Michael got up and paced the floor before the huge fireplace. He dug his hands in his pockets then took them out. Erika moved to stand behind one of the chairs that stood before the fire. The crackle of dry logs was the only sound in the room.
"Frank gave me details about his wife, and I used them.” His voice was somber now, holding a note of sorrow. “I believed what he said—that his wife was the one who was the unfit parent, that she had a string of affairs, left the children unattended, and was responsible for their accidents."
"Michael, a lawyer is supposed to believe his client."
"They always lie," he snapped. "At least they omit part of the truth. A lawyer knows that. But I let it go. I let it go, and three children are dead!"
"Michael, it isn't your fault. You couldn't have known what he would do."
"I should have. I should have listened to what his wife's lawyer was telling me, but I was too busy. I had other things on my mind."
"What. . .what other things?"
"I'd been asked to run for state office, and I was considering it. This case was highly publicized. I did my damndest to make Abigail Mason the devil, and she wasn't."
The last two words were almost a cry. Erika's heart clenched at the pain Michael was feeling.
"After the judge awarded the children to their father everything seemed to be in my favor. The political heavyweights courted me, the press followed my movements, the papers hailed me as the next state senator." Michael paused. He wasn't talking to her. He was remembering. Erika had the feeling he'd never talked about this to anyone. She waited, not wanting to interrupt him.
"Then one day Frank agreed to let the children see their mother," he continued. "He called me to meet him for the exchange. He said he didn't want to be alone, didn't trust himself around Abby."
"You agreed to go?"
Michael nodded. "He was to meet her at one of the shopping malls. I got there and parked. I saw Abby get out of her car and we both got to the entry door at the same time."
He closed his eyes as if he could blot out the memory. "I'll never forget the look she gave me, the vile names she called me. She went through the door before me. The place was crowded with back to school shoppers. When Abby saw the children they were at the end of a long corridor. I saw Frank. He watched her come toward them. He waited until she was close enough to see everything, but too far away to do anything. The children saw their mother and began to run toward her. Then Frank took out a gun, and with the precision of a marksman put a bullet through each one of the children's heads."
Erika gasped, her hand going to her heart. She knew the children had been killed—the attorney had told her—but Michael's version was so much more immediate. The impact hit her like a dynamite blast. She could feel the horror of the children dying, of their mother trying to get to them, of knowing that Michael felt he'd been part of the crime.
"I was his witness." Michael hung his head. Erika knew now why he'd retreated to the mountains, and why he never wanted to return to being a lawyer. Hadn't she wanted to do the same thing? What would she have done if her problem had resulted in someone's death? Tears sprang to her eyes and her chest felt hollow.
"Suddenly I was bad news," Michael went on. "No one wanted to talk to me except the press. They wanted to skin me alive." He looked at her. "I graciously withdrew my name from consideration."
"Is that when you left?" she asked.
Michael shook his head. "I testified at Frank's trial, then stayed around until it was over, foolishly thinking I could go on. The day Frank Mason was sentenced I went to court. He swore he'd escape, that no jail or hospital could hold him, that he'd get even with everyone who had made his life miserable."
"That wouldn't include you," she told him, wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
Michael hesitated for a moment. "He looked directly at me when he said it."
"Why?" Her voice was no more than a low rush of air.
"I don't know. The court remanded him to a psychiatric hospital. He blames everyone who had anything to do with his case."
Erika sat, stunned. Then she got up and walked to the fireplace. Frank Mason had escaped. She remembered the reporter at the press conference telling them, and she remembered Michael's reaction to the news. She shuddered as a sudden chill skittered through her. Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to hold in the nervous tension that knotted her stomach.
"He's been in that hospital for how long? He could have forgotten all about you."
"That's true," Michael said, but he wasn't convinced, and neither was she. If Frank Mason was looking for Michael, he'd be easy to find. Erika suddenly went to him, grasping his arms.
"Michael, you have to leave here," she said.
"That was Peter's suggestion."
"It's a good one."
Michael shook his head. "I've already explained to him the many reasons leaving won't work, only one of which is Carlton's will."
Erika dropped her hands and turned away. She'd forgotten about the will. It seemed that every time they turned around Carlton's will tied their hands.
"Michael, your life could be in danger. Isn't there anything we can do?"
"I'm not the only person in danger."
Erika stared at him. "What do you mean?"
Michael explained what Peter had told him about the families of the other victims.
"We're not related."
"I don't think he's going to stop to check genealogy."
Erika couldn't keep her face straight. She was scared suddenly. Someone could kill Michael and her.
"It's going to be all right, Erika. Let me handle it."
"What are you going to do?"
"Add more security here. And I promise I'll be careful."
"That's all? Shouldn't we call the police or something?"
"What would we tell them?"
"That Frank Mason is trying to kill you."
"We don't know that."
"Yet," she said. "Michael, we can't wait for him actually to—" She stopped, unable to complete the sentence.
Michael came to her. "Erika, I need a promise from you."
She waited for him to continue. Michael told her about the people Frank was alleged to have killed. "I want you to promise me you'll be careful, that until Frank Mason is caught you will take care to always be with someone."
