Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) (4 page)

She hoped.

He let go of her hand. “That's what I thought,” he said, and moved away from her as if he couldn't stand to be near her. He dropped into one of the vinyl chairs at the round table and leaned back, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. “So who is he?” he asked, his tone conversational, as if he was asking whether rain was expected in the forecast.

She bent to pick up the keys and set them on the nightstand before answering. “Leland Atwood.”

She returned to the table and sat across from Jared. To someone who didn't know him as well as she did, his impassive expression just might have been believable, but there was a hardness in his eyes that belied the boredom he attempted.

“Atwood?” He laughed, but the sound held more bitterness than humor. “The pompous ass with the DOJ? He's a good ten, twelve years older than you.”

She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a level stare. “Leland is not pompous, just conservative. He's a federal court judge now, with the D.C. Circuit Court.”

“I don't care if he replaced Scalia on the high court, he's still not your type. What do you see in him?”

She really didn't care much for Jared's sarcasm, but
considering their history, maybe it was to be expected. “He is too my type. Leland is kind, he works hard and he has a promising career ahead of him.”

“He's a blowhard,” Jared said with a caustic laugh. “And so full of himself he can hardly fit through the door.”

“He is not.” So what if she sounded like a petulant child? This was her fiancé they were discussing, even if the entire conversation bordered on ludicrous.

A cocky grin canted his mouth. “You'll get tired of him within a year.”

She didn't appreciate his smirk in the least. “That just goes to show how little you know me.”

“Oh, I know you, sweetheart.” He leaned forward suddenly and reached across the space separating them to rest his hand on her knee. Her skin tingled.

“I know you like it on top,” he said in that low, husky voice normally reserved for late nights in front of the fireplace. “I know you like it hot and nasty.”

She shoved his hand away, not because she didn't like him touching her, but she wasn't exactly thrilled that her body responded to him when she was engaged to marry another man. “
That
was a long time ago. Besides, there's more to a marriage than great sex.”

He rested his hands on his knees and gave her a smug, I-know-better look. “I'll bet Atwood doesn't make love to you like you need to be made love to, either. All you'll get out of him will be a duty fuck because it's the expected method of reproduction, not because it drives him crazy to see you go wild with desire. And not because he knows how to make you cry out with pleasure.”

She shot out of the chair and circled the bed.
“You're out of line, Jared. Way out of line. You don't know me anymore.”

He was the second person in one day to make the same basic assessment of her fiancé. First her secretary and now Jared. Leland was a good man. He had staying power, and a strong sense of right and wrong. They didn't come any straighter than Leland Atwood.

“Within a year he'll have you knocked up and then you'll be lucky to get laid until he's deemed it's time for the next kid. The picture of the perfect family to show off to the world while he waits for an appointment to the Supreme Court,” he continued. “And you'll go along with it because of some misguided sense of what happiness is, but you know what? You'll be dying inside. Little by little, the woman you were will disappear. Because Atwood, for all his drive to succeed, doesn't know a thing about the woman you are, or have the first clue about what you need.”

She turned and looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “Oh, and you do?”

That cocky grin was back for the sole purpose of setting her teeth on edge. “I never heard you complaining.”

“That's because you were never around long enough,” she retorted.

His grin faded and she felt a small sense of satisfaction.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“Even before you…disappeared, you weren't around much.” Weeks, sometimes months would go by without a single word from him. While she was at work, occasionally her mind would wander and she'd always send up a little prayer that he was safe. But
the nights? Oh, those were the longest, and the hardest. When she had nothing else to occupy her mind, alone in bed with nothing but the darkness surrounding her, she'd envisioned one horrific scene after another until he came home again. They lived together for nearly a year before he ran, but in that time, she could probably count the weeks they'd actually been together on two hands.

“It was my job, Peyton. You know that.”

“A job you never talked about. I knew what you did was dangerous, but you never once told me what it was you were doing when you'd be gone for weeks at a time.”

God, why were they even having this conversation? What did it matter to her what Jared did? He no longer had that kind of hold on her.

“You know I couldn't talk about my assignments.”

“Something, Jared. Anything would have been preferable to the constant fear and worry that you were never coming home. When you did finally disappear, it was almost a relief because I knew then that you wouldn't be back.”

He came out of the chair and walked toward her, his eyes as thunderous as his expression. “You sure as hell didn't do anything to stop it. You invited the bastards into my own home.
Our
home.”

Once again, they'd come full circle and were back at square one. Anger nipped at her and she snapped, “I didn't have a choice!”

“So you keep saying.”

