Abandon (14 page)

“I did become,” Mackenzie said.

“Did she approve of your career change?”

“No one did. Beanie’s not alone in that one.”

“Why…”

“Why did I become a marshal?” Mackenzie grinned so suddenly, so unexpectedly that Rook felt gut-punched. “Because I didn’t want to write my dissertation.”

“Did your students always laugh at your jokes?”

“Always. You law enforcement types—not so much.” But her eyes turned serious, and she said, “I wanted to catch bad guys and help keep people safe. That’s it. That’s why I filled out my application.”

“It’s as valid a reason as any I’ve ever heard.”

“Why did you become an FBI agent?”

He shrugged. “It never occurred to me to do anything else. Mac—”

“I can’t make love with these damn stitches,” she said quietly, quickly. “So, just say good-night.”

Rook didn’t move. He could see what she was thinking. “Mac, making love to you isn’t just unfinished business that I need to take care of and then move on. I’m not that big a cad.” He stepped closer to her. “We can go a little further, even with the stitches. I won’t hurt you.”

“What?”

But she took his hand and backed into the kitchen, and he brought his palm to her breast, her eyes on him, liquid, certain, stripping away his reserve. “How could I have thought I could just walk away?”

She smiled, moving against his palm. “Don’t think about that now.”

He raised her shirt and heard her breath catch as he unclasped her bra and skimmed his fingertips across her hardening nipples, the soft skin of her breast. His senses flooded with the smell of her, the feel of her. She reached a hand into his hair, moaning softly as he teased and tantalized, then, careful of her bandaged side, lifted her bra and shirt over her head and cast them onto the floor.

“Rook,” she whispered, tightening her fist in his hair, then letting go. “Andrew…”

He gazed at her, taking in the milky skin, the curve of her breasts, the flat stomach, the flare of hips, wanting her, aching for her, his need a jolt to his system.

“Mac.”

His voice was strangled, and he gave up, slipped his hands around her, high, avoiding her injury. Her skin was cool now, creamy under his touch. Everything about her aroused him, absorbed him. He kissed her neck, moving lower, lost in the scent of her, the taste of her, as tongue and teeth explored, lingered, pushed her to soft moans of pleasure. He felt her falter slightly, but they both stayed on their feet.

Her skin heated, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, giving a small cry, a gasp of need and frustration. When he rose up, her lips were parted, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, letting her know just how aroused he was. But she found out for herself, dropping a hand between them, skimming her fingers across him, locating his zipper, lowering it. She slipped her hand inside. He was hard, throbbing against her touch.

He growled into her mouth. “Mac—hell.”

She smiled boldly. “Do you want me to stop?”

But his body answered for him, and she gulped in a breath, her smile gone now, her mouth on his again as she reached deep and took the length of him. He fought for air, kissing her, teasing her nipples with his thumbs in the same rhythm she used on him. When she quickened her pace, he eased one hand down the smooth skin of her back and into her pants, along the curve of her buttocks.

His urgency mounted, but he forced a pause, looked into her eyes, which were a dusky blue now, brimming with need and desire. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not…oh.” She moved against his hand. “Trust me.”

His fingers reached her hot, moist center, and her grip on him faltered slightly. He didn’t stop. He flicked, pushed, circled his fingers around her, into her, probing, as she responded, moving against them, onto them. She worked her own magic and torture with her hand, capturing, stroking, faster, then faster yet.

“Mac, I can’t hold on.” He could hardly breathe, never mind talk.

“Then don’t, because neither can I.”

Her body shuddered and she cried out, her grip slackening. But she didn’t let go. She stiffened against him, and he could feel her willpower as she regained her hold. With her next brutal stroke, he used every ounce of self-control to keep himself from exploding.

Not now.
At the moment, he thought, it was enough for him to pleasure her.

His time would come.

He thrust his fingers deep into her, as insistent and brutal as she’d been with him, watching her eyes close as she gave in to the sensations. She grasped his shoulders, bracing herself as her body rippled with release. Slick with perspiration, she collapsed against him, breathing hard into his neck.

Finally, she stood back, utterly spent and as unembarrassed as he was.

She scooped up her shirt and bra and grinned at him. “You really are a bastard, you know. Honestly. Making me be the only one who…” She didn’t finish.

“Regrets?”

She slapped him lightly with her shirt. “Not hardly.”

“Your stitches—”

“Intact. All intact. You didn’t hurt me, Andrew.” She slipped on her shirt, not bothering with the bra, and smiled at him. “I was never in pain.”

