Friends and Lovers Trilogy 03 - Seduced

by Beth Ciotta

  He’d sure snowed Julietta Marcella.

  Sofia fidgeted in her seat. Just thinking about that poor woman made her skin itch. Maybe that’s why Joe relocated to the desert, hot as hell and populated by venomous creatures. Maybe this was a form of punishment. Penance for what he perceived as an unforgivable act. Pretty harsh, considering he hadn’t been directly responsible for her death. Was it possible that he’d actually been in love with Julietta? The thought had never occurred.

  Uncomfortable with the idea, Sofia focused on the clump of mountains looming ahead, rough-edged and mysterious, like Joe. He signed off with his boss and fell into thoughtful silence. She soaked in the blazing sun and foreign sights, feeling as though she’d driven onto the rehearsal lot of a classic thriller.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  She used to wish she’d been born earlier so she could’ve starred in an Alfred Hitchcock film. A brilliant director, he’d seen beyond the radiant beauty of Ingrid Bergman, Grace Kelly, and Kim Novak, tapping into their smoldering sensuality and cool charm to illicit performances of a lifetime. Apparently, the spiritual powers-that-be had decided to award Sofia a role in a reality show version of a Hitchcock tale, the main components nail-biting suspense and twisted attraction. She could almost imagine the Master of Suspense sitting in his celestial director’s chair chortling at her anxiety.

  Joe’s Wrangler Jeep raced and bounced over the rock and hole infested excuse for a road, leaving civilization in the dust, and heightening Sofia’s trepidation. She clasped her hands in her lap rather than gnawing at her expensive French manicure. She struggled not to obsess on this morning’s fruitless investigation as they zoomed closer to his desert home.

  Still, her mind percolated.

  Either housekeeping had beat them to the public restroom, carting off last night’s garbage pre-dawn, or Sofia had imagined shoving her soiled suit in the gleaming trash receptacle.

  Although she had managed to lead Joe back to the shed, they’d found no evidence that she’d ever been there. The owners weren’t home, and the house itself was not the residence she’d been dropped at by the limo driver. Unfortunately, she could neither remember the address, nor could she offer a clear description of that mystery house. After two hours of driving around the ritzy neighborhoods of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley, she worried that she’d imagined that too. She seemed to be missing four to five hours of her life. What memories she did have were enigmatic, like the dream sequence designed by Salvador Dalí in Hitchcock’s Spellbound. Only her distorted recollections more closely resembled the work of Picasso. It made no sense. The possibility that she’d experienced something horrific, as Joe had suggested, coiled her already taut nerves into a painful knot.

  “There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it,” she grumbled in a husky imitation of the cinematic genius.

  “Quoting Hitchcock?”

  Impressed and surprised, Sofia slid him a glance. “You’re a fan?”

  Joe smiled for the first time in hours. “The man was a genius.”

  Well, damn.

  He instantly sobered, grasped the gear stick, and down shifted. “What?”

  Realizing he must have sensed her awe, she focused on the rugged mountains, and curbed her tongue. She didn’t want to tell him that he’d just echoed her thoughts. Didn’t want to address the fact that they had something in common. She didn’t want to like Joe Bogart. Bad enough she lusted after the cynical bastard.

  Twisted attraction.

  He swung the jeep into a driveway, thumbing a remote to open the garage door. The house, a small rancher in a classic southwestern design, looked pristine and welcoming against the daunting mountains he’d called the Superstitions.

  Sofia folded her arms over her bra-less chest and burrowed deeper into the cloth, high-backed seat. Her body buzzed with sexual awareness and dread. “I’m not crazy about staying at your place.”

  He killed the engine. “I’m not crazy about it either.”

  Another thing in common, although—ouch. Had she also imagined the zing between them this morning during the naked wrestling match? Since leaving the Camelback Inn he’d been Mr. Cool. Mr. Professional. Throughout the morning, he’d maintained his distance, careful not to touch her in any way. She should be grateful. Touching led to kissing. Kissing Joe was a very bad idea. Just now she ached to be bad. Not good. “Why can’t I stay at a hotel?”

