Tomorrow, Abby, he thought. We'll do it tomorrow.
***
Michael jerked awake. Sweat poured off him. His knee hit something and he stopped. Something warm. His eyes snapped open. Erika was there. She stirred next to him, her short hair mussed, her features relaxed. Memory came back and he went still, not wanting to awaken her.
He'd had a dream, not the nightmare that usually disturbed his sleep, and it was morning. The nightmares usually came in the middle of the night.
Michael lay back, his arm propped under his head, the other hand gently holding Erika's. It had been a long time since he'd awakened next to a woman. He savored the moment. He wanted to kiss her awake, make love to her again, but the dream was nagging him. Erika had been there, smiling at him, her arms open and inviting. He'd been running toward her. Then she'd suddenly disappeared. Nothing awful had happened. Dreams often dissolve into nothingness. Yet Michael had the unnerving feeling that there was danger in the dream. Danger for Erika.
He watched her sleeping. Her golden skin contrasting against the whiteness of the bedcovers touched him in an elemental way. He wanted her safe. He wanted to know that she wouldn't be harmed for anything he'd done. Hadn't they spoken about Frank Mason? Hadn't Peter shown him films of crime scenes? Wouldn't it be natural for him to have such a dream? Michael knew the answers to all these questions. It was natural that he should have a dream that might include all the conversations he'd had in the past few hours, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Erika was somehow involved, or would be involved, and he'd be unable to help her.
She stirred again, her hand groping for him. She ran it across his bare belly and the first intoxicating thrill of arousal warmed his loins. Abandoning the dream, Michael ran his hand over Erika's arm and pulled her against him. He held her as if she were a baby. She was safe for the time being, and he'd get her a bodyguard, someone who'd make sure nothing happened to her.
And he'd be there whenever he could.
***
Erika opened her eyes. Fear made her heart beat fast. She looked around. She was alone. She could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom shower. Michael must be in there. She sat up quickly. The sheet covering her nakedness fell away. She grabbed for it as if someone would see her. She had to get out of there. Pushing the sheet away, she got out of bed. Seeing Michael's robe lying on the floor, she grabbed it, stuffing her hands in the overly-long sleeves. Her clothes were strewn over the floor. She snatched them up as she practically ran from the room. At the landing, she skipped steps going down and up the other side.
In her own room she slammed the door and pressed her back against it. How could she have let last night happen? She remembered standing on the landing and deciding to go to her room. Then Michael was above her, looking into her eyes, and from then on everything became a dream. But it wasn't a dream. She'd actually slept with him. The stiffness in her body told her, and her mind remembered. Her nipples got hard at the flash of memory that went through her mind of them making love. Nothing had ever happened like that before. She'd never abandoned herself so freely, demanded so much of a partner, wanted to please so desperately, and been so fulfilled.
What would happen now? He'd leave her, like all the rest. This time would be worse. At least in the past she hadn't had to see them day in and day out. But Michael lived there, worked with her. There was nothing she'd be able to do except die a little each day.
Hot tears spilled from her eyes and rolled over her cheeks. She could never let this happen again. If she did, it was unlikely she would survive when he left. Erika slid to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them while she wept.
***
"Michael, I'm so glad to see you," Malick said when he came into the room. Malick sat in a huge chair next to the hospital bed which had been installed on the first floor of his house. A uniformed nurse smiled at him and left the room carrying a tray with medicines on it. "I've been watching the news and—"
"Malick, this is not good for your blood pressure. I'm going to have that television removed."
"Michael, have you heard that Judge Baldwin and Angela Gilford are both dead?"
"I know that."
"You know? Have you called the police?"
"No," he said. Malick was obviously distressed. Michael sat down on the chair opposite him and explained everything that had happened in the past few days, except the night he'd spent with Erika. That he was keeping to himself. He wanted to hold the memory like a stolen piece of art, that only he could take out and look at. "I want to call Connie Forester."
"Hand me the phone," Malick said, his hand reaching toward the instrument. "She's one of the best. You couldn't do better."
Michael picked up his cell phone. "I want her to protect Erika." He paused. "But Erika can't know about it."
"That won't be a problem for Connie, but what about you?" Malick held the phone, not dialing.
"I'll need someone else. Someone discreet Erika won't notice or think is following either of us." He didn't really want anyone. He could handle Frank if he showed up, but he knew if he didn't take a guard Malick would spend time worrying over him. He also thought the two of them could work to protect both him and Erika, if need be.
Malick dialed. "I know just the person."
Malick had been a force in his day. Many people owed him favors—more than a Capitol Hill politician. When he finished one call he immediately dialed another. At the conclusion of the call he smiled and looked at Michael.
"It's all set. Connie will arrive tonight to guard Erika and Adrienne Dantley will be your guard."
"Adrienne?"
"She's just as good as Connie. Don't worry. Until Frank is caught I need to know you're all right."
