SEAN HADN’T BEEN KIDDING when he’d said he had some training in how to take care of himself. As part of the U.S. Marshals’ Special Operations Group—SOG—he’d been sent to deal with everything from rioting World Bank protestors, to helping a multi-agency task force in a nationwide manhunt for some of the country’s most violent fugitives. Between personal experience, and stories shared with other deputies, what he hadn’t seen or done, he’d heard about.
Or so he’d thought.
Not once had he ever staked out someone he cared about.
He invested himself one hundred percent in every duty he’d been assigned to, careful to keep the personal feelings apart from the professional. It hadn’t always been easy; he’d been witness to some horrific things. This, however, was entirely different. His personal feelings in this instance didn’t stem from moral outrage or his sense of justice. Those were things you felt with your head, your intellect.
He watched Laurel walk across the backwater bridge, toward the man she supposedly wasn’t having a relationship with, and for the first time knew what it was to feel with his heart.
She didn’t run to Bentley, nor did she seem to fear him. In fact, if anything, she appeared to be angry with him. He sharpened the focus on his binoculars. Furious, even. Bully for her, he thought. He’d never even met the man and he didn’t like him very much at the moment, either.
He wished he’d known in advance the location of the meet. He could have wired it for sound. As it was, he was too far away for even his highly sensitive microphone to do more than catch the general cadence of the conversation. For his part, Bentley didn’t seem remotely perturbed by her harsh words and sharp hand gestures. It made Sean wonder at the wisdom in Laurel allowing Bentley to see that he was getting to her. Made Sean wonder if his own intrusion back into her life hours earlier wasn’t the straw that had tipped her outside her ability to control her emotions. He hoped to hell not.
He also hoped to hell Bentley didn’t so much as lay a finger on her. Sean would hate to blow his cover this early on. His plan, such as it was, revolved around finding out as much information as possible on Bentley to try to put together what was really going on. Laurel’s unease about renewing their relationship had stemmed mostly from her fear of putting him in danger. Which meant she was in danger. Until he discovered what that danger was, he planned to keep a very low profile where she was concerned. He didn’t want to inadvertently put her in more trouble by popping up at the wrong time or around the wrong person.
It was clear, even more so now, watching her with Bentley, that she needed help. He had asked her if she’d told anyone about him, because being anonymous could work in his favor. If no one knew she had a deputy marshal as an acquaintance, then no one would question him poking around a bit. Well, not if he was careful.
He thought about contacting her father, but had quickly discarded that idea as the fastest route to a one-way ticket out of her life forever. Besides, instinct told him that her father was somehow mixed up in this, too.
He focused in on Bentley. The longer he studied their little tête-à-tête, the more he was convinced Bentley had moved past using their previous relationship as a means to get what he wanted…and on to something else. His expressions and mannerisms were not those of a man intent on charming a woman back into his good graces. Which meant this meeting probably involved blackmail of some kind. It was true Sean didn’t know Laurel all that well, but he doubted she had any skeletons in her closet, not with her quick rise to power at such a young age.
Her father however…
Sean tucked that away and focused on the meeting.
Laurel had stopped talking. It was Bentley’s turn. There were no hand gestures, no overt signs of anger. In fact, it was the opposite. If Sean hadn’t just witnessed Laurel’s angry gesticulating, he’d think these were two people having some kind of business discussion. Bentley very calmly explaining whatever it was he needed, while Laurel stood, arms folded, listening and not seeming very impressed.
The only obvious thing was that these were not two people involved in any kind of romantic entanglement.
Then Bentley smiled…and the hairs on Sean’s arms stood up. At the same time, the blood drained from Laurel’s face but was quickly replaced by two splotches of color blooming in her cheeks.
Sean’s grip tightened, but he remained where he was. He didn’t think Laurel was in any imminent danger, at least not physically. No, Bentley needed her for something. And since it didn’t appear to be sexually oriented, it was Sean’s guess that it must be legally oriented, since that was their only other common denominator.
Specifically, the Rochambeau case. Which meant Bentley needed Judge Patrick in his pocket…and had something he could hold over her head. Something, judging by the desolate look on her face, that was working.
Sean hadn’t yet had time to research the case, but it was hard not to be familiar with the basics, as the case had been one of the top news stories blaring from every radio and newsstand over the past several weeks. And from what he’d heard, the parish D.A. seemed to have an airtight case against Rochambeau. It was for that reason the media was pouncing on the juicy tidbit about their possible past relationship with such glee. It gave them something to talk about since it didn’t seem likely that Rochambeau was going to wiggle out of the noose this time. Which begged the question…what did Alan need Laurel’s help for? If he had the guy dead to rights, it should be a cakewalk.
There had been some speculation over what this would mean to the rest of the “family.” Bentley had been asked if he was afraid of retribution. He’d scoffed, certain that the Rochambeaus would do nothing that foolish.
Sean had agreed. At the time. Now however…His mind began to spin. Did Bentley have some reason to fear for his safety? And again…what could he possibly expect Laurel to do to help him there?
