He and Marsh had nothing in common and nothing much to talk about when Jayne was absent. Except, of course, Jayne. Even this afternoon, when Marsh had started asking Boone questions about possible shooting locations in Alabama, the conversation had quickly turned to the senator's lovely daughter.
Boone couldn't quite figure out Marsh's interest in her. It didn't seem personal. If that was the case, the producer hid his intentions well. He seemed almost amused by the idea of Jayne and Boone together. Never jealous, just a little bit too interested. More often than not, the conversation turned to Jayne's relationship with her father. Marsh was obviously out to build a relationship of his own with the senator.
It made a twisted kind of sense when Boone thought about it. Marsh was working with Gurza. He was doing his best to associate himself with a U.S. senator, create some financial and social ties. When it came time for a favor, the senator would be put in a very bad position.
Senator Barrington, would you like to help us out of this jam, or would you like it known that your last campaign was financed in part with drug money?
When Jayne walked into the living room where Boone and an antsy Marsh waited, time seemed to stop.
No woman should be able to do this to him, Boone thought almost angrily. Jayne wore a calf-length sleeveless white dress, white heels and those pearls around her neck. She wore makeup she didn't need, but not too much of it. She was classy and artlessly seductive, and she too easily crawled beneath his skin.
He couldn't believe she'd actually invited him to Mississippi for Sunday dinner. Where he came from, an invitation to Sunday dinner was serious business. He wanted her; every now and then he actually thought he needed her. But Sunday dinner with the family? No way.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," she said with a smile.
Marsh rose to his feet. "Not at all. But I do believe dinner is ready. It's such a lovely evening that I asked Benita to serve us in the courtyard." With a wave of his hand he indicated that it was time to go.
Boone reached Jayne before Marsh did and offered her his arm. "You look good," he said softly.
"Thank you." She held on to his arm just a little bit too tightly as they walked toward the courtyard.
Jayne was scared. She would never admit it, and she wasn't scared enough to run, but she was definitely scared.
And still she stayed. That was real bravery, to his way of thinking. When a woman did what was right even though she was scared half out of her mind, that was courage. Jayne wasn't equipped for this kind of thing. She wasn't trained for undercover investigation. Almost unconsciously he gave her an encouraging comforting squeeze.
The courtyard had been suitably lit for the evening ahead. The illumination came from a couple of well-placed lamps, the moon, lights in the fountain and a few candles. When Jayne asked about Drew, Marsh informed her that his nephew had eaten earlier. This was an evening for the adults.
Music drifted from hidden speakers. The candles flickered. The fountain misted and gurgled, and a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of hearty plants. The wine was good, the meal—served by Benita and her young assistant—was tasty, and through it all Boone saw nothing but Jayne.
And that was very dangerous for a man in his position. Being blinded by anything, especially a woman, could get him killed.
As if to prove his point, Harvey wandered into Boone's line of vision on the other side of a large window. How long had the man been watching? All the while, no doubt.
Dinner talk was politics and movies, a conversation Jayne and Marsh both participated in eagerly. Boone made the occasional comment, but for the most part he silently pondered the mess his life had become.
When the meal was finished and an awkward silence filled the air, Jayne turned her eyes to Boone and offered her hand. "Dance with me?"
He took her hand and stood, and she rose with him. "I'm not very good."
"I bet that's not true."
Fortunately the music that drifted from the speakers was slow, though it had a Latin beat that was anything but dull.
He took Jayne in his arms and they began to move. They knew each other well. There was no awkwardness in the way they moved, no hesitation. He led and she followed. Her body fit against his as if it had been made for him. Nothing in the world felt so good, smelled so fine. They remained silent as he gradually danced her toward the fountain, and Boone was glad of the silence. It gave him a moment to simply hold Jayne. He was afraid that holding Jayne was a pleasure he wouldn't be able to enjoy much longer. Yeah, he was definitely in over his head.
"Tonight?" she whispered in his ear as they danced by the fountain.
