Veil of Night (27 page)

Tough shit.

“Fuck it,” the guy snarled. “She ain’t worth it.” He spun on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd, which had begun milling around watching them.

“I beg to differ,” Eric said to his back, then braced himself for the ass-chewing he was probably about to receive.

Instead he found Jaclyn standing there visibly trembling, her face white, and without thinking he eased her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he said, lowering his face to her hair and inhaling the scent of it. With a sudden little jerky movement she burrowed closer, as if she wanted to completely hide herself. She stood probably five-ten in her heels, but she felt fragile in his arms, her slender body shaking against him. Maybe terrified was too strong a word to use, but she’d definitely been frightened, and that made him angry all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his shoulder. Her arms had slid inside his jacket and she was gripping the back of his shirt so hard he wondered whether the seams might give way under the pressure.

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault that idiot decided to be a jerk as well as an idiot.” Soothingly he ran his hands up and down her back.

“I don’t mean that.” Her voice was muffled, but even with the band playing valiantly on, he heard her.

He figured he knew what she meant. She was apologizing for clinging to him, even though she’d been scared. He’d noticed she was a tad uptight about some things, and to her, letting him hold her after she’d said they were a no-go would be like reneging on a promise, or something.

Who cared that she was uptight. That just made it more fun when she did lose control, because it was so unexpected, like now. He hadn’t been prepared for her to curve into him the way she had, so he was caught flat-footed by the hot magic that had flared between them from the very first time he’d seen her. The feel of her against him, the smell of her, was enough to make his head spin and a heavy ache settle in his groin.

Then he felt her begin to gather herself; he knew she was going to pull away, and that wasn’t what he wanted. The way to get to Jaclyn, he thought suddenly, was to keep her off balance.

Before she could say anything, he caught one hand in his, put his free hand on her waist, and spun her around. “Let’s dance,” he said, grinning at her, and before she could recover he had them right in the middle of Bishop Delaney’s line-dancing group.

Normally Eric would rather have a root canal than dance, but in his younger, barhopping days, when “wilder” had been much more than just his name, he’d done some turns around a dance floor because that was a good way to pull the chicks. Now he clamped his arm around Jaclyn’s waist, keeping her in place, as Delaney let out a whoop of welcome and the band swung once more into “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” which was far and away their most popular number of the night, which was why they’d already played it three times.

He saw her blue eyes, wide and startled, but he ignored the expression and said, “Just follow what I do.”

Her expression changed, her head tilted, and he saw challenge enter those eyes. “Please,” she said with dripping disdain, then she pulled her suit skirt even higher above her knees and began sliding and kicking with the best of them. His heart almost quit beating at the sight of those killer legs moving in the steps. She threw herself into the dance, swinging her hips, clapping, stomping, with the fluid movements of a showgirl—or someone who had spent her own time on a dance floor. Like most of the people there, she sang along. At one point she and the groom’s mother deliberately did a hip bump that wasn’t part of the dance, both of them laughing as they got back in rhythm. Eric reeled her back in close to him, holding her so they moved in rhythm. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him, and all he could think was: God bless beer, and God bless Brooks and Dunn.

The song ended and without pause the band swung into a much slower number, designed to give the dancers a chance to catch their breaths. Eric knew an opportunity when he saw it and he simply tugged her close to him, melding them together from knee to shoulder, and began swaying with her.

Being Jaclyn, of course, she tried to ignore the obvious, which was poking her in the belly. “You can dance, Detective,” she said breathlessly.

He slid his leg between hers as they turned, his hand moving down to her hip to guide her action, which just so happened to all but grind them together. “So can you, Ms. Wilde. Drinking beer and line dancing … does your mother know the things you got up to in college?”

“Some of them,” she said, her smile and eyes still sparkling.

“Want to whisper them in my ear?”

“Not on your life.”

