They'd avoided any talk of her father, but Sarah knew they were headed that way. She was of two emotions. Her first inclination was to resist, to protect herself and her family by remaining quiet. But there was also the impulse to tell Daniel, to set the record straight once and for all.
"Does your mother cook?" Daniel asked. He relaxed on the sofa and enjoyed the fact that Sarah was only a few feet from him. He studied her profile against the fire and wondered at the pale softness of her skin. It was almost more than he could bear not to reach out and touch it, just to feel the sensation of it beneath his fingertips. But he held himself in check.
For the first time since he'd met her, Sarah was actually relaxing. He'd never noticed how wound up she was most of the time, until now. With her head propped on a pillow and her third glass of an excellent merlot in her hand, she was mellowing into a woman who compelled him deeply. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her, and to talk with her until there were no secrets left between them. The raw power of his emotions frightened him enough to keep him still.
He'd felt varying degrees of sexual attraction for many other women, and he'd wooed and won his fair share of them. Many of them he'd enjoyed in every sense of the word— as friends, lovers and comrades. But Sarah was something else. She stirred his blood in a slower, more enticing fashion.
He realized she was answering his question, talking about picnics and fried chicken and apple pies. She made it sound as if she'd lived the American dream of childhood. But he knew that wasn't the whole truth.
"And your father, was he a chef, also?"
"Daddy cooked great spaghetti. And he actually made better piecrust than anyone I've ever known. But he didn't cook often. Every time he got in the middle of something, he was called out, so he said it wasn't worth the effort. Mom agreed, because she had to clean up his mess, and she said it was amazing how a man could cook one dish and mess up every pot in the house."
They laughed together, and Daniel leaned down to refill her glass. He felt a twinge of deceit as he moved the questions along to where he wanted to go.
"You father loved his job, didn't he?"
"Until the last." Sarah felt her body begin to tense, and she willed herself to relax. Daniel was asking what he had to know. Once it was said, he'd believe what he wanted. But if she wouldn't tell him, then she couldn't really blame him for going to Jenkins for whatever lies that old agent had to tell. Daniel was a man trained to seek out facts, and he had to look wherever he found a clue.
"After the accusations were made, Daddy kept doing his job, but it was like he didn't walk as proud. He felt that everyone thought he was a crook. It…diminished him."
The anger and bitterness in Sarah's last words made Daniel want to go to her. He reached down to grip her shoulder, one small gesture that showed he understood how tough that would be for a man of character. "I'm sorry," he said. How was it possible that Sarah saw her father one way and a trained FBI agent saw him another? He sat up, not knowing what to do with his sudden burst of anxious energy.
Sarah turned so that she was staring at the fire, and he saw the cat rise to lick a tear from her cheek. Lucky cat, he thought ruefully. But he had given his word he wouldn't pressure her, and if he had to go dunk himself in Chesapeake Bay to keep that word, he intended to do so.
"You're wondering how I could love my father so much, and yet how other people thought he was a crook, aren't you?"
"Yes." He tightened his fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to put pressure on the roots. He noticed that Sarah, too, had a strand of hair that she was twisting and pulling. They both had some of the same nervous habits.
"That man, Jenkins. The reason I got so upset when you went to talk to him is because he had a personal vendetta against Dad. Believe it or not, he did. He set out to prove Daddy was guilty of something, anything. And he didn't stop until my father was dead. I think he may be the only person in the world my mother wishes dead."
The cold starkness of her words reached Daniel. He believed her— and he understood. "Agents trained by the FBI aren't supposed to work on personal vendettas," he said softly, "but it's happened in the past, and it will happen again. A law enforcement agency is only as good as the men in it. Some men are corrupt, and so are some agents."
Sarah shifted so that she was looking up at him. "You believe me?"
"I believe it's possible. Jenkins was…is a highly respected man."
Her hopeful expression fell away, exposing deep sorrow.
