Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Robyn’s throat constricted, and pulling her hand free, she picked up her water glass. The cool water helped only slightly, for Grant’s eyes were fixed on her. She felt as if he was setting her on fire. It was all around her, defining her shape, and any effort to break free would cause the flames to incinerate her. But the overwhelming emotion that rocked her more than the thought of burning was that she didn’t want to break free. She wanted this new sensation to con­tinue.

  "Why don’t we go to the lounge and dance?" he suggested.

  They had finished eating long ago, but lingered over the coffee to talk. Now, they rose and went to the small lounge. Soft music played by a combo filled the room, and couples crowded on the dance floor.

  The hostess led them to a table, and Grant ordered drinks. Without waiting he pulled her into his arms, and began circling the floor to the slow beat of the music. Robyn held her breathe. Her heart hammered. She couldn’t describe her feelings. She was light and happy, feeling as if she was floating.

  He smelled good, of lemon soap and aftershave. She raised her hand to the back of his head and touched his soft hair. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. They moved in perfect rhythm, each matching the steps of the other as if they had always danced to­gether. She didn’t think, after the grueling afternoon she’d had learning the steps to the routine, she’d ever want to dance again. Yet, now resting in Grant’s arms, her feet were light and responsive.

  They spent the evening there. When most of the other couples had opted for the casino and thoughts of striking it rich, Robyn had found her fortune. She swirled in Grant’s arms to the sexy sound of a saxo­phone that played on and on into the small hours of the morning. When he took her back to Susan’s apart­ment on the outskirts of the city, light was just break­ing behind the distant hills.

  Robyn didn’t move when he pulled the rental car to a stop in front of Susan’s building. It was one of the best days she’d ever had, and she was reluctant to have it end.

  "It’ll be daylight soon," she said, prolonging his de­parture.

  Grant looked at the pink color spreading in the sky. “It reminds me of an early morning horizon when I’m flying.”

  "It’s going to be a beautiful day." He knew that, even without the clear sky. Robyn had entered his life, and for some unexplained reason, he knew all his days would be beautiful.

  Robyn turned to him and smiled. His arms snaked around her and pulled her unresisting body closer to his. He kissed her slowly, something he’d wanted to do since seeing her asleep in the sun. She moaned slightly in his embrace as she circled his neck with her arms. She played with his hair, her soft fingers combing through to his scalp. Sensation rocked him. He’d never known anyone to make him feel the way she did. He’d loved having her in his arms when they had danced, and now, his body strained for her. When the kiss ended, he kept her close, hugging her tightly to him.

  "Do you suppose it’s true that you can find anything open in this town at any hour?"

  Robyn leaned back to look at him, her eyes dazed. "Is there something you need right now?" Her voice was thick with emotion.

  "I know we only met today. All I know about you is that you work for the government, live in Washing­ton, and like to dance. But I was wondering if we could find an open chapel. We could be married by sunrise?"

  Chapter 1

  Five Years later

  Grant was coming!

  Robyn squeezed her eyes closed and massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. Pain throbbed against her hands. Dr. Elliott thought he was delivering good news when he’d told her the blood was on its way and the donor with it. She never dreamed he’d come. Never thought when she’d given information about Grant to the doctors that he’d do anything except go to the nearest hospital and have the blood drawn. But now he was on his way.

  Robyn pulled the hair lying on her back into a ponytail, then stretching, she let it go. Marianne came back at that moment with two cups of coffee.

  "I saw Doctor Elliott in the hall." There was a large smile on her face. "He told me they found a donor who’s not too far away." She put the two cups on the table and came to face Robyn. "Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Brooke. When Kari wakes up, she’ll want to see you. And you don’t want to have those dark circles under your eyes."

  "I’m all right, Marianne." She patted her friend’s hand and wandered back to the window. All she could think of was that Grant was coming. He was coming to save his daughter’s life. What if he came to see her, too? What if he didn’t? She didn’t know what to think. It had been five years. Five long, solitary years of thinking and dreaming about him. And now he was going to be in the same building with her.

