SEAN PULLED onto the main road and headed toward downtown Alexandria. A lot had happened in four weeks. He’d made a lot of decisions, and because of those decisions, his whole life had changed. For the better, he thought, remembering how thrilled his parents had been at the news, how much he was enjoying the challenge of being one of the handful of trainers for the Special Operations program run by the U.S. Marshals at Camp Beauregard. But as he headed toward his new quarters, a small two-bedroom home on the outskirts of Alexandria, his thoughts weren’t on any of the changes he had made but on the one change he’d had no control over. Laurel Patrick walking out of his life without looking back.
Was she at the courthouse right now hearing a case? He’d seen her name in the newspapers, in the multitude of columns discussing the big Rochambeau trial she was to preside over, slated to begin in less than a month if there were no further delays. District Attorney Alan Bentley was going after a prominent member of the crime family, Jack Rochambeau, and the whole parish was talking about it. About Bentley’s run for public office in next year’s election and using this very public trial as his springboard into politics. About the controversial way he’d zoomed up the ladder in the past five years, with many a whispered comment—and some more baldly spoken—that he’d had this judge or that judge somehow pave the way for him.
About the new rumors of a brief involvement with Judge Laurel Patrick nine months earlier, and whether she was the judge whose help would carry him all the way to the state senate. She’d refused to comment on the case, or her personal life. Grainy photos had surfaced, causing a new uproar, but Judge Patrick had continued to refuse to make public comment, other than stating that she wouldn’t recuse herself from the case and that her judgment was not in question. Naturally the media was making a circus out of the whole thing. The more Laurel refused to discuss it, the more everyone else did.
Sean just wished they would stop talking about it around him. He’d told no one about his brief involvement with the young justice and didn’t intend to. He wanted to forget her. Had spent four weeks trying.
He could sooner forget his middle name. He wanted to be angry with her…and he had been, at first. Then he’d moved here and seen the front-page stories and heard the back-page whispers. Was Alan Bentley the reason Laurel had checked herself out of her hotel hours after she’d left his bed that morning? Was he the “personal crisis” that she had mentioned in the hurried note she’d left at his hotel on her way to the airport? Or was it her father, the state supreme court justice, once a beloved judge in this very parish? Seamus Patrick’s tenure on the bench was almost up and there was talk that he’d be casting his hat into the political ring, maybe against the very man currently trying his case in front of Patrick’s daughter.
Sean wished he could laugh at the soap opera being played out in the papers and on the news, as so many had before and would no doubt continue to be in the future. Louisiana was nothing if not colorful, both with its characters and its politics. He wished he could remain detached, shrug off the niggling concerns that made the back of his neck itch. His gut instinct told him that something more was going on here…something dark and murky just below the surface—another Louisiana specialty—and that Laurel was likely right smack in the middle of it.
What would she say, he wondered, if he wandered into the courthouse and knocked on the door to her chambers? Would she be surprised in a good way? Or would it upset her that her island lover was waltzing back into her life when it was obviously on the verge of scandal? Would she even agree to see him at all?
He slowed as he reached the turnoff that would take him right by the courthouse. “Move on, Gannon. Get over her,” he muttered, not for the first time. But somehow, this time, his car made the turn. And the next thing he knew he was standing outside the door of her chambers, talking to one of the clerks.
“I’m sorry, she’s hearing motions at the moment. Is this in regard to one of her cases?” The young man noted the U.S. Marshals insignia on Sean’s shirt.
It was sort of a tricky question, Sean thought. It was a case, an upcoming one in particular, that had led him to this spot. “In a way. I do need to speak with her.” He’d decided this was the only way he was going to be able to move on, to put their explosive timeout-of-time experience in St. Thomas behind him. And just thinking about it that way made him cringe inwardly. An island romance where the woman left the man high and dry…and the guy couldn’t stop panting over what was never going to be. How pathetic and clichéd could he be?
