“No one. Honestly, Cristina, just because you can’t go a week without doesn’t mean everyone’s the same as you. If Harrison were here, you’d be—”
Her smile vanishes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk about Harrison. He broke up with me.”
“What?” Reaching out, I cover the hand she’s using to stir the drink with mine. “When did this happen?”
“Last weekend. He called to tell me he was getting married . . . to someone back home. Apparently”—she twists her lips—“they got engaged last summer.”
“And the bastard waited until now to tell you? You have got to be kidding me.” Harrison had been a constant fixture at our law school home. Part of our study group, he’d spent every weekend with Cristina while she cooked him all the special dishes he liked. And they’d spent every night holed up in her bedroom, humping like bunnies.
“He couldn’t bear to tell me before.”
Of course not. He was too busy taking advantage of her good nature and enjoying the sex.
“That—that—slimy bastard.”
“I know.” She nods.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“Ready for another round?” Tim, the waiter, takes a closer look at Cristina. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
His head lists to the side. “Man trouble?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, see that hottie over there by the edge of the bar? Tawny hair, killer smile.” He points to a preppy-looking guy wearing a navy-blue three-piece suit. “He’d like to buy you ladies a drink.”
“I don’t think—”
“He stops by every now and then. Works on the Hill.”
“Oh?” That perks Cristina right up.
“A Senate staffer, I believe. He’s the real thing, sugar. A straight arrow, in more ways than one.”
“What do you think?” Cristina asks me.
“It’s up to you.” I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s opening herself up for a world of hurt. On the rebound from a nasty breakup, there’s no telling what she’ll do.
“Okay. I guess,” she says to Tim.
“Super. I’ll have them here in a jiff. By the way, he asked me to give you his card. I didn’t peek.”
Cristina takes the card and reads it. “‘Scott McCarthy, Senior Foreign Policy Advisor to Martha Keane, US Senator.’ Oh, my God.”
“Cris, before you get too carried away, look him up. There’s got to be a Senate staff directory online.”
“Of course. You’re right.” She grabs her phone, clicks on a few keys. Suddenly a shadow looms over us.
It’s Scott McCarthy, holding up the two cocktails we ordered. He’s even more gorgeous up close. Please let him be interested in Cristina and not me. “Now, which is the mojito?”
“Me.” I raise my hand.
“For the beautiful lady.” He slides it on the table without so much as mussing up the little umbrella. “That means you’re the one who ordered Sex on the Beach.” The glance he shoots Cristina positively smolders. Thank God.
“Yes.” I’ve never seen Cristina blush, but she’s definitely pinking up now.
He slides the drink to her and sticks out his hand. “Scott McCarthy.”
“Cristina. And this is my friend, Madrigal.”
“You were looking me up?” He points to her phone and his card next to it.
“Yes. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I love a woman who’s smart enough to check out a man.”
Oh, she’s checking him out all right. She can’t take her eyes off him.
“Please join us,” Cristina says, all smiles now.
Tim comes over with a fresh drink for Scott and more mini-pretzels.
“Tim, my man,” Scott says. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” Over Scott’s shoulder he mouths “Good luck” to Cristina before he sashays over to the next table.
“So, ladies, what do you do?”
Cristina rattles off the details of her summer internship just as my phone rings. Trenton Steele’s office number pops up. Not that I’ve memorized it or anything.
“Hello.”
“Where are you?”
“Having drinks with a friend at Libations.”
“I need to see you.”
“Now? Why?” That stops the conversation between Cristina and Scott as she glances at me.
“Charlie White came by. There’s something you need to know.”
“All right. I’ll take a cab back to the office.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. Be there in ten minutes. Wait for me out front.”
“Fine.” I hang up.
“What was that about?” Cristina asks.
The last thing I can tell her is the truth. She won’t approve of my hookups with Steele. What with him being my boss and all. “My mentor at the office. I didn’t turn in my legal memorandum, and the partner who assigned it wants it on his desk first thing Monday morning.”
“Can’t you go into the office early tomorrow to get it done?”
“I’d rather do it now and leave it on his desk. Otherwise I’d obsess about it all night.”
She snorts. “Yeah, you would.”
“Are you okay with me leaving? I mean I don’t want to—” I glance back and forth between her and Scott, who’s scooted closer to her.
“Yes.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” Scott says.
“Cristina, are you sure?”
She shoots me a wicked smile. “Positive.”
He appears trustworthy, and Tim did vouch for him. Still, first chance I get, I’m googling him. If I find anything hinky, I’m dragging Steele back here with me. “Okay. Well, I better go. Good night. Nice meeting you, Scott.”
He stands and shakes my hand. “Likewise.”
