“As long as we’re both awake, how about you mute this fascinating look at mating insects and we talk instead?”
She squinted at the image on the TV. “Is that what they’re doing? I think they’re just eating.”
“Whatever. Can we talk about what happened today? I know you think Casey was too stupid to be involved, but I think you’re wrong.”
“Stupid? I didn’t mean to imply that Casey was stupid. She’s flakey. Was flakey.” Martha pulled her knees to her chest with one arm.
“Maybe flakey Casey was putting on an act, or maybe they used her, used her flakiness.”
“You mean perhaps she was a legit roommate and they got to her because she was my roommate, instead setting her up to be my roommate?” Martha rolled her head to the side to face Cam, resting her cheek on her knee.
“That’s exactly what I mean.” He curled one arm behind his head, bunching up his biceps. “She moved in with you, and they approached her with an offer.”
“And Congressman Wentworth? How does he fit into the picture?”
“Maybe once they had her hooked, they told her to target him. She was a beautiful woman. Wentworth already had a rep for inappropriate sexting. It wouldn’t have taken much for a girl like Casey to get her claws into him.”
Of course, he’d noticed Casey’s attractiveness. Had he compared her to her sexy roommate and found her wanting? Her sexy, dead roommate.
Martha drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think they killed her to tie up loose ends? To keep her from talking?”
“Those would be a couple of reasons.”
“Why would they, or he if we’re just talking about the patriot, want to lure me to Casey’s hotel room to discover her body?” Martha stretched out her legs, pulling the pillow up to her chin. “Another warning? They got what they wanted from me originally. I turned over those emails to the proper authorities. Now they want me to leave well enough alone. That’s the only motive I can figure out.”
“It’s a strong motive.” Cam yawned and slid farther beneath his blanket. “So, why don’t you?”
“Leave it alone?” She clicked off the TV and rolled to her side. “Maybe I will.”
Of course, if she deleted the emails and let the patriot know what she’d done and put all her efforts back into her job at the Agency, she’d never see Cam Sutton again.
And she didn’t know if she could give him up just yet, danger or not.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Martha sat up and squinted against the weak wintry light slipping through the drapes.
Cam yanked them closed. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. What time is it?”
“Almost seven. You can go back to sleep if you want. You had a long day yesterday that turned into a longer night.”
“I’m awake.” She eyed his fully dressed form by the window and rubbed her eyes. And her dream had ended. “It might actually be a good time to drop by my town house and collect a few things. The press might still be sleeping, or maybe some celebrity couple got a divorce overnight and Wentworth and Casey are no longer the hot news.”
“Collect your things?”
Cam’s gaze darted wildly around the room as if assessing how all her stuff was going to fit in here.
“Don’t worry.” She whipped back the bedcovers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, tugging on the T-shirt with one hand. “I’m not moving in here. I can relocate to my mom’s place.”
“Where’s that?”
“Maryland.”
“She lives here, and you haven’t called her yet with all this going on?”
“Her house is here. She’s in Florida with her new husband.”
“Has she called you? She must’ve heard about Wentworth dying in your town house—even in Florida.”
“She texted me, asked if I was okay and went on with her life.”
“She’s all right with you relocating to her house?”
“She suggested it.” Martha jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to shower here.”
“Do you want breakfast before we leave?”
“No.” Her head jerked up. “We?”
“I’m not letting you back into that lion’s den by yourself. You can collect your stuff, drop me off here and hole up in your mother’s house.” He whipped open the drapes. “And think about letting this go.”
She nodded before ensconcing herself in the bathroom. She showered and dressed in record time. The sooner she got away from Cam, the easier it would be to forget about him whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t want to.
She snorted softly as she turned her back to the warm spray from the showerhead. There was going to be nothing easy about getting Cam out of her mind.
An hour later, she drove up to her place, Cam in the passenger seat beside her. One news truck had taken up residence across the street, but the hordes of reporters and cameras had taken a break.
“We’re in luck.” She parallel parked half a block down from her place. She kept her head down as Cam took her hand and pulled her along quickly to her front door.
As she used her key to open the door, she sucked in a breath. “I need to get Casey’s extra key from its hiding place before I leave.”
Cam followed her closely into the town house. “That’s risky, keeping a key like that. I hope it’s not under the welcome mat.”
“No. It’s a good hiding place.” She dropped her key chain into her purse and hung it on a peg by the front door. “Casey was always forgetting her keys or losing them, so I stashed an extra for her just in case.”
Cam surveyed the room. “At least the police didn’t designate this as a crime scene.”
“They did search Casey’s bedroom and bathroom, but there were no injuries on Wentworth’s body, no evidence of foul play. Looked like a heart attack, but we both know there are ways to mimic that with a drug.”
“We’ll let the police figure that out. Pack up and let’s get out of here before the hyenas gather.”
