Читать книгу Seduced By The Enemy - Jamie Denton Ann - Страница 9

“HELLO, PEYTON.”

She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Deep, and as smooth as the highest quality brandy. Even though she detected a hardness in his tone she didn’t remember, there was no mistaking it was him.

Jared.

He’d come back. For her? For revenge? Considering she’d turned him in once, coupled with the fact that he was holding a gun to the back of her head, she wasn’t about to make any snap decisions about his motivation for returning.

She inhaled slowly and fought to exhale evenly in an effort to still the rapid cadence of her heart. Fear-induced panic would do her no good and would have her thoughts scattering like autumn leaves dancing in a wind storm. Focus and concentration had to be her sole objectives if she had any hope of escaping him, and maybe even learning what he wanted from her and why he’d come back.

“Let’s just take things slow and easy,” he said, his voice low, as if he was talking to her over a candlelight dinner and not holding her hostage in her own car. “No one needs to get hurt.”

Not getting hurt was just fine by her. Slow and easy would give her time to think, to take advantage of the first opportunity to escape and call the authorities. He wasn’t the same man she’d once loved, and she desperately needed to remember that, instead of exhuming memories better left buried. The man holding her captive was the enemy, and dangerous. A fugitive who’d murdered his partner and the top aide to a prominent United States senator, and made off with two million dollars like it was some grand prize for his horrendous crime. Since she was the one who’d attempted to hand him over to the feds on a silver platter, she had a right to be fearful and cautious.

She remained perfectly still, concentrated on breathing evenly, and slowly opened her eyes, only to peer into the shadowed darkness of the deserted parking garage.

“Listen carefully, Peyton.” He reminded her exactly who was in charge by adding the slightest amount of pressure with the weapon he held on her.

As if she needed reminding.

“Put your hands on the steering wheel.”

In the rearview mirror, she sought him out, but the darkness inside the vehicle prevented her from discerning anything more than the reflection of his silhouette. She wanted, needed to see his eyes. For as long as they’d been together, she’d always been able to read him by the look in his eyes. It’d been the only way she’d known when he was upset, frustrated, even angry. She’d also known the love he’d once felt for her was as real as it got.

And when she’d betrayed him, she’d known how deeply she’d hurt him.

Those days were long gone. But that knowledge didn’t stop her need to look into his dark emerald eyes now when it was most important, when one glance would tell her whether or not she was in real danger. The blasted darkness prevented her from searching for the truth.

He kept his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream bloody murder. Not that anyone would hear her this time of night in the deserted parking garage, but just the same, he obviously wasn’t about to take any chances.

Her eyes darted to the steering wheel, then back to the rearview mirror. “Forget it, Peyton.” The silky tone of his voice stirred memories she couldn’t afford to think about now.

How he could see so clearly when she could barely make out the shape of his head was beyond her.

“I disconnected the horn.” He added a little more pressure with the weapon. “Hands, sweetheart. Steering wheel.” He nudged again. “Now.”

Sudden anger reared up inside her, white-hot and fiery, shoving aside her earlier fear and uncertainty. She did as he ordered, then tried to twist her head free of his grasp. A useless endeavor. He held her head firmly against the headrest and what she was certain was the nose of a pistol. Frustration nipped at her when she couldn’t even open her mouth to bite his hand.

“Take it easy, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you, but to save you.”

Save me? From whom? she wanted to rail at him. Or what?

“This car has automatic locks, right?” he asked her, instead of answering the question she couldn’t voice.

She nodded her head as much as his tight hold would allow.

“We’re gonna do this slow and easy,” he repeated. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to, if it’ll keep you safe. Do you understand that, Peyton?”

He waited, so she nodded again.

“Good. I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I want you to reach over and engage the locks.”

None of what he was telling her made sense. Keep her safe? As far as she could tell, he posed the only danger. Didn’t he realize that after what he’d done, he could end up being shot on sight? He was a wanted man, for crying out loud.

Once she hit the button and the locks clicked, he finally removed the pressure from the weapon he held on her. She heard the rustle of fabric and assumed he’d stuffed the gun into his pocket.

Breathing suddenly became a whole lot easier.

“I’m going to remove my hand. Are you going to scream?”

She shook her head. No one would hear her, anyway. She seriously doubted the aging guard could hear her if he was standing directly in front of her. Still, she had to do something. Was she really supposed to believe she was the one in danger, when it was his face on a wanted poster?