He smiled and kept moving. She moved with him, fluidly, her legs sliding along his, her hips cradling his. Even through her suit jacket he thought he could feel the hard points of her nipples. He could definitely feel the heat rising from their bodies, smell the heightened sweetness the dancing had brought to her overwarm skin. He wondered how he could get her alone, because if he did, he was going to be inside her before she started thinking again. Just five minutes, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers. In five minutes he could have her biting his shirt to keep from screaming. He’d much rather be naked and have her biting
him
, but he’d take what he could get, so long as it involved making love to her again.

Abruptly the song was interrupted by some yelling and cheering, and they jerked apart in time to watch a full-package, customized pickup truck bumping along the farm trail, decorated with shaving cream, white shoe polish, dirty sayings, and trailing a jangling line of tin cans. Jaclyn’s mouth fell open, and she blinked at the departing truck. “They left without me,” she blurted.

Eric stared at her. “You were going with them?” he asked warily.

“No! I’m supposed to—It’s part of my job …” Her voice trailed off and she waved her hand, then screwed her eyes shut. “I’m supposed to make sure they get off okay.”

“I think they can handle that part themselves. Damn, this wedding planning stuff was beginning to sound kinky.”

She laughed, the sound a little uneven, but it was still a laugh. “You know what I mean. I’m supposed to organize things, make sure the bride doesn’t forget anything—though I guess, of all the weddings Premier has done, this one has gone the
least
according to schedule, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

Delaney swooped up beside them, planted a kiss on her cheek. “They sneaked off,” he said in a comforting tone. “Evelyn didn’t know they were leaving, either, and now she’s pissed at her son all over again. I’m going to get her to dance some more, get her mind on other things. You’ve had a full day, girlfriend; why don’t you go home and get some sleep? One more big deal tomorrow, then this insane marathon is finished.”

That sounded like a good plan to Eric. Before she could come up with any reason why she should stay, he had her walking toward her rental car. “I’ll follow you to the hotel, make sure you aren’t followed.” He thought of that sentence, grinned at her. “By anyone else, that is.”

She gave him a rueful smile in return. Taking her car keys from an inside pocket of her jacket, she retrieved her purse from the trunk. Eric didn’t wait for her to tell him it wasn’t necessary for him to follow her; he was already striding away.

Jaclyn watched the headlights of Eric’s car following her all the way back to Atlanta. She was so distracted that she almost took a wrong turn, heading toward her own town house, but she caught herself just in time and continued on into Atlanta.

She couldn’t seem to collect her thoughts. Nothing about the wedding or the entire day had gone the way she’d planned. The wedding, in all its unconventional, laugh-worthy glory, had turned out to be a lot of unexpected fun. Bishop had revealed a rowdy side of himself she hadn’t known existed, as well as a deep kindness. The wedding guests, many of whom she wouldn’t be surprised to see on wanted posters in the post office, had been remarkably well-behaved. She’d been frightened by a rotten-toothed cretin who looked as if he’d had things on his mind other than dancing. And she’d been rescued by Eric, who could dance as if … as if … okay, as if he’d spent a lot of time in singles bars, picking up women. His dancing wasn’t professional quality, but he was good, good enough that she’d been goaded into showing off for him because she knew she wasn’t half bad herself. Then the band had gone into that slow number, and he’d almost been making love to her right there on the dance floor, not that anyone had noticed. She hoped not, anyway.

But, God, it had been exciting, being in his arms that way, rubbing and swaying against him, feeling his erection prodding her and watching his gaze turn heavy and intent. Every move had heightened her own arousal, until she’d felt as if she’d come if he moved against her just one more time. If the happy couple hadn’t surprised her by sneaking off … who knew what might have happened?

Now, deprived of his body against hers, she throbbed with a frustrated ache that made her press her legs together trying to contain the feeling. She should never have danced with him. She should never have had that beer.

She couldn’t blame it on the beer, though, not just one beer. She should have had two. Then she’d have a viable excuse.

She turned in at the extended-stay hotel, parked in one of the two slots outside the unit he’d booked for her. As she stepped up on the sidewalk he pulled in beside her, got out of the car.

Jaclyn swallowed, tried to make herself say the words that would send him away. Silently he came to her, took the key card from her hand.

