Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) (15 page)

She threw back the covers and crawled out of the warmth of the bed to fumble with her bag for clothes and other essentials. A hot shower was definitely in order before she faced Jared. With any luck, she'd ease some of the ache from all those dormant muscles that had been reawakened with a vengeance, thanks to him. The memory of how she'd gotten into such a state made her smile widen.

The night spent in Jared's arms had been nothing short of glorious, she admitted as she stepped beneath the stinging spray from the showerhead. As a lover, he'd never left her wanting—unless, of course, it was for more of his scrumptious brand of lovemaking. Of that, she could never seem to get enough.

Last night there had been something more to their coming together. Something infinitely emotional and definitely more intense. She suspected part of the intensity may have had to do with the fact that they were running for their lives, but she sensed the closeness they'd shared went beyond their skewed reality. Not
only had he said he loved her, but he had shown her over and over again, each time twice as sweet and tender as the last.

She dipped her head beneath the spray. Once they were able to reclaim their lives, she still hadn't a clue what would happen to them, or rather, their future. She had her own demons to wrestle with, and one of those included a discussion with Leland. After what the press was doing to her reputation by linking her to Jared and his alleged crimes, Leland might even refuse to see her. Considering how he absolutely despised having his neat and orderly environment ruffled, it was a possibility she had to consider, and maybe even accept.

Assuming she and Jared did manage to clear their names, she didn't have a moment of doubt that her job with the Justice Department would be history.
But what about Jared?
she thought, lathering her hair. He had said he had no qualms about returning to the bureau. According to him, the FBI itself wasn't bad, just those on the inside using the agency for their own personal agenda. The one thing she was having difficulty reconciling wasn't so much that he would return to the bureau if he could, but that he might once again carry a badge, disappear for weeks on end without a single word, and keep that part of his life separate from his life with her. In other words, she wasn't sure she wanted to return to the status quo. If they were going to resume their relationship, she needed things to be different this time. If not, they would end up being one of those pitiful couples people talked about.

She gave herself a mental shake as she rinsed her hair and left the shower. There would be time later
for thoughts of the future. Right now they needed to come up with a plan on how to expose those involved in the conspiracy. Their personal life would just have to wait.

Ten minutes later she emerged from the bedroom. Upon entering the living room, the first thing she noted was that all evidence of their lovemaking had been effectively erased. No stray articles of clothing, no furniture out of place. Even the pillows they'd scattered in front of the hearth, where they'd made love again at a much more leisurely and exploratory pace, had been returned to their proper spot. If it hadn't been for the aching tenderness between her legs, she might have believed she'd dreamed the entire, delicious night of passion in the arms of the man she loved.

She headed into the kitchen to see if Jared needed some help with breakfast, and came to a dead stop when she reached the doorway. Instead of finding Jared, as she'd expected, Harry was opening the oven door and retrieving fresh-baked rolls. Disappointment rolled through her as her heart sank clear to the toes of her cheap sneakers.

“Where's Jared?” she asked, but she already knew. She knew, and it hurt her right to the core of her soul.

Harry closed the oven door and set the rolls on the counter next to the stove before turning to face her. His sympathetic gaze only confirmed the news. Jared had left.

“He didn't want you to be alone,” Harry told her.

She crossed her arms. “That explains why you came back,” she said. “Where is Jared?” She despised the telltale sharpness of her tone, but disappointment did that to a woman.

Harry let out a sigh and gestured to the small round table in the dining area. “You better sit down, Peyton.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Dammit, Harry. What's going on?”

“He went back to D.C. this morning.”

“Back to… But why?”

He poured them each a cup of coffee, then carried the mugs to the table, waiting patiently for her to join him. “He knew you'd be upset,” he said.

“Upset?” She remained in the doorway, not trusting her legs to carry her. Of all the stupid, asinine places for Jared to go, marching right into the lion's den had to top the list. “Upset doesn't even begin to catalog what I'm feeling right now. Furious is closer to the truth.” And disappointed beyond belief.

Instead of looking at her, Harry concentrated on stirring creamer into his coffee. “He's only doing what he thinks is best for you.”

“Oh, screw that,” she retorted. She marched across the kitchen and dropped into the chair opposite Harry. “Jared is doing what Jared always does. Whatever is the easiest and least complicated for him, and to hell with what anyone else thinks.”

While she seethed, Harry took a few sips of coffee, before wandering back to the stove. He heaped two plates with fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, just the way she liked them. “You're not being fair to him.”

She looked up as Harry set the food in front of her. “He's going to get himself killed,” she said more calmly. “These people, they're ruthless.”