Sean lowered the binoculars and swore soundlessly. Could it be that Bentley was looking for a way to save his hide by losing a sure thing?
He quickly dismissed that idea as ludicrous. The media had also made big noise over the fact that Bentley planned to use this victory as the springboard into his hopeful run for the senate next year. Losing the case didn’t mean an automatic end to his career aspirations, but it would make his lock on the candidacy less of a certainty.
“Damn,” he muttered beneath his breath. He wished like hell he knew more, wished even more that Laurel would trust him enough to bring him in on this. Or bring in someone in a position to help her. Because, whatever the reasons behind all this, one thing was absolutely clear. Bentley was somehow in over his head with a very dangerous group of people. And he’d dragged Laurel in with him.
Bentley was moving. Sean swung his binoculars up in time to see him turn and walk away. Leaving a still pale Laurel standing where he’d left her, staring after him, looking both murderous…and hopeless.
Sean wanted nothing more than to go to her, to demand she tell him what was going on. But he knew this wasn’t the place or time. He wished he could follow her home, make certain she was okay, that she was safe. But it was more important to tail Bentley, to see who was next on his list, to hope for another piece to the puzzle.
He quietly put his binoculars away and slipped silently from his spot. He had a long evening ahead of him, and an even longer day at work tomorrow on what was likely going to be very little sleep. But he knew sleep was pointless until he had a better grip on what was going on.
One thing he did know, he wasn’t going to play behind-the-scenes detective for very long. If what he suspected was true, someone was going to have to make Laurel understand that she needed help. More than he could give her. She was going to have to bring the authorities into this—and soon.
But for now he had more puzzle pieces to put into place. He curled his hands and shoved them into his jacket pocket as he headed for his car. And thought how much better he’d feel if they were curled around Alan Bentley’s neck.
LAUREL LET THE WARM WATER thundering from the faucet fill the bathtub almost to the brim before shutting it off with her toe. She tried to blank her mind, to let the heat seep into the knots her muscles had become, to settle the riptide of acid that continued to pitch in her stomach, to soothe the pounding headache that hadn’t let up in what felt like weeks. Since the day she’d turned to find Alan standing behind her on the water taxi dock.
She pressed her hands to her stomach and forcibly turned her mind away from that memory. Sean Gannon’s image immediately filled the void. She pictured him standing in her office last week, offering to be there for her.
What kind of man willingly put himself into the middle of trouble for a woman he’d only just met? Okay, met, had a whirlwind romance with, including some amazing time in bed together.
What made it truly odd, she was forced to admit, was that she actually understood it. The attraction anyway, the connection. But why he was so quick to court trouble…That part she didn’t know. It was one thing to follow up on something that had been so good, but at the first sign of real problems, most men would have hightailed it out of there.
“Yeah, well, Sean Gannon isn’t most men,” she murmured, then felt the real stab of heartache. Why now? she silently asked the fates. Why send him to me now, at the worst possible time in my life?
I’ll do whatever it takes to earn the right to do that, anytime I want. Wherever I want.
She sighed deeply, remembering those words…that kiss. She felt so ragged and emotionally spent. Maybe if she could just get to sleep at night, she could think more clearly, figure out a solution to all this, so she would be free to pursue the relationship Sean wanted with her. One she wanted for herself.
She sipped her wine, then closed her eyes and leaned back again. What was he doing right this minute? He’d left her office, obviously with some intent on helping her, whether she wanted his help or not. She’d spent the past week wondering when he’d pop up again, half relieved, half disappointed when another day ended with no contact.
Maybe he’d come to his senses and run screaming from the disaster—the very public disaster—her life was rapidly becoming. She groaned and sank further into the steaming water.
She thought again about contacting her father, asking for an explanation. Surely there was some reason he’d done what he’d done, made the decisions he’d made. Her father, who held the law in the highest possible esteem. And there was the real conflict…how could she knowingly thwart the very laws her father so cherished, that she’d been raised to cherish, that she worked so hard to uphold? Even if she was doing it for his sake.
She massaged the insistent throbbing in her temples. If she’d brought this dilemma to her father, claiming it was the problem of a friend, she knew exactly what his recommendation would be. Go to the police, do whatever was necessary to bring the lying, cheating bastards to justice. The hell with ruined reputations and public scandal. If they hadn’t wanted to deal with that eventuality, then they shouldn’t have muddied their own waters to begin with.
She could hear the words as plainly as if he were standing right beside her. Tried to envision herself standing in front of him, asking him if he’d muddied his own waters…and what could possibly have driven him to do it.
She sat up suddenly, sloshing water over the side of the tub, not caring. Enough was enough. Alan had given her just enough proof to have her doubting her own father, the one man she’d always known she could trust above all others. Furious all over again, at Alan and her father, she climbed out of the tub, wrapped a towel around her dripping-wet body and stalked from the bathroom. She had to do something, had to find some way to either exonerate her father, to prove he hadn’t done anything wrong…or to find something equally devastating to hold over Alan’s head.