They made it inside. At least they did that. She flipped one of the light switches as they came through the door, and a lamp came on. As soon as the door closed behind them, though, he had his arms around her and his mouth on hers, and he used his big body to crowd her backward toward the separate bedroom—and she let him. She not only let him, she had her arm wound around his neck and one leg hooked around his hips.

His hands were rough on her, pulling at her clothes, tugging so sharply once that she heard a seam rip. She didn’t care. He tipped her across the bed, came down on top of her. A few frantic seconds later he had her skirt up and her underwear off, and one hard muscled thigh between her legs, moving them apart. The thick, hot slide of his penis into her made her scream, then, because she was already coming, the sound choked off as she buried her face against his shoulder. He said her name, his voice guttural, then he hooked her legs in the crooks of his arms and began riding her hard and fast.

He didn’t spend the night this time. She woke a little after midnight, and he was gone.

So, evidently, was her common sense. She lay awake for a while, filled with an aching sadness. Every time he touched her it was like being stroked by lightning, and everyone knew lightning destroyed. It was bright and beautiful, but it left behind nothing but scorched earth.

Chapter Twenty-five

“I DON’T THINK WE SHOULD GO TO THIS WEDDING,” SENATOR
Dennison said uneasily as he and Fayre were getting dressed. “I mean, Sean is barely holding himself together, and with the funeral home visitation tonight—”

“Nonsense,” Fayre said briskly. “If either of us had cared for Carrie it would be different, but there’s no pretending, even to Sean, that we did. He knows we were prepared to welcome her for his sake, but that’s all. Even though she’s dead, I’m not going to let her turn me into a hypocrite.”

Fayre’s gaze was clear and unwavering. The senator sighed. Some people muddled through life, but not Fayre. She always knew who she was, what she was, and what she was doing—and apologized for none of it. She wasn’t a cruel person, but neither was she a particularly comfortable one. He was human; he made mistakes; he blundered along, doing the best he could and always aware he fell short of her standards. What was really unnerving was the unspoken thought that she was always aware of that, too.

But what would he do without her? He loved Taite; he really did, because he could relax with her. She wasn’t perfect, so he didn’t have to be perfect with her. With her, he was the one in the driver’s seat. With Fayre, he would always be the husband who rode on her coattails. It was her family money that gave them their social standing, her business sense that kept their income healthy, her connections that made things happen.

The worst part of it was, he loved her, too. Loved her, and feared her, and sometimes he couldn’t tell which emotion was the strongest.

So, because Fayre said they had to go to this wedding, he finished knotting his tie.

Jaclyn was already at the church before she realized that, with all the recent chaos in her life, she could easily and legitimately have excused herself from the Sunday-afternoon wedding. No one at Premier would have batted an eye; they would have banded together and made sure that everything was taken care of. But of the six weddings they’d handled this week, this was the big one. Everyone who worked at Premier had had a hand in today’s wedding and reception, and it was something they could truly be proud of. After all the stress of being investigated and shot at, after days of footballs, mullets, and family feuds, she needed to be involved in a wedding like this one. For her own sanity, she had to be here.

Besides, being at work was easier than being by herself, where she couldn’t escape from her thoughts, and from the unavoidable realization that she was a coward.

No, being here was better. The last of the week’s six weddings was the most traditional and definitely the most spectacular. Both families were big in business—one in music, the other in construction machinery, which was much duller than music but was evidently way more profitable—so money hadn’t been a concern. The bride’s mother was from one of
the
prominent families in Georgia, which upped the social awareness of the event a hundred times over. By the time you put it all together this was the wedding to attend, and the place to be on this particular Sunday afternoon.

The church was elegantly arrayed in white and pale peach roses, lilies, and so many flickering candles the overheads were almost an afterthought. A trio of violins had provided the music—classical and without flaw—as the guests had arrived, and for the procession. Guests were appropriately dressed and so far had behaved as they should, given the import of the day. Even the flower girl and ring-bearer were both adorable, and both had been well-behaved. There hadn’t been a peep out of either of them: no tears, no temper tantrums, no throwing up in the aisle. She could count that as a definite success.

