Perfect Victim, The (50 page)

Using her own moisture, he lubricated her there, enjoying the sight as she wriggled her buttocks from side to side. He toyed with her, feeling the power engulf him. She was his now, to do with as he pleased.

She cried out when he entered her. Brilliant streaks of excitement ripped through him at the sound of her pain, the sight of her nails bunching the sheets, the feel of her tight
body a
s
it spa
s
med around his. She bucked beneath him, but he continued his slow descent until he was buried to the hilt within her.

He r
o
de her hard, doing his utmost to hurt, to control
.

When she cried out or shuddered with the
pain of his brutal assault, he pounded harder
,
without mercy, d
r
iving himself closer to relea
s
e
.

By the time he withdrew
from her, spent, she lay silent and still on the
bed, her face buried in the pillows. An occasional sob emanated from within the mass of red h
a
ir
.
On the pillow next to her, a red fingernail lay broken on the sheets.

Tate walked into the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet towel
.
He spoke softly to her as he toweled the blood from the milky flesh of her buttocks, telling her how wonderful she had been and that she should come to him whenever she needed that special favor.

Though she would be sore
i
n the morning
,
Brenda DiRocco would remember lit
t
le of what had happened in
.
this hotel room
t
onight. He would tell her that in the heat of celebration, she'd had too much to drink, and that he'd had one of
his bodyguards drive her home. She would be embar
r
assed that t
h
e night had been a total blacko
u
t
.
But he would be reassuring, telling her it happened to the best of them from time to time.

When he got out of the shower, she still hadn't moved.

Annoyed, he picked up the piece of broken fingernail and tossed it into the trash
.
Reminding himself that he had a speech to give in less than an hour
,
he dressed, then dialed
his bodyguard's room number.

"Mrs. DiRocco is going
to need an escort home," he said.

"I'll be right there."

Tate hung up and smiled
.
He had a crowd of supporters to dazzle
,
money to raise, babies to kiss
.
H
e
called his own room two floors down, and informed his wife the meeting had ended
and that he would meet her downstairs in ten minutes
.

A knock at the door announced his bodyguard. Tate answered, motioning to the semiconscious woman on the bed. "Keep it discreet, Kyle. She's had too much to drink."

The burly man, wearing custom-made trousers and jacket, went to the bed and pulled the young woman to her feet. "I'll take good care of her, Mr. Tate."

"See that you do." Tate scribbled her home address onto a sheet of the hotel's paper and handed it to his, bodyguard.

She moaned, her head lolling from side to side as the big man lifted her and slipped her coat over her shoulders. Her feet barely touched the floor as he guided her to the door.

"Use the freight elevator," Tate said in disgust.

Kyle nodded and closed the door behind them.

Tate looked at his watch, not quite sure why he felt so tense. Sex and the release that went with it usually relaxed him. Especially the kind of sex he'd had with Brenda DiRocco.

His personal cell phone chirped. Only two people had the number: That it was ringing now annoyed him. "What?"

"I just got a call from one of our constituents." The voice on the other end didn't bother with introductions or niceties.

Tate reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and withdrew the monogrammed handkerchief, not liking it that his forehead was damp with sweat. "And?"

"There have been some changes in the Denver project:"

He wiped the back of his neck, felt something inexplicable tighten in his chest. "What kind of changes?"

"We got an interesting call. Someone connected to her is willing to help us."

"By all means, let's take advantage. Discreetly, of course."

"Of course." The caller cleared his throat. "The two players are here in D.C."

"How did they get this close without my knowing it?"

"They moved quickly. Different hotel every night. The
woman wants to meet with you. She's been making some noise, sir, calling your office and campaign headquarters."

Tate forced a laugh as he adjusted a diamond cuff link. "Intriguing girl," he said, considering himself in the mirror
.
"So far the Denver project has been a dismal failure."

"How do you want to handle it?"

"I
'
d like her staff terminated. Then I'd like a personal meeting with her to discuss our options."

"A personal meeting?"

He ignored the surprise in the other man's voice
.
"Do it
.
"

"Sir
,
I feel it's my duty to warn you that a meeting could be risky."

"A risk I'm willing to take," Tate snapped. "Set it up. I want to see her
.
"

"When?"

"Let them sweat for a couple of days. Let them get anxious. Then set something up with the contact
.
"

"Yes, sir."

"Make sure the contact is appropriately
.
.
.
compensated
:
"

"
Done.
"

His heart was pounding when he snapped the phone closed
.
An odd mix of apprehension and anticipation that had been building for days.

And the more he thought about a personal meeting with Addison Fox, the more the idea intrigued him.

"Mr. Garrison Tate, please."

"Are you calling regarding a political issue?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.

Addison identified herself. "I'm calling in regard to a personal matter
.
"

"Let me put you through to one of his aides."

There was a series of clicks as the call was transferred. Addison took a deep breath, wondering why it didn't help the tightness in her chest
.

"May I help you?" A male voice. Professional. Busy. They screened Tate's calls well.

"This is Addison Fox. I need to speak with Garrison Tate."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Tate is in a meeting this morning. Are you inquiring about his campaign or a political matter?"

She chose her words carefully. "He's been trying to reach me. I'm sure he'll want to speak with me personally."

"I can take a message."

''This is the third message I've left."

"I'm sorry, but he's a very busy man."

"My name is Addison Fox. Tell him I'm in town." She recited the number of the cell phone Clint had given them. "I'd like to schedule a meeting with him. If he doesn't return my call, tell him I'll contact the Wall Street Journal" She disconnected.

It was the third such call in as many days and still Tate hadn't bothered to call her back. Discouraged, she blew a sigh and frowned at Randall. "He's not going to take the bait."

Sitting across the table from her, he gazed back at her, his dark eyes conveying that he understood her frustration, but he didn't share it. "We'll find another way to nail him."

His answer only heightened her agitation. Too restless to sit, she rose and walked to the window, barely noticing the traffic or the rain-soaked pedestrians moving along K Street below. ''This is the last thing I expected to happen. He's been so aggressive until now."

"Maybe he's trying to wait us out." Coming up behind her, Randall wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against hers. "You're forgetting something."

The tension drained out of her body the moment his arms encircled her. It was a magic that was uniquely theirs, one she'd discovered quite by accident in the three days they'd been in Washington. Regardless of her frame of mind, whether she was angry or afraid or just feeling alone, whenever he touched her she knew that, somehow, everything would work out.

Beyond the window, the rain quickened its tempo. She closed her eyes, wishing the nightmare would end so she could concentrate on loving this man who held her like she'd never been held before.

"What am I forgetting?" she asked quietly.

"As we speak, there are two reporters from the
Wall Street Journal
up in Siloam Springs, U.S.A
.
, harassing Sheriff Delbert McEvoy."

The image that came to mind made her smile, and she snuggled closer to him. "Interesting scenario."

"Downright amusing if you ask me." He nipped at her earlobe. "And Van-Dyne's investigating in Denver. Something will break soon."

She loved the feel of him against her. Solid
.
Reassuring. The need inside her stirred, its power never ceasing to take her breath. "Have you checked on Jack?"

"Earlier this morning," he murmured, nuzzling the tender flesh just below her left ear. "But I need to check in again." Groaning, he eased away from her
.
"We're going to run out of hotels if Tate doesn't make his move soon," she said.

"D.C. is a big city—”

The telephone jangled as he reached for it
.
Their eyes met, hers startled, his sober and decisive. "If it's Tate, go ahead and set up a meeting," he said.

Heart pounding, Addison picked up the phone. Randall leaned close enough to hear the conversation. "Hello?" she said.