“I thought they were vultures...” She put her foot on the bottom step of the staircase and turned. “You can help yourself to whatever if you’re hungry.”
“I plan to buy you breakfast.” He nodded toward the TV. “I am going to take a look at the news though.”
“Knock yourself out. I won’t be long.”
Once in her room, Martha rolled a suitcase from the closet and started packing for her workweek. What would Gage have to say to her about this weekend?
She hadn’t done anything to jeopardize her security clearance—at least nothing Gage knew about.
She finished up with her toiletries from the bathroom and even threw in a couple pairs of disposable contacts. She wore them occasionally, even though they dried out her eyes by the end of the day. Wanting to wear contacts had nothing to do with Cam.
She’d dragged her suitcase into the hall and rolled it to the top of the staircase when Cam came bounding up the stairs.
“I’ll help you with that.” He picked it up by the handle and carried it down as if it were empty. “Is that everything?”
“What I don’t have, I can come back for or buy. Mom has more than enough at her place.”
She plucked her purse from the peg and balanced it on top of her suitcase. “I’m just going to get that key, and I’ll be ready. Have the vultures started circling yet?”
Standing to the side of the bay window in the front, Cam peeked through a gap in the drapes. “Nope. I’ll come with you to get the key.”
“It’s out back in the garden.” She crossed through the kitchen and turned the dead bolt on the back door.
She stepped onto the pavers, kept dry from the recent rains by an awning over the patio. Then she crouched next to a patio chair with a plastic cover and pulled back the zipper on the cove
r about an inch. She shoved two fingers inside, probing.
When she found the key, it had some paper wrapped around it. “This is weird. Maybe it’s the tag from the chair cover.”
Cam kneeled beside her. “Did you find the key?”
“I did, but there’s some paper wrapped around it.” She pinched the key and the paper between two fingers and pulled it out.
She tipped the key into her palm and unwrapped the scrap of paper. Her heart flipped in her chest and she gasped. “She knew. She left me a note. Casey left me a note.”
“What does it say?”
Martha read the words from the slip of paper that shook in her hand. “‘If anything happens to me, talk to Tony.’”
Chapter Seven
Cam caught Martha’s shoulder as she started to tip over. She’d almost been clear of this mess.
“Who the hell is Tony?”
Martha pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I’m not sure. There have so many men since Casey moved in. Tony. Tony.”
The rain started up again, pinging the fiberglass awning above them. He took Martha’s arm. “Put that away and let’s get out of here.”
Martha shoved the note and key in her pocket and turned toward the town house.
While she locked up, Cam flicked the edge of the drapes aside and peered out. “They’re back. Get ready to do the duck and dodge.”
She grabbed her purse from the top of her suitcase and slung it over her shoulder. “Maybe I can use my suitcase as a battering ram through the crowd.”
“Don’t worry about your bag. I’ll handle that. Just put your head down and make a beeline to the car.”
They faced the front door, and as he grabbed the handle Martha put a hand on his wrist. “Thanks for helping me out, Cam.”
“Since I kinda got you into this mess, it’s the least I can do.”
“Even if you hadn’t shown up when you did, this patriot person would’ve still taken these actions. Maybe I would’ve been dead beneath the wheels of that oncoming train two nights ago.”
“I’m glad you’re not.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead and opened the front door.
The media sensed movement, smelled blood and swarmed around the front porch. They shouted Martha’s name, Casey’s name, Wentworth’s name. Cam couldn’t make out any of the questions—not that Martha would be answering them anyway.
He put his arm around her shoulders and charged down the sidewalk to her car, dragging the suitcase behind him. He breathed into her ear, “Get in the driver’s seat and start the engine. As soon as I get in the car, take off.”
Martha hurried to the car, ten feet away, and unlocked the doors. She scurried around to the driver’s side, and Cam lifted the lid of the trunk and swung the suitcase inside. As he slammed it shut, she started the car.
He strode to the front passenger door, and someone touched his back. “Who are you? Martha’s boyfriend?”
Cam growled, “I wish,” and slammed the door in the reporter’s face.
“Hit it.”
She peeled away from the curb, her eyes on the rearview mirror. “Don’t they ever get tired? What do they hope to gain from sitting in front of a building?”
“They just got it—a shot of you hauling your suitcase out of there.” He clicked his seat belt in place. “What about Casey’s family. Do you know if they’ve been notified?”
“The police contacted her mother and sister last night. I’ve never met them. Casey never talked about her family, but I told the police to give them my contact information when they get to town and I’ll let them into the house.” She hunched her shoulders. “What awful news.”
“And now we know it’s murder.”
“We should tell the police, give them the note.”
“Do you think Tony’s going to be willing to talk to the police? Do you think he wants to expose Casey if she’d been doing something illegal?” He rubbed his eyes. “That’s if we can even figure out who he is.”
“I know who Tony is.”
“You do?”
