Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  “They don’t care that she’s pregnant. Marnie tracked you down and now we’re all paying,” Sullivan said.

  She glared at Sullivan before glaring at Caleb. “You weren’t answering your phone. You didn’t tell me where you were. You should have read me in enough to stop me from worrying.” Marnie’s chin quivered. Damn.

  “The FBI noticed her hack—” MacLain said.

  Caleb’s eyes widened. “You hacked the FBI? You dumb fuck.”

  “Into your file, in particular,” MacLain said. He exchanged glances with Marnie, and Caleb saw her husband’s barely suppressed, well-deserved anger. “Long story short, we made a deal to help keep her out of jail.”

  “Harper’s pissed because we’re supposed to be planning our wedding,” Sullivan said.

  “Wow, Marnie.” Caleb was stunned. “You’re slipping.”

  Marnie glared. “Going legit has challenges I hadn’t anticipated.” She ignored her husband’s scowl. “Imagine my surprise when I discover”—she glanced at the door, leaning closer to him—“you’re a Fed.” He shook his head. Marnie was like a dog with a bone when one of her people was in danger, and Caleb was one of Marnie’s people. “I thought you were dead. Or dying.” Marnie folded her arms over her chest.

  “Hmm.” Caleb wanted her gone. He’d rather her be unhappy than dead.

  MacLain cracked the door open, on lookout. “She’s leaving Tate’s office now, and…not carrying water.” He hurried away. “Start coughing.” Marnie complied.

  “I’ll buy you ten minutes, then you guys better be done.” Caleb pulled out his iPhone, set the alarm, and noted Sullivan setting his. He stepped to the door and opened it just as Francesca reached for the knob. “Where’s the water?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Flustered, she turned and headed toward the kitchen, her phone in her hand. Caleb followed. “I received a call from Child and Family Services, got sidetracked,” she said. “The damn phone died before I could say good-bye. But I have good news, thankfully. Well, kind of. They want me to speak on behalf of Stephanie in court. I made sure they knew my father wouldn’t be pressing charges.” Shaking her head, she pushed through the kitchen’s swinging doors and entered the biggest kitchen Caleb had seen in the entirety of his life. “I should stop off at my office at some point to gather my notes on her.” She slipped her dead phone into her dress pocket. “Stephanie is under threat of juvenile detention already, and I refuse to have anything to do with sending her there.”

  “We are our choices.”

  “She didn’t choose to be born poor, to a broken family, in a zip code with little resources, challenged schools—”

  “No, I mean, she chose to get caught.” He opened the refrigerator, saw it filled with expensive meats, vegetables, beers, and jarred condiments.

  “That’s not helpful, Caleb. And I want to help her. I will help her if it’s the last thing I do.” Francesca grabbed three bottles of water off the door’s shelf. “Poor Marnie. It must be horrible to have allergies. Come on, I’ve taken too long already.”

  “Marnie will keep. She’d stopped coughing soon after you left.” Caleb promised ten minutes. He took out a Tupperware container, opened it, and recoiled at the sight. “What the hell is this?”

  “Squid. My father likes squid.” She put her bottles on the black marble counter and replaced the cover on the fetid smelling “leftover,” returning it to the refrigerator.

  “Your girl needs a good lawyer. If you need me to hook you up with one…” He dangled the offer, figuring if anything would distract her, talking about her young patient’s struggles would do it.

  She closed the refrigerator door, turned and leaned against it, her face revealing more gratitude than he deserved. “Thank you, Caleb. Stephanie is under a lot of pressure. She’s not thinking clearly. She’s a good girl…she’s just reacting.”

  “Yeah. Well, foster care can suck, but I’ve heard—”

  “What? No. Her mother is wonderful. She’d never give up custody.”

  He didn’t understand. “I’m sure you’re right, but I got the impression the girl’s endgame was getting arrested.”

  Francesca pushed off from the refrigerator, studying his expression. “You think she wants juvie?”

  He could think of a million reasons why a teen would want out of their house and into the system. Not juvie, necessarily, but Foster Care, maybe. It was a crapshoot, might suck, might even be dangerous, but when the house you’re in is controlled by a predator, you’ve got nothing to lose. He’d just assumed… “Does her mom have a boyfriend?”