  He snagged three shopping bags and shouldered open the driver’s door. “Because you’re family.” He hopped out of the jeep, adding, “Until I hear back from Creed, we’re connected at the hip.”

  Earl Creed. The Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Phoenix Field Office. The man Joe had entrusted with the Beretta. According to Joe, Creed owed him a favor and had promised to initiate some tests on the QT. He hadn’t told his friend where he’d gotten the gun, and if Joe was to be believed, Creed hadn’t asked. Again, he’d said something about trust. Again, Sofia had balked. Every time she trusted a man, she got burned.

  Her door swung open, and there stood Joe—six-foot-one, dark, dangerous and devastatingly handsome. He’d been opening doors and providing for her, in one way or another, all morning long. Considerate and polite. Kind yet professional. “Stop doing that.”

  “Stop being a gentleman?”

  “It’s annoying.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They stared at each other five charged seconds before he stepped away and moved into the house via a side door. She followed. What else could she do? She had no money. No ID. No personal belongings, except for her cell phone and whatever Joe had just purchased at Wal-Mart, God help her. As her publicist would say, she needed to put a spin on this situation.

  This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.

  Denial. Yeah, that would put her in the comfort zone. Only, there was no denying her scrapes and bruises. Or the missing hours. So, instead she opted for the drugged-at-a-celebrity-party scenario. Believing she’d ended up the butt of a bungled practical joke was a hell of a lot easier on the nerves than thinking she’d participated in a violent crime. What she needed was to occupy her mind. She needed to focus on something other than her dilemma and Joe’s stellar ass. “So,” she said, dragging her gaze from his excellent butt to scan what had to be the tidiest home ever. “Do you get Internet access out here in cactus-ville, or what?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rainbow Ridge, Vermont

  There were definite disadvantages to living in the middle of nowhere. Like, having to rely on a satellite dish to view television instead of basic, ordinary cable. Not that Rudy wasn’t impressed with the endless and varied programming—a classic movie buff’s dream—but, damn, dealing with proper dish placement, two receivers, and all the rest of the particulars had been a major pain in the ass. Finding the azimuth (which, by the way he’d had to look up in the dictionary to even know what an azimuth was), mounting the dish (mounting Jean-Pierre would’ve been more fun), setting the elevation, making sure his mast was absolutely vertical (uh-huh), and lastly fine-tuning the system. It had been a two-day project for someone who was somewhat technically-challenged. Casper had wrecked his efforts in the space of minutes.

  Hands on hips, Rudy squinted up at the misaligned dish, his temper simmering towards boil. “If you weren’t already dead, Casper Montegue, I’d strangle you.” He meant it. He was that bent. He had little to no sympathy for the lovelorn ghost who’d put a kink in his love life.

  Last night’s phone discussion with Jean-Pierre had sucked. The usually good-humored man’s disappointment rang clear, even though he’d claimed to understand when Rudy had listed his reasons for delaying the visit. Sadness, frustration, and dammit, suspicion had buzzed through the phone line giving Rudy a disconcerting zap. He’d spent a sleepless night regretting the stupid lie. Wiring problem. He should’ve confided in Jean-Pierre. Should’ve told him about Casper. Jean-Pierre might have questioned his sanity, but at least his integrity woul
d’ve been intact.

  “Damn!” Every fiber of his body ached to call Afia to lament his most current mistake, but their previous conversation had been bristly as well, and if he called, she’d no doubt start in again about wanting to stick to the gang’s original vacation plans. He wasn’t up for an argument. He wasn’t up for company. Just now, Casper was handful enough.

  Growling, Rudy turned and schlepped toward the barn to get the ladder. First, he’d realign the satellite dish. Then, he’d boot up his computer and do some ghosthunting research on the Internet. That’s if his unwanted houseguest hadn’t screwed with the phone line. Then, he’d call Jean-Pierre and try to right his most recent wrong.

  “I can’t get through.”

  “Me either.”

  Afia watched as Jake and Murphy powered off their individual cells and pocketed their phones, a bad feeling swirling in her enormous belly. She glanced sideways at Lulu, a petite, golden-haired free spirit who’d once faced down a mob boss and his minions. In comparison, enduring the foul moods of two take-charge husbands was probably a cake walk. Forcing a meek smile, Afia reached into her Gucci handbag for her own cell. “Maybe I’ll have better luck.”

