When he finally ended the kiss, Grace rested her cheek on his chest with a sigh of pleasure, her breathing almost as ragged as his.
‘I meant every word I said earlier. I want to make love to you, Grace. I have done since the day we met. But—’
‘But you’re married and you have a daughter.’
Jack closed his eyes for a moment hiding the guilt and the pain. ‘Who told you?’
‘Frank, but I don’t think he meant to.’
‘Emilia is seven weeks old. Rosa, her mother, and I aren’t married and never will be. In fact, Rosa doesn’t want anything to do with the child.’ An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over his face, yet he didn’t physically move. He lifted his hands and cupped her face. ‘If you can’t accept that Emilia and I come as a package, then this ends now.’
For several heartbeats Grace remained silent. When she finally spoke there was a gentle softness in her voice.
‘Emilia is such a beautiful name. I would very much like to meet her.’
His whole face spread into a tender smile. ‘You’re sure?’
Her emotive blue eyes held his gaze. In answer, she drew his face to hers and kissed him, lingering, savouring every moment.
With a husky murmur of pleasure, Jack pulled her hard against him and returned the kiss as deeply as she gave it. He took her hand and led her upstairs to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and checked the temperature. And then he kissed her, teasing and tasting her until she moaned and moved against him in a haze of hunger.
Taking hold of her sweatshirt, he pulled it up until they had to break away from each other so that he could get it over her head. Underneath she wore a rose coloured bra, the lace cupping the creamy swell of her breasts. He undid the zip on her jeans and slid them down past her hips until they pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of them, at the same time kicking off her socks.
He trailed feather-light kisses down her neck and shoulders, his warm breath searing her skin. His every caress filled her with desire and anticipation until all she could think of was him.
Watching her intently, Jack flicked the front hook of her bra freeing her breasts, fondling them in slow, sensuous circles, skimming his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them into hardness.
Grace inhaled sharply, her body hungry with desire. When his hands stroked her thighs, then pushed aside the lace of the thong that covered her soft, moist centre, she arched helplessly, and cried out.
He quickly discarded his own clothes, stepping out of his jeans and shedding his sweatshirt, then pulled Grace into the shower stall. Standing behind her, he began to lather her entire body with a bar of citrus-scented soap. Fragrant steam swirled around them. His hands moved gently down the length of her back, then over the swell of her hip to the taut and sensitive flesh of her stomach.
Grace felt her knees weaken, the pleasure pure and explosive. Her cries, soft at first, became wild and demanding. His hands sought her breasts again, his fingers soaping the swollen nipples. Waves of desire coursed through her leaving her aching for the sweet release she knew only he could give.
She turned in his arms. Her fingers wove into the crisp dark hair on his chest, luxuriating in the wealth of sensations flooding her body as his erection pressed against her thigh. His hands, more urgent then, stroked and teased until she writhed against him.
Jack lifted her out of the shower and wrapped her in a towel, the fabric soft as it moved over her skin. He carried her to the bed and lay down beside her. His tongue continued the exploration his hands had begun, teasing and sucking until the need grew and she could take no more. His body moved to cover hers, her warm moist folds sheathing the hard length of his penis. There was nothing languid about their lovemaking then. His hands held her hips, as he thrust deeper until the desire and passion overwhelmed them as they sought release.
Heat pulsed through Grace. She wrapped her legs around his, crossing her ankles, driving him deeper until her breath came in long, surrendering moans, and she trembled as the first wave of her orgasm washed over her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was eight-thirty when Catherine woke. Her movements stiff and awkward, she staggered into the bathroom. Water trickled out of the showerhead. With a muttered curse, she stepped inside the stall. Barely tepid, it was sufficient to wash away the last of her tiredness. Once dry, she pulled on fresh underwear, a pair of jeans and a check shirt, and finger combed her hair. She longed for some coffee, but she’d most likely catch salmonella poisoning if she drank the burned tar from the ancient coffee machine in the motel reception.
Catherine carried her suitcase out to the car and placed it in the trunk. She started to back out, when a car screeched to a halt directly behind her. It was black, and she could see nothing through its darkly tinted windows.
Two suited men in sunglasses leapt out. One came to her window and tapped on it.
Her mind turned over a thousand scenarios in the second before she rolled down the window. Immigration? FBI? MI6? Something darker?
At the end of the longest second in history, she chose to fake indignance. ‘Who the hell do you think you are and why are you blocking my car?’
Expressionless, the first man pulled his blazer away to show the butt of a gun.
‘Get out. Move slowly and keep your hands where we can see them.’
Catherine’s mouth worked, but words were slow in coming. ‘I need…I need some identification.’
‘Step out of the vehicle, ma’am and I’ll show you some.’
