White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "Hold me," she pleaded as her arms tightened about him. "Don't let me go."

  He held her until her arms slacked and she went back to sleep. Then he laid her back in the bed and crawled in next to her. She needed the rest. At any other time she'd have been the only thing on his mind, but Sam Parker's betrayal held dominance over his consciousness. He'd been awake all night thinking of the man he'd trusted and the near disaster that would have fallen on them. If Sandra hadn't told him about the security in the Pentagon, both of them would be statistics this morning.

  Randolph and Rutledge Killed in Car Bombing, he envisioned the headline if they had in fact died. Wyatt berated himself. He'd convinced Sandra not to trust her own father and then he'd let himself fall into the trap of trusting an old friend. It wouldn't happen again. Until he got to the bottom of Project Eagle they were on their own.

  Sandra shifted, throwing her arm over him. He caressed it gently. Her breathing was even and she settled into a comfortable sleep. Wyatt watched her relaxed features and hoped he could keep her safe until she was no longer a target. He couldn't let her go. There was no place she would be safe until this ended.

  Just how it would end he was afraid to think about.

  ***

  The rain woke her. Sandra opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. The heavy curtains that blocked the windows only let slivers of light into the room. She could hear the water pelting the outside glass.

  Wyatt lay beside her. His arm around her waist cradled her against him. His body was warm against her bottom. She hadn't awakened next to a man since John died. She liked the security of knowing he was there, and she liked waking up in his arms. Turning over, she faced him. His head was higher on the pillow than hers and she had to keep herself from reaching up and kissing him awake.

  Why couldn't they be just two people getting to know each other and falling in love? Why did they have to be on the run, trusting no one and wanted for a list of crimes that increased each time they stepped outdoors? Sandra shivered slightly and Wyatt scooped her closer to him. She had no place to put her arms except around him.

  She stiffened slightly, knowing she shouldn't enjoy the feel of his strong arms, but he was asleep and it couldn't hurt. She ran her gaze over his dark arms. Her fingers danced lightly over his skin. It was smooth to her touch. She liked the feel of his muscles as they quivered and relaxed. Shifting her head on his shoulder, she stopped short of running her hand over his chest. Wyatt only had the uniform now. He was near-naked next to her. The thought was arousing. She could feel an ache in the pit of her stomach and her nipples were hard and erect against his chest. She knew better than to let anything get out of control. He was still trying to prove her father guilty of treason, and despite what had happened, she was convinced there had to be a logical explanation for her father's apparent collusion in a plot against both her and Wyatt. Even with that between them, she was attracted to him. She knew he found her attractive, too. After the way he kissed her, she could be in no doubt. Sandra settled next to him and closed her eyes.

  Behind her lids the image of Wyatt formed. Sandra had thought she'd never replace John with another man, and while she hadn't replaced John, she had relegated him to a safe place in her heart. He had been her husband. She'd loved him with all her heart, thought they would have a family and grow old together. The cruelty of the illness that took their future had long since been resolved. Wyatt could be thanked for giving her back the will to live. Now that her life appeared so close to ending, she found she wanted to live. She didn't just want to fill her days with so much work that she had no time to think. She wanted to have a purpose and . . . Wyatt? Did she want Wyatt in her life?

  Sandra frowned at the impact of her thoughts. If the two of them survived to expose Project Eagle, her father could be involved in it as Wyatt suggested. What would that do to them? Could she fall in love with a man who ruined her family?

  Her hand on Wyatt's arm stilled. He reached up and took her fingers. Sandra lifted her head and found his eyes staring into hers.

  "What’s wrong," he asked.

  She looked away. "I-I. . ." She couldn't tell him. She went to move away from him, but Wyatt's arms pulled her into contact with his warm body. Her head came up and she looked into his eyes. He was too good-looking and the situation was too intimate.