"I can take care of myself—"
"Don't assume that's true," Malick interrupted. "We've had many assassinations of people who thought they could take care of themselves." Malick smiled. He looked more relaxed than when Michael had first seen him. "How is Erika?"
Michael tensed, hoping Malick didn't notice. He couldn't even think of Erika without remembering last night. It was incredible, what had happened between them. Yet when he'd returned from his shower she was gone. He didn't get to see her before coming here. His thoughts continually returned to the most spectacular night of his life. "She's fine," he said. "I left the maids looking after her and told the guards to admit no one."
Michael felt better, now that he knew Connie would be coming and that Erika would be protected. He'd seen Connie's work. She was expensive, and often sought after, yet Malick had been able to get her to drop whatever she was doing and come to do him a favor. Michael wondered what Malick had done to make her indebted to him.
"Michael," Malick called his name. While Michael had been wondering about Malick, his friend had obviously been observing him. "What about Highland Hills?" Malick paused, giving him a steady gaze. "Have you changed your mind about returning there?"
Again Erika's face popped into his mind. Michael didn't know when it had happened, but recently he'd been thinking of the future. Whenever he did, his thoughts always came back to her. And after last night he knew he couldn't imagine spending his life on that mountain without her. She'd gotten into his blood and he was happy to have her there, but at the moment he wasn't ready to admit it, even to Malick.
"I haven't decided," he lied.
Chapter 13
Fresh air. Frank expanded his lungs, filling them with the cold mountain air. He wore no shirt or shoes, only his pants. The dirt and gravel under his feet cut into his flesh, and the dew-misty morning clouds glistened on his skin. Frank bent one knee while extending his leg backward and stretching. He loved mornings in the mountains. He'd been camping for a week, climbing the mountains and jogging through trails that only animals saw. It made him tough, like his father had wanted him to be.
Grabbing two large stones, Frank used them as weights, extending his arms backward to flex his triceps and rolling
upward to strengthen already developed biceps. He sucked oxygen in and pushed out used air. His father couldn't have survived the past week outdoors but Frank had, and he'd be able to survive more. The police were looking for him, but they'd never find him. After he was through with Michael Lawrence, he and Abby would disappear. No one would ever interfere with them again.
Finishing his morning routine, Frank picked up a sweater and pulled it over his head. He slipped his arms into his jacket and cleaned his feet before clothing them with socks and hiking boots. He was hungry. His food supply was nearly gone. He had no choice but to go to the store and get more. He'd be discreet. If anyone asked, he was a businessman, spending a few days in the mountains before the weather got too cold for camping. He pulled a baseball cap on his head. He didn't want to be recognized. He'd make sure he didn't look directly at anyone, so they couldn't identify him.
Frank went to the edge of the hill on which he camped. It appeared Michael Lawrence had taken a vacation. Frank had been to the cabin. The place was clean, but there were definite signs that he was still living there. No smoke came from the chimney, and Michael was too soft to stay up here without heat. Frank felt safe in leaving to get more supplies. Michael could take his time. Frank could wait. Abby could wait. Soon it would be over, and then they'd have their whole lives together.
The general store wasn't far. At this time of morning, only mothers needing diapers and true mountain men would be out. Frank didn't think there were too many mountain men running around in November, so that only left mothers.
There were no standard aisles of food, canned goods, or cosmetic products. The place was a mess. There didn't seem to be any order to the products for sale, just a mass of items sitting haphazardly about the floor or littered about on tables. Frank took a wire basket from a stack by the door and forced himself to leisurely walk about in the disorder, putting things in it. In five minutes he had everything he needed and started for the counter.
A white-haired man wearing a black sweater and wool trousers waited for him. Frank bent his head as if checking out possible items to add to his basket on his way to the front of the store. He set the basket on the counter, continuing to check out the space in front of him. His purpose was to keep his head down and his face away from the store owner.
"Anything else?" the man asked.
"That'll be all," Frank said. He reached in his back pocket for his wallet.
The old cash register clanked as the man rang up his purchases.
Frank noticed the wall behind the man. He almost laughed out loud. Serves me right for not being a reader, Frank told himself. There, on the wall, was a yellowing newspaper article and Michael Lawrence's picture.
"Used to live up here," the man said.
Frank was so startled he looked directly at the store owner. "Used to?"
"Moved back to the city, must be two months, almost three now," the man supplied.
Frank tried to read the clippings as the ancient cash register went through its designed purpose.
"She come up, and a few days later he followed her back to Philadelphia."
Frank didn't say a word, just continued trying to read the newsprint.
"Can't say as I blame him. She's a looker," the store owner said.
Frank had to agree with that. "Graves Heiress," he read in hopes of keeping the store owner talking.
"She inherited the fortune after Carlton Lipton-Graves died. Then what do you think?" The man stopped long enough to scratch his head. "His grandson turns out to be living right here with us."
"That must have been a surprise."
"Yep," he confirmed.
