Sean

by Donna Kauffman

  “I’m glad to hear that. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel more hunted than you already did.”

  “No, I didn’t think that. Not in the way you mean. Yes, when you walked into my office that day, it was a shock. But I never once compared it to…then. I was so thrilled to see you, standing there, right there, right within reach. I’d thought about you a thousand times. And yet, because of everything that was happening, I didn’t dare let myself even for one moment believe I could just let you back into my life. No matter how badly I wanted to.” She took his hand, turned it over in her own, laced her fingers through his. “On St. Thomas, you were this wonderful surprise. I was willing to enjoy what we had while it lasted, and I was fully prepared, given the fact that we lived in different states, to walk away when it ended. I wasn’t thinking about my career or my future. I was simply enjoying my time with you.” She squeezed his hand. “And very quickly I came to realize I wanted the chance for more, and wondered how in the hell I was going to walk away without ever finding out what could have been with us.”

  “So why did you?” It was the one piece of the puzzle he hadn’t found. “Did Bentley send some kind of threat?”

  “Actually, no. He decided it would be more…impressive to make a last-ditch effort of a more personal sort. I guess maybe he thought I was vulnerable the first time because I was away from home, so why not see if lightning would strike twice?”

  Sean’s blood went cold. “You mean Bentley came to St. Thomas?”

  She nodded. “That morning after we—after I went back to my resort, he was waiting for me at the water taxi.” She squeezed his fingers, almost painfully hard, as she came to grips with the memory.

  “He’s got a major case to build and he just trots down to the Caribbean on a wing and a prayer?” Sean had to work hard not to say anything else or to let the sudden rage he felt show. Slimy, weaseling bastard.

  “I’d already made it clear before I left that it wasn’t going anywhere, but I guess the Rochambeaus had him sufficiently spooked that he figured he had to go for broke.”

  “Just how long ago did he start trying to ‘rekindle’ things?”

  “At the time I didn’t put it together, but looking back, it was right when the case was coming together and the D.A.’s office was close to filing official charges.”

  “When did he switch from trying to seduce you to threatening you?”

  Laurel eyed him for a moment, apparently trying to guess if he was asking what exactly happened on the island between her and Alan. He breathed a sigh of relief and realized he’d made another step toward gaining her trust, when she said, “When I told him he’d wasted a plane ticket. I got on the water taxi, informed the captain that he wasn’t a resort guest, and left him on the dock.”

  “You could have come to me, Laurel. You didn’t have to leave.”

  “Yes, I did. I’d only just met you, had just begun entertaining the idea that we might be able to do something with our relationship. But I had no idea about the job offer here at Beauregard—”

  “You would have. I’d have told you before we left St. Thomas. Like I said before, I’d already decided to take it before I met you. For a lot of reasons.”

  “I only knew that you lived in Denver…and the biggest case of my judicial career, thus far, was about to get very, very sticky. Not to mention dangerous.” Now she smiled. “And what kind of woman would I be to intentionally get involved with a man when that involvement could unintentionally get him hurt?”

  Sean smiled. “Touché.” He stood, walked around the table and pulled her up from her chair and into his arms. “I’m sorry for all this,” he said quietly. “Sorry we couldn’t just get to know each other without all the drama.” He traced a finger over her lower lip, deeply gratified when he felt her body shiver. “But I’m not sorry I gave in to the need to see you again. And I’m not sorry about sticking it out.” He rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. “It’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

  Her breath shuddered. “Sean, I—”

  “Shh,” he whispered, then kissed her.

  She moved against him when the kiss ended, pressed her face into his shoulder as he held her tightly. “There’s more,” she whispered. “A lot more.” Her fingers dug into his back. “And I don’t have a clue in hell what I’m going to do about it.”

  He leaned back, tipped her face up to his. “We’ll figure it out. I know you have to get out of here. Any chance you’ll cross paths with Bentley today?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve got other cases I’m adjudicating that will take up most of the today. Most of the rest of this week, in fact.”

  “Is there any…deadline? With his latest threat, I mean.”

  She paused before answering. “I have to figure things out. Soon. He’ll be filing motions later next week. That’s when it will begin. I might be able to postpone things a bit, but not more than a few days longer, the beginning of the week after next, tops.” She shivered again, but this time not in pleasure.

  Sean rubbed her arms and linked his hands with hers. “Okay, so we’ll talk tonight.”

  She moved away, grabbed both of their mugs and took them to the sink. “I have to get ready for work.” She turned to face him. “There’s a key under the stone squirrel by the back door garden. Why don’t you take that with you?”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you’re not too tired after moving everything in, maybe we can eat dinner here together while we finish our talk.” She smiled. “Of course, you might as well learn now that if you want something that doesn’t come in little white carry-out cartons, you’ll be doing the cooking.”

  Sean was both relieved that she wasn’t balking at them moving forward as a couple and impatient. So what else is new? he thought. With Laurel he couldn’t seem to get enough, fast enough, for long enough. “Well, you might as well be warned that my cooking abilities are ranked at about the bachelor survival level.” He walked over to her, pulled her back into his arms, already missing her. It should have surprised him, how badly he needed to hold her, to touch her. That it seemed almost critical that she touch him, feel him…leave for work with the taste of him on her lips.

