IN BED WITH BOONE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She considered wadding the card into a ball and tossing it, but instead, found herself playing with the business card the way she sometimes played with her pearls. Once, when she flicked the card between two fingers, she caught a glimpse of blue ink on the back side of the card. She flipped the card over.

  "You're amazing," it read. "If you ever need anything, call me."

  Jayne folded her fingers over the card. Amazing. No one had ever called her amazing before. She looked out on the passing city streets and smiled.

  * * *

  Over coffee in an out-of-the-way café not far from where Dean had dropped him off, Boone told Del and Shock everything they needed to know about what had happened and what was to come. No more. As far as they were concerned, Jayne was simply a complication. She was Miss Barrington the senator's daughter, who'd just happened to wind up where she didn't belong. She was a hands-off kind of woman, and she was out of their league. True enough.

  "I would love to bring in Gurza," Shock said. "Man, that would be like putting handcuffs on the bogeyman." The little guy was a bit too excited, which was normal for him.

  Del was more skeptical. "There's still no concrete proof. A single letter, a few ramblings by criminals looking to put the blame on someone else…"

  "A missing kid," Boone added.

  Del shrugged. "I'm not making light of the situation, but the kid's your problem, not ours."

  Boone leaned back in his seat. He liked Del, and he even liked Shock. He trusted them both, which was why they were here, instead of the agents who normally worked this jurisdiction. Like him, Del and Shock were based out of Birmingham.

  And he was still tempted to walk out of here and finish the job on his own. But he kept hearing Jayne's urgent Please in the dark. "All I want you to do is get Darryl and his boys out of the way for a few days," he said. "I have everything you need to arrest them and then some. A quick raid, you toss them in jail, and they're out of my hair."

  "We'll have to bring the locals in," Del said.

  "Then do it."

  Del took a long swallow of coffee. When he set his mug on the table, he directed his curious eyes at Boone. "The senator's daughter looks like she can be a real pain in the ass."

  "Uh-huh," Boone mumbled.

  "Pretty enough, though," he added with a smile. "For that type."

  Boone couldn't help himself. "What type is that?" Immediately he knew he shouldn't have asked. Wilder was having way too much fun with this.

  "The type that'll take you to a dinner where they give you twelve forks, and you're supposed to know which one to eat what with." Del's eyes positively twinkled.

  "Oh, man, I hate it when that happens," Shock grumbled.

  Del wasn't finished. "The type that always looks like a proper lady, even when she's wearing a T-shirt with some stupid saying on the front."

  That was Jayne, Boone conceded silently.

  Del's grin widened. "The type that, when she gets pissed off, instead of telling you what she really thinks, tells you your hairstyle is out of fashion."

  "That type," Boone said tightly.

  Del laughed. "You are in so much trouble."

  "Can we just stick to business?" Boone snapped.

  Shock leaned over the table and grinned. "When you're finished with Gurza, can we have him? Pretty please?"

  Boone stood and tossed a bill onto the table. "If there's anything left, he's all yours."

  * * *

  Jayne leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes. The water was so hot it steamed and turned her skin pink. This was heavenly.

  It had taken her much too long to get to the tub. She'd honored Boone's request and steered clear of the media. It hadn't been easy. Dean had helped her with the necessary short interview with the police. He'd quickly gotten rid of the much-too-interested police and sheriff's deputies with the edict that this was a federal case. The locals had persisted, but when Dean had stared them down and given them a no-nonsense "Miss Barrington will not be answering any more of your questions tonight," they'd backed off. Maybe Dean had more in common with his little brother Boone than was immediately apparent.

  The hotel was now screening Jayne's phone calls for her, after she'd had to handle a few on her own, and security had cleared the hallway of reporters at her insistent request. As soon as she'd found herself alone, she went straight to the phone. The ensuing conversations—with her father in D.C., then her mother and grandmother in Mississippi and then her father again—had been long and a little tearful. All had gone well, until her father had insisted that she return home immediately. She'd told him she wasn't ready, and when he'd questioned her, she'd said she wanted to spend a week in bed.