She balled her hands into tight fists and kept them at her side as she stared him down. “If I'd let you explain, if you'd told me anything,
anything,
it would
have been used against you. They were going to charge you with murder, Jared. The kind that would have had you strapped down to a table with a needle in your arm and a big burly guard pressing a large round green button. I'm sorry, but once the death penalty has been carried out, there's no way to reverse it. And you are a prime candidate for lethal injection, based on the evidence I've seen.

“If I didn't cooperate, they could have prosecuted me for harboring, or aiding and abetting. We weren't married, we were only living together. Only a wife has the privilege of not testifying against her husband, which means
you
weren't afforded that protection under the law.”

“I didn't kill Dysert or Santiago,” he roared.

“So
you
keep saying,” she shouted back. “But where's the evidence to the contrary? I'm a lawyer, Jared. A prosecutor for the United States. I know solid evidence when I see it.”

He let out a harsh breath. “You think I'm guilty.” He didn't question, he stated.

She sighed and fought for a calm she was nowhere near feeling. After he'd disappeared, she'd striven for order so she could survive yet another nightmare in her life. In a matter of hours, his presence had shot all her efforts for the past three years straight to hell.

No surprises. What a joke.

Nothing too emotional. Calm and serene had become painful and chaotic all over again.

“I don't know what to think.” She struggled for an even tone. “You haven't told me anything. Nor have you told me why you brought me here.” She lifted her hand to stop him from interrupting. “You keep
saying it's dangerous for me, but how do you know that? Why would they come after me? As far as anyone knows, we haven't seen each other since the night you took off without a trace.”

“They're going to use you to get to me.”

“If that's true, then what are you doing here?” she asked. “Anywhere near me should be the last place you'd want to be.”

“I know what they're capable of,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. Pain flashed in his eyes and her heart twisted. “I'm here because I don't want anything to happen to you.”

She sat beside him and reached for his hand. “It's been three years, Jared. It doesn't make sense that they'd bother with me now. Besides, after the first few months, the FBI finally left me alone. You didn't fail me, Jared. You failed yourself, and the law.”

He laced his fingers with hers. “Yeah, it does make sense. This is a game I've played before. I failed then, but I swear to you, Peyton, I won't fail this time.”

Something in his voice frightened her. Whether it was the cold determination or the hollow sense of dread, she couldn't decide, but figured they both deserved equal attention. “I don't understand.”

He turned his head to look at her. “No,” he said. “It's not you I failed.”

Caution and dread warred inside her. Whatever he was about to tell her was big, that much she knew for certain. “Then who?”

“My wife.”

“Y
OUR WIFE
?”

Jared let out a rough sigh and wished he'd kept that part of his life to himself. Whether the desire to keep silent stemmed from not wanting to hurt Peyton—which didn't make a bit of sense, since she was engaged to the legal-ladder-climbing Atwood—or to save his own sorry hide a revisit of the guilt of Beth's murder, he couldn't be sure. Of one thing he was certain: telling Peyton about the woman he'd married just might convince her he was telling the truth about the danger she now faced.

“You're married?”

He hated that her voice was laced with pain almost as much as he despised the fact that she was questioning him when she'd given up that right the day she'd turned him in to the bureau. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd spent the past three years pining for him, considering she'd agreed to marry another man. Just one more notch on her belt of betrayal? Or jealousy she had no right feeling?

“Not any longer,” he told her.

She stood and crossed the room before turning back to look at him. Her arms wrapped around her middle as if holding herself together. Combined with the hurt
in her periwinkle eyes, she had his heart twisting behind his ribs. Damn.

More guilt? A sure bet, since he was becoming such a pro at it.

“I can't believe I'm hearing this.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “You married someone.”

The accusation in her voice that he'd betrayed
her
ticked him off. “Don't be a hypocrite, Peyton. That rock on your finger says you didn't wait around for me, either.”

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, or as if her current premarital status didn't even belong in the conversation. “When did you have time to find yourself a wife
and
get a divorce?” She took a step backward, resting her bottom against the cheap, laminated dresser. “Why didn't they find you when you filed for divorce?”

A coldness crept into his veins that he couldn't have kept out of his voice if he'd wanted to…which he didn't. “Generally when one's wife is murdered, divorce isn't exactly a necessity.”

Peyton's hands fell to her sides as she stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. “By whom?” she finally asked.

The doubt filling her eyes pushed that damned hot button again. “Who the hell do you think?” he snapped, coming off the bed toward her. The fact that she still believed him capable of murder chafed not only his pride, but had his heart stinging, as well. Once upon a time they'd meant the world to each other. Now she circled him like a hand-shy puppy.