He nuzzled her neck and nibbled on her earlobe. "Just before dawn. I'm going to have to get to my truck. Otherwise we're on our own, and without a weapon we could be in serious trouble."
"What about Lacey?"
"If she wants to come along, she can. If not, we'll have to leave her behind. I won't drag her out of here against her will."
"Good enough."
The music ended and they stopped dancing. Boone backed up a step and took Jayne's face in his hands, brushed his thumbs over her cheeks and lowered his head for a quick kiss. "If we get out of here in one piece," he said as he slowly took his mouth from hers. "I'm going to tan your hide."
"Okay," she whispered.
"I mean it, Jayne." There was a warning in his voice as he put his mouth to her ear. "If you get hurt, if things go wrong…"
"Boone," she whispered softly, "look at me."
He stared into her eyes. She wasn't as afraid now as she had been earlier. She was calm. Serene. And as he looked at her, she mouthed the words I love you.
* * *
Boone abruptly led her back to the table where an amused Marsh waited. "Cigarettes," he said sharply. "I left a pack in the glove compartment." Jayne sat, but Boone remained standing. "I noticed that you had someone move my truck," he said to Corbin. "Where is it?"
"In the garage," Corbin said. "I'll have Harvey collect your cigarettes, but I will have to insist that you not smoke in the house."
"I can get my own damn cigarettes," Boone snapped.
Jayne sighed. Obviously she shouldn't have been so open about what was on her mind. Apparently Boone didn't want her to love him. Well, too bad. She did and he needed her, whether he realized it or not.
Daddy would take some convincing, she supposed, and Mother would be horrified at first. Grandmother would love Boone as she did, though. The woman had a knack of seeing right through people at first meeting.
Corbin had Harvey lead Boone to the garage, leaving the two of them alone.
"You two make an interesting couple," Corbin said as soon as Boone was gone.
"I suppose we do," Jayne admitted.
"Watching you dance, I could tell that you and Boone are … close."
"Oh," Jayne said. "Where are my manners? Would you like to dance?"
Corbin waved off her offer with a dismissive hand and a shake of his head. "No, thank you."
Just as well. Dancing with Boone had been wonderful. The same simple steps with Corbin Marsh would surely be awkward. There was a moment of strained silence, and then Corbin set his eyes on her in a calculating way.
"I could help you, you know."
"With what?"
Corbin smiled. "A haircut, a nice suit, a few lessons on decorum, and Boone could be whipped into shape so that the senator won't be … unpleasantly surprised when they meet. It wouldn't be any different from preparing a green actor for a new role. I assume Boone and your father will be meeting soon," he added.
"Yes, but … no," Jayne said. "Yes, they will be meeting soon, but I don't want Boone to change. I don't want him to cut his hair and dress differently and pretend to be someone he's not. I adore him just the way he is. Daddy will learn to love him."
Corbin's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "I doubt that very much."
"You don't know my father like I do." It was true. If Boone made her happy, her
father would eventually accept him.
"I didn't mean to make an unwanted and unpleasant suggestion," Corbin said, reaching for his wine. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"
"Good idea."
Jayne's eyes flitted to the door. She didn't like having Boone so far away, not even for a few minutes. She felt safer when he was beside her. And more … real. How was she supposed to chitchat with Corbin as if nothing was going on? What choice did she have?
"Do you have a birthmark?" Marsh asked without warning.
The question caught Jayne by surprise. She blushed warmly, opened her mouth to answer, then closed it without saying a word. No matter how she tried, she couldn't come up with a proper way to tell Corbin Marsh that she had a birthmark on her rear end.
He lifted a hand, palm out. "Never mind. It's just that Drew has a small reddish mark on his side, and I had heard that sometimes they fade. I was simply curious."
"I do have a birthmark," Jayne finally confided. "And it has not faded one bit."
"Is it red?" Corbin asked, seemingly only casually interested.
"No, it's…" Jayne blushed again. "I'd really rather not talk about my birthmark if you don't mind."