  It was the truth. Problem was, she didn't want to spend that week alone…

  Her father had threatened to fly out and collect her, but she'd asked him not to, first citing that he was needed in D.C., then telling him that she wanted to be alone for a while.

  Just as the water began to cool, a sharp knock sounded on her door. Jayne smiled as she left the tub and grabbed the large terry-cloth hotel robe from a handy bathroom hook. Boone. She belted the robe tightly as she ran to answer the knock. When she peeked through the peephole, though, she was sorely disappointed.

  "Pamela," she said as she opened the door. "Come in."

  Pamela gave Jayne an overly dramatic hug before continuing into the room.

  Her hotel room in Flagstaff was nothing like the motel where she and Boone had stayed last night. This room was actually a suite, with a large bathroom, a living room complete with sofa, tables, a desk, two fat chairs and a small bar, and a plushly carpeted bedroom. The king-size bed was adorned with half-a-dozen fat pillows.

  It was elegant and extravagant, and right now it was also very lonely.

  "Thank God you're all right!" Pamela said as she walked to the couch and collapsed. "You sounded fine on the phone, but I just had to see for myself."

  "I'm doing great, all things considered," Jayne said, curling up in a chair and tucking her feet beneath her.

  "You look tired," Pamela said kindly.

  "I am."

  She couldn't tell anyone about Boone, not ever. Pamela was her friend, but she wouldn't understand. She certainly couldn't tell her mother. Everyone else … everyone else was likely to sell the story to some journalist who would make a stink that might damage her father's political career—and Boone's business, too. He was her secret, her deepest, darkest, most wonderful secret.

  "Jim is anxious to see you," Pamela said with a huge smile. "He said we should come by his apartment tonight. He can't really get out since he's still recuperating."

  Jayne's heart sank. Jim was recuperating from a scratch and a fainting spell, to hear Boone tell it. "I can't."

  Pamela's smile died. "But Jim was so certain that you two, you know, were really hitting it off before … the incident."

  Telling Pamela that Jim was a moron wasn't going to help matters any. "I just can't see him without being reminded of what happened," she explained. "Right now I don't think I could handle that."

  Pamela nodded, and her eyes went hard. "Jayne, did they hurt you?" she asked.

  "No," Jayne said quickly, giving her friend a smile of assurance. "I was just scared for a while, that's all."

  "How did you get away?"

  Jayne wanted to trust Pamela, she really did, but she didn't trust anyone with this. If word got out, Boone might be in danger. He was in enough trouble as it was. "I really don't want to talk about it," she said. "Not now. I'm here and fine and that's all that matters."

  "You're right," Pamela said, nodding. "Nothing else matters. Come to dinner tomorrow night," she said. "I'll make that Shrimp Divine you like so much."

  Jayne was tempted to say yes, just to have something to do, something to take her mind off Boone. Why did she have the sinking feeling that Jim would show up before dessert? "I'd better not. I need a few more days."

  Jayne settled back and let her friend do most of
the talking. Pamela talked about how brave Jim was—gag—and then she started talking about her family. This was the part of the conversation Jayne enjoyed. She snuggled beneath the terry robe and listened as Pamela raved about her kids. A boy and a girl, four and two years old, respectively. They were beautiful, they were smart, and most of all they were filled with unconditional love. Pamela's husband, his friendship with Jim aside, seemed to be a really good guy. He was, after all, baby-sitting tonight while Pamela checked on her friend.

  Jayne wanted all that—the unconditional love especially. The problem was, until she'd met Boone, every relationship or potential relationship had come with too many strings attached. Boone was the only man she'd ever met who didn't look at her and see a political connection. He looked at her and saw a woman, and for that she would always love him, a little.

