Concrete Evidence (31 page)

She saw relief and something else in his expression. He cupped her face and kissed her cheeks; then his lips found hers, and she couldn’t resist him. She needed his comfort, his affection. She must be a glutton for pain.

He whispered against her lips, “Thank you.”

She took a deep breath and found the tightness in her chest had loosened. The truth was surprisingly freeing. “I had some grant money, which I used to pay for my mother’s burial. It was too late to apply for a student loan to replace the money, so I applied for a consumer loan and was stunned when I was denied. I checked my credit report and discovered someone had stolen my identity. It was easy to trace who did it. She hadn’t even tried to hide what she’d done. The bills were mailed to her address. Before she died, my mother racked up over a hundred thousand dollars in debt in my name. She’d—she—” She stopped. She didn’t want to admit her own mother hadn’t given a damn about her.

Lee’s arms tightened. His lips found her forehead, then traced her hairline. “I’m sorry.”

She cleared her throat. “She’d taken out seven credit cards and maxed out every one. I found dozens of collection agency notices—all sent to me at her address. I’m still fighting the credit card companies. The people at the credit bureaus didn’t believe a mother would do that to her child. They said my mother’s inability to defend herself was ‘too convenient.’”

“How did your mother die?”

“She was drunk and wrapped her car around a tree.” She paused, then added, “I feel bad for the tree.”

“Oh, Erica, honey…”

The way he held her told her he understood her bitterness, and she wondered about his relationship with his parents. She’d learned long ago—when she was a teenager and her mother was still alive, and still, supposedly, taking care of her—people didn’t understand. Mothers were to be worshiped. Mother’s Day was a sacred holiday, and any deviation from that line was a sign she was a bad daughter and a terrible person.

She snuggled against his warmth, wondering how big a mistake she was making. But she needed him, needed this. She needed one damn person to care about her. Just one.

“Have you declared bankruptcy?”

“That would be an admission of guilt, but I’m innocent. I’m a victim of fraud, but because my own mother stole from me, I’m supposed to suck it up.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re just lining up to take me on credit.” She lifted her chin. She hated the pity she could see in his eyes. “The debt is frozen, pending investigation. The problem is, so many things depend on credit. I wouldn’t have gotten a lease if Janice hadn’t known my landlord. I can’t afford the place, but I had no choice—with my credit, the only apartments available were scary. I can’t get a credit card. Can’t get a cell phone beyond a pay-as-you-go plan. Right now I’ve got exactly twenty-seven dollars until next payday—five days from now. If I don’t drive or eat, I might make it.”

He rested his lips against her temple. “And so you took a job from Novak.”

“I didn’t have a dime for tuition, and my student loans would come due if I dropped out. I was reeling from my mother’s death, from what she’d done, when Jake—who knew my financial situation—offered me a job. For one summer’s work, he said he’d pay me enough to get me through two years of school. I knew I was risking my reputation, but he promised me—I was so fucking stupid—analysis would take precedence on the excavation. Salvage and profit were supposed to be secondary.”

“But he didn’t keep his promise. What happened?”

“We had a disagreement and I didn’t complete my contract, so he refused to pay me. He told my professor I’d worked for him, and I was politely instructed to withdraw from school. Within weeks, I couldn’t get a job in California. Within a few months, the entire West Coast was out. So I moved here and got the job with Talon & Drake. The rumors haven’t reached Janice yet. I’ve lived in fear she’d hear about me every day since.”

“What was your disagreement with Jake about?”

If she told him the truth, he might make the artifacts discreetly disappear—before they could harm Joe’s campaign—and without the artifacts, there was no evidence a crime had been committed. There would be nothing for the FBI to investigate. She’d live the rest of her life in fear of Jake and Marco. And the rest of her life probably wouldn’t be very long.

It might not play out that way, but could she really take that chance? “He was raping the shipwreck, destroying the data to get to the artifacts.”

“Why did you warn Joe about Aztec artifacts?”

For a moment, she’d hoped the senator would be able to help her, but Marco was there to remind her she couldn’t admit to having proof without endangering herself. Until the artifacts were made public, she was on her own. “For exactly the reason I said. There are people who feel like Aztec artifacts belong to the people of Mexico, not some casino in Maryland.”

“Did Jake find artifacts on the shipwreck? Could he have sold them to the casino?”

“I wouldn’t know. I left the project early.”
Please let this drop.

“Why did you run from me today?”

“I don’t want anyone to know I worked for Jake. If Janice finds out, she’ll fire me. I was scared. I’m still scared.”

“And the box of Jell-O?”

She couldn’t flinch, couldn’t give him any reason to doubt her. “It’s where I kept my savings.”

His voice hardened. “Try again.”

“Fuck you if you don’t believe me.”

“Been there, done that.” His sudden anger spoke volumes. This man—who didn’t care about archaeology, history, or culture half as much as she did—had the gall to condemn her.

“I’m leaving.” It took her a minute to get free of the blanket. She gathered her clothes from the floor and stopped when she found her torn underwear. How many minutes ago had he ripped her panties from her? A wave of pain slammed into her, and she dropped to her knees on the carpeting. “Damn you,” she whispered.

She had to get away. She hugged the clothes to her chest and started to stand but felt a hand on her shoulder. His arms came around her, pulling her against his chest. His lips pressed her hair. “If you don’t want to see me again, I’d understand.”

Damn right she never wanted to see him again. The sonofabitch had used sex to get her to spill her secrets—not because he was worried for her, but because he was concerned about a campaign.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Too late.”

“I’m sorry.” His cheek rested on her hair. “I’m angry. I thought you decided to trust me. Then you lied again.”

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you. And what I do know, I don’t like.” She felt him stiffen and knew her words had hurt him. Good.