  She longed to see him. See what he looked like now. How he’d changed. Did he weigh more? Was his hair gray? And his smile, was it as she remembered? But she knew she couldn’t see him. She knew she couldn’t stand being near him the way she felt now— tired and afraid.

  "Brooke, are you listening to me?" Marianne asked.

  Robyn turned around, at this moment unused to her new name. She hadn’t heard anything. Her mind was reeling from the news of Grant’s impending ar­rival.

  She’d forgotten she was Brooke. For a moment she was back in her old life, the one she’d shared with Grant before her fatal mistake. Five years, she thought. In all that time why did hearing his name have the ability to erase all the years away and send her back to the world where life was not possible?

  "I’m sorry, Marianne. I’m afraid I’m not good com­pany. Why don’t you go home? You must have a thou­sand things to do."

  "I’m not going anywhere. Now, why don’t you lie down here? I’ll get a blanket from the nurse." Mari­anne motioned toward the sofa. "A few minutes sleep won’t hurt you."

  Robyn knew she wouldn’t sleep, but to please Mari­anne, she laid down.

  "I’ll be right back," Robyn heard Marianne and saw a nurse meet her at the waiting room door just before she closed her eyes.

  She didn’t sleep. She remembered. Remembered her wedding in the Las Vegas chapel, the house in D.C., and the photos she used to develop. So many pictures of Grant. He was her favorite subject. They’d get up early in the morning and go to Rock Creek Park while the mist was low to the ground. She had to leave them all behind. She wondered what Grant had done with them. Was he still living in their house? Had he remarried? Her mind bubbled over with questions but the one that plagued her the most she had no answer for—would he know her? Under whatever cover the Witness Protection Program had draped her, would his heart still recognize her as the woman who’d loved him with all her heart?

  ***

  Jacob Winston eased his suit jacket off as he entered, the red-brick house with white shutters that he alone occupied on Tamarach Street in Washington’s Rock Creek Park. He found it convenient to his office down­town and to the park’s quiet solitude that he often needed. The central air conditioning had kicked on at three o’clock, making the dwelling blessedly cool after the sweltering heat of July in the nation’s capital.

  He headed for the den to check his messages. It was a normal routine whenever he entered the house. The den was set up as an office. While the rest of the house was clean enough to satisfy any mother-in-law’s prying eye, his office was cluttered with books stacked haphazardly on the built-in shelves and piles of old newspapers separated into the three lan­guages he read fluently—English, Spanish, and Ger­man. Flipping on the switch of his computer, he headed for the kitchen and a cold beer. The refrigerator looked like his office—cluttered with plastic containers of leftovers, Chinese food boxes, and sev­eral bottles of imported beer. He’d acquired a taste for German beer when bumming around Europe the year after he’d graduated from Stanford.

  Using the bottle opener he’d mounted on the wall between the kitchen and the utility room, he caught the metal cap and tossed it with an exaggerated jump shot into the trash can nearly six feet away. Then, taking a long swig of
the dark liquid, he headed back to the den.

  Jacob left his office in the Justice Department Building before noon, spending the rest of the day in meetings. It was unusual for him to come home without checking in with his secretary or calling his electronic mail to any network computer within the confines of the U.S. Marshalls Office. But it was well past nine when he left, and tonight he wanted to get home. He had the urge to go out into his garden, darkness be damned, and spend the rest of the night in the pool.

  Sitting down, he rested the bottle on the coaster he’d assigned permanent duty next to his color moni­tor. Choosing a menu item, the machine automatically launched the Marshal’s network. Typing through three levels of security and waiting while the remote messages traveled to the central processor and back, he finally saw the access granted message blinking on the screen.