“And your name, sir?” the clerk asked.
It had been a mistake coming here. Of course, his last name was on the name tag on his shirt, so it was likely Laurel was going to hear about his visit anyway. But if he turned around right now, walked out of the building, the—
“Sean?”
His head whipped around so fast he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. How many times in the past four weeks had he heard that voice in his dreams? He’d lost count. “Laurel.” She looked the same…and yet completely different. Same face, same expressive eyes, but there was a haunted look about her. No, hunted. Was it because of him?
His instincts said no, that she’d carried that look before she’d seen him in the hallway. Probably borne of the intense media scrutiny of the past few weeks.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone was more surprised than terse, but there was no real hint of welcome in it.
There must have been a million different things he had wanted to say to her, ask her, demand of her. Not a single one came to mind at the moment. He was too busy drinking her in, like a man too long in the desert without water, staring at a sparkling fountain.
They both seemed to notice the more-than-minimally interested clerk at the same time. “Why don’t we take this in chambers?” she said quietly, making it sound as if he were there on official business, when she had to know damn well it was anything but.
He merely nodded and followed her inside. Her judicial chamber was small, but tastefully appointed. She immediately walked behind her stately mahogany desk. As if she needed to put a physical barrier between them. Well, she could toss up a brick wall for all he was concerned. Now that he’d come to her, he wasn’t leaving without some answers.
Only he couldn’t seem to remember the questions.
“Why are you here, Sean?” she repeated quietly. It was then he noted the subtle hint of desperation edging her expression, if not her words.
“I didn’t come to make trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, irritated without quite knowing why. “Seems like you found enough of that all by yourself.”
There was quick flash of surprise, maybe a little hurt, then her expression was once again smooth, removed. “Sometimes it comes with the job,” she said coolly.
How had he ever doubted she could be impassive? His irritation flashed brighter. Dammit, she could remove herself emotionally from the rest of the world, but not from him. Not after what they’d shared.
That ridiculously sappy thought should have sent him striding out of the office right then and there. But he’d been one of the two people in that hotel room back in St. Thomas. And sentiment be damned, they had shared something out of the ordinary. And because they had, he didn’t hammer her with questions. He simply told her the truth. “I’m here because I’ve missed you.”
Her expression faltered and emotion—the passion he remembered so vividly—flickered briefly to life in her eyes. It was shuttered far too quickly. “I—I’m sorry. About the way things ended.”
He wanted to grab her, shake her, kiss the living daylights out of her, force her to admit to—to deal with—the electricity bouncing between them even now. He forcibly relaxed his hands, his posture. “Whatever it was that sent you running…you didn’t have to run alone, Laurel.”
“I didn’t run. I had to return home.”
“Because of this trial?”
“My work is like that sometimes. I’m sure you, of all people, understand.”
He wanted to shout at her, to demand to know how she could stand there, mere feet away, and not want to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her. Because God knew it was killing him not to touch her. “I do understand. In fact, I made some decisions specifically because my job didn’t allow much of a stable lifestyle.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the alarmed look that flickered across her lovely features. “Don’t worry. I made these decisions before I met you. Although I won’t lie and say I wasn’t less unsure of them once I had. If you’d stayed, I would have explained.”
“Explain now. What decisions?”
“I didn’t come all the way from Denver to play the lonely puppy begging for attention. I live here now.”
Her eyes popped wide and, in that instant, he was absolutely certain he’d been right earlier. Hunted was exactly the emotion he’d seen in her eyes. Along with a healthy dose of fear. Of him? That was ridiculous. But it hurt a great deal more than he was willing to admit. “I’m not stalking you, Laurel. I was offered a permanent training position out at Beauregard. I’d been considering it for some time, and after coming home for my younger brother’s wedding, I’d pretty much made up my mind to say yes. Then I met you and it seemed like fate was sending me a neon sign. But it’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I had hoped—” He broke off, suddenly wishing he’d never done this. It was obvious she wasn’t happy to see him, that he’d completely misread everything that had happened in St. Thomas.