He believed her. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So when we were having coffee that night in the rain, you were thinking—”

“Not then.”

“You are
such
a bad liar.”

He pulled himself together, then kissed her—softly this time, romantically. “Now,” he said, smiling, “we have unfinished business.”

She let out a breath. “I think we just might.”

On his way home, Rook drove too fast and was so agitated he almost missed his own damn driveway.

His nephew was reading a gaming magazine and listening to his iPod at the kitchen table. Rook pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “How can you read and listen to music at the same time?”

“What?”

“How…” He sighed. “Take the damn headphones off and you’ll be able to hear me.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Brian grinned, removing the earbuds and hitting the pause button on his iPod. “Bad day?”

“It had its moments. What about you?”

“Just hanging out here. I ran the dishwasher and picked up my room.” He nodded toward the microwave. “I’ve got leftovers heating up.”

Rook decided not to push him about his future plans. Brian’s father could tackle that problem. “What leftovers?”

“I don’t know. I dumped a bunch of stuff I found in the fridge into the microwave. There’s enough for two, if you want.”

In a brief flash, Rook saw his nephew’s loneliness and uncertainty. His friends from high school were off to college or had jobs, and Brian was in Arlington, eating leftovers with his uncle.

Rook suddenly didn’t feel that great about his own life, either. He’d let his emotions get away from him with Mac, and he didn’t know what the hell came next. He was worried about her—but he was worried about himself, too, because tonight proved he had no self-control at all, not with her. Spotting her with Bernadette Peacham last week and seeing a potential conflict between his professional and personal lives, he’d thought he’d put on the brakes in his usual efficient, objective manner.

But he hadn’t. He was in a free fall.

He got to his feet and took a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator. At least it was fresh. If it’d been stale, he’d have felt damn pathetic.

When he filled two glasses with tea and turned back to the table, Brian had already stuck his earbuds in place and tuned into his music again.

J
esse entered the small campus auditorium just as a panel discussion on current issues in legal ethics—he liked that—let out. Four middle-aged men rose from chairs at a cheap table. Calvin Benton was on the left end, facing the audience of about fifty law students and professors. He shook hands with his fellow panelists, the polite applause fading quickly as people started filing out.

Despite the intense police search for him in New Hampshire, Jesse had done nothing to conceal his identity. Beardless, clean, dressed in expensive clothes, out of context, he doubted even Mackenzie Stewart would recognize him, at least not from a quick glance. Up close, the way she’d been on Friday, was another matter. He could still see her now, in her bright-colored swimsuit, water dripping down her face as she’d tried to figure out what had caused the noise she’d heard.

Stop,
he told himself, pushing the image from his mind. He stiffened, shielding himself against any further intrusions of the redheaded marshal. She’d captivated him, but Deputy Stewart would love to put him behind bars, a fact that no amount of wishful thinking on his part could change.

He walked down the center aisle and crossed in front of the stage to a side entrance. Cal, visibly pale, reluctantly joined him.

“You’ve got nerve.” Benton’s voice was a low hiss, and he glanced behind him, as if making sure no one could see them together. “What are you doing here?”

Jesse shrugged, enjoying Cal’s discomfort. “Sorry I missed the discussion. All finished now? No book signing?”

“I don’t have a book.”

“Your fellow panelists do.”

“We’re not here to sell books.” Cal’s biting sarcasm and unrelenting arrogance were, Jesse figured, a fairly transparent attempt to conceal his fear. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Caught you by surprise, did I? I just want five minutes of your time. You and I have unfinished business.”

Another panel member squeezed past them, saying good-night and complimenting Cal on his portion of the talk. Cal managed to return the compliment, but when the other man was out of earshot, he growled to Jesse, “Not here.”

Amused by his discomfort, Jesse walked down the corridor to a corner and stood in front of a window overlooking a courtyard, where students, divided into small knots, ran through the rain. “Decent crowd for a hot summer night,” Jesse said mildly. “They’re all summer students?”

“Not all—most. They’re participating in a special six-week program. As if you give a damn. Where’s Harris? I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“Missing him, are you?”

“He’s a coward. He’s probably gone into hiding until you and I have sorted things out ourselves. Unless you…” Cal narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should just call the police and let them find Harris.”

Jesse withdrew his cell phone from his pants pocket and held it out. “Go right ahead. I’ll wait.”