  Quickly, he accessed electronic mail. Perusing it, nothing needed immediate attention. The pool was looking better and better as an option. Clicking to his secure phone messages, he took another swig of his beer while the machine went through several security checks. He stopped with the bottle midway between his mouth and the coaster as the screen filled with just three lines. The name he saw paralyzed him. Robyn had called him three times today, using the name Brooke Johnson. Urgent flashed like a danger sign next to her name. She had never, in the years since he’d left her at the headquarters building in Atlanta right after Kari was born, called him. And to add to his paralysis were four messages to call Marianne Reynolds, each with the same urgent light flashing next to her name.

  "Damn," he swore, his blood pounding in his ears. Something had to be wrong for both of them to call. His meetings had been high level. All cell phones were switched off. If anyone got an emergency call, the secretary would come in. When Jacob left, he forgot to turn the phone on. He rarely turned it off, so turning it on wasn’t part of his routine. Snatching the phone up, he beat out the digits next to Marianne’s name. It wasn’t her home number or her cell. He knew both numbers by heart.

  "Buffalo General Hospital, ICU," a soft female voice greeted.

  Jacob was jolted. He could hardly speak to answer the greeting. "I’m trying to reach Marianne Reynolds. She left this number." He didn’t identify himself. Years of training had made subterfuge an unconscious act.

  "One moment, please," the voice went on calmly and efficiently while his blood began to boil. In seconds, Marianne came on the line.

  "What’s wrong, Marianne?" he asked, wasting no time with a greeting or identification.

  "You’re too late," she whispered. Her voice sounded resigned and tired.

  "Too late for what?" His temper was rising along with his voice level. Fear crowded in, making his heart tight.

  "I think she’s called him." Marianne’s voice was stronger. Jacob could tell by the static that she was speaking into a cordless phone. She must have found a secure place to talk.

  "Called who?" he asked unnecessarily. He knew she meant Robyn had made contact with her ex-husband. At least that meant she, Robyn, was all right.

  "Tell me what happened?" He leaned forward, rest­ing his head against the heel of his hand and closing his eyes.

  "There was an accident. Kari is in critical condition. We’ve been here for two days." Marianne kept her words to a minimum. Jacob knew she realized this was an open line.

  "What kind of accident?" Robyn had breached se­curity with her phone call. He needed to know how deep the breach went. Marianne had been trained, but she was obviously attached to Kari, and Jacob knew she loved Robyn like a sister.

  "An automobile accident, a stupid, senseless ac­cident." Her words told him there was no reason to suspect foul play. "Broken glass cut through an artery in Kari’s arm. She lost a lot of blood."

  "What about Brooke?" Jacob tensed, his mind forming pictures of red-stained bandages and broken bones.

  "She escaped with minor cuts and bruises. She’s been released, but we needed blood. None was avail­able."

  "What?" Jacob stood up, remembering a long ago argument he had with the then Robyn Richards over Kari’s possible rare blood type.

  "The supply is outdated, and no donors could be located."

  Breath left Jacob’s body in one long exhale. "Why didn’t you call the center in Atlanta," he snapped.

  The center was the Center for Disease Control. "I did that, Jacob." There was censure in her voice. "Their records showed that the supply is outdated. The closest supply we could find is in Los Alamos, New Mexico. It won’t arrive before morning. She’ll die by then."

  Jacob heard the sob in Marianne’s voice. A lump rose in his throat as he thought of the black-haired child. Although he had only seen photos of her since she was born in a maximum security center four years ago, he had a fondness for her unlike any other he could define. He supposed it was due to his being Robyn’s Lamaze coach for her delivery. After that experience how could anyone not love a child?

  "How long has she got?" He spoke slowly, dragging his mind back to the present problem.

  "I don’t know, but minutes count at this stage."

  "I’ll take care of it from here. Keep me informed," he said resolutely. "In the meantime, stay with her."

  ***

  Marianne handed the phone back, giving a weak smile to the nurse who replaced the receiver. "Thank you," she said absently as the perpetually smiling nurse handed her a blanket. She hoped Brooke was asleep. She’d known Jacob would help.