With his hand still clamped over her mouth, he reached over and snagged her purse off the seat, dropping it on the floorboard beside him.

“I’m going to remove my hand. Scream, and who knows what might happen. I’m feeling a little edgy right now, so I wouldn’t make any fast moves if I were you. You understand me, sweetheart?”

At her nod, he added, “Okay. Ease over to the passenger seat.”

As slowly as he’d ordered her to follow his instructions, he removed his hand. She sucked a large gulp of air into her lungs. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped at him, ignoring his demands. “Why are you here?”

“Now that’s a hell of a greeting for someone you haven’t seen in three years,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Move over.”

Remaining behind the wheel, she shifted in the seat so she could get a good look at him. Shock coursed through her at the sight. Although vibrantly alive, and way too virile for her not to notice, he’d aged. A lot more than three years would warrant if he hadn’t been hiding from the authorities, and doing only God knew what to stay alive and hidden. Thanks to the lights on the dash, she could just make out haggard lines of fatigue bracketing his eyes and the slight gray sprinkled along his temples. He was only two years older than her thirty-one years, but he looked so much older, and tired, as if he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks, maybe even months.

Three years, her conscience reminded her. Three long, no doubt hellish, years.

Against her better judgment, compassion nipped at her. She desperately wanted to feel nothing toward him, but deep down she knew she’d have an easier time asking for the moon to be personally delivered to her doorstep with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it. Jared had been such an important part of her life. He’d been her life, or so she’d thought once upon a time. Despite her need to remain detached, the trace of fear she detected in his gaze gave her heart a sharp tug. The Jared she’d known, the Jared she’d once loved with all her heart, had never been afraid of anything. That his eyes held even a hint of that emotion now worried her, even more so than the determination she sensed there, as well.

“You’re a fugitive, Jared,” she said, lowering her voice. “As an officer of the court, it’s my duty to—”

“Save me your legal duty bullshit, Peyton,” he said with an unmistakable hardness in his tone. “I’ve heard it before. Remember? Now move it over like I told you to, real slow.”

She had to find a way to get through to him. Certainly he realized the danger of even being in the D.C. area. If he was found, they’d kill him. She knew that. She’d been involved with Jared long enough to know feds didn’t take too kindly to their own going south, much less killing a fellow agent in the line of duty.

“They’re looking for you, Jared. They’re always looking for you.”

“Tell me something new,” he said impatiently. “Now move it.”

She twisted around and acted before she could think about the possible consequences. She slammed the car into reverse and stepped hard on the gas. The car shot backward, tires squealing on the smooth concrete. Jared swore vividly and scrambled to keep upright. She jerked the car to a hard stop, but before she could shift into Drive, he reached over the seat and killed the engine. As he tried to remove the keys, she fought him, tugging unsuccessfully on his hands, pulling on the sleeve of his lightweight jacket. He yanked the keys from the ignition and tossed them on the floor at her feet. She knew then the battle was lost.

Not ready to give up the fight completely, she made one last-ditch effort and reached for the door, opened it, but he swore again and grabbed a handful of her hair. The butterfly clip holding it in place flew to God knew where an instant before her feet hit the pavement. Dammit!

For a few moments, the only sound inside the car was their ragged breathing. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the D.C. traffic. “That’s the wrong way, sweetheart,” he said, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. His warm breath fanned her flushed skin and sent a shiver traveling down her spine. “Close the door, Peyton.”

Temporarily out of viable escape options, she reluctantly did as he ordered. She tried to pull away from him, away from that mouth close enough to brush against her skin, but he held on tight.

“Look, if it’s the car you want,” she said, struggling to calm herself, “just let me get my briefcase and you can have it.”

“So you can run to the nearest phone and report it stolen? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that,” she told him. She was no longer his sweetheart, babe or any of the other silly endearments he’d used during their affair. “What do you want?”

“Dammit, I’m trying to protect you, Peyton.”

“Then you should have stayed away.”

“I couldn’t. This is what they wanted.”

“What who wanted? You’re talking in circles.”

“Look, I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get out of here. They could be watching us even now.”

“Who, Jared?” She wanted to understand, but without an explanation, she was reduced to guessing games. “Who could be watching? The bureau? They wouldn’t be watching, they’d be surrounding the car with guns drawn like a bunch of liquored-up farmers on a turkey shoot. And guess who the turkey is?”

He let out a frustrated breath. “Let’s take this back to the beginning, okay? Move over to the passenger seat.”

