Dark of the Night Page 21
He reached out to stroke her hair again, his mind whirling with questions, and for the first time in his life he wasn’t certain he could find the answers. “I think maybe you should tell your father about all of this.” He shifted so that he could see her eyes.
She chewed on the inside of her lip, her look reminding him all over again how seriously mismatched they were. “I can’t.” Her voice was soft, but there was resolve. “Not until I understand more about what’s happening. God, Jake, this is all so confusing.” She sat up, firelight kissing her skin.
“Sweetheart, it’s late. Just for the moment, let me take care of you. Keep you safe. We can face the rest of it tomorrow.” All he wanted was to hold her, to pull her close and feel her heart beating against his. Crazy thoughts maybe, but he could no more stop them than he could a roaring freight train. He flipped them, so she was underneath, his body hard against hers.
Something flickered in her eyes and then was gone. She nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his, her hand closing around him, kneading gently. “Make love to me, Jake.”
He kissed her, his tongue finding passage into her mouth, the moist hot feel of her almost his undoing. God, he wanted this woman. Wanted her with a fury unlike anything he’d felt before. Her hand slid up and down, stroking, squeezing, caressing, the pain sweet, his need burgeoning into white-hot desire. With a groan, he pulled her up, twisting so she was straddling him.
Slowly, she lifted, then slid downward, impaling herself on his throbbing shaft. He sucked in a breath, wondering if there could be anything better than the feel of her, hot and wet against his taut skin, only to lose the thought as she began to move, her hands on his shoulders, her silken hair falling like a screen around them.
Grasping her hips, he helped her set the pace, slow and easy, each upward motion almost separating them. She licked her lips, her eyes glazing over with passion. “Now, Jake.” Her words bit into him, as much an aphrodisiac as her movements.
He increased the pace, driving deeper, harder, with each stroke. She threw back her head, her body glistening in the firelight. Lost in the moment, she rode him for all she was worth, her eyes closed, her face beautiful in her abandonment. He stroked her breasts, his hands cupping, fondling, as they climbed higher and higher.
Then suddenly perched on the precipice, he dropped his hands back to her hips, timing their movements for one last powerful thrust. She screamed his name, her hands covering his, her ecstasy driving him higher, taking him over the edge.
His vision exploded into fire. White on white. Everything going blank, as sensation overrode all rational thought. There was nothing but fire, and light, and Riley. A mind-blowing dance through the stars.
Bryce Daniels leaned back in the prison cot, wishing he had a bottle of Jim Beam. Even after all this time, he still had the urge. A dim light from the corridor illuminated the ward. Most of the beds were empty. Only one other inmate was in residence, and he’d been placed at the opposite end of the room.
From what Bryce could see, the man was sleeping. If only he had the same luxury. But nights had always been difficult for him in here. Nights were for remembering. He rubbed a hand across a beard-stubbled chin and wondered how the hell he’d ever gotten to this place.
He’d had dreams. But dreams were only that. Something to trot out in an emotion-induced haze. Something to wallow in when the world blindsided you. And his had died a long time ago.
He rolled over, staring out the window. Wondering if he’d ever see the outside again. Ever feel the grass between his toes or the water of the Chattahoochee against his skin. He remembered days spent beside its waters. Laughing. Loving.
He sobered, pushing away his thoughts. There was no room for that sort of thing in here. Nothing that could possibly be gained from wallowing in half-forgotten memories. But it was easier said than done. They came anyway. Blindsiding him when he least expected it.
Twenty fucking years had gone by and it didn’t even feel like a second. Not one fucking second. He pressed his fingers to his lips, remembering—wanting.
If wishes were horses . . .
With a groan, he turned onto his back and reached for his water, wishing it was whiskey, imagining the sour mash burning its way to his stomach, sending fiery tendrils of heat radiating through his body. Warmth. Blessed warmth.
It seemed he could never escape the cold. It surrounded him, lived in him. God, he was constantly cold. Constantly alone. No matter where he was, it seemed he was always alone.
Alone with his memories.
Alone in his torment.
His mind wandered, echoes of a poem by T.S. Eliot filling his head. That’s what he was all right. A hollow man—a goddamned, empty, hollow man.
A sharp click broke the silence of the room, and he stared at the door, watching in morbid fascination as the doorknob slowly turned. The man in the other bed never moved. Not even when the intruder’s footsteps echoed softly through the room.
Bryce wanted to fight, to scream, to yell, but there was only a strange sense of unreality, of inevitability. A sense that maybe at last he’d find peace. And if he was lucky, perhaps he’d no longer be alone.
The intruder drew closer, a smile on his face, a syringe in his hand. More of Eliot’s words singsonged through Bryce’s head. “This is the way the world ends . . . This is the way the world ends . . . This is the way the world ends . . . Not with a bang, but a whimper.”
Chapter 19
RILEY ROLLED OVER and opened her eyes. Dappled sunlight danced across the bed, filtering through the trees outside the window. She stretched and yawned, sitting up, trying to push off the last vestiges of sleep.