  “Forget it, baby. If I can’t get a signal, you can’t.” Jake kicked the rental car’s flat tire in frustration. Just her luck the spare was also soft. He pushed his mirrored aviators up the bridge of his nose and surveyed the vast wooded area with a frown. “We’re in the middle of … ” He looked at Murphy. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Off the beaten track.” The protection specialist, who reminded Afia of a lean-mean George Clooney, raised a brow at his wife and then consulted the road map he’d spread out on the hood of the mid-sized four-door.

  Lulu tossed the bag of chips she’d been devouring through the lowered window and onto the back seat. She brushed crumbs from her hands and shoved her windblown curls out of narrowed nut-brown eyes. “You fell asleep. Someone had to navigate.”

  “I fell asleep because, after arriving home from a long flight from Arizona, someone kept me up to all hours between her night-owl raids of the fridge and trying to talk me into hopping an early plane to Vermont. The reason for flying in three days early still as clear as mud, I might add.”

  Unfazed by his sarcasm, Lulu rocked back on the heels of her pink high-top sneakers. “Rudy needs us.”

  “So you said.”

  Afia refused to believe that Murphy’s grumpiness was due to lack of sleep. Given his past and current career, she’d bet her diamond stud earrings he could operate easily on sporadic powernaps. No, something else preyed on his mind. He’d been distracted all morning and he’d frequently checked his phone messages. Probably a case. Probably nothing. Still, she hated that she’d stoked his fire by involving Lulu in her ruse. Per Rudy’s instructions, she’d called her new friend to cancel the trip, and had instead talked her into arriving ahead of schedule.

  Fighting a flash of guilt, she tucked her stick-straight, waist-length hair behind her ears and frowned at Murphy. “Don’t blame Lulu. A short cut seemed like a good idea. The sooner we get to Rudy’s, the better.” Last night’s conversation with her friend had left her edgy and perplexed. They’d been planning this get-together for weeks. After her initial disappointment had subsided, she’d replayed their conversation in her mind. Who the heck was Casper? And why in the world would Rudy allow wiring problems to interfere with his romantic reunion with Jean-Pierre? Something was rotten in Vermont.

  “I’m not blaming Lulu. She wasn’t at the wheel.” Murphy glared over his shoulder at Jake, who was pacing. “Why did you let the girls talk you into veering off the main highway?”

  “Because Afia’s had a tiring day and the sooner I can get her settled the better.”

  Afia rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

  “She looks fine to me,” Lulu said.

  “More than fine,” Murphy said. “She’s glowing. And she sure as hell has more energy than me. Leave off, for chrissake. You’ve been fussing over her all morning.” He turned to Afia. “How do you take it? I would’ve decked him by now.”

  She snickered.

  Jake glowered. These two men had a like-loathe relationship that she’d yet to figure out. “Just pinpoint our location on the map, and point me in the direction of the nearest town,” he told Murphy. “You stay with the women. I’ll start walking.”

  Afia immediately sobered and touched Jake’s arm. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering around in the wilderness. What if you get lost? What if a bear wanders out of the woods?”

  Murphy’s head snapped up. “Oh, no. Don’t …”

  “What if the bear’s rabid, or hungry?” Lulu added, eyes wide. “Or just plain mean?”

  “…start with the ‘what ifs’,” Murphy finished. “My wife can ‘what if’ any situation …”

  “What if a car rounds the corner too fast and …”

  “Luciana. Hon.” Murphy’s voice was gentle yet firm.

  The children’s storyteller, renowned for her creativity, glanced at her husband, then at Afia who now had a death grip on Jake. She thunked her hand to her forehead. “Ignore me, Afia. My imagination gets the best of me sometimes.”