Idiot. Brett’s getting married and Carly becoming a mother had obviously affected him to a far greater degree than he’d realized. He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important now.” He turned, walked to the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned back, needing—no matter how pathetic—one last look at her. “I just wanted you to know that I would have been there for you, Laurel,” he said quietly. “What we had, despite the brevity, affected me on some level that…” God, could he not just leave this woman’s life without making a complete and total fool of himself? Apparently not, because he finished by saying, “If you ever need someone you can trust, no matter the reason, call me.”
He supposed he’d hoped, in some corner of his mind, that she’d stop him from leaving. Rush out into the hall, tell him she’d made a stupid mistake, that she’d been afraid. Well, that last part at least was true, he thought as he climbed angrily into his car and slammed the door. She was afraid, and if he wasn’t so upset with himself for that stupid schoolboy show he’d just put on, he’d have wondered at the real source of it. Because he was right about that hunted look. And that it had likely been there since she’d returned to Louisiana. Long before he’d stepped back into her life. The question was, once he cooled off, what—if anything—was he going to do about it?
LAUREL STOOD THERE, hands braced on the back of her chair, staring at the door of her chambers for long, long minutes after Sean had closed it behind him. Part of her was still stunned—by his sudden appearance, by his shocking announcement that he was now in Louisiana on a permanent basis. He’d known, he said, about the job offer, even before he’d met her. Before they’d sat on his hotel balcony, talking about family and work. And he hadn’t told her.
“Well, of course he didn’t,” she muttered. He’d only just met her, didn’t trust her enough to discuss that, and was probably worried that telling her would make her feel unduly pressured in some way. But he would have told her at some point. She knew that now. If she’d stayed. Of course, there was no way of knowing what all he would have shared, but she knew without doubt that Sean Gannon was an honest man. A man with integrity, a man who honored his word, who expected respect and handed it out easily when it was deserved.
Did she deserve it? He’d been angry with her, that much was clear. And she couldn’t say she blamed him. It shouldn’t have, but the fact that he’d tracked her down, just to tell her he missed her, made her feel better than she had in weeks. Yet it also shamed her. But what else could she have done?
She’d had no choice but to leave, and she’d certainly had no right to drag him into the mess in which she’d found herself smack in the middle. She wished she could have told him how many times she’d wanted to pick up the phone, track him down in Denver, just so she could hear his voice. So she could tell him everything, convinced that somehow, some way, he’d make it all okay. Or at least more bearable. But she couldn’t call him then and she couldn’t tell him now. Any of it. Because she did know him well enough to know that he’d jump right into the center of it with her, and he didn’t understand what was at stake. Because he was an honorable man, he’d expect her to do the right thing, expect her father to do the right thing.
She tugged her chair out and slumped into it, feeling so tired her bones ached. Guilt racked her, even as she seethed in anger at what Alan was doing to her, and to her father, as well—though he was mercifully unaware of it. Of course, her father’s role in this also had her upset, angry and confused. But she couldn’t confront him. Or wouldn’t. He was this close to finishing his term and to retiring, with a golden career record and a potentially bright future in politics. And she knew he was planning to run for office.
Against the very man who was presently blackmailing her.
“Jesus, maybe I should have just crawled back to Alan when he begged me to the first time. Solved everyone’s problem.” She shuddered at the very idea. Giving in momentarily to her bone-deep fatigue, she folded her arms on her desk and rested her forehead on them. For the umpteenth time, she told herself there had to be an explanation for what Alan had accused her father of doing. But she’d dug into the case Alan had referred to, and she had to admit it looked very fishy. It hadn’t even been a splashy case, just a small criminal charge that had ultimately been dropped. But not before a few legal maneuvers had been run and a few motions filed—all in front of her father when he’d held the bench she currently occupied. And all centering on the same man now going to trial in front of her for much larger-scale crimes. Jack Rochambeau.