“I remembered when we were running down the sidewalk. He’s a bartender. Through all the guys, he’s pretty much been a constant fixture.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know, but he works at a bar in Georgetown. I’d just need to call to see if he’s working tonight.”
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder where she’d stashed it, and Cam glanced at the display. “It’s the DC Metro Police. Do you want to answer it?”
“Yeah. Speaker.”
He tapped the phone for her and put it on Speaker.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Drake, this is Detective Merchant with DC Metro. I have a couple of questions for you about Ms. Jessup.”
“Go ahead. I’ll try to help.” She raised her brows at Cam.
“Have you been back to the town house you shared with Ms. Jessup?”
“I have.”
“Did she leave a suicide note there or any indication what she was planning? We didn’t find any notes at the hotel.”
“No notes.”
Her jaw tightened, and Cam knew what it cost her to lie to the police.
“Also, do you know what keys she had on her key chain?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“We didn’t find a key chain or any keys at all in her personal belongings or in her purse—just her wallet, some makeup, her cell phone. Did she have a car?”
“No car, but that seems weird she didn’t have her house key, at least.” Martha turned her head to meet Cam’s gaze.
The officer cleared his throat. “Not so strange if she wasn’t planning to return to the town house.”
“Y-you’re right. Do you know if her family is coming to DC to collect her personal items?”
“They’ll be in touch and so will we. That’s all for now, Ms. Drake.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Cam ended the call for her. “That’s not good, Martha.”
“The keys?”
“Exactly. Who has them? Maybe those attack reporters staking out your place saved you from an unwanted visitor last night. If the person who killed Casey took her key, he now has easy access to your place...and you.”
“I’ll get the locks changed.”
“Good idea.” He patted his growling stomach. “How about that breakfast I promised you?”
“I don’t feel like going out. We can eat at my mom’s place if we stop for some groceries on the way. Is that okay with you?”
He tipped his head. “Are you worried about being followed by the patriot, or you’re afraid people will recognize you from TV?”
“Do you think he’s following me?” She grabbed the rearview mirror and adjusted it.
“I’ve been watching.” He rapped his knuckle on the window toward his own mirror. “Nobody has been following us, not even the press.”
Slumping back in her seat, she said, “I just don’t want people staring at me. I had enough of that when my dad was arrested.”
“I’m more than happy to eat a home-cooked breakfast at your mom’s, but I don’t think you have to worry about people recognizing you. That picture the reporters keep flashing of you on TV must’ve been from a while ago.” His gaze lingered on her face and hair. “You look different.”
“That picture was from my late teenage years, years I just wanted to disappear.”
“I can see that from the picture. You wore bigger glasses, baggy clothes and your hair practically covered your face.” He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers hovering at her earlobe. “I like it this way better—where I can see your face...your eyes.”
She coughed and pinned her shoulders against the seat. “Maybe my appearance won’t inspire a paparazzi frenzy, but I’d still rather eat in.
”
“You got it.” He dropped his hand. “I’ll even cook, if you like something simple like bacon and eggs.”
“Simple? Bagels and toast are about the most complex I get in the morning. You know how to cook?”
“I know the basics.”
“I’m impressed.”
Cam lifted his chin and smiled. He couldn’t help it if Martha’s praise stoked his ego. Somehow meeting this woman’s approval had become a priority for him.
After a stop at a grocery store, Martha headed east until she hit the coast and then turned north, where Cam caught glimpses of the bay between big houses and rolling lawns. Guess the government hadn’t forced Skip Brockridge to give back all the money he swindled.
Martha wheeled her car into the circular driveway and pulled up in front of the double doors.
Cam whistled. “Nice digs. Does she have a bay in her backyard?”
“A bay and a boat dock.” She threw the gear into Park. “But no boat.”
“Cutting costs?”
“The boats were always my dad’s thing—his and mine.” She rubbed the end of her nose and exited the car.
He followed her to the trunk and hoisted her suitcase out. He balanced one of the grocery bags on top while Martha snagged the other two. “Did you grow up in this house?”
“This dump?” She swept her arm across the expansive, light blue clapboard front with the wraparound porch. “Mom did have to readjust when Dad was sent to prison, downsize. I don’t even know why she bought on the bay. It was never her thing.”
“Is there someone here? It doesn’t look abandoned.”
Martha plucked a key from her key chain and swung it back and forth. “Not right now, but Mom’s housekeeper comes in once a week to dust mostly, and the gardeners keep up their weekly schedule.”
“You said your mother was in Florida?”
“For the winter—like a bird.” She unlocked the dead bolt and shoved the key into the handle to finish the job.
Cam followed her inside, dragging her suitcase behind him, his head swiveling from side to side. “Do you share a decorator with your mother? Looks similar to your place.”
“The town house was my mother’s, from my grandmother. I can afford to live there—with a roommate—but I can’t afford to redecorate.”
Delta Force Defender Page 7