  Francesca’s expression turned grave. “Why would you ask that?”

  His lifted his brows, grimacing. “You already know.” He sighed. “Listen, I’ll get you that lawyer’s number.” Caleb opened a water bottle and took a swig. “Maybe you ought to practice in Wellesley or Marblehead. I’m sure there are plenty of delinquents born with silver spoons in their mouths.” He could think of a few without trying hard.

  She stepped so close her chest pressed against his, and he had to put the water bottle down or risk spilling it. Then she jutted her chin up, glaring at him, reminding him of Marnie. “I’ve spent my life being told what I am and am not capable of, and spent that same life proving everyone wrong. I’m a good psychologist, and I’m doing everything in my power to be an even better one. Here. In Boston’s inner cities.”

  “Soon at Harvard. Why are you yelling at me?”

  “Wh-what?” She glared, stuttering in anger.

  “When do you leave? Or are you living at home this time?” He imagined her in class, or as a TA, in jeans and a T-shirt, maybe Birkenstock sandals and a pencil holding her hair in a bun. She’d be adorable.

  She growled, narrowing her eyes, but then stepped away from him. “You’re changing the subject because you were losing the argument. I’m not some out of touch dilatant pushing her services on at-risk youth to fill my days. I won’t make you admit it, but we both know it’s true.”

  Caleb couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and he could see she was weighing the benefit of arguing and noticed the moment she decided against it, because she stopped glaring and instead bit her lip, frowning. “I’m staying in faculty housing. I was hired as an adjunct professor, but now I’m not sure if I should go.” She retrieved another bottled water from the refrigerator, replacing the one he’d opened.

  “Giving up on a dream, or making a new one?”

  She avoided his gaze. “Would either be so bad?”

  “What’s got you second-guessing Harvard?” She’d need Harvard when her world exploded.

  “You have to ask?” Francesca picked up the bottles, heading to the door. “Come on. Poor Marnie must be asphyxiating.”

  “I told you. Marnie is fine.” Caleb stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop or brush past him. She stopped, but wouldn’t look at him, and as much as he loved the top of her head, it didn’t give him a clue about what was in her heart. He tilted her chin up with a finger. “Talk to me.”

  Her expression crumpled. “My father is dying, Caleb. He might not have been there when I needed him, but…I want to be there when he needs me.”

  Hashtag clueless. Jonathan Hamilton was dying in jail. Days away from being arrested on a whole host of charges, the worst of them being racketeering and murder. Where Daddy was going, Francesca couldn’t follow.

  Any suspicion that he’d allowed his feelings to bias him about her potential duplicity was instantly dispelled. She was blissfully, if tragically, unaware of her father’s shadow life. She trusted Hamilton—and now Caleb had wormed his way into her trust. She was days away from learning about both their betrayals.

  “How the hell are you going to survive when I’m gone?” he said.

  Francesca’s grim demeanor softened, and she gave him a tiny smile. “Is that how you see me? Before Caleb? After Caleb?” She used her shoulder to nudge him away from the door. “When you go, pal, you’ll be someone I
used to know.”

  Just as she passed him, Caleb pulled her toward him and draped her over his arm, kissing her with a thoroughness that was meant to stun and leave her weak. He’d promised ten minutes, and it wasn’t yet time.

  Water bottles fell to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving as good as she got. Then suddenly it was Caleb feeling stunned and hit by a hunger that grew rather than was appeased. He walked her backward until her back met the wall, pressing her against it. He caught her when her knees buckled, moaned into her mouth, because he loved when she did that…loved that he could do that to her…crushing her control, seducing her to helplessness.

  His phone alarm sounded. With great reluctance, he broke their kiss.

  “Fuck.” He turned off his damn alarm, and sighed as he cupped her ass and squeezed. “You drive me batshit crazy, lady.” He rubbed his lips against hers and calculated how much of a jerk he’d be to just take her, here and now. Quick and dirty. She wanted it. So did he. Yet… “Someone you used to know, huh?” Caleb’s searched her expression, picking up on her conflicted emotions—confusion, desire, fear. “We have guests, sweetheart.” The sooner he got Marnie and her crew out, the safer they’d be.