“I’m not moving anywhere until you explain what’s going on.”

“I told you—I’ll explain later.” The words were sharp and clipped. “Move it, Peyton. Now!”

With nothing left to do but follow his orders, she eased over to the passenger seat. He kept her hair wrapped around his hand until he moved first one, then the other leg over the seat and slid behind the wheel. He adjusted the seat to fit his long, powerful legs, then adjusted the mirror and double-checked the locks. He even made sure the window lock was engaged before he scooped up the keys and started the car. With his foot on the brake and his hand on the gearshift, he turned to look at her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh, really?” Although his gaze held sincerity, she still balked. She was effectively his captive. He was the one in control, the one calling the shots, and she hated it almost as much as she hated the changes in him. “Then what do you call that gun you held to my head? A greeting card?”

He had the audacity to offer her a sheepish grin as he reached into his pocket. When he opened his hand, she stared in disbelief at the round, black plastic object lying across his calloused palm. “A lighter? You mean to tell me you scared me half to death with a disposable lighter?”

He slipped the car into Drive and headed toward the exit. “It worked, didn’t it?” He stuffed the lighter back into his pocket and pulled out something else.

She looked down at his hand. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re responsible for the light being out in the parking garage, too,” she said, taking the small lightbulb from his palm to return it to the overhead lamp in the car.

When he just grinned at her again, she let out a disgusted sigh, then reached behind her to pull the seat belt into place. Being kidnapped was one thing, but that didn’t mean she had to compound stupidity by riding around unprotected. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Somewhere that’s safe.” He glanced quickly in her direction. “At least for now.”

“And then you’ll let me know what this is all about?”

“Yeah, Peyton. I’ll tell you. But I guarantee you’re not going to like it.”

HE LOVED HIS JOB. He was powerful, connected and damn good at what he did. Invitations to dinner parties in the homes of Washington’s movers and shakers always came to him. The other senatorial aides on the hill called on him for advice and counsel. Lobbyists vied for his attention and were grateful when he gave it to them. Visits to the White House were a common part of his job, and the rush of adrenaline he felt stepping into the hallowed halls of the West Wing, of having the ear of those closest to the president, never failed to lift him a little higher in his own self-esteem. He wasn’t feared, but he was deeply respected, and respect meant everything to a man who’d crawled out of a dirt-poor childhood, one small step ahead of being trailer trash.

His father had been a drunk who’d died instantly behind the wheel of a battered pickup held together by lube oil, dust and a prayer, when it kissed the trunk of a tree at 60 mph. For reasons he failed to comprehend, his mother had mourned the death of her mean bastard of a husband and committed suicide three months later. Only thirteen at the time, thin, pale and oddly quiet, Stevie Radgetz had been the one to find his mother, along with an empty bottle of tequila and prescription sleeping pills as her companions in bed.

He’d gone to live with his father’s brother, William Radgetz, following his mother’s funeral. His drunken father and suicidal mother had been a picnic compared to dear old Uncle Willie. At least Stevie had known his parents had loved him in their own misguided way, even if it hadn’t been enough for them to stick around. Willie didn’t give a shit about him and didn’t care who knew it, even thin, pale, dirty little Stevie. It was no secret the only reason Willie kept him around was for the government check that arrived each month, a check Stevie never saw so much as a penny of in the five years he lived in his uncle’s ramshackle house on the edge of town. The only thing he’d ever seen from his uncle had been his fists when he’d had too much to drink, which was often.

A week after his eighteenth birthday, Stevie legally changed his last name to Radcliffe and left the Kentucky backwater town, never looking back. With the stash of money he’d earned from the few folks around town who would even hire a Radgetz to do their odd jobs, Steven Radcliffe made his way to California. A high-priced set of forged high-school transcripts and an honest college entrance exam score had enabled him to enroll at the University of California at Berkeley. Part-time jobs, a few of them unsavory, supported him in the lifestyle he’d dreamed of having. While the federal government funded his education with loans and grants, the college housed him first in a dorm and then in a frat house. He’d despised most of his frat brothers, with their spoiled ways and overindulgent parents. He wasn’t stupid, however, and kept his disdain to himself while making the necessary contacts he knew he’d one day need to get his foot in the door of the life he so desperately craved. A life filled with wealth, position, and above all, respect.

