Girl Three

by Tracy March

  She crossed town, approaching the Capitol, its dome looming larger as she neared the center of the city. The trip was taking longer than she’d thought it would thanks to numerous red lights. As she waited at one of them, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen.

  Michael.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi,” he said. Only one word and Jessie was grinning. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Okay. Sore and bruised, but bearable thanks to Advil.”

  “Where are you?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

  “I just had lunch with my friend Nina. Now I’m driving back to Sam’s.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m supposed to meet you in thirty-five minutes, right? Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who shows up way too early.” She was smiling, too.

  “Actually, I’m worried I might be late. Where are you specifically?”

  “Driving up Pennsylvania Avenue, not far from the Capitol.”

  “I’m not far from there myself How about meeting me in front of the Newseum at 6th and Pennsylvania? Park in the underground garage off 6th Street—my treat—and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Aren’t you a big spender?”

  “Thanks for noticing,” he teased. “Look for me in a white Acura MDX. One more thing…what are you wearing?” He sounded more playful than creepy.

  “A heavy coat.”

  “If that’s all, then this could get interesting.”

  He had her tingling already.

  “And boots and pants and a sweater,” she said.

  “And a hat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I love surprises.” As long as they don’t come in the form of huge black SUVs that try to run me over. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  It had been so long since she’d met a man she was interested in that she barely recognized the unique flutter of excitement in her stomach.

  She made her way to 6th Street, near Philippe’s condo, which happened to be right across the street from the Newseum. After parking in the garage, she walked to the front of the Newseum and read some of today’s headlines in the array of newspaper front pages from across the nation and throughout the world that were displayed in glass-topped cases. A friendly tap on a car horn caught her attention. She turned to see Michael, waiting by the curb in his SUV.

  Jessie hurried over and got in. He kissed her on her cheek and she caught the faint, fiery scent of his cologne. She hadn’t expected him to be dressed in faded jeans and hiking boots. “So this is the look of an incognito security consultant?” She skimmed her fingers over the sleeve of his light fleece jacket.

  “You like it?”

  Yes. She nodded. “The rugged look suits you as much as your Men in Black getup.”

  “Thanks.” He lowered his eyebrows. “I think.”

  They drove through the city and headed northwest, their conversation casual and easy.

  “You said you were a former left-fielder. Where did you play baseball?” Jessie asked.

  “You’re not going to like this.” He shook his head, grinning. “I played for Virginia Tech.”

  “Hmm,” she said with mock disapproval, since she’d gone to UVA, their rival school. “A Hokie.”

  He flashed a disarming white smile.

  “This can’t turn out well,” she teased. “Did you want to go pro?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “But I wasn’t good enough. So I went to grad school instead.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, impressed.” She gave him an exaggerated once-over. “I mean, all that and brains, too?”

  He glanced at her, looking pleased and a little embarrassed.

  “What did you study?”

  “Behavioral science,” he said. “Now if I could only apply what I learned to myself…”

  “I understand. It’s so much easier to try to fix everyone else, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. They rode quietly for several miles. “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  “Someplace beautiful.”

  Jessie smiled, thinking they were already there. The hilly countryside had become dense with barren trees and evergreens, the sprawl of the city far behind them. She couldn’t help but think of home.

  “Here we are,” he said as he turned onto a road leading to a large building compatible with the landscape.

  “Great Falls?”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “No, I read the sign.” She winked.

  Michael pulled the Acura into a parking space in the mostly empty lot.

  “Doesn’t look like this is a January attraction,” she said.

  “But the falls look awesome now. At least, I think so.” He got out and opened her door.

  She grabbed her hat and joined him. It was freezing, but the sky had cleared to a brilliant blue, the sun shining.

  “I come out here several times a year. To relax and think about things. The winter falls calm me most. Something about the way they don’t freeze, like they’re determined to have their way, despite the temperature.” His eyes shimmered in the sunlight. “But ice builds up in the still parts of the river. The contrast of the white ice and the moody green shade of the water is almost…” He smoothed his fingers down a lock of her hair and tugged gently on the end. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

  Jessie looked at him self-consciously, then glanced away.

  “Come see for yourself.”

  They put on their gloves and walked beyond the Visitor Center, past a sign that read Overlook 1. He took her hand as they hiked down a short trail that led to a dirt viewing platform. Jessie imagined that during peak season, they would have passed lots of others along the trail. But today, she and Michael were the only ones in this section of the park.

  When they got to the viewing area, she gazed at the rumbling waterfalls, the scene looking just as Michael had painted it in her imagination. Rushing water fell over steep, jagged rocks, some with snow in their crevices. White froth bubbled from ethereally green water where ice had formed a cottony network away from the current, and looked like cumulous clouds.

  “It’s breathtaking,” she said.

  He smiled, looking pleased. “It gets better.” He led her up a rocky grade to a fenced area where she had a more panoramic view. They stood silently for a few minutes, mesmerized by the scenery, him nestled close behind her.

