After a brief, moving speech, Aubrey introduced Senator Paxton.
Jonathon Paxton, sixty-six, played tennis and golf regularly and took his health seriously. He walked onto the small stage, gave Aubrey a hug, and took the podium. He began with the story of how he got involved in WCF. It all started with the murder of his daughter more than two decades ago.
It was hard for Lucy to give her full attention to the speeches while Sean was standing so close to her. He wore a subtle aftershave or cologne that had her inching closer, trying to figure out what it was. When he leaned down to whisper in her ear, she shivered.
“Look at that couple,” he said quietly. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Valerio; they own VT Communications.”
“You know them?”
“They hired RCK a couple of years ago to test their security. Took me seventeen hours, but I broke in.”
“You should talk to them. I don’t know them personally, but they’ve been supporters of WCF for years.”
He shrugged. “They don’t know me.”
“But—”
“Duke always works with the clients.”
“How’d you know it was them?”
“I saw their photo once.”
“Good memory.” She glanced up at him, surprised at how close his face was to hers as they quietly chatted in the back of the room.
Suddenly, it felt as if a thousand ants were crawling under her skin. She glanced around the room but didn’t see anyone staring at her. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there were eyes upon her. She rubbed her arms, and Sean put his arm around her.
“Lucy?” he questioned.
She didn’t answer, pretending to listen to the senator’s speech. She pretended to ignore the people glancing not-so-discreetly at her. Her story wasn’t a deep, dark secret. She’d spoken to schools, written fund-raising letters for Fran, even testified in the Judiciary Committee in support of Senator Paxton’s legislation that had been dubbed “Jessie’s Law.” She never enjoyed it, always felt tainted, and worse, hated that people pitied her, that they thought she’d been a stupid, irresponsible teenager. No one would ever say it out loud, but many held her accountable for putting herself in a vulnerable position.
She’d agreed to meet her attacker in a public place because she’d believed it was “safe.” She’d thought he was a college student named Trevor Conrad. She’d been wrong.
Applause signaled that the senator was done speaking, but Lucy was still on edge. She said to Sean, “Want to get out of here?”
He took her hand. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m just cold.”
He stared at her. “Lucy, what’s really wrong?”
She froze, tilted her chin up, and stared him down. “I just told you.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Sean held on.
“Lucy, something has you spooked. Tell me.”
Lucy didn’t want to share anything with Sean. She tried to put him back into the role of her brother’s partner, but she’d already gone far beyond that. And the way he was looking at her implied a much more intimate relationship than a business one.
“It’s personal,” she said, hoping she made clear by her tone that their relationship wasn’t. Even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either, or exactly how attracted she was to him.
She felt comfortable with Sean, and she liked that he was smart. But he was also into his toys. His car. His pool table. Patrick had even told her he had a plane he flew all the time. She was too focused on her career and her future to get involved with anyone who wasn’t equally devoted. The best thing was to put distance between them so she could think clearly.
Not that he was interested. Or she. Or …
“Lucy.”
She jumped, and Sean squeezed her hand as she turned to face Fran. “Fran.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled at Sean. “I’m Frances Buckley, WCF’s director.”
Sean extended his hand and smiled his award-winning grin, melting Lucy’s resolve to flee from him.
“Sean Rogan,” he said.
“Patrick’s partner,” Lucy explained.
“Very nice to meet you,” Fran said, giving Lucy a smile that showed her approval of Lucy’s choice in escort. Lucy resisted the urge to explain to Fran that they were just friends. That might be hard to prove, since Sean was still holding her hand.
Sean said, “The room is crowded. I hope they’re all paying customers.”
“Even in this tough economy, we were able to surpass what we raised last year.”
Lucy saw Cody stride into the room and scan it, spotting her just after she saw him. He walked over. “Lucy, can I talk to you privately?”
Lucy felt a distinctly protective shift in Sean’s posture, and Cody glanced at him with stern eyes. “Sean, this is my friend Cody Lorenzo, with the D.C. Police Department. He volunteers at WCF. Can you give us a moment?”
“Go ahead.” Sean dropped her hand, but Lucy felt him watching her follow Cody outside the ballroom into the hall.
“What’s wrong? You’re agitated.”
She couldn’t imagine he’d be this upset that she’d come to the event with Sean.
“Tell me the truth, Lucy. Did you change the meeting place with Prenter?”
She blinked several times, switching her focus. “What? Why on earth would I do that?”
“Before I came here, I stopped by Club 10. Prenter boasted to the bartender that he was going to get laid, that he was meeting a hot blonde who liked to talk dirty online.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Fran has a copy of all my transcripts!” Cody hesitated, and Lucy grew enraged. “You think I could have played the game that far?”
“No, not under normal circumstances, but if the chats weren’t getting what we wanted out of him, maybe you pushed a little too hard, got in too deep. I’m not blaming you, Lucy, but—”
“Hold it. What makes you think it was me? Maybe he was chatting online with someone else. I did not change the meeting place, nor did I talk about anything sexual. Read the damn logs—I flirted, nothing more. Why don’t you believe me? Why would you think that Fran would have allowed it?”