  “Guests!” Francesca gasped. “Poor Marnie! Ugh! When you kiss me—”

  She pushed out of his arms, picked up the fallen bottled water, and rushed through the door. Hot and bothered, worrying about dereliction of hostess duty, no doubt, Francesca hurried from the kitchen without finishing her sentence.

  Caleb wished she had. It probably would have been something he’d want to hear, something he could tuck away for later and take out on the nights when she no longer warmed his bed and memories were all he had.

  Yeah…it would have been nice to hear her finish that thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  As soon as Francesca returned to the parlor, and handed out the water bottles, it occurred to her she’d forgotten to tell Caleb she’d stepped into the nearest office when she took the call from Child and Family Services. Tate Harris’s office. And since she was there under extremely innocent circumstances, she poked around, not really expecting to find much, but curious to see if she would. Her sleuthing for a corporate spy found nothing beyond an old edition of Playboy with her most recent graduation picture tucked into its centerfold. Creepy, but hardly damning. Though she did find Brent Levine’s wallet and watch. She recognized the distinctive black Rolex, a gift from her father…who’d fired him, so she found it hard to believe it held sentimental value anymore. But the wallet…Brent would come back for that, and might cause trouble. Francesca wanted to warn Caleb. But first she needed to see the wedding planners out.

  “I think we’ve got our work cut out for us!” Marnie shook Francesca’s hand and gave her a saucy wink. “Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these questions. It’s stressful, I know. Even happy events can be.”

  “Yes.” Francesca nodded a few times, probably showing an excess of enthusiasm for their departure, but she was overwhelmed. And yes, feeling stressed. “I appreciate all you’re doing.” The two handsome men shook her hand, complimented her decisions for the big day, and Francesca did her best to be polite as she rushed them out through the foyer to the front door.

  “We’ll email you the vendor contract for approval, and then once you’ve made your final decisions, I’ll print it out for your signature,” Marnie said.

  “Thank you.” She waved them off, and the moment she shut the front door behind them, pivoted in search of Caleb. He’d left her with them. They were supposed to be a team, and he’d abandoned her to play out this farce alone.

  Assuming he was in his office, she hurried down the hall, past the kitchen door. A crash and a loud male grunt had her stopping abruptly. More commotions, alarming in scale. She entered the kitchen in time to see Harris Tate deliver a forceful uppercut to Caleb’s belly as three of her father’s security restrained Caleb’s arms and neck.

  “Stop!” Francesca rushed forward, holding up two splayed hands, struggling to process what she was seeing. Caleb’s face was red, his expression furious. “Caleb!” The security men flailed as Caleb muscled them about the room, knocking items off the kitchen island onto the hard tile. “Harris! Stop this minute! All of you!” Caleb threw off one guard, who crashed into the counter, taking out the blender. The other guard followed suit, taking out a fruit bowl and coffeemaker. Caleb growled, punched, and grabbed the arm encircling his neck. His show of power was awesome to behold! And Harris noted it, and that the guard’s headlock was failing. Caleb was almost free. Harris jumped into the fray, punching Caleb’s belly over and over. “Harris!” Francesca screamed.

  “Get her out of here!” Caleb’s shout was cut short when his attacker adjusted his grip and squeezed his neck harder.

  “You…you…” She pointed at the assaulting guard whose name failed her. “You! Take your arm off his neck! Leave Caleb alone!” Harris ignored her. Everyone ignored her, and Harris continued to pummel Caleb, whose face was contorted with rage. He kicked Harris’s thigh, buckling the man’s leg. Then Caleb lifted both legs off the ground, leveraged by the arm around his neck, and kicked so hard Harris fell back onto the floor. But so did the guard holding Caleb, crashing into counters and trashing the kitchen, landing them onto the tile.

  Francesca searched for a weapon, saw nothing of value, while the two floundering guards were climbing to their feet. Caleb still struggled with the guard who refused to release his neck, grappling on the floor. She stripped off a shoe and thought to throw it at the man, but feared hitting Caleb, so she threw it at Harris, who was rising from the floor. He swatted it away. She threw the other one. Got no reaction this time.