Frank paid his bill and said good-bye. Outside he dropped the bag in the jeep and climbed inside. So Michael Lawrence wasn't away on vacation. He'd permanently left the cabin to go and claim his fortune. He and Erika St. James.
Frank threw the gearshift into reverse and backed down the drive. He turned the jeep down the mountain and headed toward Philadelphia, abandoning his campsite. There was nothing he needed there. He sought Michael Lawrence. The groundhogs could have everything else.
***
Erika closeted herself in the library. Papers covered the desk in front of her, but as far as her comprehension was concerned they could have been written in Chinese. Her thoughts were on Michael. She was going to have to face him sooner or later. How was she going to act? she asked herself. They were both adults. There was no reason she should feel uncomfortable. People met and fell into bed together all the time. But not her. And it wasn't as if they had just met. Michael had lived under the same roof with her for almost three months. Then last night had happened. She'd looked up and he'd been there. She didn't know how to explain her feelings, even to herself. She wasn't in love with Michael, was she? Yet their time in bed had been so. . .overwhelming. She swung around to stare at the door of the library. Her body was suddenly hot, flashing heat, the way she'd felt when Michael had held her in his arms.
What would she say when she saw him? They'd spent the night in bed, making love. She couldn't pretend nothing had happened. Something had definitely happened. Her life had been changed, irrevocably. Had his? She didn't think so. He was up and gone before she'd dressed and come down to breakfast. Maybe he didn't want to face her either.
What were they going to do? They couldn't live here for the next nine months tiptoeing around each other. She certainly couldn't let herself fall under his spell again. She knew where that would lead. She'd be left virtually at the altar -- again. Reporters would hound her, she wouldn't be able to concentrate on Graves Enterprises, and she'd never be able to raise her head or appear in public again. It was much better if she adopted a more professional attitude. She could control her thoughts, her feelings, and she'd never let herself be pulled into Fantasyland again, even if the fantasy was the best one she'd ever felt.
Erika turned back to the papers on her desk. It took a while but she immersed herself in the work and forgot about everything else.
When the outer door opened and closed she knew he was back. Her hands shook slightly, her breath went shallow, her mouth dry. She anticipated his approach and stood up, but his footsteps on the tile floor passed the library and continued toward the staircase.
Quickly she went to the door and flung it open. Michael turned at the base of the stairs.
"Hello." He smiled. "I missed you this morning."
His smile was dazzling. She felt herself falling for it. What was it about him that made her all soft and jelly-like inside? She'd just made a decision and now she was considering forgetting it and running into his arms.
He came toward her. Erika wanted to move but her feet were rooted to the floor. He took her chin in his hand and bent to kiss her. Her eyes closed. She refused to fight the fingers of pleasure racing through her. Just this one time, she thought She'd remember later to stop him, but just this one time she wanted to feel his arms around her again.
Stepping into the space separating them, she molded herself to him. Her arms circled his neck and he crushed her to him and kissed her passionately, like he had last night. Erika kissed him as if her life depended on it, as if it was the last time.
***
Hard bodies. That was the only term Michael could think of to describe Connie Forester and Adrienne Dantley. Even through their clothes he could see the strength of their outline. They shook hands in a small restaurant where the grease smelled old, but the Philly steaks were unmatchable.
Both women had strong grips, but only Adrienne looked as if she could handle a man of Frank Mason's height and weight. She was only a hair shorter than Michael with toned muscles and skin the color of aged teak. Her hair was short and her features angular and hard, but when she smiled every part of her seemed to soften.
Connie, on the other hand, couldn't be more than five feet tall. Her hair was long and fine and she wore it pulled back in a ponytail that hung to her shoulder blades. Streaks of gray ran through it like snow trails. She looked about
forty. She was compact, muscular, and dressed in pants and a sweater. The sweater had a dragon on it made of gold sequins.
"I know this is a little too cloak and daggerish, but I couldn't meet you at the house. I don't want to upset Erika more than necessary."
"We understand," Connie said in a voice as soft as cotton candy.
"I got these pictures from my brother." Michael handed them both a news photo of Erika. He went on to explain the situation. He told them nothing was certain and he wasn't prone to jumping to conclusions, but two people involved in the case were now dead and he didn't want any surprises if Frank Mason did have something to do with these recent murders.
Connie leafed through the folder. "I'll need more if I'm to be properly prepared. I want to know everything there is about him, from the time he was born until two minutes from now," she said.
"I'll get you everything I can."
"Transcripts of his trial and the custody battle, where he grew up, his neighbors, church groups, if any, everything."
"I'll have my brother send you everything you want," Michael told her. "Just make sure Erika is kept safe."
Connie nodded. "She'll never know we're around," Adrienne told him.
"Good," Michael said, and finished his steak and cola. He didn't even see them following him back to the mansion. Security had been notified of their presence and given photos of them, so if they needed to get inside there wouldn't be a problem.
He felt a lot better letting himself into the house after meeting the two women. Erika would be safe. He could sleep well.
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 20