She rubbed her skin so hard it turned pink as her mind skated once again over every possible avenue and path. Of course, the obvious answer was to threaten to go to the press with Alan’s behind-the-scenes involvement with the Rochambeau family, with his blackmail scheme, with his plans to keep his name above reproach so he could climb the political ladder. Snake. If she’d had actual proof, which she didn’t, she could go to the police, as well.
Of course she’d threatened him with that very thing this afternoon…. She shuddered as she remembered his very calm reply. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to be the only one disappointed in her if she did that. He’d also made it clear that the other party didn’t play as nice as Alan Bentley. Bentley only planned on keeping Seamus Patrick from running for his spot on the senatorial ballot. The Rochambeaus, on the other hand, might simply prefer to keep Seamus Patrick from doing anything. Permanently.
Shaking, feeling nauseous all over again, she pulled a robe tightly around her and walked over to the desk where she’d left the mini-cassette tape. She picked it up, turned it over in her hands. Her conversation with Alan from a week ago had recorded fairly clearly. She only wished Alan had done more than make veiled threats. It was a little, but it wasn’t enough. And even if she had enough, she wasn’t sure what she’d do with it. It wasn’t just her father’s reputation or his future career at stake. It was possibly his very life.
She walked over to her dresser and opened the top drawer, took out the small locked jewelry box that held the pieces she’d inherited from her mother and her grandmother. She slipped the tape inside, then shoved the whole thing back in the drawer. Shame. That was what she was feeling, she realized. For her cowardice and her inability to figure out a solution to this mess, a solution that only punished the villains, without taking down any of the good guys in the process.
She sank down onto her bed, staring at herself in her dresser mirror. “You learned a long time ago that the world isn’t separated into the black hats and the white hats.” There were a lot of gray hats out there, just to confuse things.
Her phone rang, making her jump. She glanced at the clock. It was after ten. Who could be calling her at this hour? She didn’t have any cases pending that warranted late-night calls.
Except one.
Her skin crawled with dread as the phone rang again. She debated letting her machine pick up, but knew it was better to just get it over with. She snatched the receiver up on the third ring. “Yes?” she said, her tone edgy with wariness and fatigue. And maybe a little resentment. When this was all over, she thought, she was going back to St. Thomas for an extended vacation, and to do some serious thinking about her future.
Visions of lying on white sandy beaches switched her mind back to Sean. So it took her a moment when he spoke into her ear for her to determine that she wasn’t merely fantasizing.
“I’m sorry to call you so late.”
“Sean?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Her heart was drumming loudly, her entire body tightening against the need to reach out to him, to pour her heart out, to beg him to come help her out of this mess…or just to hold her while she worked her own way through it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, biting her lip against the sudden pressure behind her eyes. “It’s late.”
“You need to talk to me, Laurel,” he said. His tone was flat, no indication if this was a personal call or—
“Why?” she asked warily. “What have you been up to?” She assumed he’d given up on whatever little plan he’d hatched that day in her office. She knew he had a full-time job out at Beauregard, a new job that would surely be demanding of his time and energy. Why in the hell would he spend whatever time he had left on a woman who’d made it clear she was more trouble than she was worth?
As with all the other times she’d asked herself that question, no answer came to mind.
“It doesn’t have to be tonight. Maybe we could set something up for tomorrow.”
She frowned now. “What is this about, Sean?”
“I’d really rather not talk about it over the phone.”
“If it’s about us seeing each other, I appreciate your persistence,” she said. More than he could know, she thought. He was the only good thing she had going at the moment, even if she couldn’t do anything about it. “But until this trial is over, I really can’t—”
“It’s not about that—or not directly anyway.”
His tone was all business, with a clear thread of agitation running through it. Not the charming man who wanted to seduce her, or the intense man who wanted to make her understand how important their chance meeting in St. Thomas had become to him. This was…this was a whole new side to Sean Gannon. She suspected this was the Marshal side. And it made her sit up straighter, made her clutch the phone a bit more tightly. “I need you to tell me what this is about.”
“Meet me tomorrow. You pick the place. Preferably not somewhere you’d normally be seen.”
Now he was beginning to scare her. “Sean—”
“Laurel, please.”
It was that slight bending, the personal concern that filtered in, that pushed her past the boundaries of common sense. But what the hell, she was already so far out on the edge in every other way, why not, right? “I’m never going to be able to sleep now. Why don’t you come here? Now. Tonight.” She tried to keep her body from clamoring at the very idea of having Sean, alone, with a bedroom in close proximity, and nowhere to be for several hours.
There was a long pause.
“I don’t want to be out this late. If it’s that important, you can come to me,” she said, her body clamoring anyway. Not that she was going to do anything about it. But damn if she didn’t want to. Just a few hours of blissful escape from reality. Except when it was over, everything would just be that much more complicated. And things were complicated enough at the moment. “Do you need directions?”
“No. Go downstairs and unlock your back door.”
“How do you know I’m upst—” But he’d hung up.
She gripped her bathrobe closer and crept down the stairs and down the short hallway to her kitchen, which was in the rear of her small two-bedroom home. Through the dark shadows of her kitchen she could make out the upper half of a man standing just beyond the sheer curtains on the other side of her back door.
Sean.