  "Jacob would do anything for her," she muttered to herself as she walked toward the somber colored wait­ing room. Marianne had learned that the first weekend she’d reported to him. She’d been assigned to protect the newly created Brooke Johnson and her infant child. She quickly learned to address her only as Brooke and Robyn never knew she was her guardian angel. It was an easy assignment and Robyn and Mari­anne got along well together.

  But Jacob was in love with Brooke. Marianne wasn’t sure even he knew that. But she could tell by the way he gave in to Robyn whenever he disagreed with what­ever she proposed. Usually, the outcome was that she got her way.

  But in this case Jacob was too late. Brooke had given her ex-husband’s name to the doctor, and he’d already been called. There was nothing else she could have done, and Marianne knew in her heart, if Robyn hadn’t done it she would have called herself.

  When she entered the room, Brooke wasn’t asleep, but had resumed her position in front of the dark window. She was staring out, looking at nothing, see­ing nothing. Marianne knew she didn’t even hear her re-enter the waiting area. She wondered what she was thinking. Her mind had to be on her daughter, but what about her husband? Was she still in love with him? Marianne wished she could help her. They were as close as sisters in a way. In another way they respected each other privacy.

  "Brooke," Marianne called softly. There was no reaction. She went to her friend and stood next to her. Brooke continued to stare through the glass.

  "Brooke," she said again, her voice slightly louder. Brooke was still lost. Taking her arm, Marianne shook her lightly. The dazed eyes cleared to a somber brown. "I took a call for you," she said, letting her think Jacob had called her. Brooke didn’t know that she was Mari­anne’s assignment. Jacob insisted Marianne not tell her.

  "Who was it?" Brooke turned, her face blank, her eyes wide.

  "His name was Jacob. I told him what happened. He said he could get the blood."

  "It’s too late." Tears rolled down her face again. Marianne grabbed a tissue from the box on a nearby table and pushed it into Brooke ‘s hand.

  "Don’t cry, Brooke. It’ll get here in time," she told her, being more positive than she truly was. "Kari will be fine."

  Brooke nodded. "Yes, Kari will be fine," she re­peated, as a fresh batch of tears shook her body.

  Marianne couldn’t do anything. She guided Brooke to a chair and sat across from her, allowing her friend to sob tears as large as her swollen eyes.

  "You should be at the restaurant," Brooke sai
d.

  "I’m not leaving until I know you and Kari are all right. The restaurant can survive without us for one night."

  Marianne knew it was true. She’d called Yesterdays, the turn-of-the-century eatery they owned together, and found out things were running smoothly.

  "Why don’t you try to get some sleep? Just lie down here." She tried to get Brooke back to the sofa.

  But she shook her head. "I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about when Kari was a baby." A smile flitted across her face, and Brooke began telling her anecdotes about Kari when she first learned to crawl. Marianne let her continue although she had either heard the story before or been there when the incident occurred.

  Finally, Brooke’s eyes were so heavy that she was falling asleep while she talked. Marianne helped her to the sofa and pushed her down.

  "The blood is here." Dr. Elliott came in, and Brooke was up immediately.

  "Wonderful," Marianne said. "How’s Kari?"

  "It’ll be hours before we know anything," he said. "But I expect God has given us the time we need."

  He left them then, and Marianne immediately hugged her friend. "She’s going to be fine, Brooke. “I’m sure of it."

  "I’m sure of it, too," Robyn said, her voice strained. "Now I think you should go."

  "Brooke, don’t be silly," Marianne protested.

  "I’m not being silly. I’m scared and relieved at the same time. But most of all, I think I’d like to be alone for a while."

  It wasn’t the truth. Marianne knew that. What Robyn needed was assur­ance that Grant had come and gone. She didn’t expect to see him. He didn’t know Brooke Johnson. Then why was she so nervous that she needed Marianne to leave?

  "I don’t think being alone will do you any good."

  "Please, Marianne." Robyn rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I’m much too tired to argue the point. Go home and get some rest. In the morning, go to the restaurant. I promise if I need anything, you’ll be the first person I call."