  “So, sesame chicken okay with you, then?” she asked with a laugh.

  “Make mine Schezuan and we’re on.”

  “Ah, why doesn’t it surprise me that you’d go for the hot and spicy?”

  He grinned and cupped her backside, pressing her between his legs. “I have no idea.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Why, Marshal, you seem a bit…stirred up.”

  He lowered his head. “Imagine that.” And he kissed her again, only this time there was nothing gentle or reassuring about it. Before his hunger completely got the best of him, he managed to drag his mouth away from hers. “Jesus, is it just me who finds this insane?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers, both of them breathing a little unevenly.

  “Not just you,” she murmured. She reluctantly pulled away. “I’m going to be late.”

  She made it to the door and it took all of his willpower to remain where he stood.

  “One more thing,” he said. “I think we should keep this—us—under wraps. For the time being.”

  She paused, looking confused and more than a little surprised. “What happened to proving to the media that I’ve moved on?”

  “I’m going to do some digging, and who knows what else, as this progresses. It will be a lot easier for me, and for you, if people don’t link us to each other. Considering who we’re stacked up against, we don’t need to provoke anyone. This way I can move about more freely.”

  She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t like it, you getting yourself involved like this, but okay.” She sighed.

  “Just until this is over, Laurel,” he added. “Then I plan to shout it from the rooftops.”

  She smiled. “My hero.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” He grinned as he said it, but his heart clutched with the f
irst real glimmer of fear. Fear that for all his intentions, he wouldn’t be good enough, wouldn’t be able to get her out of this.

  She was still smiling when she left the kitchen. And he was still standing there when, two seconds later, his black T-shirt came winging at him from around the doorway.

  He caught it against his chest, then heard her footsteps race up the stairs.

  Well, that was an undeniable challenge. He was up the stairs after her in a flash.

  They both ended up leaving the house a little later than planned.

  11

  LAUREL’S MELLOW MOOD lasted a full ten minutes after arriving at work. She was already behind and had to reschedule one meeting, though she honestly wasn’t all that upset about having to do so. Having to juggle a meeting or two was worth it…when she weighed it against the reason for her tardiness.

  She was just beginning to make headway into the stack of files on her desk, anticipating the solid hour or so of phone calls she had to make once she’d gotten that done, not to mention the back-to-back meetings she had scheduled all afternoon, when her clerk stuck his head in the door and announced she had an unexpected visitor.

  She froze. Alan. But no, he wouldn’t jeopardize his case by showing up for a “meeting,” in chambers, without opposing counsel present.

  “It’s your father.”

  Laurel relaxed, but only slightly. She hadn’t seen her father since her early return from the trip. Since Alan had revealed that Seamus Patrick’s sterling reputation might, in fact, have a little hidden tarnish.

  With a smile that was more forced than she’d have liked, she said, “Please, show him in.”

  “Hi, there, sweetheart,” Seamus said, his deep voice caroming off the bookshelves and echoing back into the hall as he closed the door behind him.

  Despite her suspicions and worry, her smile warmed and widened. Her father, so big and tall, always so overwhelming—in both countenance and spirit. And yet this huge mountain of a man, who struck fear into the hearts of criminals and attorneys alike, softened when he looked at her. When directed at her, his gaze was never without tenderness and affection. She felt her heart squeeze painfully with guilt. Looking at him, here, right in front of her, she wondered how she could have ever doubted him. She came around her desk and hugged him. “Hi, Dad.”

  He hugged her back, a bit more tightly than usual, then set her back, looked her over. “Not much of a tan.” He chuckled a bit slyly. “Am I to suspect your relaxation was more of the indoor variety?”

  She didn’t bother to pretend outrage. Her father thrived on being outrageous. She was well used to it by now. She merely raised an eyebrow and said, “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  He laughed, nodding appreciatively, but she spied the hint of unease that edged his expression.

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, I came home early.”

  He didn’t seem surprised at the news. Which, in turn, didn’t surprise Laurel. She might not have seen him since returning to Louisiana, but that didn’t mean her father didn’t keep up with what was going on in her life.

  “So I heard,” he said. “I was disappointed, Laurel. I know how hard you’ve been working. You needed that break. You can’t let your work become your life.”

  “Like you, you mean?” She said it wryly, without rancor.

  He had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “I suppose I was hoping you could learn from my mistakes.”

  She reached up and bussed him on the cheek. “Now how could I do that when you make so few?”

  He chuckled, but when she stepped back, she saw the concern hadn’t faded from his Patrick-blue eyes. “Was there a specific reason you came back early?” he asked.

  She gestured to the clutter on her desk, hoping she sounded natural and confident. Like someone telling the truth. “I know there’s never a good time to get away, and I appreciate your help in clearing my docket temporarily so I could get a break. But with the Rochambeau case heating up, I honestly felt it was better to be here. You know how the—”

  Her father waved her quiet with a simple lift of his broad hand. “I understand.” He sighed, a bit more heavily than expected, then gestured to her desk as he moved to one of the leather chairs in front of it. “Have a seat. I need to talk with you.”