He settled his hand on her shoulder and gave it a
gentle squeeze. “Trust him. He knows what he's doing.”

Trust him? She'd thought she could. Unfortunately, she'd just been taught otherwise.

She waited until Harry was seated across from her. “What did he say to you?” she demanded.

“Not much.”

That sure as hell didn't surprise her.

“Just that he was going back to D.C. now that he had enough evidence to hopefully put an end to this mess.”

She shook her head. “That's insane. All the so-called evidence is at best circumstantial. What does he think he's going to do? He can't go to the bureau. There's no one there he can trust, if his suspicions are right and someone high up in the chain of command is involved. God, Harry. He's going to get himself killed for sure this time.”

Her friend gave her a level stare. “Peyton, listen to me. You need to have a little faith in him. He knows what he's doing.”

Her fork clattered against the plate as it slipped from her fingers. “If he knew what he was doing, he would've been able to put an end to this mess a long time ago.”

“You're worrying about something where you have no control. Besides, you can pace the carpet bare and you know it's not going to change anything.”

“Worrying about Jared has been as natural as drawing my next breath for too many years. I've done nothing but be frightened for his safety since the day he became a part of my life.”

Was Harry right? Was she having a self-righteous
snit because she had no control in a situation so completely insane she didn't know what to do next? Or was it something much more basic? Like Jared's leaving without talking to her first? Without reassuring her as best he could that he would take every precaution to ensure their future together? She suspected both, but in her current state of mind, she leaned more heavily toward the latter.

“Why couldn't he have told me himself?” she mused aloud. “After…” After all that talk of trust the past few days, he should have at least been up front with her and let her know what he had planned.

Damn him!

Harry lifted his mug and took a sip of the steamy coffee. “I'm sure he thought he was doing what was best.”

Regardless of Harry's attempt to placate her, Peyton realized that once again Jared had acted true to form. He'd left her feeling helpless, alone, and worst of all, with nothing to hang on to other than a few sweet whispered words of love spoken during the dark of night.

B
Y ONE O'CLOCK
Monday afternoon, Sunny was heading north on the coast highway from Charleston, on her way to Cole Harbor, South Carolina. Her orders: to interview the last agent to work the Romine case, Chase Bracken.

The assignment had come as a complete surprise, especially since she'd already been requested by the assistant director to be a part of the team investigating Theodore Galloway for the Senate Judicial Committee's hearings that would take place later next month. Just this morning, on her drive to the airport in D.C., she'd heard the president's announcement regarding the appointment of Galloway to the Supreme Court. Instead of traveling, she should have spent the day in meetings with dozens of other agents, going over the various assignments for the background investigation of Galloway.

She exited the highway and took the turnoff for Cole Harbor. If she'd learned anything the last few days, it was to expect the unexpected. For any agent with designs on upward mobility within the bureau, being chosen by her superiors for such a sensitive investigation was quite the coup. It meant she'd been noticed…in a good way. The fact that she'd been
asked again to work on the Romine case was a dream job as far as her puzzle-solving mind was concerned.

She reached the town limits of Cole Harbor and simply followed all the Go, Fight, Win, Cougars signs to the local high school, where Bracken now worked as a football coach and teacher. She had plenty of questions for the former agent, but the most curious item on her list was what would make a seasoned agent with a reputation like Bracken's walk away from his career. She didn't need her degree in criminal justice to know it had something to do with his association with Romine's sister. Sunny had a few other suspicions and hoped to have them confirmed, as well.

She parked in a vacant spot near the administration building. Inside, the halls were cool and relatively deserted. The slam of a locker door, followed by the sound of sneakers hitting the asphalt tiles, came from somewhere down another corridor. She located the main office and within minutes was directed to a classroom on the third floor.

The door was open, so she stepped inside the darkened room. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness in the place, lit only by the glare of the movie screen set up at the front of the classroom. Agent Bracken stood at the back of the room behind a slide projector. On the screen were the faces of infamous serial killers known as the Hillside Stranglers, who'd ravaged much of the Southern California area during the late seventies.

Obviously she'd walked into Bracken's course on criminal justice. There was no other logical explanation she could come up with for why he'd be telling his class about such two notorious killers.

Bracken shut down the projector. “Lights, please,” he said, just as the bell sounded, announcing the end of the period. Surprisingly, none of the students rushed to their feet. From the bureau photos Sunny had inspected just that morning, there was no mistaking that Bracken qualified as a hunk. No doubt half the girls in his class were in love with him, while the guys all wanted to be like him. Not that she could blame them. Bracken had one hell of a reputation, and the charisma to pull it off, when he chose to use it.