  "Sandra, I know yesterday was traumatic, but time will take care of that. We'll get over it. Don't worry. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  He'd misunderstood her expression. She'd forgotten the car bomb and her inability to sleep comfortably the previous night. It was why Wyatt shared her bed, why she'd awakened in his arms, wearing nothing more than a T-shirt, and why she was more miserable than she'd ever been before.

  "Look at me," Wyatt said.

  She hesitated before raising her head.

  "I understand," she said, deliberately allowing him to believe he'd touched on the reason for her pained expression.

  She felt so good. Wyatt had warned himself not to get into this situation. Last night she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder and he'd held her through the night. Now he didn't want to let go. He wanted to hold on to her for the rest of the day, forget that there was anything they should do or be cautious about.

  He wrapped his arms around her, tightening them. Her face came up close to his. He knew better. He'd told himself to let this one pass, to keep everything simple and leave the sexual part out of it, but right now with her this close, with her body touching his, he couldn't. Her fingers were light, as if she didn't want them to feel his skin, but they couldn't help it. He couldn't help it, either.

  Something other than the two of them had entered their relationship. Something that knew them better than they knew themselves but each refused to acknowledge it. Wyatt lifted her chin closer to him. His heart slammed into his chest when his lips touched hers. He pushed back, surprised at the impact of the simple contact.

  Sandra's eyes were wide and expectant. Her hand came up and caressed his cheek and his mouth covered hers. He leaned forward rolling her into the mattress as his mouth took on a life of its own. His tongue slipped between her teeth and the nectar was his undoing. Her mouth was hot and his entire body took in her heat, combining it with his own. Why they didn't burn the sheets off the bed he'd never know.

  Her legs wrapped around his. The smooth surface of her shaved thighs met the roughness of his and the friction drove him crazy with need. His hands reached under the hem of her extra large T-shirt, the only garment she was wearing. Slowly he let the fire burn in his palms as they traveled over her, caressing the flat plane of her stomach, then moving to the rounded globes of her breasts. She moaned a low, guttural, primal sound when he touched them.

  Wyatt's mouth left Sandra's to seek, taste, and touch her neck and arms in a direct map to her breasts. He could hardly contain himself when he reached the darkened nipples. Her hands buried in his short hair as her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow in a sexual frenzy. Wyatt wanted to satisfy her. He wanted to swing his body over hers and enter her, but he wasn't ready yet. He was enjoying the feel of her thighs and arms as her fingers kneaded and massaged the skin at his shoulders and neck. His tongue laved and sucked at her breasts as his arousal intensified, the night sounds that escaped her throat pushing him forward to the breaking point.

  "Wyatt?" she moaned, her fingers scratching at his shoulders.

  Wyatt pulled the T-shirt over her head and stopped to gaze at her in the half-light. She was beautiful, her body like a vessel of expensive wine. He devoured it, kissing her belly, her breasts, her arms until he made his way to her mouth, which was hot and ready for him.

  He slipped his hand between her legs. The same pulsating warmth pushed his erection harder. Control slipped rapidly and the something between them grew to unlimited proportions. This time Wyatt swung his leg across Sandra.

  "Protection, Wyatt," Sandra whispered, her voice urgent and breathless.

  Wyatt stopped. For a s
ingle moment he hung suspended above her. Then he collapsed.

  "What's the matter?

  He didn't answer immediately. His arms gathered her to him and he held her. He couldn't tell if the trembles that passed between them originated with him or with her.

  "Wyatt?" Sandra prompted.

  "I don't have any," he said.

  She, too, went still beneath him. Then she was shaking. He raised his head thinking something was wrong—and it was. Sandra was laughing.

  What started as a silly smile on her part became uncontrollable mirth. She threw her head back and laughed out loud, letting the tension of the week’s run, the near-death situations, and the police chases exorcise themselves through uncensored laughter. Wyatt laughed too. After a moment he wiped away the tears that rolled down the side of her face.

  "We'd better get dressed and go to meet Jeff," Wyatt said releasing the charged atmosphere that followed the laughter.