“I had that coming.” He turned her to face him. She saw pain and anger in his deep green eyes. “Regardless of what you think of me, I care about you and want to help you.”

His hands dropped away; she could bolt if she wanted. She hesitated and then asked herself why.

“We’re good together, Erica. Really good.”

She pulled on her pants and wished her shirt wasn’t by the front door. She needed clothing, protection. She needed to get away from him while she still had a shred of sanity. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t!” He reached for her but then dropped his hands. “I’m sorry. Please stay.”

“Why?”

“If you leave now, you’re running away. Again. I didn’t take you for a quitter.”

“Please, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that tired line.”

“How about I want you; I’m falling for you.”

“That’s two. Three clichés and you’re out.” She picked up his shirt and slipped it on.

He grabbed her shoulders. “Dammit, Erica! I’m crazy about you. So crazy I’m angry you don’t trust me—and lash out and say stupid things. I’m so damn wild for you that I want to toss you on the bed and make love to you until you can’t think, can’t walk.” The turmoil in his eyes cut into her. “Can’t leave me.”

She caught her breath. He spoke the truth. And dammit, she still wanted him. She found a shred of resistance. “What do you want from me this time?”

He kissed her, then spoke against her lips. “Nothing more than to look into your eyes as I make you come, repeatedly.” His kiss was hot, sensual, like a drug, and she wanted another hit. “To make you forget what a jerk I am.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair and captured his mouth with hers. She felt the tension in his body, his fear she would leave. She deepened her kiss, and he melted against her, relief spreading from his body to hers.

She tightened her fingers, pulled his hair. “No more questions. One more strike and you’re out—out of the inning, out of the game.”

His sexy smile was her undoing. “Shortcake, I’m about to hit it out of the park.”

For her, all that mattered was tonight she wouldn’t be alone.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
F
IVE

L
EE WOKE LONG BEFORE
E
RICA
did. He watched her sleep and breathed in her scent. Sex, shampoo, and Erica’s own personal essence. He was addicted to the fragrance. Addicted to her.

He wasn’t proud of the way he’d questioned her, of the anger he’d shown when she’d lied to him. He was amazed she’d made love with him afterward. He knew she was lonely and hurt, and he was more than a little appalled with himself for taking advantage of her vulnerabilities to convince her to stay.

He’d done it because he’d been terrified she would leave, hating him as much as he hated himself for manipulating her.

But she’d stayed, and they’d made love until they were both sated and exhausted. And then, because he couldn’t get enough of her, he’d made love to her again in the shower. Hot water poured down his back, she panted his name, and he exploded inside her.

His attempt at using sex to control her had backfired. She owned him now.

Now, hours before dawn, he was hard again and couldn’t sleep. Her hair had dried from their midnight shower, and the dark strands haloed around her head and covered both their pillows, enveloping him in the scent of the shampoo he’d lathered into the thick, silky strands. He’d developed a Pavlovian reaction to hairpins and knew it was fueled by her refusal to wear her hair down. He suspected for the rest of his life the mere glimpse of a bobby pin would give him a hard-on.

He climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb her. Time to check in with JT. After she woke, he wouldn’t have a second alone. Not if he could help it, anyway.

He left the master suite, cell phone in hand. In the guest bathroom, he turned on the tap, sat on the closed toilet, and placed the call.

“This better be good.” JT sounded half-asleep and three-quarters grouchy. Good.

“The artifacts Riversong procured for the Aztec Room were stolen from the shipwreck Novak’s been excavating.”

JT cursed, then said, “Cultural goods. No way would the Mexican government let Novak keep those.” Unlike Joe, JT rarely showed his Indian heritage, but in moments like this, Lee was reminded his stepbrother had a deeper knowledge of cultural issues. “Can you prove this?”

“I think Erica can.”

“Find out. Fast. You got this from Erica? You finally got into her pants?”

He bristled but answered, “Yes.”

“Good work.” JT let out a low whistle. “She thinks you’re young, immature, and spoiled but still slept with you. You’re a regular James Bond.”

“Shut the fuck up, JT.”

He laughed. “Have all the fun you want with her, but don’t let your feelings screw up the investigation. You need to find out about the artifacts and how Novak is involved with the Iraq smuggling.”

“First I need to take Erica shopping; she needs a dress for Saturday night. By the way—as punishment for the hell I went through lying to Joe and Erica at the same time, you’re paying for the dress. Designer, per Joe’s orders. She’s going as both my date and employee-of-the-month.”

JT was silent. Finally he said, “Shrewd of Dad, but it could backfire. Too bad we can’t tell him what she’s involved in.”

“She’s innocent. She was caught in a bad situation by Novak and walked. She lost everything because she worked for him and got nothing in return.”

“You may have been taken in by a sexy con.”

“I’m a lowly intern. If she’s a con artist, she’d be after you.”

“At least I wouldn’t let my emotions get involved.”

“She worked for Novak, but she’s not a part of the Iraq smuggling.”

“I hope you’re right. Listen, I figured it was time to share real info with the feds and spoke with an agent I know. Because Matt Weber was killed in Iraq, his murder is out of the FBI’s jurisdiction, but the agent said they’d be ready to dive in once the artifacts reach American soil. He agreed with your buddy Curt—because I authorized your hacking into the Talon & Drake network, you don’t need a warrant, but they would, so he’s content to hang back and let you do your job. Legally, we’re fine as long as the Feds don’t get wind of the cell phone hacking you’ve been doing.”

“What cell phone hacking?” Lee said innocently. But the cell phones were the least of it. He could go to jail for the hacking he’d done to gather information on Erica, Drake, Novak, and Riversong. At the very least, he’d lose his business license. Joe had no idea the lengths they were going to protect him.