Panic like she’d never felt before welled in her throat. She fought hard not to scream. Moving slowly, she slid gracefully out from behind the wheel. Before she had chance to say a word, she was spun round and shoved up against the side of the car. Then the man roughly patted her down. Crimson suffused her face, as she seethed with anger and humiliation. When he finished, he turned her round to face him and thrust a shiny gold badge under her nose.
‘Agent Lowell. This is Agent Purcell,’ he said nodding at the red-haired man standing next to him. ‘DEA.’
‘DE… what?’
‘Drugs Enforcement Agency. Let’s see some ID.’
Catherine felt her knees buckle. ‘In… in my purse, behind the driver’s seat.’ She chewed on her lower lip and stole a glance at the other agent as he grabbed her purse and tipped out the contents. It didn’t take him long to find her passport. She shook as he thumbed through the pages, comparing her to the photograph on the back page.
‘My name is Catherine Peterson. You’ve made a mistake. I’m no drug dealer.’
The first agent said nothing. The other agent pulled out his cell phone and read the details off her passport to some faceless individual.
Silence stretched.
Finally, he turned to the guy holding her and said, ‘Name checks out. Visa was issued in Atlanta yesterday. Photo ID matches it.’
The agent restraining her stepped back. ‘Looks like our information was wrong. You’re free to go.’
She glared defiantly. ‘Gee, thank you. How kind.’
Only when the men climbed back in their car and disappeared from view did she slump down into the driver’s seat. The fear that clutched at her stomach turned to nausea. Catherine whipped open the door and vomited onto the tarmac. A few moments later when the worst of the gut wrenching spasms had passed, she raised her head and looked in the driver’s mirror. Her face was chalk-white and pinched. She pulled a tissue from her jeans pocket and wiped it roughly over her mouth.
Christ! That had been close.
Still shaking, she threw the car into gear and reversed out of the parking lot, and drove down Main Street at a steady pace. Sandwiched between a grocery store and the local bank was a coffee shop. Like the motel, it too appeared to have seen better days, the sign above the door announcing ‘M y b th’s offe hop’
Lured by the thought of food and a hot drink, Catherine stopped the car and grabbed her purse. Once inside, she ordered an Americano with an extra shot
and a cinnamon bagel to go. While she waited for the waitress to fill her order she took a seat at the counter next to a middle age woman.
The woman’s purse sat open on the floor, her wallet in clear view. Catherine glanced around at the other occupants, but they were too busy eating breakfast to notice her. Casually, she angled her knees so the napkin slid off her lap and over the woman’s purse. She bent down to retrieve it, her hand tightening around the wallet, wrapping it in the napkin.
She waited for a count of ten, hoping the woman wouldn’t look down or pick up her purse. When she didn’t move, Catherine stuffed the wallet and napkin into her own purse, then paid for her order and left.
Back in the car, she sipped her coffee and ate the bagel, then examined the contents of the wallet. Ten, crisp twenty dollar bills were tucked in the billfold. She crammed them into her purse, then opened her door and flung the wallet as far as she could under the car.
Re-energized, she tossed the Styrofoam cup into the passenger foot-well and checked her cell phone. There were two messages, both from her sister, both saying the same thing.
It’s Grace. Call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important that I talk to you.
She deleted both, and then switched off the phone to conserve the battery.
Traffic on I-75 was heavy with people rushing home for the holidays. Towns and cities came and went in a blur. Outside, the sun rose in a cloudless sky with the promise of another hot day. The drone of the car’s air conditioning drowned out the hum of the tyres. She tried the radio again, but found all the advertisements irritating and switched it off, preferring instead to drive in relative silence.
A thoughtful smile played at the corner of her mouth, another four or five hours and she would be able to live her life, her way. Everything would be different from now on. No more scrimping and saving. No more taking orders from her greasy haired boss with the wandering hands or chaperoning hospital consultants at conferences and listening to their ribald jokes.
North of Miami, she stopped at one of the service areas for a bathroom break. The restroom was empty when she entered. She twisted her blonde hair into a tight knot and removed a chestnut coloured wig from her oversized tote, then inserted the blue contacts into her eyes. Her transformation complete, she examined her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head to the left, and then to the right. A derisive grin settled on her features.
She gathered her things and left, stopping briefly to purchase a burger and a bottle of water, before climbing back into the car and continuing her journey.
Weariness enveloped her as she negotiated the traffic in downtown Miami. She rubbed a hand across her aching temples and tried to remember exactly where the bank was located. She circled for a while until she had no option but to leave the rental in a parking garage. She shouldered her purse and head bowed, walked quickly toward the heart of the financial district.