His plan had been so simple, and was executed with ease. Any and all traces of dirty little Stevie Radgetz no longer existed. He’d gotten his first step in politics thanks to the father of one of his frat brothers, who’d introduced him to an up-and-coming politician. Steve made a name for himself in the political arena, but he never did have the desire to run for office himself. He was better suited behind the scenes, where the deal-making took place, where the real power lay. Which was why one of the most revered senators on the hill, Senator Martin Phipps, an arrogant, pompous bastard, came to him to replace his former aide, the late Roland Santiago. And why Steve was immediately called upon to clean up a very ugly mess.

The senator would trample his own grandmother if it meant getting ahead, and that suited Steve just fine. Hell, he’d even provide the running shoes, for the simple fact that when Phipps rose in power, Steve’s own power and value increased. He liked that. A lot.

Quietly closing the door to his elegantly appointed office, he headed down the silent corridor to Phipps’s office. Steve had news to impart, but he’d wisely waited until the offices were deserted, lest anyone overhear what he had to say.

The door stood ajar. Steve knocked once, stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind him. Phipps unnecessarily waved him in, said goodbye to his current mistress and hung up the phone.

“Rumor has it the president is going to announce the first appointment Monday morning,” Steve said without preamble. Phipps liked getting straight to the point, while Steve always preferred a subtle approach. Shifting gears was as easy as playing to the senator’s arrogance. Steve excelled in both.

Phipps stood and crossed the lush, jewel-toned Oriental rug to the carved armoire on the opposite end of the office. Keeping his back to Steve, he poured himself a Scotch, neat. “How much truth do you believe is behind the rumor?”

Steve carefully sat in the leather wing chair. “My source in the White House is extremely reliable.”

“Good,” Phipps said with a nod. He turned and smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair with his free hand, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. “I’ve been invited to Justice Elliot’s farewell dinner. Beautifully ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

“Only if the president appoints Galloway and Boswell to the bench once Middleton steps down,” Steve reminded him. He felt confident the president would appoint the two federal appellate court judges to the bench of the United States Supreme Court. He also knew Phipps believed he held in his hands the power that would enable him to convince his fellow senators on the judiciary committee to vote in favor of the appointments. The truth was much more complicated.

“He will,” Phipps answered arrogantly. “First Galloway, and then Boswell in a few months, once Middleton announces his retirement.”

“If Middleton announces his retirement before the end of the session,” Steve corrected.

Phipps ignored that comment. He moved from the armoire and propped his hip on the corner of his large oak desk. At sixty-two, Phipps was still athletically built and kept his body in shape. He worked out daily and was still as fit as he’d been during his years as the star quarterback at Texas A&M, followed by a brief stint in the pros.

Phipps’s vibrant blue eyes filled with confident arrogance. “They not only share the same party affiliation, but they openly supported the president’s platform during the last election. With everyone focusing on the abortion issue again, they’re the perfect choice.”

“You’re very certain of this.”

“I’d bet your career on it, Radcliffe.”

No doubt he would, Steve thought. Phipps never had any trouble getting what he wanted. Steve saw to it.

Phipps took a drink of the Scotch, then asked, “What else is on your mind, Radcliffe?”

Steve leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “We’ve had a breach,” he said, watching Phipps’s expression intently. Confidence fled from the older man’s eyes, replaced by a flash of fear, followed by anger.

“When?” the senator demanded.

“About a month ago.”

“A month?” he roared.

Steve nodded.

“And why am I only just hearing of it?” Phipps lowered his voice.

“I only learned of it myself. I had a dinner meeting tonight with—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you broke bread with,” Phipps snapped. “What went wrong that we weren’t notified immediately?”

Steve straightened. He’d expected the senator to be angry, but the fear in his eyes had taken him off guard. But then, when someone was trying to upset the balance of the Supreme Court, he suspected a little fear should be involved. The senator had a lot to lose. So did Steve, which was why he’d make sure the truth would never be leaked.

“Whoever did it was good,” he told the senator. “We think it was a professional. He knew where to look and how to cover his tracks.”

Phipps rose and started to pace. “Do you think it was him?”

“It’s entirely possible, but I have my doubts.”

“Enlighten me.”

“He would’ve made a move by now if it’d been him.”

Phipps let out a sigh. “We need to move first, before he does. Bring him out in the open, Radcliffe. You know what you need to do. It’s time.”

“Yes, Senator. I’ll handle it.” Steve stood and immediately headed for the door. He didn’t have time to waste. He had another life to destroy.