The overhead fluorescent fixtures buzzed and came to life. Sunny found herself staring into the intense lilac eyes of former Special Agent Chase Bracken. The photos didn't even begin to do the man justice. Well over six feet tall, he was built like a linebacker, with movie-star good looks. Simply put, the man was stunningly gorgeous, if a gal was interested in the big and bulky type boasting a lady-killer grin.

“That's it for today,” he said to the class, but he was looking in her direction with a very unwelcome frown drawing his midnight-black eyebrows together.

“Interesting topic,” she said once the students filed out of the room. “A little gruesome for teens, don't you think?”

Bracken shrugged and started rolling up the cord for the slide projector's remote control. “The kids eat the stuff up. It's all part of the death penalty discussions that'll take place later this week.” He laid the cord over the machine and gave her a hard look that matched his granite features. “Not that what I do is the bureau's business any longer.”

Sunny grinned nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

“That obvious. So what can I do for you, Agent…?”

She didn't let the fact that Bracken failed to return her smile stop her from closing the space between them and extending her hand in greeting. “MacGregor,” she said. “Sunny MacGregor.”

At least he shook her hand, she thought. “I'd like to ask you a few questions about your investigation of Jared Romine.”

He let out a sigh filled with impatience. “My final report is in the file.” He turned his back to her and began gathering papers and placing them in a brand-new leather briefcase that still squeaked when opened.

“Yes,” she said. “About that report. I've read it. What I'm interested in is what's not in the report, Agent Bracken.”

He braced his hands on the desk and turned his head, giving her a steely glare. “
Former
Agent Bracken,” he said in a rough tone. “I left the bureau, remember?”

“Yes, well…” She cleared her throat, not the least bit intimidated by him. Not much, anyway. “Now why is that, do you think? You were a decorated agent. I agree with the reports that some of your methods left a little to be desired on occasion, but I don't think there's anyone who can deny you produced positive results. The bureau likes results, so what would make a man walk away from a fast-track career? From all appearances, you were headed straight for the top, yet you threw it all way.”

He turned and rested his backside against the metal desk, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Retirement sounded like a good idea.”

“I don't buy that, Agent Bracken.”

“It's
Mr.
Bracken or
Coach
Bracken,” he said coldly. “I'm no longer an agent.”

“Okay,
Coach
Bracken. Why walk away like you did?”

“Look, as I told the last jackass that was here, I quit. No big deal. I decided I was ready for a change. End of story. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a gym class in forty minutes.”

There had been other agents sent to question him? Why hadn't she been informed? If she'd known in advance she wasn't the first sent to speak to him, she would have altered her approach. “What other jackass?”

“The other agent here this morning,” he said impatiently.

“There was an another agent here? To question you about your investigation of the Romine files?”

“Sunny, huh? Guess they call you that because you're so bright.”

She didn't appreciate his sarcasm. Not when she was on the verge of discovering something vitally important. Anticipation buzzed inside her. “Please stick to the questions, Coach Bracken. Do you know the name of this other agent?”

He reached behind him and pulled a business card from the side pocket of his briefcase. “Caffey. Marcus Caffey,” he said, handing her the card. “He's out of the New York field office.”

“This is highly unusual,” she murmured while inspecting the card. She looked back at Chase. “May I ask what you told Agent Caffey?”

“Same thing I'm telling you. I quit. End of story.”

She had to find a way to get through to him so he'd tell her what he knew. Every instinct told her Bracken had walked away from his career in the bureau because he'd learned information that could prove Romine's innocence. But if that was the case, then why didn't he bring that information to light and put an end to the manhunt for Romine, and now Douglas?

“Coach Bracken, I have reason to believe that Jared Romine is innocent. I also believe that you agree with me, which is a part of what facilitated your retirement from the bureau.”

The look in his eyes turned glacial. She had him, and they both knew it. “You assume a lot.”

“Agents like you don't walk away from the job just because retirement sounds good. They walk away when they no longer trust or believe in the system they've sworn to uphold. And agents like Romine don't kill their partners or top senatorial aides.”

Bracken stood and picked up his briefcase. “Like I said, you assume a lot, MacGregor. Here's some advice. Go back to whoever sent you and tell them you couldn't find anything. It might just keep you alive.”

He started for the door. She followed on his heels. “Then you
do
know something.”

He kept walking. “I didn't say that.”

“Not in so many words.”

“Not in
any
words, MacGregor.”