A glance at her watch confirmed what she already knew. It was late. Still early morning, but if she wanted to get home before her father, she’d have to get a move on. Jake was sleeping, one arm thrown above his head, his face relaxed, serene. Which, considering all that had happened to them, was nothing short of a miracle.
Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of bed, rummaging around for her clothes. It had certainly been a night to remember. She smiled at the memory, her sore muscles a testament to their nocturnal activities. But now that the morning had come, it was time to find answers.
“Sneaking out again?” She whirled around, startled by his voice. He was sitting up, a scowl replacing his earlier tranquillity.
“No, of course not.” She fumbled with a button. “At least not on purpose. It’s just that you looked so peaceful. I hated to wake you.”
His frown deepened. “So you were going to leave without saying good-bye.”
“It’s not as if I was taking the last plane out of Casablanca. For goodness sake, Jake, I was trying to be thoughtful.” She frowned back at him. “It’s late. I have to get home.”
“Before Daddy finds out?” There was an edge to his voice.
“Yes.” Their gazes locked, and she fought to keep hers steady.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The action made him incredibly appealing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that this is the second morning I’ve woken up to find you MIA.”
She smiled, sitting beside him on the bed. “Well, I think missing in action might be a little bit of an overstatement. After all, I’m right here.”
He tilted his head, his dark eyes drinking her in. “So you are.” He reached for her, moving quickly, pinning her under his weight on the bed. “And since you’re still here, what do you say we do something about it?”
“Jake, it’s late.” She pretended to struggle. “I’ve got to go.”
“I know, duty calls.” He planted kisses along the line of her throat, his touch sending hot liquid fire streaking through her body. “First Lady business and all that. But since you’re already late, what are a few more minutes going to matter?”
“Minutes?” She grinned up at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, if you’re game, I think we can arrange something a bit more time consuming.”
“All right.” Jake cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Why don’t you let me call you. There’s no sense in upsetting my father needlessly.”
“Because of me.”
She shrugged, not certain what to say. They were back to Roman Holiday.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve got a feeling there isn’t a man alive that your father would approve of.”
“You’re not being fair.” She pulled away. “My father loves me. And he wants what’s best for me. It’s just that we don’t always agree on what that is.”
“Well, I have some ideas along those lines myself.”
“About what’s good for me?”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Yeah. And what’s good for me.”
She traced the line of his lips with a finger. “Oh yeah? So tell me what’s good for you, Jake.”
He caught the finger, the fire in his eyes sending jets of heat spurting through her. “You.”
She opened her mouth to retort, to continue their banter, but it seemed Jake was finished talking. His lips covered hers, his kiss greedy. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, their tongues dueling, dancing.
The man was intoxicating.
Finally, he pushed back with a sigh, his eyes black with passion. “Go. Before I decide to keep you here forever.”
She sucked in a breath, surprised to find that she was incapable of speaking.
He covered her lips with his finger, mimicking her earlier gesture. “Remember that kiss, Riley.” She nodded, still trying to find her voice. “It’s a promise.”
“A promise?” The words were barely more than a whisper.
He nodded, smiling, his teeth white against the black of his morning beard. “The promise of things to come.”
She reached for the doorknob, her hand shaking, suddenly certain that if Audrey Hepburn had met Jake Mahoney in Roman Holiday, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Need help with that?” Jake reached to the top shelf for a cake mix and handed it to the old black woman.
Lenora Hadley accepted the box without comment, her look appraising. “You work for the store?”
Jake looked around the crowded grocery store, and then back at the woman. She was old, but her gaze was clear, her eyes shrewd. “No ma’am, I’m a reporter. Jake Mahoney.”
“So you’re helping me shop?” She pushed her basket down the aisle, adding sugar and biscuit mix.
“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of buying you coffee.” He shot her his most charming smile, knowing it wasn’t going to do him a bit of good.
“Why?” She regarded him with skepticism.
“I have some questions I want to ask you.” He forced his voice to sound neutral. No sense letting her know how much he needed to talk to her. If anyone could shed light on things, he had a feeling it was Mrs. Hadley. Besides, he was getting to the bottom of the list. Margaret Wallace, the witness who’d actually testified, had been dead for three years, and the other witness, a fifteenyear-old kid, had disappeared without a forwarding address.
“About what?”
“The robbery you witnessed.”
Her eyebrows shot up and then dropped again, her face a mask. “You sure took your time about coming. It’s been nineteen years. How’d you find me?” She bent to pick up a bag of cornmeal and then straightened to face him.
Jake shrugged. “Your daughter told me you’d be here.”
She frowned. “Woman talks too much.” Pushing her cart, she set off for the next aisle, not waiting to see if he was following.
Why was nothing ever easy? “I just need to ask you a few questions,” he called, hurrying after her.
She pushed the cart to one side, her dark eyes skewering him, probably seeing far more than he wanted her to. “You’re buying, right?”
“Absolutely. Where would you like to go?”
She added a jar of peanut butter to the cart. “It’ll have to be here. I haven’t got time to go anywhere else.”