  While Wyatt took his shower, which she hoped was cold, Sandra regained her composure and took the laptop computer from her backpack and opened one of the files Wyatt had sent to her. She tried to concentrate on the screen but images of Wyatt's naked body in the shower behind her kept interfering with her concentration. She should be glad they didn't have a condom. She should be able to concentrate on the problem, to be logical and methodical about the situation, but all she could remember was how good he felt lying on top of her, how good his mouth felt against hers, and how alive she felt right now.

  The shower stopped. Sandra jumped up as if he could hear her thoughts. Self-consciousness overtook her. Her shirt was too short and her legs too exposed, and the image of water flowing over Wyatt had her body aroused and ready for him.

  "Damn!" she cursed. Why didn’t either of them have a condom?

  ***

  Sandra showered and dressed in yesterday's clothes and tried to concentrate. She went back to the files, opening a different one. She had several word processing programs on the hard drive. None of them would read these disks. Then she went to an internal editing program. The encrypted files spanned the entire width of the screen and scrolled about at lightning speed. He'd risked his life to get these and they were unreadable!

  She knew what an encryption algorithm was. In a pinch she could even write one, but she had no idea where to begin to find out what was hidden here.

  Now they had two mysteries. First the riddle of the stones had to be unraveled and now these files. She had no doubt that one would enhance the other, but finding someone who could read them would be a problem. They could ask Jeff, but if they were as complex as she assumed they were, it would take him at least a month to figure them out.

  As much as she wanted to believe she and Wyatt had a future together—and after their episode in the bed she was sure she wanted one—she knew it wouldn't span a period long enough for Jeff to make a difference.

  Closing the file, she replaced it with another one. The screen directory showed the same unreadable information. She was about to close the file when something struck her as strange. Looking closer at the screen, she found one file that wasn't encrypted. It was in Japanese. Now, what could that mean?

  At ten-thirty they left the hotel to meet Jeff. Returning to his house or even the lab could be dangerous, so they'd arranged to meet at an address in the North East section of the city. The taxi let them out on Fort Totten and Buchanan and they walked the last mile, clinging to each other like two lovers strolling in the rain. It was Wyatt's idea, but Sandra agreed to it just to be able to touch him.

  Before they'd gone a block, they were soaked to the skin. She tried not to shiver, taking the need for caution from some inner radar that communicated itself to her. They approached the apartment complex on Hawaii Avenue from the farthest distance to the designated address.

  Cars whizzed past them spraying water and making them even wetter, their clothes heavy and difficult to walk in. Wyatt took the worst of it. Sandra's fingers were stiff and cramped, but she continued walking without complaint. They ducked into the apartment complex and circled the courtyard before climbing the front stairs and immediately exiting on the other side.

  Sure there was no one following them, they found apartment 3J and knocked on the metal door. It creaked open like some horror movie sequence designed to scare the audience. Sandra's heart leapt to her throat. She gripped Wyatt's hand in a bone crushing squeeze.

  Wyatt put a finger to his mouth to keep her from saying anything. She couldn't speak if she had to! He edged the door open wider and they looked inside. The lights were all on. They could see nothing. The television played softly in a corner.

  Wyatt took the first step inside. Sandra pulled him back. "Maybe we should go."

  "You stay here. I'll go in," he told her. He pushed her out of the doorway and stepped inside. Sandra followed, crouching. She'd seen the two men who'd gone into the motel room seconds after she'd left it. They had had guns. She and Wyatt were unarmed.

  She shadowed Wyatt's movements and was behind him when they discovered Jeff lying on the floor, blood soaking into the cream-colored carpeting.

  "Jeff!" she shouted, and pushed past Wyatt. In a flash she was next to him and lifting his head. Wyatt pressed his hand to the man’s neck, searching for a pulse.

  "He’s alive," he announced.

  "Jeff?" Sandra called.

  Jeff's eyes fluttered open. "Sandra, you came."

  "Jeff, what happened?"

  "I. . .didn't. . .tell. . ." His voice was weak and he coughed between each word.