“You’re sharp. You could have changed the logs. Or logged in from home and not copied the transcripts.”
She shook her head and squeezed her lips tight. That Cody could think she was capable of such a thing! He knew exactly who she was and where she’d been in her life. He knew what had happened to her, and why her volunteer work was so important. She would never jeopardize her career with the FBI or Fran’s trust in her by crossing the line with a suspect.
Cody reached out to her. “I’m sorry, Lucy—I had to ask.”
“You didn’t ask. You accused me. And you shouldn’t have had to ask in the first place! You should have known that I would never do anything like that. There is a logical explanation: Prenter was meeting up with another woman. Or he was lying through his teeth. You know how these rapists are, embellishing the truth to make themselves feel powerful and in control. It was a fantasy in his head, not one I deliberately put there.”
“You’re right, I just—”
“Leave it.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Maybe she was overreacting, but his accusation had stunned her. “Did you learn anything else? About the man and woman Prenter argued with in the alley?”
“No, I came here directly from the bar. I’m really sorry, Lucy.” He glanced toward the reception.
“Are you upset that I’m here with Sean?”
“No,” he said, but she didn’t believe him, and he made no pretense to convince her that he was being truthful.
She nodded, still shredded inside over Cody’s accusation. Jealousy was another burden she didn’t need. “Excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”
She walked briskly down the hall. The feeling that someone was watching her was strong, and she suspected that Cody was staring after her, feeling guilty.
Lu
cy pushed open the door and was relieved that no one was inside. She walked into the small powder room off the main restroom. She leaned against the vanity counter, arms holding her weight, forcing herself to breathe slowly. She stared at her hands. Her nails were cut short but neat. Clear polish kept her nails strong and provided a finished look. Her fingers were long and slender, and she’d always imagined she should be good at piano, but the five years she took lessons proved she had no musical talent. These fingers flew over the computer keyboard, though, almost with a mind of their own, telling lies to sexual predators, enticing them through words to lure her. She had no guilt about how she helped put predators in prison.
Her arms, like her legs, were lean and muscular from spending hours at the gym. But no amount of physical strength could have prevented her from being kidnapped and raped six years ago. She’d been attacked from behind, grabbed and injected with a drug that had immediately weakened her muscles. Only street smarts might have prevented the attack, but she would never know. She had none then, and now? She imagined every scenario where someone could get the drop on her and she did everything she could to protect against it, but nothing was foolproof.
After that first year, Lucy realized she couldn’t live in a plastic bubble. She refused to be a victim for the rest of her life. She was angry with herself, and angry with the men who had abducted and hurt her. But even the rage had faded, because she would not allow them to control her emotions from the grave.
Her family didn’t understand why she wanted to walk in the darkness by being a law enforcement officer, by chatting with sexual predators online, why she continued to read and research and learn everything she could about the men and women who committed horrid crimes. They thought that because she’d been a victim, she should find a career completely unrelated to crime. Her mother wanted her to be a teacher. Her father wanted her to go into linguistics, just as she’d planned in high school. Even Dillon, her own brother who was a forensic psychiatrist and worked every day with criminals, was skeptical of her decision.
But if not her, then who? Who else had the passion and the resolve to dedicate their life to putting these bastards behind bars?
Already she’d had some success, times when she knew she’d helped someone. When she’d spoken at a local high school and a fourteen-year-old girl came up to her afterward with a story that was all too familiar: a thirty-seven-year-old man had befriended her online and wanted to have sex. That man had been arrested two weeks later when the girl and her mother helped the cops locate him. Or the twelve-year-old boy who had almost run away with his online boyfriend, until Lucy had proven to him that his fourteen-year-old cyberpal was really a sixty-two-year-old pedophile.
And there were the people she’d helped who she’d never know. The kids who listened silently to her talks, pretending to ignore her; the ones online whom she’d scared straight; the women and children who wouldn’t be victimized because she’d helped put a predator where he belonged.
So it was worth the watchful eyes, the whispers behind her back, the wrong-headed belief by the ignorant that she’d asked for it, she was to blame, she was different from them. That predators didn’t go after just anyone, they only went after other people.
The door opened and she straightened, glancing in the mirror to see who was entering.
Sean.
“You’re in the wrong bathroom,” she said.
“Not unless you are.” He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He held her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Her self-doubt leaked through her expression, and it mattered to her that no one, especially her friends and family, thought she was on edge.
“I’m fine.”
“I know.” But he still held her shoulders, giving her a slow, firm massage. “You’re tense.”
“I don’t like fund-raisers.”
“Something happened out there. Tell me.”
“Nothing happened.” She looked down at her hands, which were still pressed against the marble countertop. She closed her eyes and let herself relax under Sean’s thumbs. The knots in her muscles loosened and she sighed.