"Someone? Like who?" Erika stared at him. "You think I should get a bodyguard?"
Michael hadn't thought of a bodyguard, but he had to admit it was a good idea. It would solve his problem of how to protect her when he wasn't around.
"Yes," he said, seizing the idea. "We'll hire one tomorrow."
"Michael, I'd feel silly with a bodyguard. Frank hasn't even been spotted near here and we don't even know it's him for sure. With the increase in security, we should be safe enough."
"I'd feel safer knowing there was someone protecting you."
"Me!" she said. "Frank doesn't know anything about me. He'd be looking for you. If anyone needs protection it's you, not me."
"I don't need protection from Frank Mason."
Erika shivered at the coldness in his voice. He spoke as if he wanted to meet Frank. Erika knew there was unfinished business between them. They represented good and evil, black and white, and inevitably they had to meet and take a stand. Erika could only hope that meeting occurred on the opposite sides of a courtroom table and not a .357 Magnum.
Chapter 12
The clock chimed midnight in the distance before Erika climbed the stairs that night. At the landing that separated her wing of the house from the one Michael used, she stopped and turned back. She hadn't really looked at the house in years. Tonight she turned before the stained glass window and surveyed the bottom floor. Life had been different since Michael had come, but she'd become used to his presence, his habits, even his bouts with nightmares.
Tomorrow they would add different elements to the household. Even though they wouldn't have bodyguards immediat
ely, it was only a matter of time, if Frank Mason really wanted Michael dead. She, too, would have to accept one if she insisted Michael take one on. Erika didn't know how she felt about having a stranger around all the time. She put her hand on the large newel post and stared into the semi-darkness. For so many years it had been Carlton and her. The servants maintained the household, kept the grounds, and cooked the meals. While Erika knew them intimately, they'd been there for years and she was used to their presence. Then Michael had come, on the heels of Carlton's death. Somehow he had a connection to the house. Strangers—she didn't know what to make of them. Someone was always with her, protecting her from possible harm. She shivered in the warm air.
She sighed, accepting that change was part of life. Carlton was gone and she never thought she'd be able to get over the hurt his death caused, but she was doing fine. Then Michael arrived and her routine changed. She smiled to herself. She couldn't say she hated the routine. Day by day he'd wormed his way into her heart until the thought of him could take her breath away.
Maybe having more people around would give her something else to concentrate on and she could get her emotions in order.
She glanced in the direction of her room, but she saw something move from the corner of her eye and turned toward Michael's wing. He stood at the top of the stairs dressed in a silk robe. Erika opened her mouth to speak, but her throat went so dry she couldn't. The hallway behind Michael was dark and she couldn't see his face, but something wouldn't let her move, wouldn't let her breathe.
The memory of another night came back to her. She knew the robe—she'd seen it before, lying at the foot of his bed during one of his nightmares—yet she thought she'd never seen him wearing it. Somehow, she had seen that robe on him, contoured to his dark body as he tuned and walked away. It was the dream, what she thought was the dream. Had it been?
"You were in my room," she stated it as fact, as if he knew she meant the night she'd had the dream that he was there.
Michael started down the stairs. Erika took a step back when he reached the bottom step.
"Yes," he said softly. "I needed to know you were safe."
"Safe from what?" she whispered, feeling anything but safe at the moment.
His hands slipped around her waist. Erika didn't think to protest. Indeed, it was the most natural thing that had ever happened to her. Heat swept through her blouse where his hands touched her and instantly her entire body became an incinerator. She didn't know what kept her from dissolving into a puddle at Michael's feet.
He stepped closer to her. Erika's gaze fastened on his collarbone. She swallowed and looked up. Light filtering through the stained glass crossed his face with planes of blue and yellow. The garish light turned his features into harsh lines, giving him a sinister look. The dimension increased Erika's excitement. She'd never felt so hungry for a man. His eyes were dark with passion. The heat of his body mingled with hers, cocooning them in a world only they could create. His arms slid around her, pulling her length into contact with his. Every part of them touched—arms to arms, breasts to breasts, thigh to thigh. Everything made contact except their lips.
"If you don't kiss me, I'm going to die," she rasped in a voice she didn't recognize.
Michael stared at her, his eyes reverently memorizing her features. Then his mouth lowered and took hers in a kiss that might have been soft and persuasive, but was hard and hungry and sent the blood rushing to her ears. The ensuing sound was deafening.
Michael's arms pinned her to him. His mouth was greedy in its possession. Erika wouldn't have had it any other way. Her arms went around his neck, the two of them caught in a primal dance as ageless as time.
Michael felt everything about her. His hands had taken on a life of their own. They covered her, touching her everywhere, pulling her into closer contact with him. Her legs lifted against his thigh. Her jeans, rough against his silk-covered leg, sent heat straight to his loins. His mouth couldn't get enough of her. She tasted wonderful, lusty, full of life, and he wanted to touch, feel, learn, every part of her slim body.
Hooking her leg over his, she swung herself into his arms, both legs circling him. Michael lifted his mouth at the boldness of her action. Businesslike, made for the boardroom crowd, Erika St. James was the passionate type. He'd known it, tested her, pushed her until they'd come to this juncture, this charge-building explosive that was bound to detonate this very night.