  “What an awesome surprise,” she said, facing him.

  The breeze blew her hair across her eyes. He pulled off his gloves and put them in his pocket. With warm fingers against cool skin and a slow, gentle motion, he swept his fingertips across her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Jessie shivered, but not from the cold.

  “Where’s your hat?” he asked.

  She pulled the dark green cloche from her coat pocket. Michael took it and put it on her head. He lifted her chin and kissed her lightly. “I knew you would only make this view more amazing.”

  “Likewise.” Jessie bowed her head, unable to meet his eyes.

  He led her to the fence that bordered the overlook and she faced him as he gazed out onto the falls. There was a gentle serenity in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, but behind them, she still saw tension. She wondered about the things he’d seen during his time in the Secret Service, and about the good and bad times that had shaped his life.

  Michael swept his hands beneath her arms and lifted her onto the fence. Jessie winced at the pain in her shoulder and sat uneasily. She glanced behind her at the sharp rocks and the angry water below. They’d passed signs that warned about climbing on the fences and the danger of falling. If she pitched backward, she’d plunge into the river and be swept away by the violent current. A shock of fear ricocheted through her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said.

  He must’ve seen the
panic in her eyes. Moving closer, he took her in his arms, nudged her knees apart, and held her close. “Trust me.”

  His breath warmed her face and she focused on his mouth, longing to kiss him again. “I do.”

  His lips touched hers with chilly softness, his fingers twined in her hair. She drew him closer, the threat of danger heightening her senses.

  He deepened their kiss, tempting her with each velvety wisp of his tongue. Her heart thrummed with adrenaline and desire. Michael splayed his hand across her back, pressing her tightly against him. She wrapped her legs around his body as tingling heat swirled through her like the water swirling below.

  He trailed kisses across her cheek. “I want you,” he murmured.

  She shuddered as his breath warmed her ear.

  “But not in a stolen moment.” He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently. She combed her fingers through his hair, clutching the length of it.

  He kissed her tenderly and whispered, “Soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Michael paced the living area of his Swann Street apartment, his steps clipped and restless. “Thanks, man,” he said to his contact. He pressed his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I think.”

  He disconnected the call, never doubting the information his contact had just given him. The guy was straight up—an MPD homicide detective and a good friend. Michael had known him for years, always gotten reliable intel from him, and trusted him to have his back.

  He settled in front of the window and stared into the darkness.

  Ian Alden was dead.

  Light glowed behind the blinds in the windows of Sam’s townhouse. Jessie had been there since they’d gotten back from Great Falls. Michael had hated to drop her off at her car, hated to pretend he had a business meeting scheduled. On the drive back, the closer they had gotten to the city, the more paranoid he became. He’d totally disregarded Croft’s contract, but he didn’t regret it one bit. His fantasy afternoon had ended too soon, and he and Jessie had gone their separate ways.

  Pressure built inside him as he imagined the crisp smell of her perfume, the silkiness of her hair, the feel of her lips on his.

  Soon.

  The news about Ian might already have leaked, but Michael wanted to be the one to break it to Jessie, to let her know what had happened and how it related to Sam’s death. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t aware that Ian had died.

  He turned away from the window and stared at the displays on the electronic equipment that flanked the wall next to him. Images and numbers and multicolored blinking lights. Overkill, as far as he was concerned, but Croft had installed the equipment before he’d hired Michael for Sam’s detail, and all of it had been in place and operational when he moved into the apartment. At the time, he’d been happy to have the resources. In hindsight, the setup should’ve warned him that his assignment to Sam would be more challenging than he’d expected. And it had been.

  Then she’d been murdered.

  And then came Jessie.

  Michael had to protect her. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and sucked in his breath until his lungs fought his ribs for more room.

  Damn.

  He put on his coat and headed outside, the bitter wind blowing in his face. Within minutes, he was at Sam’s townhouse.

  Jessie came to the door quickly after he rang the bell. As hard as he tried to focus, he couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans fit—not too tight but tight enough—and the way she made the most basic clothes sexy.

  She opened the front door a crack, the wrought-iron gate between them. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

  Michael jammed his hands in his pockets. “No,” he said. “I needed to see you.”

  She tucked her chin and gave him a demure smile.

  “I have news,” he said, “but it’s not good.”

  The smile left her face.

  “Ian Alden is dead.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. “How do you know that?” Her fingers muffled her words.

  A gust of wind blew against the door, pushing it open farther. “Can I come in?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sure. I’m sorry, I’m just shocked.” She took several small steps backward.

  He ducked inside, closing the door against the cold. “A buddy of mine is a homicide detective for the MPD. He called me about Ian.”

  Her face went white. “Homicide? Someone killed him?”

  “Let’s sit down and talk about this. It’s kind of a sensitive conversation to have out in the foyer.”