Rather than head out the door, I find the ladies’ room to use the facilities and freshen up. While waiting for Steele in front of the bar, I research Scott McCarthy on my phone and find him in the Senate directory. His picture’s right next to his name. Princeton graduate, single, ten years on the Hill. He appears to be on the up and up. Fifteen minutes later, Trenton’s Jag is parked at the curb. He starts to get out of the driver’s side to open the door for me, but I wave him back. I’d just as soon nobody saw me getting into a car with him.
I slide into the passenger side, and the scent of his cologne hits me. As I snap on my seat belt, I luxuriate in the woodsy-citrusy scent of him that’s somehow all man.
“Have you eaten?”
“Do mini-pretzels count?”
“No.” He snorts and turns on the ignition. “You like Italian? I know a place.”
“We shouldn’t be seen together in public.”
“No one will know. It’s small, dark, very intimate.”
My senses shiver. Intimacy with him. Something I shouldn’t want and yet crave with every ounce of me.
“All right.”
CHAPTER 17
Trenton
I call ahead to Pietro’s to reserve a table. The restaurant is around the corner from my place. Although I never invite women to my condo, I have brought them here to eat. The food is excellent and the atmosphere conducive to a romantic evening. And once we’re done eating, the Crystal City Hilton is only steps away, where we usually spend what remains of the night fucking.
But that’s not my agenda for tonight. Right now I want Madrigal to eat a decent meal. Like every woman I know, she seems to be on an eternal diet. I often catch her eating salads from the local deli for lunch. She doesn’t need to lose weight. She’s perfect the way she is—full breas
ts, curvy hips, and a round ass that makes my dick hard.
“Mr. Steele, benvenuto.” Pietro himself greets us as soon as we step in the door, his brown eyes smiling in merriment. I once got his teenage son out of a scrape with the law. Since then he can’t do enough for me. “I have the best table for you. In a corner, just where you like.”
As soon as we’re seated, the waiter swoops in with a bread basket and a bottle of olive oil that he drizzles over a plate. “Would you like to order the wine now or later, Mr. Steele?”
“I’ll take a bottle of my usual red.”
“I’ve already had two cocktails. I don’t need more alcohol.”
“You can’t enjoy Italian cuisine without a glass of vino. Trust me on this.”
“Fine.”
After the waiter takes our order, he leaves us to the dark spot with barely enough light to read the menu.
“Would you like me to order for you? The menu is in Italian.”
“You speak Italian?”
“Enough to read the menu, plus a few choice words.” Actually, I’m fluent in Italian, but if I shared that, she might ask follow-up questions, and I don’t want her to know about my past. “I worked at an Italian restaurant while I attended college.” That’s enough of the truth to satisfy her.
The waiter returns with the wine and pours a glass for both of us. “Would you like to order now?”
She nods. “Go ahead. Surprise me.”
“We’ll start with the insalata caprese. The lady will take the chicken parmigiana, and I’ll take the saltimbocca.”
“Excellent choices.” The waiter shuts his order book and leaves us alone.
“We won’t see him again until he brings the food.” I push the bread basket toward her. “Have some.”
She shakes her head. “I love it, but it will put pounds on me.”
“You’re perfect the way you are.”
A small, tight smile forms on her lips, which tells me she thinks I’m just being polite. “So, what did Charlie have to say?”
“You don’t even want to wait for our food to arrive before jumping into it?”
“I’d just as soon hear his report.”
After I give her the condensed version of Charlie’s statements, her lips tremble, her eyes fill with tears. Predictably, she’s upset. Not hard to see why. “Why did Grandfather lie to me about the reason the case was dismissed?”
“Maybe he thought it would be easier for you to understand. The finer points of an illegal search and seizure might have been more difficult for you to grasp when you were only twelve.”
“Not if he’d explained it.”
“After the funeral, you had a nervous breakdown and ended up in a mental health facility. He probably did not want to make things worse.”
“Why did Charlie report to you? I’m the client.”
I reach across the table and thread her fingers with mine. “He thought you would take the news better coming from me.”
She snatches back her hand. “I won’t break, Steele. I can handle the truth. Next time he reports in, I want to be there.”
“Fine. I’ll let him know.”
She picks at her fingernail polish. A nervous habit of hers? “I want to interview Michael Haynes.”
Should have seen that coming. But that’s not going to happen. It’s bound to upset her more. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Charlie and I will talk to him.”
“They’re my parents, and I’m the one with a vested interest in the outcome of the investigation.”
“He won’t talk if the victims’ daughter is in the room. Charlie and I will get something out of him. Don’t worry.”
While she fumes, the waiter interrupts with our entrées and a fresh basket of bread. He seems affronted we haven’t touched the rolls.
She stabs at her chicken parmigiana. “I’m not backing down, Steele.”
I wish she would call me by my first name. She can’t do so in the office, but we’re at a restaurant. I’d love to hear it on her lips, preferably while I’m balls deep in her. “Let me handle this.”
“I can’t.” She digs in her purse, retrieves some photos. “Madison found these at the newspaper morgue.”