The bridesmaids were gorgeous in a shade of pale salmon that suited them all, and each and every one of them appeared to be happy to be a part of this wedding. If any one of them was suffering from always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride syndrome, she hid it well. Their gowns were simple and elegant, and Jaclyn had no doubt that, instead of being sold at a yard sale or even burned, these gowns would be worn again.

The bride had chosen a sweeping, traditional gown, and the groom’s tux fit so well she knew it had been made for him—but then, this was the type of group where probably all of the groomsmen owned their own custom-fitted tuxes, as well. The church smelled of flowers and candles and a touch of perfume. Outside it was a hot day, but the air in the sanctuary was running at full blast so it was blessedly cool. For the moment, as the couple said their vows, all was right with the world.

Jaclyn glanced around the sanctuary and gave herself and her mother a mental pat on the back, and delivered a still and silent high-five to Diedra and Peach for a job well done. This was a day to remember for the couple at the center of it all, a perfect moment in time they would never forget. It was a relief to know that in a crazy world, such moments still existed.

She shouldn’t have looked around, because her gaze fell on the tall, muscular man who was standing motionless at the back of the church, half-hidden in the shadows. He hadn’t been invited, but the badge and weapon he wore were their own engraved invitations. When he arrived, the two fathers had gravely conferred with him, both of them had nodded, and Eric had gotten what he wanted, which was to be here. He’d stayed out of the way, but she’d never for one moment forgotten he was there, or been unable to pinpoint his location without even looking.

From the first second she’d seen him, her life had been turned on its head. In less than a week she’d completely overthrown her normally cautious nature to indulge in a one-night stand, then she’d been assaulted and fired by a client,
then
been suspected of and investigated for that client’s murder—by the same man she’d had the one-night stand with. Oh, yes, she shouldn’t forget that she’d also become the target of a would-be murderer, probably the same person who’d killed Carrie Edwards, and now her car had been impounded and she was living in a hotel because it wasn’t safe for her to be in her own home. She’d always thought of herself as being strong, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to get through this ordeal alone. She was glad Eric was there. She might not be able to admit it to him, but she had to admit it to herself.

If Carrie hadn’t been murdered, Jaclyn thought, she would
still
have him on her mind. She’d be waiting for him to call and ask her out, wondering if he really would. This week, she’d told him, after the craziness of six weddings in five days was behind her. If their first night together was any indication, they would have ended up back at her place, maybe starting something new and wonderful, maybe finding much more than what they had been looking for when they’d met. She’d heard that it happened that way sometimes, love coming out of the blue, surprising and unexpected, but she’d thought people exaggerated.

But, Carrie
had
gotten herself killed, and Jaclyn
had
been a suspect, and Eric
had
interrogated her and taken her clothes to check for bloodstains, and even if her blood and body did start to steam a little every time she looked at him, how could she ever get past that?

That was where the cowardice came in, because she wanted to get past it, yet was afraid to. She was tired of being alone, tired of watching other people find happiness while she stood on the sidelines, with only her mother and friends to keep her company. Not that she didn’t appreciate how important they were to her life, but still, it wasn’t always enough. She wanted to do what other women did, to reach out and grab for happiness. She had, once, only to watch it disintegrate right in front of her eyes. Had her marriage fallen apart because instead of completely committing herself to her husband she’d held part of herself back, waiting for him to let her down? Which, of course, he’d promptly done. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But she was still holding herself back, still afraid to take that chance, to really love a man. The only man who had ever tempted her out of her comfort zone was Eric Wilder, and she’d let circumstance put him off limits—way, way off limits. And in spite of telling herself again and again that it didn’t matter, she knew deep down that it did, more than she dared to admit.

Eric hadn’t even tried to pass himself off as Jaclyn’s date. Not only was it not necessary in this particular crowd, but she wasn’t alone here; her mother and the other two women from Premier were here, and if he’d begun acting all lovey-dovey with Jaclyn he figured the three of them would try to take his head off. He’d have to do something about that, he thought as he did yet another narrow-eyed scan of the people in the church.