  “I’m fine,” Afia lied. She didn’t want Lulu to feel bad. She didn’t want Jake and Murphy to worry. But in reality, she felt ill. Born on Friday the thirteenth, she’d lived somewhat of a jinxed life, losing two previous husbands to freak accidents. Although she’d cared deeply for Randy and Frank, she hadn’t been in love. If anything ever happened to Jake … Blinking back tears, she looked up at the father of her baby, the man she loved heart and soul. “I think we should stick together. Someone will drive by at some point and we can ask them to send back a tow truck.”

  “What if no one drives by?” Lulu asked, then winced. “Crap.”

  Murphy gently tugged his wife to his side.

  Jake flashed Afia a one-dimpled smile. “Nothing bad is going to happen,” he assured her as he’d done time and again over the past year. He believed in the power of positive thinking, much like Rudy. Well, before Rudy had experienced his life crisis.

  “You stay,” Murphy said. “I’ll go.”

  Lulu nabbed his hand. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Oh, for chrissake.” He kissed her forehead. “What if you have a little faith in my survival skills?”

  Jake laughed. “Murph’s faced down enemy troops. I’m sure he can handle one cranky bear.”

  “Not funny,” Afia pouted.

  “Very funny.” Jake bumped up the brim of his baseball cap and glanced a kiss across her mouth. “But regardless, we’ll wait here, all of us, together. A car has to drive by at some point, and if not,” he teased, “caretaker that he is, Rudy will send out a search party when we don’t arrive on time.”

  Blushing head to toe, Afia traded a guilty look with Lulu.

  Lulu dipped her chin and twirled a golden curl around her finger.

  “Ah, hell,” Murphy said, locking gazes with Jake. “We’ve been had.”

  Jake swiped off his glasses and glared at Afia. “Rudy’s not expecting us, is he?”

  She cleared her throat. “Um, well, no. He sort of cancelled on us.”

  “Sort of?”

  She balled her fists at her side and stood her ground. “He called last night and asked us not to come. Said he was having wiring problems. But something’s wrong, Jake. I just know Rudy needs us. So, I talked Lulu into coming up here early. I’m sure once Rudy sees us he’ll be glad we ignored his wishes. I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry I lied, but I’m not sorry we’re here.”

  Jake glanced at Murphy and sighed. “And to think she used to have a problem sticking up for herself.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gold Canyon, Arizona

  It wasn’t the best script she’d ever read. It wasn’t the worst. The clichéd romantic comedy certainly didn’t merit four consecutive read-throughs.

  But it did give Sofia a reason to stay holed up in Joe’s stu
dy.

  As long as she didn’t have to interact with her host, she didn’t have to combat the need to take refuge in his arms. Or his bed. The easier it was to fool herself into thinking she was actually on holiday and not hiding from the law. The notion that she’d hurt someone still niggled at the back of her brain.

  Needing to redirect her thoughts, she’d used Joe’s computer to check her email. Since the battery on her cell phone had died, she hadn’t been able to check voice messages. Most of her business associates were computer junkies and usually backed up calls with emails. Sure enough, she’d logged on to hear those magical words, “You’ve got mail.”

  She had two emails from her agent. One note informing her that the studio was pressuring him about her contract—had she made up her mind yet? Another note asking her to read and consider the attached screenplay, citing it as a guaranteed cash-cow. He didn’t seem to care which project she took on as long as he got his commission. Typical. Another post was from her publicist, feeling her out about an interview and a pictorial layout for Playboy. The last post, and most disconcerting as she hadn’t actually given him her email address, was from her former agent/lover, Chaz Bradley. Coming to LA on business, baby. Let’s hook up.

  Fuck you, she’d replied.

  Her response to her publicist’s request had been more delicate. Yes, she knew what that kind of exposure could do for her career. No, she wasn’t interested.

  Aside from her own pride, she had the sensibilities of future nieces and nephews to consider. Bad enough she was the sexpot poster girl of several Cherry Onatop fan sites. She could only hope that if she committed to additional seasons, these devoted viewers would focus less on her skimpy-ass costumes and more on her kick-ass acting when the new head writer came on board.

  Sofia fingered the screenplay entitled, From Venice With Love, and sighed. Maybe she should audition. Playing a buttoned-up history major was a vast departure from her “Spy Girls” balls-to-the-wall alter-ego. At least it would show some range.