This was a case Alan Bentley had been thrilled to have the opportunity to prosecute. The obvious reason being that it would help him make an even bigger name for himself before he tossed his hat into the political ring. No one knew of the desperation behind his apparent glee. No one knew that Alan was in a deeply troubling situation, one that had ramifications far bigger than his future in the D.A.’s office.
No one but Alan. And, now, the judge presiding over the trial.
He’d accepted, albeit unknowingly at the time, a campaign finance deal from the very “family” the district attorney’s office was now trying to publicly expose. Which was the real reason he’d fought for the case. So he could lose it. In exchange for a path straight to the state senate door, paved with unlimited laundered funds provided by many of the Rochambeau business connections, Jack Rochambeau was going to receive a Get Out of Jail Free card.
And if Alan failed, more than his future in politics was likely at stake.
But Alan hadn’t made it this far without learning how to connive his way out of a bind. He was going to lose this case—he didn’t see that he had any choice. The Rochambeaus had him by the short hairs. And, frankly, if Seamus Patrick tossed his hat in the ring for the senate as expected, Alan had likely realized he was going to need the “family’s” help if he had a prayer in hell of winning. So Jack was going to get off, and he expected Laurel to help him make that happen, help him unravel what looked to be an airtight case against the arrogant local “businessman.” But she was going to help him lose it in such a way that it appeared the D.A.’s office had done everything it could. A technicality here, a difficult ruling by the judge on this motion or that…and Alan’s hands were tied. It wouldn’t be the significant win Alan had wanted, but he wouldn’t be burned too badly for losing it. He’d make sure Laurel took the fall for that.
And if she didn’t comply?
Well, she hadn’t fallen for his attempts at seduction. Nor had being publicly humiliated caused her to consider stepping down from the case—so she could be replaced by a judge Alan already had in his pocket. So his latest threat was to make sure certain facts about that long-ago case Seamus had overseen would be fed to the media sharks. What a feeding frenzy that would be! Alan hadn’t shared the apparent proof with her, but she had enough reason to believe it existed—and it was tearing her apart.
When he’d come to St. Thomas and she’d made it clear, once and for all, that renewing any kind of personal relationship was never going to happen, he’d initially only threatened to destroy her career. If that had been his leverage in getting her to comply with his scheme then, without blinking an eye, she’d have gunned right back and exposed Alan for the lying, manipulating bastard he was.
She’d have taken the fallout that would have surfaced when he countered with supposedly lurid details about their previous relationship. Not that there had been anything remotely lurid about the weekend they’d spent with each other…but Alan would have gone out of his way to make it appear that way. And just as surely, by the time she could prove otherwise, if she could do such a thing, it would have been too late. Her reputation would have been in question, the illustrious Patrick image tarnished, her career irrevocably impaired.
But that wouldn’t have stopped her. And Alan had known that, which was why he’d had his ace in the hole. That one shaky case, years before. But with the current media focus on this much higher-profile case involving the same man, the journalists would feast on this new detail and her father’s future in politics would be put in serious jeopardy. She had no idea what proof Alan had, or where he’d come by it, but she couldn’t risk exposing Alan’s scheme, either publicly or to the police. The potential damage to her father was too debilitating.
Her phone rang, making her flinch as she jerked upright, snatching it up before it could ring again. “Patrick.”
“I need to see you. Privately.”
She stiffened, her stomach revolted. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, I think you will. We need to find a channel of communication. A private channel. Time is ticking away. Plans must be made.”
“Al—”
“No names. And don’t try to be clever. Just do as I say. Everyone comes out smelling like a rose.”
Laurel thought about all the people Jack Rochambeau had hurt—financially, physically, emotionally—during his tenure as the head of one of the most notorious crime families in the state. She thought about the rock-solid case the D.A. had supposedly built against him. Bile rose in her throat. “Where?” she choked.