Did they think it was easy to do his job and keep an eye on her at the same time? He was doing double duty, literally, because Garvey could only occasionally put a uniformed officer on Jaclyn. Eric had to shower and shave, he had to eat and sleep, and, damn it, he had to work. Only Garvey’s agreement that the person who’d tried to kill Jaclyn was almost surely the same one who’d killed Carrie had gotten the lieutenant to approve this duty, but if it hadn’t been approved he damn well would’ve done it anyway, and they could kiss his ass. Probably Garvey knew that, and had asked Lieutenant Neille to do what he could.

After tomorrow, things should get easier. Franklin would be back to work in the morning. If necessary, Eric could hand over the Edwards case and take on guarding Jaclyn full time, though it would be better for continuity if he stayed on the case. But Franklin would be there, Garvey could go back to the sergeant’s desk, and they’d get a little slack in the schedule.

Today though, today was hairy. Senator and Mrs. Dennison were here, guests at the wedding. Eric had no idea what would happen if the senator saw Jaclyn or she saw him, but so far neither had happened. The church was big, and Premier had all four women working, plus the Dennisons were seated at the front of the church. The enormous sanctuary had stadium seating so everyone had a good view of the altar, but people sitting at the front literally couldn’t see what was happening at the very back of the church. He’d like to maneuver Jaclyn so she had a good look at the senator—without telling her what was going on—to see if actually seeing him again triggered enough memory for her to identify him. What he didn’t want, under any circumstances, was for the senator to see her.

It helped that people on the Dennisons’ level almost never paid attention to how things got done around them. They noticed only that the things were either done or not done.

At the moment Jaclyn was talking to the wedding party, arranging the line at the door of the reception hall, giving them last-minute instructions. Diedra and Peach were overseeing the layout of the food, and Madelyn was talking to the bandleader. She was safe enough for now, with the bulk of guests outside awaiting entrance.

The reception hall in Hopewell was very nice, yet this one in Buckhead almost put it to shame. The main hall was more than twice as large as the one where Carrie Edwards had been murdered. The parking lot was three times as big and surrounded by trees, providing precious shade on a hot summer day, and from the front entrance the hall looked like an antebellum mansion. If they’d been going for the look of Old South and Old Money, they had definitely achieved it, on both fronts. At the moment the room was decorated in the same colors that had been used at the wedding. It was all a little froufrou for his tastes. Personally he’d preferred yesterday’s barbecue at the farm, a confession he wasn’t about to share with Jaclyn. But this was nice. For froufrou.

The bride and groom were still being held hostage by the photographer, who insisted on snapping a jaw-dropping number of pictures, so there weren’t many people in the reception hall yet. Soon the doors would be opened to the crowd for a well-mannered celebration. He could relax for a few minutes, at least until the doors opened. Nothing was going to happen right now, with no one other than the wedding party and a few workers present. He figured the Premier bunch would all be even busier once things moved into full swing, but now was the perfect time to do something about the hostile situation he found himself in.

Madelyn shook the bandleader’s hand and turned away. She took a deep breath and surveyed the room with a critical but approving eye. Eric took his own deep breath—fortification was needed for this confrontation—and headed in her direction. As he got closer, she turned that critical eye on him, and there was nothing approving in it.

“Everything looks great,” he said in an attempt at an icebreaker. “I like the orange.”

Her chin came up, and ice filled her gaze. “It’s peach and salmon, not
orange,”
she said, as if he’d just presented her with a pile of dog shit on his outstretched palm.

Okay, so peach and salmon looked like shades of orange to him; so sue him. It was obvious beating around the bush wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and just as obviously he was a failure at small talk, at least as far as Madelyn Wilde was concerned. Eric figured he might as well take the metaphorical bull by the conversational horns, or something like that. “I like your daughter,” he said bluntly. “When this is all over, I’d like to take her out, see where it goes.”