Corbin leaned back in his chair and smiled like a man who knew something he should not.
* * *
Everything was set. As set as it was going to get, anyway. Boone had been taken to the truck, which was locked in a large separate garage, and then cursed for Harvey's benefit when he'd found no cigarettes in the glove compartment.
The lock on the garage door was electronic and would be tough to get past, but the latch on the back door to that same garage would be easy to work when the time came.
He couldn't sit still. His heart pounded. His fingers danced. Boone's anxiety had nothing to do with the plan to get Drew and Jayne—and maybe Lacey—out of here. It had everything to do with those three little words Jayne had mouthed in the courtyard.
He tried to tell himself that she'd been pretending. But the sad truth was, when she'd mouthed those words to him, her back had been to Marsh and Harvey. There had been no one else to see.
When they got out of here, the break was going to have to be quick and fast. She'd go back to her life, and he'd go back to his. He wanted to tell her so, but right now he couldn't. She sat up in bed, sweet as sugar in her white nightgown, and he paced the room restlessly. He couldn't say a damn thing, because someone was listening.
Control. He could not afford to lose control. Not now.
"Boone, honey," she said softly, "come to bed."
He glared at her and shook his head. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't touch her. Not anymore. It didn't matter that when he looked at her, he ached. That when he'd first met her, he'd thought she was cute, and somewhere along the way she'd become the most beautiful, the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. Jayne was confused, and if he wasn't careful, he'd be next.
He needed to tell her that what she was feeling wasn't real. It was a combination of gratitude, lust and adrenaline. If he sometimes felt himself growing attached to her, it was for the same reasons. He would probably always remember her, think about her, but they didn't have anything lasting and—heaven forbid—permanent.
And all he could do was stand here and pace and scowl at her.
He couldn't take it anymore. He crossed the room, dropped down by the bedside table and yanked the bug from the underside. It was wireless and had been attached with some kind of lightweight adhesive.
He shook a finger at Jayne. "Lock the door behind me. I'll be right back."
Jayne scrambled from the bed to do as she was told. As he stormed down the hallway, he heard the lock in the doorknob turn and catch.
Boone glanced into the living room, the library and the dining room as he passed. No sign of their host. He didn't care if he had to go all the way to Marsh's bedroom to do this.
He headed into the south wing, hearing the distant sound of Marsh's voice—and another, equally familiar voice. Surprised, stunned even, he paused for a moment and then continued. The voices grew closer, until he reached a closed door off the wide hallway. Without hesitating he threw the door open.
Marsh was seated at a large oak desk, and his eyes widened with surprise as Boone leaned into his office, the microphone offered between two fingers. "There are some things that go on under your roof that are none of your business," Boone said sharply. He tossed the microphone across the room. It landed, as intended, directly in front of Marsh. "Are there any more of these in the bedroom?"
"No," Marsh said calmly.
"If I find another one…"
"You have my word," Marsh said, lifting the bug and examining it closely. "Just the one."
Boone turned his head and looked squarely at the other man in the room. "Darryl," he said with a smile. "How's your jaw?"
"You…" The fat man took two long angry strides toward Boone. Boone didn't budge.
"One moment, Darryl," Marsh said. A lifted hand and those gentle words stopped the angry man's progress.
Darryl had a nasty bruise on his jaw, and one wrist was bandaged. Marsh had stopped him for now, but the big guy was obviously pissed off.
And Darryl was not the forgiving sort.
"Come in, Boone," Marsh said cordially. Darryl took a step back, and Boone entered the office and closed the door behind him. "I didn't mean to stumble on a business meeting," he said, making his way for Marsh's desk.
"You damn near broke my jaw," Darryl seethed.
"You moron," Boone said, spinning around to face the thug. The memory of Jayne's discarded blouse with the knife through it enraged him, but he couldn't say a word. He shouldn't have been there to see that not-so-subtle threat. "If I'd wanted to, I could have shot you while you were unconscious. I could have shot you, instead of kicking the gun out of your hand. I could have kicked your sorry ass so hard you'd be in the hospital right now eating through a tube."