"But even to me, his determination to nail your father seems obsessive." Daniel struggled to put his feelings and intuitions into careful words. He didn't want to raise Sarah's hopes that he was committed to her way of thinking. He wasn't. But he wasn't one hundred percent in line with the FBI's stand, either. His thoughts had taken some radical curves since Cody's death.
"Then you're willing to consider that my father was an innocent man?" Blood rushed through Sarah's heart, giving her a feeling of light-headedness. She put her wineglass on the hearth and eased into a sitting position. Familiar, dislodged, recurled himself against her thigh.
"Perfectly willing to consider that possibility."
"If he was innocent, then you might go one step further and think about the possibility that he was…murdered?"
Daniel had wondered if Sarah's thinking had ever gone along those lines. "If he was innocent and someone was going to that much trouble to frame him, then it is very possible it became cost-effective simply to kill him."
Spoken so factually, the words did not pierce Sarah as deeply as she'd expected. The same thought had been percolating in her head for some time. She'd always resisted, because with that line of thinking came a necessary line of action— revenge.
Daniel watched her jaw harden. He started to admonish her against the thoughts he knew she was having, but he knew he'd think exactly the same thing. Exactly.
"Tell me what you know," Sarah requested.
Her request was unexpected, but Daniel was glad to see her emotions hadn't overpowered her ability to reason. She was some kind of woman.
"Jenkins was certain your father took a payoff. He said he had an informant."
"An informant." Sarah repeated the words as she tried to think of who that might be. "Male or female?"
"A man, but he didn't say who. Only that it was someone he trusted implicitly. He implied it was someone who'd worked with your father." Daniel didn't want to tell Sarah too much. What if she went off half-cocked and got herself in trouble, or even worse, in a dangerous position?
Sarah rolled onto her knees and hobbled the few steps to the telephone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm calling my mother," she said, as if he were asking the most foolish of all questions. "She'll remember everyone who ever knew my father at that time. If there's an informant in the woodwork, we'll sniff him out."
Daniel pressed the switch hook down. It was well past midnight, and the fire they'd built in the fireplace was glowing embers. "Wait until morning. You'll have her up all night, fretting and worrying, and she won't be able to think a bit better."
Sarah hesitated. She wasn't used to having anyone second-guess her actions. It was an odd feeling, to listen to Daniel and accept that he was right, even in such a minor thing. "Okay."
His hand slipped over her fingers and curled them inside his. "You are one very together woman," he said. "I know how hard this is, and you're thinking, sorting, using your brain. Not just turning on the emotions."
The warmth of his hand on hers was doing something strange to her body, but Sarah didn't want to acknowledge that. "I've had a lot of years to think about things. There were always some loose ends, some questions without answers. My mother won't talk about this. Or she hasn't in the past. Now she's going to have to. After Dad died she became so…passive. If someone killed him, that would explain a lot of things. If, and I know it's a big if, my father was murdered, I want to find out who did it and make them pay."
"And we will."
Sarah felt the tickle of a smile at the corners of her mouth. We. Daniel was still with her. So far.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"The way I look at things, I don't have any other choice. Not because I want to show you that I care for you, or to try to make you care for me, though I do want those things. Basically, this is the right thing to do. If a wrong was committed, then it should be righted. That's why I wanted to be an FBI agent. You know, one of the good guys." He smiled.
Sarah found herself fascinated by the corners of his mouth. The first hint of a beard shadowed his skin, giving his face a hungry look in the last glowing embers of the fire. Without thinking, she reached up to touch the left corner of his mouth. Her finger traced the upward curve of his lip, which increased at the lightness of her touch.
His hand touched her chin and drew her toward him. The first touch of their lips was tender, tentative. Sarah felt the sweep of flames that burned away all hesitations and doubts. There might never be another time so right. This one night, she would risk her heart, and her body, to Daniel.
She leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth. Her tongue teased and dared his, pushing them both past the point where they could draw back from each other. As his tongue danced along her lips, igniting a star burst of sensations, Sarah wound her fingers in his hair.