She held her ground, though—he gave her credit for that much, especially considering she'd made a
habit out of taking the path of least resistance whenever her personal life was involved.

“I wish I knew.”

“Dammit, Peyton. You just can't trust me, can you?”

“You haven't given me much reason to.” She fired the accusation back at him. She stood toe-to-toe with him, and dammit if the flash of heat in her eyes didn't have his gut clenching with what he recognized as desire. Guilt continued to nudge him, but he sidestepped it and clung to the anger simmering below the surface instead. Anger was good. It not only let him know he was still alive, but it gave him something else to concentrate on other than the need he had no right to feel.

He reached for her and held her upper arms in a tight grip. “You're going to have to learn.
Your
life depends on it.”

She struggled, but he refused to let her go. The soft floral scent of her perfume teased his senses, threatening to slam him back to a time when angry words between them were about as common as a blizzard in August.

“The evidence against you is staggering,” she argued. “And you haven't told me a damned thing since you dragged me here. If you want me to trust you, then start talking, Jared. And you can start by telling me who killed your wife.”

“The same people that are now after you are responsible for Beth's murder.”

As if he'd slapped her, she flinched, and something in her eyes died. “Her name was Beth?” she asked, her voice suddenly quiet.

He let go of her and his hands fell to his sides. “Yeah,” he said, “her name was Beth.” Sweet, caring Beth. Sadness weighed him down. She hadn't deserved to die. He might not have been the one to pull the trigger, but he was to blame for her death. All because he'd gotten tired, and been arrogant enough to believe that maybe they'd finally given up trying to find him.

He'd underestimated them, a mistake he would never make again.

“Was she very young?” Peyton asked.

He knew where this was going—straight down a path where the tracks were still fresh. Ignoring her questions was a possibility, but he understood that if he'd been completely honest with Beth, she might be alive today. A wrong he could never right.

He nodded before moving to the edge of the bed to sit. “She was only twenty-six.”

The next question was inevitable. He could see it in Peyton's face when he looked up at her. The one that would compound the guilt he already felt, the one that would hurt them both when she asked it.

“Were you in love with her?”

A direct shot, right to the heart of the matter. No wonder she made a great prosecuting attorney. She didn't hedge bets when she wanted information.

He could easily lie. Doing so had become second nature to him. He could even attempt to protect Peyton's feelings, if she had any left for him, but why? They were the past. He was with her now only to keep her from ending up with a bullet through the back of her head. Wasn't he?

Then what was that kiss about?

He settled his elbows on his thighs and let his hands dangle between his knees as he stared down at the worn carpet and chose to ignore his conscience. Lifting his gaze to hers, he said, “I cared about her. Love?” He shrugged. “I thought I knew what it was. Once.”

She winced, and it filled him with a morbid sense of satisfaction. “Any other questions?” he asked sarcastically.

“Just one,” she said, crossing her arms. “You stopped running, didn't you?”

“I didn't plan to,” he said after a moment. “I hired on as a cook in a truck stop when I ended up in some small town I didn't even know the name of, somewhere between Manhattan and Topeka, Kansas. Beth managed the place at night and waited tables on the graveyard shift. The cook walked out and I was in the right place at the right time. She hired me on the spot without asking a lot of questions I made a habit of evading.”

Still leaning against the dresser, Peyton crossed her slim ankles. “You couldn't have used your social security number or they'd have been on you right away. How'd you get around that?”

“I'd give a phony number, then stall for a week or two, saying I lost my wallet and was waiting for a replacement card. By the time they handed me my second paycheck I'd tell them I got my card a couple of days before, but just forgot to bring it with me. I'd promise to have it the next day, but I'd move on to the next town and the next job under another name and fake social. Until Kansas, I never stayed longer than six weeks in any location.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Why was Kansas different? Because of Beth?”

He pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. Her questions were no less grilling than the ones he tortured himself with every night. Only now he had to face the answers. No more dishonesty. Not if it could cost another person he cared about her life.

“She was part of the reason,” he admitted. “That, and I'd been on the run just under two years. I was tired of always looking over my shoulder, and frustrated because after twenty-some months, I was no closer to finding out who the bad guys really were. In all that time, I had zero leads and couldn't come up with a scrap of information that would bring me any closer to clearing my name. I hadn't planned on sticking around long, just enough to make some cash so I could keep moving. Moving and looking.”

“But you stayed.”

“I stayed. I knew in my gut I shouldn't, but like I said, I was tired and I hadn't had any close scrapes in almost a year. Maybe I'd hoped they'd given up. Besides, if I never surfaced, then their dirty little secrets would be kept. With an assumed identity, marriage would keep me safe for longer than usual. And for a while, it did.”