"So, I should thank you?" Darryl shouted.
"Yeah."
"Now, gentlemen." Marsh said, his voice level and easy, "let me handle this. Darryl, stay where you are. Boone, have a seat." He indicated the chair directly before his desk.
Boone sat, every nerve on edge, every muscle on alert.
"Should I call you Boone? Or Becker? Who are you, really? The private investigator or the drug dealer? I have evidence that you are both. It's most frustrating."
Everything came together in an instant, making sense at last. Each piece of the puzzle fell into place. Boone grinned. "Why can't I be both? Sinclair when it suits me, Becker when that identity works best."
"Interesting idea."
It took everything Boone had not to jump off the couch and rush the man. The wrong move could get him killed, and if he was out of the picture, what would happen to Jayne and Drew?
"You should know, Mr. Marsh," Boone said calmly. "Or should I call you Señor Gurza?"
Marsh smiled widely. "When did you figure it out?"
"I didn't." Boone admitted. "I took a guess and you just confirmed it. Not a bad gig. Rich guy in pajamas by day, cutthroat drug dealer by night."
"Oh, I don't need to call on Joaquin nightly." Marsh leaned back in his chair. "Only on occasion. The name itself is enough most of the time. Darryl and Harvey do all the dirty work. Gurza is simply a necessary evil I drag out on occasion to keep things rolling smoothly." His smile faded. "What brings you to Arizona?"
"You," Boone answered. "At least, in the beginning that was the case. I came here to hook up with the infamous Joaquin Gurza, but then this halfwit here tried to shoot a senator's daughter. I had to do something."
"You recognized her right away?"
"Of course I did," Boone said as if he was insulted. "You talk about a world of trouble coming down on you if one of your men were to murder someone like Jayne. You'd never get the feds out of your backyard."
Marsh cast a cutting glance at Darryl, as he contemplated the possible consequences of such an action. Eventually he
turned his cold eyes back to Boone. "What do you want with Jayne Barrington? You can't tell me you actually see anything in her. She's not your type. I knew that all along. I know people, I understand their motivations."
Boone grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's the Hollywood-producer thing. I know people." His grin died as he leaned forward, gripping the armrests of the chair. "I want the same thing you do. You're looking to get in bed with the senator. I'm just taking a more direct route than you are."
"Can I kill him now?" Darryl asked.
"Of course not," Marsh said testily, his eyes remaining on Boone. "If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead by now. Mr. Sinclair, are you still interested in doing business with me?"
"Of course."
Marsh looked over Boone's shoulder. "Darryl, Mr. Sinclair is now your superior. You screwed up big time, and Boone is correct. If you had actually killed Jayne, there would have been hell to pay. As a matter of fact, I'd like you to thank Mr. Sinclair for not killing you when he had the chance."
"You want me to do what?"
"Thank Mr. Sinclair. Now."
"Thank you," the big man grumbled.
Boone turned his head and grinned up at Darryl. "You're most welcome."
Darryl was dismissed with a wave of Marsh's hand and left quietly if not with dignity. When the two of them were alone, Marsh gave Boone his full attention. "Now tell me. How do you plan to proceed with Jayne?"
* * *
Chapter 15
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Jayne didn't stay in bed very long after Boone left the room. A few minutes at best. She simply could not stay still. Where on earth did he think he was going, anyway, with a nasty gleam in his eye and that little microphone grasped in his hand? Nothing but trouble could come of this.
She took her bathrobe from the closet, slipped it on and belted it, and crept to the door. She opened it noiselessly, then very cautiously stuck her head into the hallway. Harvey was usually close by. He had a tendency to turn up in the oddest places, but tonight the hallway was empty. The man had to rest sometime, she imagined, and he no doubt thought her asleep and under audio surveillance.
IN BED WITH BOONE Page 15