“Lucy.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she opened her eyes and saw he was staring at her, his mouth a firm line.
“Cody accused me of falsifying some data. That hurt. We’ve been working together for a long time, and—” She sighed.
“I understand. But that wasn’t what I was talking about. Right before we talked to Fran, something happened. Tell me.”
She stared at him. How could he have such a single-minded purpose? And what could she say?
“It’s—just—” How could she explain it to him? She certainly didn’t want to talk about her past. “I don’t like being the center of attention, and I don’t like people watching me.”
“Who?”
“No one, everyone, I don’t know. It was just that creepy-crawly feeling you get when someone is looking at you on purpose, you know? It’s ridiculous. I know when I come to these things that I’m practically onstage.”
Sean edged closer. “You need to trust your instincts. How long have you felt this way?”
She couldn’t look at him anymore. A rush of humiliation flooded through her. “Six years.”
“But this is different.”
“No—yes—I—”
Was it different? Lately … “I don’t know. It’s my nerves. It’s been a stressful few months, with the FBI application process and then Roger Morton’s murder, and the Brad Prenter situation—”
“Who?”
The door opened and two older ladies walked in, startled to see Sean standing with Lucy. Lucy cracked a sly smile. “Busted,” she said.
He took her hand and led her out, giving the ladies a low bow as they left. As soon as the door closed, he steered Lucy to the side and said, “Is this Prenter guy harassing you?”
She shook her head. “No—I didn’t know him. He was a college TA who drugged and raped a student. He was killed in a robbery this week. That’s been on my mind, too.”
“Divine justice.”
“Maybe.”
“Lucy, you have solid instincts, so don’t dismiss these feelings as being some neurosis. Trust yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Having faith in me.”
“Who doesn’t?”
She didn’t answer because there wasn’t really an answer. Her family supported her, but they were always watching out for her when they didn’t think she knew. She wasn’t ignorant, and she picked up on their protective vibes. “You want to go?” she asked.
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Now.” They started down the hall to the coatroom.
“Can I interest you in dessert?” Sean asked lightly.
“You mean the buffet wasn’t enough?”
“You didn’t eat anything.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“I know a place,” Sean said cryptically. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitated. Not because she didn’t trust him, but so many emotions were jumping around inside and she wasn’t sure she could keep a lid on them.
“It’s beginning to snow.”
Sean glanced at her. “Are you kidding? A few scrawny flakes aren’t going to deter me from treating you to the most incredible strawberry cheesecake east of the Mississippi.”
“Cheesecake?” Her stomach growled and she put a hand to her mouth.
“I heard that,” he said. He took her hand and kissed it. It was a spontaneous gesture, and Lucy tried to convince herself it was a kiss of friendship, but a warm sensation ran up her arms to the base of her neck as they walked to the car.
SIXTEEN
Sean walked Lucy to her front door. She was vibrant, her cheeks red from the cold, her dark eyes sparkling from the cheesecake sugar rush, topped with a glass of champagne.
Sean was pleased with himself that he had been able to di
stract Lucy after her earlier attack of nerves. Two hours later, she finally seemed relaxed.
He hadn’t forgotten what she said, however. She thought someone was watching her. He didn’t discount it as a personal defect the way she had. With all the stuff going on with Morton’s murder, maybe someone was paying too much attention to Lucy.
“Thank you so much, Sean.” Lucy sighed contently as she unlocked the door. They stepped inside, the light snow still swirling around. “I’m so glad we went out for dessert.” She reached over to disarm the alarm.
“Anything for you, milady,” he said with an accent and half bow. He wanted to kiss Lucy, but he hesitated. Hesitating was unlike him. What was wrong with him? He never had a problem—ever—in showing a woman he was interested.
But Lucy wasn’t any woman. He’d known that from the first time he’d met her.
And she was his partner’s sister. Patrick was his friend and business partner. He hadn’t told Patrick he was interested in Lucy.
And she wasn’t the kind of woman he usually dated. He liked dating girls who liked to have fun, just like him. Skiing, spontaneous trips cross country in his plane, skinny-dipping in a lake. His ex-girlfriends were generally nine-to-fivers or trust-fund princesses with no devotion to anything but themselves. He liked that, because that meant he never felt guilty when he broke it off.
None of those girls had lasted more than a few months.
That Lucy was special couldn’t be more obvious to him, but Sean knew himself and had never shied away from the truth. He screwed up relationships right and left. Not at the beginning—he had courtship down to a fine science. But after the romance wore off, he became bored with the monotony of the same old, same old. Different girl, same problems. Superficial desire that wore off quicker with each passing woman.
There was nothing superficial about Lucy Kincaid, and absolutely nothing superficial about his desire for her.
“What’s going through that mind of yours?” she asked.
“I want to kiss you,” he said before he realized the words left his mouth.
“Do you usually ask first?”
“No.”
She tilted her chin up defiantly and looked almost angry, her dark pupils widening. “Then don’t ask.”
Mortal Sin Page 14