Cal took in a breath, held it, then exhaled with a huff. “Bastard. You’d better hope no one with a cell phone is taking a picture of us right now. A stranger coming up to me. Tempting.”

“You have to love Washington,” Jesse said. “Afraid you’re under surveillance?”

“By whom? I’ve done nothing.”

“You know Harris went to the feds.”

The last color drained from Cal’s face. He cleared his throat and looked out the window evasively. “I don’t have any control over him. He’s as slimy as you are. I want to be rid of you both.”

“We make a nice trio, don’t we? Our mutual friend met with the FBI last week. With a Special Agent Andrew Rook.”

“If Harris gave the FBI anything, they’d be on us by now.”

“I heard the feds searched his house today.”

That got Cal’s attention. “
Harris’
s house?”

“Apparently, they’re getting worried about him.”

“Fine,” Cal said, rallying. “If he got cold feet and took off, that buys us more time to conclude our arrangements. The feds can spin their wheels looking for him all they want. They have no cause to dip into my affairs. And they don’t even know you exist.”

Jesse pressed a fingertip to the window, as if trying to touch a raindrop.

Cal gulped in a quick breath. “Go to Mexico, Jesse. Don’t risk Harris ratting you out to the FBI—never mind what I have on you. I can’t put you in prison. They can. Get out of Washington.” He was on a roll now, almost arrogant again. “Once I’m confident you’re holding up your end of our deal, I’ll hold up mine. I’ll wire you the money. I’ll stay out of your life.”

“What about my identity, Cal? Can you wire me
that?
”

“Your ‘identity,’ Jesse, is my insurance policy that you don’t ever darken my door again.” Cal gave him a cold look. “Did you have anything to do with the attack on Mackenzie Stewart in New Hampshire?”

“What attack, Cal?”

His face reddened, anger mixing with the arrogance now. “The police say a deranged drifter knifed her and another woman, in two separate attacks.”

“Do I look like a deranged drifter?”

Cal’s shoulders seemed to slump, as if he couldn’t maintain the arrogant-Washington-insider act another second, and he shook his head. “If Harris is playing games with the FBI, why don’t you and I just back off and leave each other alone? Call it a draw, Jesse. You have your leverage against me. I have mine against you—”

“I don’t believe in draws.” Jesse made himself sound almost bored. “I believe in winning. You should know that, unless you haven’t found out everything about me, after all.”

For a split second, Cal seemed ready to wilt, but then his experience and discipline clicked into gear, and he straightened, squaring his shoulders. “I wish I didn’t know anything about you. I want you out of my life. That’s all.” Cal kept his voice low, but he was visibly shaken, tense. “I don’t even want to know everything about you. Just drop out of Washington and go live your damn life. I’ll get you the money—trust me. I have no reason not to get it to you.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t like to be leveraged.”

“You have a vivid imagination,” Cal said. “It’s one of the reasons you’re good at what you do. Me? I’d never imagine that some of the people I’ve helped you ‘leverage’ over the past few months would be capable of doing the things they’ve done.” Cal maintained his outward self-control. “You give me more credit than I deserve.”

Jesse didn’t let himself be distracted. “I want whatever evidence you have on me. Computer files, hard copies of files, accounts, recordings, videotapes. Whatever it is, I want it. All of it.”

A fat old man was making his way up the hall with a push broom. Cal stepped back from the window, but said nothing. He was overestimating his power. If he believed that Jesse
was
the man who’d attacked Mackenzie and the hiker last week, the nonfatal outcome worked in his favor. Cal would mistake it for weakness and inefficiency.

Jesse went on calmly. “And I want my money. Now. Not later.”

A muscle worked in Cal’s jaw. “How many times do I have to say it? You’ll get your damn money once you’re out of my face. When I’m out of any danger that this entire mess is going to backfire on me. I don’t want your million dollars—it’s not worth it to me to risk not holding up my end.”

Probably true, but Jesse was unmoved.

“If Harris decides to come out of hiding and talk to the feds—”

“I’m not worried about Harris,” Jesse said.

“Fraud, bribery, blackmail, extortion, conspiracy. Those aren’t light charges. Be smart. Get out of Washington now while you can. I’ve profited from other people’s sins. I’m not even disgusted with myself. Some of the dirty politicians, bureaucrats and lobbyists you and I squeezed saw themselves in a new light and stopped what they were doing. Some of them have reformed out of fear. They’re looking over their shoulders, scared of what comes next—who else might know their secrets?”

Jesse almost laughed. “Oh, so noble, Cal. You helped me because you had no choice. I had your balls in a vise.”