I take the pictures from her.
“At first she took it in stride, denying they hadn’t affected her. But she’s been having nightmares for the last couple of nights. Just like I did after the murders.”
I quickly flip through the images. Horrifying does not begin to describe them. They turn my stomach, and I’ve seen plenty of crime scene photos. The image of her mother lying in a pool of blood with her throat slit would traumatize any sixteen-year-old girl. “Stands to reason she would after seeing these pictures.”
“For Madison’s sake, for my own, I need to get to the truth of what happened that night. And Michael Haynes holds the key. That’s why I have to go along with you and Charlie.”
She’s right. She has to be in on the interview. She needs to know the truth. It’s the only way she’ll get closure on her parents’ murders. “Very well. I’ll set up a time.”
“This weekend.”
“This weekend. Now eat. And have some bread.” I push the basket at her. She grabs a roll, tears off a piece, and swirls it around the olive oil. When she bites into it, some of the olive oil goodness dribbles down her chin.
Reaching over, I wipe it off, and she holds her breath as I suck the oil from my thumb.
The air heats between us. Without a moment’s hesitation, I do what I’ve never done before. “My condo’s just around the corner. Once we’re done, we can go there.” I can’t believe I’m inviting her to my place.
She shakes her head. “I have to go home. Madison might need me.”
“Call her. Find out how she’s doing. If she’s upset, go to her. If she’s not, come with me.” When she doesn’t look too convinced, I throw in the lure she can’t turn down. “We can discuss the approach to take with Michael Haynes.” I’m a bastard, I know. But I always play to win.
“Okay.”
While she’s on the phone with her sister, I catch the waiter’s attention and signal for the check. Whatever the outcome of the call, we’ll be leaving as soon as she hangs up. As it turns out, the phone call’s short and sweet.
“Well?” I ask.
“Madison is out with friends. She seems to have recovered.” She fiddles with the buttons of her cell. “She sounded just a bit too upbeat, though. I can’t believe she got over her nightmares this quickly.”
“People process things in different ways. She probably wants to replace the bad dreams with something fun. Once she puts time and distance between the present and those pictures, she’ll be better able to deal without it causing her as much pain.”
“You think so?”
I don’t know about her sister, but in my thirty-seven years of life, I’ve seen plenty of people do just that. “Yes, I do. If and when she gets nightmares again, you’ll be there to help.” I reach out and hold her hand. “So, what’s the verdict?”
She shrugs. “Seems silly to go home if she’s not there.”
“Good.” Having taken care of the check, I tighten my hold on her hand and lead the way out of the restaurant. In my haste to get home, I don’t take into account she’s wearing a skirt and high heels and can’t keep up with me.
“Where’s the fire?” she asks. “Slow down. I can’t walk that fast.”
“Sorry.” I curl her arm around my elbow and slow to a crawl. Crystal City is a hip urban village in northern Virginia, a fascinating complex of office buildings, residential high-rises, boutiques, shops, cafés, and restaurants. Many of the residences boast spectacular views of the Potomac River and our nation’s capital.
When we arrive at my condo building, I fish a card from my wallet and insert it into the outside reader. T
he light turns green, and I pull open the glass door. “After you.”
“What happens if you have a visitor?”
I point to the nearby phone. “They ring whoever they’re coming to see. The resident then buzzes them into the building and provides them with the access code to the elevator.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of security.”
“We need it. This area has a lot of foot traffic, not all of it desirable.”
With her hand in mine, we walk toward the elevator. I nod to the security guard at the desk. “Fred.”
“Mr. Steele.” I’ve made an effort to learn not only the security guards’ names but also significant facts about them. I also tip generously at Christmastime and when they perform special tasks for me. In return, I get excellent service.
When we reach the elevator bank, I point her toward the one at the end.
“Why this one?”
“Because this is the only way to get to the penthouse.”
“Is that where you live?”
“Yes. I bought all four units on the top floor and combined them.”
“That must be one huge apartment.”
“Four thousand four hundred square feet.”
“All that space just for you?” she asks, stepping into the elevator.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The doors slide shut, isolating us from the rest of the world. I step into her, grasp her chin. “Because I don’t want anyone to know what goes on in my space.” And then I lower my mouth and steal her breath away.
CHAPTER 18
Madrigal
He pushes me against the elevator wall and kisses me senseless. His tongue sweeps into my mouth. He tastes of wine, tomato sauce, and the man I’ve come to crave. His hands go to the hem of my skirt and ride up. “Wait.” I push him back. “Cameras.”
“Fred knows better than to look. I tip. Big. And the camera can’t see you, only the back of me.” His hands find my hot button, and I whimper, moan. Should have known he’d try something like this. Right in an elevator.
“Steele.” I intend the word to come out as a warning, but instead it emerges as a purr.
Shattered Virtue Page 11