  When she walked Pamela to the door and said good-night, Jayne wondered, with a shiver, where Boone was at that moment. When the phone rang, she couldn't help but wonder, Is it him? She ran to answer.

  * * *

  Boone stood on the opposite side of the road in shadow, while Del, Shock and a contingent of locals stormed the shack. It was almost dawn, a good time to catch the dealers asleep and unprepared.

  It wouldn't do for any of the men in that shack to see Boone—their Richard Becker—with the cops. No matter what Jayne said, this wasn't over. It couldn't be. He didn't have the time to go up against Darryl and the boys, and this house-cleaning would mean starting over, dammit. But what choice did he have?

  Waiting was hell. Especially since while he waited, he kept thinking about Jayne. He wasn't supposed to think about her. She was over, done, one night he should be able to dismiss without a second thought. If her memory lingered, it was because she was different from the other women he'd known, that was all.

  Minutes passed, minutes that ticked by too slowly. He had to consider the possibility that Darryl had gotten smart and cleared out, along with the stash of drugs Boone had told the DEA agents was there.

  Finally the sheriff's deputies led out two handcuffed, squalling young men. Doug and Marty did not go easily or quietly.

  Another deputy followed, gingerly carrying a bag of evidence. Drugs, probably. If that small bag was it, then Darryl had managed to get most of the stuff out.

  A few minutes later, Del came to the door of the shack and gave Boone the high sign. Apparently Darryl was not at home this morning. Boone cursed as he headed for the side door.

  "Not much," Del said as Boone approached. "But enough to hold those two for a while. If they'll give us Darryl, maybe we can—"

  "They won't," Boone said. If nothing else, the boys were terrified of Darryl. And rightly so.

  What a mess. Darryl had left the boys here as what—bait? A test to see if they were raided? Maybe he'd convinced Doug and Marty that Jayne wouldn't be able to provide decent directions to the shack, and that Becker wouldn't. No man who valued his hide would go up against Darryl and Gurza.

  He entered the familiar kitchen and then walked into the living room. Nothing had changed in a day. Nothing except the addition of Darryl's new television, which sat on the TV stand, bright and shiny and stolen. The local cops would have to see about finding the rightful owner.

  Boone stopped and raked his fingers through his hair. Now what? Without Darryl he had nothing on Gurza. Absolutely nothing. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Jayne that he'd start over if he had to. But how? With Darryl out there somewhere, starting over became much more dangerous.

  He didn't have any choice.

  From the back of the house, Shock whined, "You guys better come look at this."

  Boone ran, following the sound of Shock's tinny voice. The agent had called from the bedroom that had been Boone's for a few harrowing weeks. Wilder was right behind him.

  When Boone walked into the room and found Shock standing over the bed, his heart lurched. When he followed the agent's gaze to the mattress, his vision blurred and his stomach roiled.

  A small, satiny piece of lingerie—Jayne's slip—had been sliced in two and tossed across the end of the bed. Her blouse, the one they'd left behind because it had been too damp to wear and too bulky to fit inconspicuously in a pocket, was spread neatly across the middle of the bed. A knife with a six-inch handle—Darryl's knife—had been driven through the blouse and into the mattress.

  "This is creepy," Shock muttered.

  Boone almost knocked Del down running for the door.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  No wonder Jim had gotten lost on his way to Corbin Marsh's vacation home. The town car Jayne rode in now had made several turns, and presently they drove down a narrow highway that wound through the middle of nowhere. The road was bracketed on either side by wide plains, red rocks and scruffy little bushes. Already they were more than an hour out of Flagstaff.

  It had been her idea to have Marsh's driver pick her up at the hotel at a very early hour. She wanted to avoid running into reporters who might be waiting in the lobby, and an early getaway seemed like a good idea. The driver, a solidly built man with very little neck and even less hair who looked like he was five pounds away from bursting out of his uniform, had introduced himself as Harvey. Harvey didn't talk much.

