed to get a grip on reality. And her reality was Leland and the calm, sedate, predictable life they would lead together. She needed to speak to him. Once she did, she’d be able to shed all these ridiculous notions that were making her doubt her choices. The right choices.

  Hearing Leland’s voice would reassure and calm her. Once she spoke to him, she’d be able to put everything back into proper perspective. She was only reacting to the intense emotional stress of everything going on around her, colored and confused by her past with Jared, spurred by his abrupt reappearance in her life.

  With that thought firmly planted in her mind, she shifted on the seat to face Jared, more to relieve the ache in her bottom from hours of sitting than anything else. “I need to get out of this car,” she told him firmly. “Find me a motel room. A rest stop. Something. If I don’t move around soon, I’ll go nuts.” She didn’t bother to mention she’d already managed to convince herself she’d had to a visit to Crazy.

  Next stop, Lunacy.

  He glanced quickly in her direction, then returned his attention to the interstate. “Do you want to drive for a while? We’ve got at least another twelve hours until we reach Maine.”

  “No,” she stated emphatically. “I want to see what’s on the news, or at least check out the newspapers. They’ve had almost eight hours to come up with more lies, and I want—no, I need to see for myself what’s happening.”

  What she really needed was to feel as if she had some sort of control. The helplessness and inactivity were getting to her. She didn’t bother to mention she planned to call Leland using her cell phone. She had no idea where to find him, but she could at least leave a message on his answering machine, letting him know she was okay and telling him not to believe whatever he might read in the papers or see on television.