  “Sure. I’m not thinking straight.” Jessie took his hand and led him into the living room. She sank onto one end of the couch and Michael sat next to her. “Tell me the whole story.”

  He took off his coat and tossed it onto a chair. “I don’t know the whole story yet. Nobody does. But I’m going to find out all that I can, as soon as I can.”

  …

  Jessie studied Michael, noticing a more determined set to his jaw and an added glint of intensity in his eyes. She grabbed one of the throw pillows and hugged it tightly.

  “About an hour ago, Helena found Ian in the lab at his practice,” he said. “Dead from some kind of drug, with a suicide letter nearby.”

  Jessie shook her head. “He didn’t seem the type to commit suicide. Any idea what the letter said?”

  Michael dragged his hand across the stubble on his cheek. He met her gaze and held it with a long, brace-yourself look. “He wrote that he had been in love with Sam, that he’d given her Rohypnol and had sex with her the night she died. He said he couldn’t live with the guilt of killing her.”

  Jessie’s stomach pitched. Heat spread through her body but her hands stayed clammy cold. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  In a split second, she pieced together all the information she’d learned about Ian’s relationship with Sam. She could argue that he’d taken advantage of Sam by hijacking her eggs and allowing Elizabeth to use them to conceive Liam. She could argue that he saw himself as a pseudo–father figure to Sam, as warped as that sounded. But the idea that he’d been in love with her seemed unbelievable, especially after what Jessie had seen last night between him and Elizabeth. And from the sound of Elizabeth’s claims, she and Ian had been involved before Sam had donated her eggs to Geneticell.

  “No, it doesn’t make sense,” Michael said. “And that’s why there’s going to be trouble.”

  Jessie closed her eyes, as if that could shield her from what was coming.

  “There will be an investigation, if only a cursory one,” he said. “Unless a lot of people have their stories straight, this is going to get ugly.”

  The weight of exhaustion bore down on Jessie. She slumped against the pillows on the couch, her shoulder feeling tender. “The truth about Sam’s murder is going to come out.”

  He bunched his lips. “Something’s going to come out, but don’t bet on it being the truth. This mess could make it harder to find Sam’s real murderer.”

  “Could it have been Ian?” She sat up and looked at Michael, feeling hopeful.

  He blew out a breath. “It could have been. We don’t have any conclusive evidence that it wasn’t. But I don’t think so.”

  “Me neither.” She frowned. “I wonder how Helena’s taking it, or if Elizabeth knows.”

  Michael said nothing. His silence prompted Jessie to think deeper, and guess what he didn’t say.

  “You think he was murdered.”

  He nodded. “You were getting close to the truth about Sam’s death. You think your father may have orchestrated the cover-up, and I can’t disagree. But let’s leave him out and start from the beginning when Philippe told you about the extortion version of the Hope Campaign. Then you grilled Helena about Sam’s tactics and her involvement.”

  Jessie listened, the pressure of regret building in her chest.

  “That led to Talmont and the revelation of Sam’s relation
ship with him,” Michael said, all business. “Then you found out about Sam’s egg donation and Elizabeth’s affair with Ian. All of those people knew or could’ve guessed that you were on to them, whatever their role in Sam’s death.”

  “So you think someone murdered him because of me?”

  Michael clasped her hand in his. “No,” he said. “By suicide or murder, Ian died because of lies and deceit and disregard for right and wrong. Not because of you.”

  She leaned against him. He felt strong and solid and trustworthy. She nestled her head against his chest. “If I’d just gone home and left Sam’s case alone…”

  “You couldn’t have done that, knowing what you did.” He smoothed her hair and massaged the back of her neck. Light pressure from his fingers eased her tension. “And someone was nudging you along, sending pictures and raising questions that they knew you’d want answered.”

  “And maybe the person who sent the pictures knew that curiosity would get me killed.” She checked his eyes to see if he’d thought of this, too.

  “Maybe.” With a feather-light touch, he lifted her chin, his lips inches from hers. “But thankfully, you’re still alive.”

  “For now,” she said. “Sam is dead. Ian is dead. And I could be next.”

  He gathered her to him and gave her a tender, gentle kiss. An undercurrent of lust and longing drew Jessie to him. Pulling him with her, she lay back on the couch.

  Michael tempted her with his kisses. She melted into the moment, and flowed with the silky sensations. He propped himself up and gazed at her as if asking permission, his eyes a silvery shade of gray.

  She kissed him softly and nodded, unable to resist him.

  His fingertips skimmed her breast and she drew in a sharp breath as he reached for the top button of her blouse. She arched her back, ready for his touch. Ready to feel wanted and safe.

  One button undone, he traced his finger, hot on her skin, down to the next—a slow trail of seduction that had her mesmerized.

  Another button.

  The doorbell rang.

  Jessie bolted upright, clutching her blouse.

  Michael went on alert, his body tense. “You expecting someone?”

  “No.” She buttoned her blouse, hands trembling. “No one comes here.”