  The call from Marsh inviting her to spend a few days at his isolated home had been just what she needed last night. Well, if it couldn't have been Boone on the phone, this was the next best thing. No reporters, no Jim, no big empty hotel room. She could turn her mind back to the business that had brought her to Arizona—drumming up support for her father—and get her mind off of a long-haired foul-mouthed bully who just happened to be a gorgeous hunk of a man and a fabulous lover.

  It should be easy to dismiss Boone as a meaningless one-night stand, but she couldn't. Like it or not, he meant something to her and always would. Somehow she had to get past that. She had to put him out of her mind once and for all. Why was that so difficult?

  She couldn't say she believed in love at first sight, and she'd definitely not fallen in love with Boone when she'd first laid eyes on him. She'd been terrified. But even then, she'd known he was the one she could rely on to protect her. Her instincts hadn't failed her completely. When had she known he was really and truly different? That she felt something more than gratitude for him?

  Jayne knew, without a doubt, when that moment had come. She'd jumped, and he'd caught her. She'd leaped from a cliff ledge, trusting that Boone would catch her. Her life had been in his hands, and she had felt safe. Somehow she knew that Boone would always catch her when she fell. Not always, she amended sadly. They didn't have always.

  Exhausted, she napped in the car, resting her head against the seat and dozing fitfully. When she opened her eyes, the car was on the slightly winding approach to a sprawling Spanish-style house. She couldn't help but smile. It was a lovely place and suited the landscape surrounding it. The stucco walls were a very pale pink, the plants that grew along the borders of the house were typical of this part of the country—jagged and tough. The house was at once elegant and simple, if you could call a U-shaped home that was surely seven or eight thousand square feet "simple."

  The town car pulled around the circular driveway to let Jayne out at the front door. Before she could step from the car, the double front doors opened, and Corbin Marsh met her with a gleaming smile.

  "Miss Barrington," he said as he practically danced toward her. His loose-fitting beige pants and the sleeves of a matching shirt swayed as he approached. "I'm so happy you decided to accept my hospitality."

  Jayne offered her hand for a shake. It was quickly sandwiched between both of Marsh's eager hands. "Jayne," she said.

  Marsh gave her another dazzling smile. "Delighted." He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

  Jayne was accustomed to men who tried to dazzle her with charm, but Marsh was in a league all his own. According to his bio, he was forty-five, but he could pass for ten years younger.
His pale-brown hair was just a little bit long, covering his ears and almost touching his collar, and his eyes were an interesting pale blue. He had a quick, utterly enchanting smile that brought out the laugh lines around his eyes. His clothes were downright baggy, and still he looked like a man who worked out regularly. Something about the way he held himself and the strength in his hands.

  He was handsome enough, she supposed. He might have been a movie star, instead of a producer. The only feature on his face that was less than perfect was his nose, which was just a little too long and narrow.

  She'd been expecting someone like her father, she supposed, since Marsh was only five years younger than the senator from Mississippi. Maybe agreeing to stay here hadn't been such a good idea…

  Nonsense. Corbin Marsh was interested in supporting her father politically, nothing more.

  He led her into the house while Harvey collected her bags from the trunk.

  "I want you to relax while you're a guest in my home," Marsh said. "I feel just terrible that you experienced such trouble while you were on your way here. I should have sent a car for you that night. If I had, you wouldn't have found yourself in such a predicament."

  "What happened is certainly not your fault," she said. Jim had been the one to insist that he could drive her to Marsh's and back. Moron.

  Harvey, who had no trouble carrying her three bags, came into the house and closed the door behind him. Marsh glanced over his shoulder. "The blue room in the north wing," he instructed. The driver nodded and carried the bags off.

  Marsh took Jayne's arm and guided her through the foyer, into the hallway where Harvey had carried her bags and onward. They walked down a long hallway that ended in a large dining room, lit by sunlight streaming through a floor-to-ceiling window. It was a warm welcoming room, not at all imposing as many formal dining rooms were.