  Caleb struggled to his feet, dragging the guard up with him, pounding on the man’s arm still secure around his neck. “Tate! Get her the hell out of here!” The guard squeezed his bicep, reasserting the choke, but not before Caleb clawed behind him and poked his eye. The guard screamed, but held on.

  Harris shook out his punching hand, apparently bruised from hitting Caleb. The bastard. “Francesca, you shouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t approve.” Caleb stomped his huge, booted foot on his attacker’s and then pushed backward, using the countertop to pummel the monkey on his back.

  “I will not allow this, Harris!” She stomped her foot, winced when her bare foot connected with marble, and pointed at Caleb. “Stop this!” Harris ushered her through the kitchen door as easily as if she were a child. “What? Stop! Let go of me!” Harris closed the door in her face, and then something crashed into it a second later. It wouldn’t budge. She pounded on the door, but Francesca couldn’t open it. Another crash, sounding deeper inside the kitchen, had her jumping, frightened, searching the hall. Where were people? Why weren’t they hurrying to help? She lunged at the door again. It still wouldn’t open! She slapped it, hating her helplessness.

  “Caleb! I’ll get help!” She thought of 911, and touched her pocket, feeling the dead phone…but her other one was upstairs in her bedroom. “Hold on, Caleb! Hold on!” Francesca ran down the hall, saw her father in his office, and did a quick pivot, racing to his desk. “Father, they’re beating him up! You have to come!”

  “Who is beating whom?”

  Relief. Her father would stop this. “Harris and his men.” She gasped, finding it near impossible to breathe. “They’re hurting Caleb!”

  “Calm yourself. I find that hard to believe, but if it’s true, I’ve overestimated Smith.” He arched a brow. “Harris, you say? Didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “What?” She shook her head, not understanding. “Three of your security detail are helping Harris beat up Caleb! It’s not fair. It’s wrong! Father, you have to do something!”

  “Three, you say? That makes more sense. Calm yourself, Francesca. I’ve chosen Smith to run my business and marry my daughter. Of course Tate is challenging Smith.” He waved her out of his office, and slipping on a pair of reader glasses, he opened a man
ila folder. “Let Smith sort this out. If Tate were serious, he would have brought more men.”

  “But—” He couldn’t be serious. “Father!”

  “Enough. If Smith can’t handle the heat, he never should have stepped into the fire.” Mouth agape, Francesca stared at her father. “Close the door after you,” he said. “I’ve got an important phone call to make.” He lifted the receiver.

  Phone. If her father wouldn’t help Caleb, she would. 911. Francesca raced from the room, not closing the door on the way. Her father’s complaints about her ineptitude chased her up the stairs, as did the commotion in the kitchen. Cringing with every crash, visualizing every punch Caleb suffered, she was near tears as she rushed to her bedroom. The iPhone was where she’d left it, next to a sturdy-looking vase on her side table. She grabbed the vase, too, as insurance, and then pivoted back out into the hall.

  Dialing, she descended the stairs at breakneck speed, and then stopped cold halfway down. “Caleb!”

  His gorgeous long hair hung in his face as he stood at the base of the stairs, chest heaving, bloodied fists tight. When he heard his name, Caleb lifted his chin, revealing wild eyes, a sliced cheekbone, and a split lip already swelling. She’d never seen him so…primal, like a prizefighter. His size, his strength, the dark, masculine cut of his features, drew her to him even as a sliver of fear cautioned her to hang back.

  “911, what is your emergency?” A professional female voice broke Francesca’s stasis.

  The kitchen behind Caleb was silent, so she pressed the phone to her ear. “Sorry, I misdialed.” Then she hung up, and it felt as if she were floating down the remaining stairs toward him, for him, stopping when she was close enough to touch. Though she didn’t. She didn’t know what to do. “It’s over?”

  “It’s never over.” His voice was rougher than usual, and though her heart broke for his pain and the ferocity he’d yet to tame, it made her unsure of herself. There was nothing about Caleb that read victim, so what was her role here? Certainly not to console. “Next time I tell you to do something,” he growled, “do it. Are we clear?”