Daniel felt himself slipping into a swift stream of sensations. Hunger and need rode above a deep joy that made every touch, every tiny second, a wonder to him.
He eased to his knees and drew Sarah up to hers so that their bodies touched as they continued to explore each other with hands and mouths. He shifted his attention from her lips to her neck, drawing a soft moan of pleasure from her.
Sarah felt her body melting and gave herself to Daniel's strong arms as he gently eased her onto the floor. He followed, his lips trailing down her neck to her breasts. The thin silk of her shirt was no defense for his persistent kisses. Her pleasure increased, and so did her need.
The excitement Sarah demonstrated only aroused Daniel more. He drew back from her, touching her cheek with the lightest of touches until she opened her eyes. For a moment they were unfocused, but then he saw them clear.
"What?" she asked, breathless.
"Nothing," he answered, because he'd already seen what he was looking for in her eyes. He bent his head so that his lips sought hers, and this time their hunger bound them together in a sublime, sweet feast that finally left both completely satisfied.
* * *
AH, THE EXCESSES of youth. It's a good thing there's one levelheaded creature in this house. Maybe I'm just old and can tankerous, but I keep hearing something outside. The wind is kicking some butt out there, and the shutters are bumping the house. But there's something else. Someone else.
I think I'd know it if it was Jean-Claude. He didn't strike me as the kind who would lurk around in the cold, dark, wet night while everyone else was warm and cozy inside. There's an edge to him, though. He's the kind of man who would hurt a woman in a fit of jealousy. Fragile ego, or some such psychobabble. I'm just glad Dolly and Bureau Boy made their way to each other. It's clear to me there's a lot of mixed-up feelings there.
Listen!
There's footsteps on the porch. It sounds as if someone sat down in the swing! A prowler who wants to swing and watch a storm? This is strange. I'd better take a look. But there's nothing from this window, either.
It's time to get Daniel up and dressed. I don't think this is a situation where he really wants to be caught with his pants down, or off, as the case may be.
"Hey, Danny Boy! Bureau Boy! Hey!"
Let me put my little paw on his mouth to keep him quiet. Yes, now he hears it, and he's not going to disturb Dolly. Good, she needs her sleep— and we boys can probably work better without her tagging along.
Now he's dressed and it's into the night for us. Thank goodness he found another gun! There are nights like this when gun control seems to be an issue without a real answer. I'll bet the guy outside has some kind of weapon.
Take it easy with the door. That's it. I'm out and walking along the porch. There's someone in the swing, someone tall. He— or it could be a she— is wearing a hat. They're sitting so very still, and the wind is cutting across that water like icicles thrown from the North Pole.
* * *
"WHAT DO YOU THINK you're doing?" Daniel kept the gun at his side as he stepped in front of the seated stranger.
The blast of red pepper spray to his eyes was so unexpected that Daniel thought for a second he'd been blinded. "Hey!" He cried loudly enough to wake the dead, hoping Sarah would hear him and take precautions.
The tall figure darted past Daniel. Though he hesitated for a second at the door, he didn't see the cat. Familiar launched himself from the railing and struck the man's head. The cap flew off, and along with it went Familiar. His hold on the material was all he'd been able to grab.
Snatching up the hat, the man darted down the stairs and disappeared into the woods.
"Daniel?" Sarah's concerned voice came from a crack in the door. "What's going on?"
"Get some water and some towels." Daniel knew better than to rub his eyes, but he couldn't control the tears that streamed down his face. "I've been sprayed with pepper."
"What?" Sarah hurried outside, her nearly nude body shivering in the icy blast. She grabbed Daniel's shoulders and helped him back inside. He was blinded by the pepper and in intense pain.
"A man, I'm certain, but I didn't get a good look at him. He was sitting in the swing. When I went up to him, he blasted me with the pepper."