  Laurel started to speak, then realized she had no idea what she was going to say—something, anything, that would wipe that look off his face. That look that was part dread, part resignation. She felt sick. Had Alan thought to cement the deal by threatening Seamus Patrick personally?

  Remaining silent, she took a seat in the other leather chair that fronted her desk, the clutching sensation growing worse. Here she’d been still clinging by a thread to her lifelong belief that her father was some sort of infallible god. Which was, of course, ridiculous and childish. He was as human as she was. But still…she found herself wanting to cover her ears, to hum a tune, to block out whatever he was going to say. She didn’t want to know for certain, if it meant bursting her little bubble. Knowing would change everything.

  A million thoughts chased through her mind in the few seconds that followed. How was she going to deal with it if he confessed? What if he asked her to cover for him? No, she couldn’t honestly believe he’d go that far. But look what’s at stake, the other part of her argued. Not only his stellar reputation, to be added to the long list of Patrick contributions to society, but also his dreams for the future. He was possibly the only sixty-nine-year-old man Laurel knew who was vigorously looking forward to beginning a bright new career. And she had no doubt it would be as illustrious as the one that had led him to this point.

  So what was he going to ask her? And what was she going to do about it?

  She took in a quiet breath as it occurred to her that Alan may have developed another blackmail scheme as backup. Perhaps he had something on Laurel—what, she couldn’t imagine—but something he was using against Seamus to get him to use whatever influence he might have on his daughter…maybe get him to drop out of the race while he was at it. She’d wanted to believe her father would never bow to such a threat, but she also knew only too well that the love and pride that made her vulnerable where her father was concerned…was the same kind of love and pride that left him vulnerable with her.

  “Dad, listen…” she began, then faltered. Where in the hell did she begin?

  He leaned over, covered her hand. A smile flickered across her face as she thought how the men in her life seemed to have this need to hold her hand of late. Somehow, she didn’t mind it all that much.

  “No, let me talk,” he said. “I admit I’ve been busy with my own future plans and haven’t been as sharp in keeping up with things down here. I had no idea…” He trailed off, and sitting this close to him, she could see now that he wasn’t merely upset, he was furious and trying not to let it show. He cleared his throat and began again. “I had no idea that the vultures were circling to such an extent. Bentley—” He stopped, looked down as if to get himself under control.

  “Dad, Alan and I—”

  He jerked his gaze back to hers and she saw the muscle flex in his jaw. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what Bentley thinks he might hope to gain from whatever little stunt he’s pulling with the media, but if he thinks he’s going to influence a Patrick to step down as part of some grand plan to get a different judge, one who’ll work to get him on that senatorial ticket, well he’s going to have to seriously consider firing his campaign strategist.”

  “The media doesn’t hold sway with me where my courtroom decisions are concerned. You know that.”

  His face softened slightly, and it struck her that he wasn’t as young and vital as he’d once been. It wasn’t something she glimpsed often in him—his age—but she did now. And it made her angry. Angry at Alan for his idiocy in getting caught up in such a deadly trap. Angry at herself for not finding some way out of this mess that didn’t affect her father.

  “Good girl,” her father said, once again patting
her hand, before giving it a little squeeze. “I didn’t doubt you for a second. Merely felt bad for not coming sooner to lend you my support. Both here in private, and publicly if need be.”

  Laurel stiffened. The last thing she needed him to do was to make himself more of a target for the Rochambeaus. Alan’s threat against Seamus’s life had been suitably vague enough that, even though she had it on tape, it couldn’t be used as proof in a court of law. She wasn’t even entirely certain the Rochambeaus had backed that particular threat…or if it was just Alan making his case as strong and intimidating as possible. But the Rochambeaus were certainly more than capable of causing her father to have an “accident.” Enough so that she had to consider the threat a valid one and to keep her father as distanced from this whole thing as possible.

  “No, that won’t be necessary, Dad, but thank you. For caring. I really don’t want you to worry about this.” It was clear to her now that he had no idea of the extent of Alan’s treachery. Her father didn’t even know that Alan had no plan to win this case. He’d probably see it as proof that she’d stood her ground when he went on to lose, albeit he certainly wouldn’t be happy to see Jack Rochambeau get off. Again.

  Her head began to throb.

  “I do worry,” he said. “I know this is the first major trial you’ve presided over, and I want you to know I’m here for you. In whatever capacity you need me.” He rubbed her knee. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’ve done us all proud, not just myself, but every Patrick before me.”

  Tears burned behind her eyes. She knew he’d think them happy tears, would have no way of knowing they were tears of shame. She felt like a phony, wishing desperately that she shared his passion, wished her career brought her the happiness and contentment it did him. “Thank you, Dad,” she choked.

  She stood, wanting to end this meeting before she broke down and told him everything. Before she blurted out the one question she hadn’t completely quashed, no matter how hard she’d tried. Had he fixed that trial outcome, all those years ago?