Michael turned her, taking a step up, never letting his mouth leave hers. It was a slow process climbing the eight stairs to the landing, but it was the most exciting climb he'd ever made.
He wouldn't let her go, wouldn't break the contact as he carried her to his room. Inside, he kicked the door closed and let her slide over his body to the floor.
They stared at each other, both raggedly breathing, heaving air into their lungs as if it were a scarce commodity. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Michael reached forward and undid the top button of her blouse. He felt a quiver run through her when his fingers brushed her skin. In this light she was dark as berry wine, and he wanted to drink.
The second button opened and he felt her tremble. Her bra came into view with the third button. Michael couldn't wait any longer. He pulled her forward, her head lolled back, and he kissed her neck, her cheek. His tongue followed the curve of her ear. The shudder that passed through her pushed him on. He wanted her. He had to have her tonight. Carefully, he peeled her blouse down her arms. Each tender amount of flesh exposed drove him insane with need. His hands went to the snap on her jeans. It came free in his hands. Then he was pulling them down her legs. She stepped out of them and her shoes in one movement, standing before him in only a lace bra and panties. She couldn't have been more sexy if she'd been naked. Michael wanted to look at her, commit her to memory.
She reached for him, taking the knot of his robe in her hands. The silk gave way easily and she opened it. For the longest moment she looked at him. His body was aroused, hard and pulsing. She could be in no doubt of how much he wanted her. The last of her clothes dropped to the floor and, walking her backward, he lowered her to the bed.
Michael joined Erika, threading his fingers through her soft hair. Curling his hand around the back of her head, he kissed her softly, holding himself in check. He felt as if this would be the first time he'd ever made love to a woman. He'd had sex, but tonight he was going to make love. This time would be for keeps. There would be no going back.
Erika had never known herself to be as aggressive as she was with Michael. She pulled him to her, leaving not even enough space for air to pass between them. His kisses drugged her and she only wanted more. Quickly, passion gripped them and the last of her control snapped. Michael climbed on top of her and she opened her legs to accommodate him. She groaned as he entered her. Pleasure rocketed through her, feelings so strong, so sensual that she thought the overload would kill her. Her fingers dug into Michael's skin as his body rocked into her. Forces greater than the two of them aligned, setting the pace, the rhythm that culminated into a sexual dance shared by only the two of them.
Waves of rapture rioted through her. "Michael!" she screamed over and over as he dug harder, deeper into her. Erika abandoned anything that could hold her back. She wanted Michael to have everything. She didn't care if he found out she loved him. She wanted him to know. With her body she told him. She opened the temple, crying out as the pinnacle of allowable pleasure racked her body and together the two of them released in mutual satisfaction.
Michael collapsed onto her, their bodies gleaming with sweat. He craved air, dragging it into his lungs in huge mouthfuls. Sex had never been this satisfying, this rich or poignant. Erika had done this to him. She'd showed him what it was like to be in love. He'd never recover from something like this. He wanted to hold her forever, keep her close and protected and never let anything hurt her. He wanted to live for her, to love her, to be with her morning and night, to make love to her and feel this way for the rest of his life.
The room had the unmistakable smell of sex—sweet, electric, and hot. Erika hugged Michael. He felt her hands on his back, loving the feel of them, loving everything about her. He gathered her close, slipping his weight to the mattress. He gazed into her love-dazed eyes and wondered how he could have come this far in life and never experienced the true meaning of love.
***
This was going to be fun, Frank thought. He hadn't been to the mountains since he was a child. His whole family had come—his mother and father, his brothers. Early in the morning they'd get up and go fishing in the stream, just his father and him. The others had been too lazy. They wanted to sleep. But not Frank. Frank could do anything. He and his father caught fish in the small stream and brought them back for breakfast. His mother cooked them and they all ate. In the mountains they didn't have any rules about eating in the kitchen or what constituted breakfast foods.
In the mountains they could explore. Frank liked exploring. He climbed the hills, better than his brothers. He could get to the top of any cliff long before his two brothers could reach him. And his father praised him. Those were the only times Frank could remember his father giving him praise.
He'd make his dad proud today. Frank touched the gun concealed under his jacket. It was a new revolver—he'd ditched the one he'd used on Abby's lawyer—automatic with chambers for eight, brass-encased bullets. Each chamber was filled, although Frank didn't expect to use more than one. He was a neat man and he liked things tidy. Killing the judge and his wife had been messy business. Blood seeping into the carpet. The entire room would have to be replaced. There was no way to get that kind of a stain out.
Today Frank wouldn't have to think about carpets. He had the entire outdoors. Today he was on a hunt, and he had the upper hand. The prey didn't even know about him. Frank grinned. Adrenaline pumped through him. He'd be finished before morning and he could join Abby and the children. Maybe they'd go camping, fishing with his girls. Abby would cook the fish they caught, and they could eat them for breakfast, too. He’d climb the mountain with his girls. See which one got to the top first. And he’d praise her.
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 19