“That’s better. Tonight, eight, our place.”
Our place. Laurel could only assume he meant the backwater bridge, where they’d walked and talked after returning from their weekend in New Orleans. Where he’d tried to get her to change her mind about continuing what they’d started. Where she’d seen past the intellect and good looks to the thing that had niggled at her often enough over the course of the weekend to have her ending things before they’d really begun. She’d spied more fully that opportunistic undercurrent that ran just below the river of charm he used to sweep most people off their feet. Laurel, as it turned out, wasn’t most people.
Nor had she been interested in being courted for the powerful position she held rather than the woman she was.
“It could have been so different,” he murmured into the long silence. “You shouldn’t have left me.”
Laurel physically recoiled from the image he painted…the underlying threat in his tone. It hadn’t taken her very long to discover Alan’s controlling, manipulative tendencies. He hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer. After all, he’d seen their future together from the moment they’d met. Why hadn’t she? Only it wasn’t their future putting that gleam in his eyes…just his. And he’d expected to use her power, her place in the legal community, her prestige, to get him where he wanted to be.
Sure, she could have kids if she wanted, but there would be no stepping down from the bench. Oh, no, not when he had so many plans. He would give her children, certainly. Kids looked good on campaign posters. They’d make enough money to hire nannies. They would be the ultimate power couple. Alan’s aspirations knew no bounds.
Listening to him had made her blood run cold. She’d told him then, with no further attempt to soften the blow, that there was no future between them and never would be. Then she’d literally turned and walked away, leaving him standing there.
Alan hadn’t taken it well. Nine months had passed since then. She’d assumed he’d gotten over it, gotten over her, moved on, perhaps already found someone more easily patronized, someone who shared his golden vision of the future.
She’d been wrong. Very wrong.
“Be there. Tonight,” he commanded, his voice a soft purr that made the hair on her arms stand on end.
“Fine,” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp.
There was a smug chuckle. “Good girl. Or should I say, good Daddy’s girl?” The line disconnected before she could utter a response.
Very carefully, with shaking hands, she replaced the receiver, staring at it as if it was some kind of snake that might suddenly leap up to bite her.
“What the hell was that all about?” came a quiet voice from the doorway.
Laurel gasped, hand flying to her chest as she jerked her gaze to the doorway. Sean Gannon stood just inside, his hand still on the doorknob. How much had he heard? She hadn’t said anything incriminating. Her mind racing, she tried to corral her thoughts and her fear.
“What—” She had to clear her throat. She sat up straighter, doing her utmost to pull herself together. It was almost impossible. Not when what she wanted to do was to shove her chair back and race into those strong arms that had once been so open for her. Before she’d walked away from them. “What are you doing back here?”
Sean quietly closed the door behind him, then walked toward her desk. His expression was deadly serious. For the first time, she truly appreciated who he was…what he was. “I was in my car, ready to go, but I couldn’t shake that look I’d seen in your eyes.” He braced his hands on her desk. “That hunted look.” He leaned down. “Like the one I see right now.”
She wasn’t a good enough actress to not blanch at his comment. She’d been yanked too hard emotionally over the past several days to maintain any semblance of normalcy. Especially in front of Sean, who seemed to see so much deeper inside her than anyone ever had.
“So I’m going to ask you again. What in the hell is going on? And you might as well tell me. Because one thing you’re going to learn about me is that I don’t run.”
“I didn’t run.” She forced the words out. “I chose to leave. It was for the best. Just like leaving now will be for the best.” She looked up at him. “Please. It’s better if you go. Trust me on this.”
“Funny, I was hoping you’d give me that honor.” He pushed away from the desk but didn’t walk to the door. Instead he pulled up one of the pair of leather padded chairs facing her desk and took a seat.
She looked at him and didn’t know which she feared most—that he’d refuse to leave…or that he’d walk out when she needed him most.