The streets were full of city workers busy grabbing a late lunch or cigarette on an all-too-short break from the office. It took her a while to find the right building, but finally she passed under the bank’s signage and stepped up to the ATM machine.
A quick glance over her shoulder ensured no one was watching as she slipped the bankcard out of her purse and into the machine. She tapped in the security code and waited while the bank’s computer system compared the information she’d inputted to that held in its databank.
Seconds ticked by.
Catherine’s fingers tapped restlessly against the side of the machine. She took off her sunglasses and peered at the screen. Insufficient funds. Please contact your bank.
Her fist hit the wall, drawing blood. ‘That’s impossible!’
Shock yielded quickly to fury. She stormed into the bank, ignoring the queue at the counter, strode over to the information desk.
‘I’ve just tried to use my bankcard, but the stupid machine says there are insufficient funds and the account is closed. Can you check?’ she said in a lower voice than normal.
The poker-face young woman behind the desk looked up. ‘Take a seat. Do you have your account number and some identification?’
Catherine lifted her chin and struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. ‘The number is 295636190. I’m not sure I have my drivers’ license with me.’ She made a pretence of looking in her purse.
The clerk entered the number into her computer and studied the details on the screen. ‘Are you related to the account holder?’
‘How else would I know the number of the account?’
Closed circuit security cameras monitored the banking hall. Catherine forced herself to remain calm, praying she would not betray her agitation. The wig made her head ache and irritated her scalp. Her eyes burned from the contacts, forcing her to blink repeatedly. She crossed one slim ankle over the other to prevent her foot tapping nervously against the marble floor, as she watched the hands of the clock move from the half to the quarter hour.
What’s taking her so long?
Catherine stirred uneasily in the chair. She studied the security camera and wondered if it was trained on her. Across the hall, the queue for the tellers lengthened. A security guard paced up and down its length watching for any suspicious movement. His attention focused on her. Fear slammed through her. Her hands, hidden from sight by her purse, twisted nervously in her lap. The guard leered at her and winked, then turned his attention back to the line.
Shaken, Catherine glanced at the clerk with a frown, sorely tempted to ask the woman to call someone more senior.
‘There’s no mistake. The account has been closed and the money transferred.’
At first, the words didn’t register. She wavered, trying to comprehend what she’d heard. Adrenaline and ice flooded her veins. Shock yield to fury. Transferred? What in God’s name was the clerk talking about?
Her heart was beating too fast, making her head spin, her palms damp. She clung to the desk for support. ‘What? I mean when was this?’
‘Two days ago. Mr. Cody handled the arrangements. Would you like me to see if he’s free?’
Part of Catherine wanted to scream. Part of her wanted to take the woman by the collar and shake her until she admitted there was some mistake.
Swallowing hard, she tried to keep the anger from her voice. ‘No, no, it’s all right. No need to disturb him.’
She turned away. She felt trapped, helpless. Betrayed.
‘You look pale. Are you feeling okay? Would you like some water?’
Catherine barely heard the personal remark. Think. Brazen it out. Don’t run. Whatever you do, don’t make the security guard suspicious.
She took several long, deep breaths, and forced herself to meet the clerk’s gaze. When she spoke, her voice was flat, calm. ‘I’m fine. Just a little tired. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
Catherine hurried back to the car. She slammed the car door and yanked off the wig. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not after all her careful planning.
She’d been duped. There was no other explanation. For the first time in her life, she understood what it felt like to want to kill someone.
Her knuckles tightened on the wheel. While being angry felt good, it wouldn’t lead her to the money. Think! Damn it, think!
She forced herself to sit up. Her body vibrated with tension as she stared out of the windscreen at the row of parked cars. Then the realization hit.
There was only one place she could go.
The place that only she and one other person knew about.
Some of the tension ebbed away from her body, but she remained physically tired. She fumbled in her purse and took out the bottle of pills. One would give her enough of a buzz to keep her alert for hours, but last time the drug had been slow to take effect. She shook two into the palm of her hand and popped them into her mouth, washing them down with the last of the water.
The sun was an ochre crescent hovering on the horizon as she turned onto the Interstate, head
ing west. Euphoria bubbled in her laugh and shone in her eyes. No one double-crossed Catherine Peterson and got away with it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jack’s cell phone rang just as he and Grace were getting up. He grabbed it off the bedside table, checked the digital display, and then punched answer.
‘Hi, Mike. What do you have?’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
‘The airlines finally came through. Elliott sat next to a woman on every flight he took. It may be a coincidence, but there’s a strong possibility she was travelling with him. The name on the manifest is different for each trip, but that doesn’t mean a thing. Chances are its same woman and she used a false passport like Elliott. Homeland Security is looking into it.’
Ring of Lies Page 21