“How long did it last?”

“Almost eight months.” Eight months during which he'd foolishly believed he could maybe have a semblance of a normal life, although nothing like what he'd once envisioned for himself. If it meant staying alive, he was more than willing to make a few concessions.

“How long…”

Before the bastards got to her?
“We were married four months,” he said.

“Did she know?” Peyton asked as she straightened and pushed away from dresser. “Did she know about your…past?”

“No. Not all of it,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told her I had some trouble once, but that that life was behind me.”

Peyton stopped halfway between the dresser and the faded velour rocking chair in the corner nearest the bathroom. “And she accepted that?” she asked incredulously.

He shot her a meaningful look. “She did. But Beth wasn't the type of woman to take anything at surface value. She knew I wasn't telling her everything, but she trusted me.”

And it had cost her her life.

“I'm sorry, Jared,” Peyton said, once she removed her briefcase from the chair and sat. Whether she apologized because she hadn't trusted him, or as an offer of sympathy, he couldn't say, so he remained silent and waited for her next question.

She slipped off her pumps and tucked her feet beneath her. “How did they find you?” she asked as she smoothed her hands over her slim navy skirt.

“I'm not really sure. You know what the bureau's computer system is like and what they can access. Nothing is private anymore, I don't care what line the public is fed. You know it and I know it. How else would they have known where to find me?”

“But, Jared, you know how to hide. You were once Navy Intel. Black Ops. Surely you had contacts.”

“I didn't have the money for a complete new iden
tity,” he said. “Plus, I figured they'd know most of my contacts, so instead of creating a new me without a past that could trigger something in the computer, I crossed the border into Missouri, then hit the big cemetery in Independence in search of a male who'd roughly be around my age if he were still alive. A trip to the county registrar's office for a copy of the birth certificate, then back across the border for a social security number and Kansas driver's license, and Sean Barnett was reincarnated.”

“Let me guess. You found someone who'd recently died.”

He made a sound that roughly resembled a laugh. “I'm not stupid, Peyton. No, I used the name of a child who died roughly thirty years ago, one who wouldn't have a traceable past. I honestly don't know how they found me, but they did.

“Since Beth and I both worked graveyard at the truck stop, afternoons were free. I'd left her at home and had taken her car in to have the brakes done. Normal everyday stuff. While I was waiting, I spotted a couple of suits coming out of the sheriff's office. I knew they were agents, so I called Beth right away, told her the jig was up and we should meet at the location we'd discussed, about an hour after sunset.”

“How much did she know? You had to have told her something, or was she really operating on blind trust?”

He shook his head. “By this time, I'd told her I was wanted by the FBI for crimes I didn't commit. That was good enough for her,” he said with a condescending lift of one eyebrow.

Peyton kept silent. A smart move, since she
couldn't very well argue with him when his word hadn't been enough for her, not without him calling her a hypocrite yet again.

“I played it cautious,” he continued, “and parked the car in the brush, about a mile and a half away from where we were supposed to meet, then stayed off the road as I made my way down toward the lake. Only about a half mile ahead, the place was crawling with agents. A couple I recognized from the D.C. office, but the rest were probably locals from Kansas City. My first instinct was to double back and get the hell out of there, but I couldn't leave without Beth. I didn't know if she had told them about the house or the lake and they were holding her there, but I know if it'd been me, I'd have taken her to the house, where there was less of a chance of her being injured if anything went down. So that's where I went first. If she wasn't there, then I'd approach the lake from another location and find a way to get us both out of there.”

He ran his hand through his hair and released a short, impatient breath. With each memory he dredged up, his guilt mounted. He'd been foolish to believe that keeping Beth in the dark might save her life if they ever did catch up with him.

“By the time I made it back to the house, I knew something was wrong, especially since there wasn't a single agent near the place. I searched the perimeter before going in, then made my way toward the bungalow.

“I went in through the back, and found her in the kitchen. She'd been shot, and the place looked as if we'd had some huge fight.”

Peyton gasped. “To make it look like you did it.
But why? And who in the bureau would do such a thing to an innocent woman?”

Restless energy or a vain attempt to escape the guilt had him off the bed and pacing the room again. “Someone with something to hide. And they want to keep it that way.”

She straightened and wrapped her arms around her middle once more as she leaned forward. “But why kill Beth?” she asked. “If you didn't tell her anything important, what could she possibly know?”

He stopped his pacing and listened, then shook his head in dismissal when he realized it was just the brake of some 18-wheeler coming off the highway. “Considering we were married, everything, as far as they knew. Or nothing. Obviously Beth was a loose end someone wasn't willing to risk.”