  "Call an ambulance!" she ordered Wyatt. Jeff grabbed her arm. His grip was weak. She took his hand and squeezed it. Tears clouded her eyes.

  "No . . . time," he coughed.

  "Jeff, did they take the stones?" Wyatt asked.

  He shook his head, a crooked smile on his face.

  "Where are they?" Sandra asked.

  "Ninety-five," he said through his cough.

  He was slipping fast. Sandra doubted he'd be able to tell them where the stones were.

  "Ninety-five, what?" Wyatt asked. She could hear the control in his voice.

  "Ro— 95. . .147. . ." Blood seeped out of his mouth. Sandra pressed her hand against her stomach, fighting her own bile.

  "What does that mean?" she asked. "Jeff, what is Row? Jeff?"

  Wyatt put his hand on her shoulder. "He's dead, Sandra."

  "He's not dead." She glared at Wyatt. "He can't be dead. He can't be dead." Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled freely over her cheeks. "He can't be. . "

  Wyatt came around behind her. "We have to get out of here." He took Sandra's shoulders but she shrugged him off. "Sandra, you can't help him. We have to go." He pulled her to her feet and led her to the door.

  Sandra looked back. "He was my friend."

  "I know, honey." Wyatt's voice was sympathetic as he closed the door and led her away. They retraced their steps back to Fort Totten. No taxis appeared on the heavily traveled road, so they walked. Oblivious to the rain pelting her face and head, Sandra walked in a daze. Salty tears mingled with the rainwater as they got farther and farther away.

  At Buchanan Street they turned toward North Capital and were lucky enough to find an empty cab.

  "Hyatt on Third Street in Southwest," Sandra instructed the driver.

  Travis Green walked under the train trestle near the Hyatt Regency Hotel. He'd been stationed there to watch for Senator Randolph. It was broad daylight and raining. Travis found it difficult to be unobtrusive in this area. There was a lot of road traffic and no place to park except in underground lots. A car on the street would be noticed by the many patrolling police cars.

  Pedestrian traffic wouldn't be as conspicuous during the lunch hour, but at this time of day his continuous walking made him more the hunted than the hunter.

  Across the street he'd seen another man. He was obviously watching the place or Travis Green was no government agent. That was the problem with this town, everyone watched everyone else. Between t
he two of them, they couldn't keep the place properly in view. Cars drove in and out of the off-street entryway. It was impossible to see inside each one or to tell if they went to the garage or turned back onto the one-way street at the side of the building.

  Whoever designed this building didn't do it for unobstructed observation. It was time he went inside. He'd use the men’s room in the restaurant and get a cup of coffee. He hoped there were different people in the coffee shop this time. He'd been in twice already and he didn't want to be recognized.

  A taxi turned left at the light while he waited on the opposite corner. It disappeared into the hotel driveway. He crossed the street, checking for the other man observing the comings and goings of the building's traffic. He was still there—watching. Travis had a mind to go over and ask him who he was looking for. He didn't like not having all the facts of a job. If he'd been sent to stake out this building, why was someone else given the same assignment and why wasn't he told?

  As the cab pulled away from the curb, Wyatt whispered in her ear. "Are you all right?"

  Sandra nodded.

  Wyatt pulled her against him, encircling his arm around her shaking shoulders. Her muffled cries joined the water already soaking him. He knew better than to believe she was all right. He also knew how she felt. He'd had the same numb feeling when he found out Chip was dead. Now, two people had died over the stones and he had no idea where they were. Row 95147 didn't mean anything to him. He was sure it was also a mystery to Sandra, but now wasn't the time to bring the up. She needed a period of mourning. But it would have to be short. When they checked in and were alone he could talk to her. Meanwhile, he'd just hold her close.

  Wyatt paid the driver with the last of his cash when the taxi stopped under the off-street entryway. Before they entered, Wyatt stopped. "Do you want to get the room and I'll meet you there?"

  "We're not checking in."