"Sitting in the swing?" Sarah mused over that fact as she eased Daniel into a chair and then went to get warm water and towels to blot his eyes. "Should we go to a hospital?"
Daniel shook his head. "No. This will wear off, but if I ever catch that guy, I'm going to mop the floor with him."
Sarah allowed a smile because she knew Daniel couldn't see her. She used the warm towels to remove as much of the pepper as she could, then used a mild soap all over Daniel's face.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yes." At least his eyes had stopped tearing. "He was a tall man. Have any ideas?"
Sarah heard the undertone in his voice. "What are you getting at?"
"Your friend was tall. The man who visited earlier."
Jean-Claude Minton was tall, but Sarah didn't say his name. Jean-Claude had gone back to New York, first of all, and second, even though he'd been a spoiled brat, he certainly knew better than to attack a federal agent with pepper spray for no good reason. There was no reason on earth he'd sit out on his own porch in a storm and then attack one of Sarah's friends.
Except that he'd always been a brat.
"Sarah, do you know who that might have been?"
"No," she answered honestly.
She looked up and met Familiar's questioning gaze. While she held a towel to Daniel's eyes, the cat went straight to the photo album on the coffee table. With deliberate care he placed a paw on the cover. Sarah shook her head. Familiar had identified the culprit, but this was one instance where Daniel would be better kept in the dark. This was personal, a matter of petty jealousy, and ridiculous to boot.
"Sarah, are you keeping something from me?" Daniel knew he sounded peevish, but it was infuriating not being able to see, and he could sense something going on around him that he couldn't understand.
"It's Familiar. He wants to go out."
"Let him. He's one heck of a watchcat."
Sarah put Daniel's hand on the towel he held to his eyes, then got up and went to the door. She eased the black cat out into the night with a little shove. She didn't want Daniel to see the cat with the photo album. If it was Jean-Claude, it was a stupid thing for him to do. Stupid and juvenile.
"Sarah?" Daniel's voice was uncertain. Sarah went to him and touched his face. "It's okay. It's just the two of us in this together. But we'll figure it out."
Chapter Elev
en
Sarah woke cradled in Daniel's arms. Easing out of bed so as not to disturb him, she stood before the window and stretched in the golden morning light. The storm had battered the bay house for several hours before breaking up, leaving the sunshine fresh-washed and beautiful.
As she dressed, Sarah studied Daniel's face. His eyes were still red and puffy, but he'd slept well for the remainder of the night. The pepper attack had been painful, but not damaging. Once the burning and irritation abated, he'd drifted into a sound sleep.
The temptation to touch his cheek was almost irresistible, but she managed to check the impulse. He was tired, and she wouldn't risk awakening him. As hard as the last few days had been on her, they'd been much worse on Daniel. He'd lost a friend, possibly his career, his self-respect and his home.
Yet he'd had so much to give her. Daniel Dubonet was a generous man when it came to love-making. A very generous man.
Sarah slipped from the room without disturbing him. There were several things she wanted to attend to before he awoke. One was a call to her mother.
Downstairs in the kitchen she put on a pot of coffee and dialed the Biloxi number. When she lifted the receiver to her ear, there was no sound. Toggling the switch hook up and down, she tried to clear the line, all to no avail. The phone was dead.
"The storm," she said to Familiar, who was pacing back and forth in front of the refrigerator. He'd disdained the cat food she'd brought and only sampled the pizza, but she knew he was hungry.
She poured him a saucer of milk and could clearly read the contempt on his face.
"What is it you want, pâté?"
"Meow!" He puckered his whiskers.
"Perhaps, la chat would prefer some grilled swordfish?" She adopted a haughty French accent.
"Meow!" Familiar sat down and nodded.
Sarah looked at him. He was actually telling her what he wanted. Grilled swordfish. She opened the freezer and began poking around. The darn cat would probably prefer it fresh, but that was out of the question. Maybe she could find something suitable in the freezer since Uncle Vince loved seafood.
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