Sweat erupted on Cal’s brow, and he stank of it. “And so we blackmail each other. What I have on you is more damaging than what you have on me. So I had an affair while Bernadette and I were technically still married. Who’s going to care now that we’re divorced? Even she wouldn’t.”

“You had your affair at her house in New Hampshire.”

“It’s not anything I’m proud of, and I don’t want it to get out—but it’s nothing compared to the material I have on you. If the feds had to choose between nailing your ass and nailing mine, they’d choose yours.”

Jesse reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a color printout of a digital photograph. “Take a close look. You’ll notice that’s you with the hairy legs and the saggy ass.”

Cal frowned, as if confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You think I only know about the brunette you humped in New Hampshire back in June. Take a close look, Cal. That’s not your brunette. That’s your blonde, a high-level congressional aide who had a weekend of wild sex with you at the summer home of a respected federal judge. But you tell me. What do you think?”

Cal crumpled up the picture, sweat pouring down his temples. “You’re disgusting.”

“You can see her face. You recognize her, don’t you? I believe we blackmailed her boss.”

“Not we—you.”

“Oh, you helped. You and Harris got me the information, the access. Rich SOB he is, too. You’d think you’d have stayed away from New Hampshire after I already caught you with the brunette.”

Cal didn’t say anything, just looked sick.

“What was the blonde doing—having sex with you in exchange for you keeping quiet about her? Or did she give you the information about her boss in the first place?”

“Stop—”

“She came to a bad end about two weeks ago. I guess you know that.”

“Jesse, don’t. She overdosed on pain pills. She had a problem back. Her death was an accident.”

“There are whispers it was suicide, because she was upset about a man.”

Cal took a sharp breath. “You’re disgusting!”

“
I’m
disgusting? I like that.” Jesse yawned. The Washington heat made him sleepy. If only he could have stayed in the mountains longer. “The police are still investigating the accident.”

“How many pictures do you have?” Cal asked.

“Pictures
and
a recording. If I leave them with the feds, they’ll dig deeper, and they’ll hang you high. Even if they can’t prove you were blackmailing her.”

“I
wasn’t.
”

“Look at our friend J. Harris Mayer. He was never prosecuted. You’ll be ruined, Cal. Judge Peacham will be ruined, too. Even if people believe she wasn’t involved in your treachery, they’ll wonder how it could happen under her nose.”

“Bernadette doesn’t deserve that. We were separated—”

“That’ll matter? You’ll go down and your ex-wife will go down. And your girlfriends.” Jesse paused deliberately, for effect. “The media will trot them out one by one.”

More than angry, Cal looked tortured, but he straightened, sniffed like the high-powered lawyer he was. “Threatening me doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not bluffing,” Jesse said.

“Drag me down and I drag you down. That’s the way it is.”

“Double-crossing me wasn’t a smart move.”

“Ditto. I won’t go to the feds with what I have on you. You won’t go to the feds with what you have on me. You’ve done worse, Jesse. You attacked a federal agent.”

“Good night, Cal. I’ll be in touch.” He tapped his pictures. “Just wanted you to know the score.”

Cal opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead marched down the hall, the crumpled photo of his blond lover in bed with him still in his hand.

Jesse waited in the dim light until Cal disappeared. The janitor pushed his broom toward the supply closet, and Jesse smiled at him, then went on his way, back to the parking lot, the heat, the smells of the city. His BMW was still faintly cool. He sat behind the wheel, remembering the night he’d taken the picture of Cal Benton and the very attractive, very corrupt aide. It probably hadn’t occurred to Cal that anyone would ever catch him in bed with her—that it was that big a deal, a little sex in exchange for him doing good by her. Sneak up to his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s place in the country, and not worry about the prying gossips in Washington.

Even if he couldn’t be tied to the blond aide’s death or blackmail, the scandal would sink Cal Benton, and it would sink Bernadette Peacham.

The man was a fool, but Jesse hated seeing the tight control he’d once had over their operation unravel.

The car cooled to a temperature more to his liking. He glanced in his rearview mirror and thought of Mackenzie Stewart in her pink swimsuit. The curve of her breasts, the shape of her legs.
Would
he have killed her last Friday?

Oh, yes.

Jesse glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Plenty of time, he decided, for a quick trip out to Arlington. Mackenzie was back in town. He wondered if she’d gone to bed yet, or if she’d be up, staring at his sketch and trying to figure out where she’d seen him before.