She practically had to jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. “Why won't you talk to me? I'm on your side. I'm here to help Agent Romine.”

He stopped at the edge of the stairwell and looked down at her. “Are you? Who gave you this assign
ment? How do you know they're not using you as a pawn to gather information to use against him?”

“Did you tell Agent Caffey the same thing you're telling me?”

“No.”

She looked up at him and waited.

“Because I know who sent Caffey,” he replied.

A slight lift of her eyebrows was the only response she gave him.

“Elijah Pelham,” he said, then started down the stairs.

Sunny's mind started spinning as she tried to keep up with Bracken. She'd met Pelham once and hadn't liked him much. He was an officious, self-important little creep, the same rank as Gibson Russell. Both Pelham and Gib worked directly under the supervision of Vivien Kent. A coincidence? Not with an agency that liked to pride itself on its efficiency. The right hand of the bureau usually always knew what the left hand was doing.

So what was she doing here if another agent had already been sent to question Bracken? She didn't like the answer, or that Bracken could be right.

At the bottom of the first flight, she reached for Bracken's arm to slow him down. Her fingers slipped over his forearm, and thankfully, he stopped. “I need your help,” she told him. “Agent Romine needs my help if he's going to get out of this alive, and I can't do that if you won't at least tell me what you know.”

“What makes you think I know anything, MacGregor?”

“You wouldn't have quit the bureau otherwise.

You made your decision in order to save his life, didn't you?”

He let out a long sigh. “My reasons are none of your business.”

“Dammit, he and Peyton Douglas will be killed if the men trying to frame him find him before I do,” she said in a harsh whisper. “What are you going to tell Dr. Romine? That you had a chance to keep her brother alive for a little while longer and you refused?”

He muttered something vile, then glanced down at his wristwatch. “You have thirty minutes to convince me. And you'd better make it convincing, MacGregor. I don't suffer fools lightly.”

She let out a sigh of relief and flashed him a smile. “I don't expect you do, Agent Bracken. Now if we could start by you directing me to a telephone so I can call in to let my supervisor know I wasn't able to come up with any new information, then we can begin to compare notes.”

 

B
Y THE TIME THE SUN
had set along the Maine coast, Peyton's anger hadn't waned one iota. How could Jared have taken off without talking to her first? She had no idea where he'd gone, whom he planned to talk to or what she was supposed to do besides sit and wait. The waiting was killing her. The anger kept her from slipping into a full-blown panic.

All morning and afternoon she'd alternated between pacing the carpet in front of the fireplace and sitting on the front porch of the cottage, listening to the waves crash upon the shore. She'd kept her cell phone turned on and with her at all times just in case Jared
tried to reach her, but instinct told her he wouldn't. Whenever he'd gone on an assignment, she'd never had any contact with him. She sure as hell didn't expect him to break his code of silence now, especially when both of their lives weren't worth a nickel until this mess was over and done.

Harry had remained at the cottage with her and was inside cooking something for dinner that she probably wouldn't be able to eat, anyway. He didn't keep a television set in the cabin, so all she had as far as news came from brief sound bytes in between golden oldies from one of the local radio stations. The only news of any interest was the president's appointment of Theodore Galloway to the Supreme Court. A chill had run up her spine when she'd heard the announcement. The wheels had been set into motion. There would be no turning back now until either Jared managed to expose the bastards or they got to her and Jared and silenced them.

She tugged the faded, handmade quilt snugly over her shoulders and rested her head against the wicker chair nearest the railing of the front porch. Tucked in a cocoon of false security, with the added comfort of the loaded pistol they'd taken from the punk who'd tried to rob them resting on her lap, she laughed at the irony. Security and comfort, two emotions she'd foolishly tried to believe in when she'd spent the night in Jared's arms.

She shook her head at her foolishness. She might not regret making love to him, but she did regret letting her heart play an active role in her decision. There'd been little doubt of the fact they could never have a future together, and his running off today just
cemented that belief more firmly in her mind. So if she knew all that, then why did she feel as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest?

The answer had her vision blurring with tears. She loved Jared, always had. And just her rotten luck, she probably always would.
You can't pick who you fall in love with.
That was something she recalled her mother saying often, whenever Peyton had raised the subject of her father. When her mother had died from complications arising from a serious bout of pneumonia, Peyton had overheard the doctors saying that she no longer had the will to live. Peyton had been too young to understand, but as she'd gotten older, she realized that her mother had probably died of a broken heart. She'd always said how much she loved Peyton's father, and when he'd walked away and never looked back, everything in their lives had changed.