“You want to finish your shopping first?” Now that she was acquiescing, he wanted to be as agreeable as possible.
“No.” She shook her head, already heading for the coffee bar. “There’s nothing in here that’ll spoil. I can finish when you’re gone.”
The guy behind the coffee counter had earrings in places no one should have had earrings—and he had an attitude. None of it fazed Mrs. Hadley. “I’ll have a decaf, venti, nonfat, mocha.” She leaned down to peer at the bakery display. “I’ll also have a slice of the white chocolate macadamia nut torte.”
Jake raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “Might as well enjoy this.”
The boy-toy transferred his bored look to Jake. “What can I get you?”
Jake paused, uncertain. He hated designer coffee, especially all the damn options. “Coffee, black.”
The boy frowned, a surly look in his eyes. “Sulawesi, Guatemala Antiqua, or Sumatra?” Jake winced. Evidently, if you didn’t order a grande firme mufaletto cappuccino or whatever the hell the hot new drink was, it threw the whole system off.
“He’ll have a Columbia Narina.” Mrs. Hadley smiled beguilingly at the nose-studded wonder.
Mr. Earring nodded, his disdainful gaze still on Jake. “Tall, grande, or venti?”
Jake resisted an urge to scream “Cup” and looked to the old woman for advice.
“Venti.”
Earring-boy repeated the order at the top of his lungs, and another employee, this one with purple hair, served up their drinks, leaving Jake more convinced than ever that one should never buy coffee from rock-star wanna-bes.
He shifted his attention back to Mrs. Hadley. “Thanks. I’m not sure I could have managed that on my own.”
She shrugged, smiling. “You just have to know the lingo.”
They took their coffee and found a table in the corner. Not exactly the perfect place for a private conversation, but it would have to do.
She studied him over her coffee cup, her expression wary. “I told my daughter someone would eventually come asking about what I saw. But I’d say you’re a dollar short and more than a few years late. That boy more than done the time by now.”
“You’re talking about Bryce Daniels.”
“That’s the name.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Never saw him before the trial.”
It was Jake’s turn to frown. “But I thought you saw the murders.”
“I did.” She took a bite of her cake and then sat back waiting.
“So you’re telling me that Daniels wasn’t the man you saw?”
“Bright boy.” She smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes. “Seems you catch on faster than the police.”
“They interviewed you afterward.”
“They did. Fellow by the name of Michaels.”
“Douglas Michaels.”
She shook her head. “Don’t know. Just remember his last name. Real arrogant, that one. Claimed he didn’t need my testimony. And I was standing not ten feet away.”
“You were in the store?”
She nodded. “Hiding in the back.”
“What about the other witnesses?”
“Weren’t but one. A kid. Mathers or something. He was hiding with me.”
“What about this Wallace woman, the one who testified at the trial?”
“I never saw her.”
“Why didn’t you come forward when you saw the wrong man being prosecuted?”
She squared her shoulders, eyes flashing. “Look at me, Mr. Mahoney. Ain’t no one gonna believe a black woman over a white police officer.”
He cautiously swallowed some of his coffee, the liquid still scalding. “And no one ever asked you about it again?”
“Not a word. I kept thinking sooner or later someone would come, but they never did. Until you.” She finished the last of her ca
ke and sat back, eyes narrowed in thought. “You going to fix things?”
“I’m going to try, Mrs. Hadley. I’m certainly going to try.”
“All right. This is your ten-minute warning.” Maudeen stood in the doorway of the hotel suite, clipboard in hand. “Carter, you and Riley will be seated on the dais, and Leon, you’re at Ted Turner’s table.”
“We’re ready.” Carter gave Riley’s hand a squeeze, and she fought against a wave of guilt. As if sensing her thoughts, he turned to give her a questioning look. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Daddy. Everything is going to be great.” She sucked in a breath and pasted on a smile. Candidate’s wattage. It was all second nature. “How many people are out there, Maudeen?”
“Around six hundred, give or take. All friendlies. At a thousand dollars a plate, it’s simply not worth the investment for a troublemaker.”
“Just as well,” Leon commented dryly. “We seem to have had enough trouble of late.”
“Come on, Leon.” Carter grinned. “It could have been a lot worse.”
Riley cringed, wondering what they’d say if they knew she’d spent another night with Jake. Or even worse, that she’d been helping him with a story—a story that ultimately might involve her sister. She shook her head, pushing away the guilt. Trouble was par for the course when you were in politics, and her father always said “better offensive than defensive.” So that’s what she was doing.
And when the time was right, she’d tell him everything.
“All right here’s the drill.” Maudeen’s voice brooked no argument. In the shadow of Maudeen’s relationship with her father, Riley often forgot just how good the woman was at her job. They were lucky to have her. “Lunch first. The mayor and the governor will be on the dais with you, along with their wives. Bartlett will welcome everyone, introduce the head table, thank Mr. Turner, since he’s the biggest contributor, and then turn it all over to the governor, who’ll make some brief remarks then introduce Carter.”