Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1)

by Shirley Hailstock

  ***

  "You must have been a nurse in another life," Mari­anne said minutes later as Brooke cut the surgical tape and secured the last wrapping in place. She slid down in the bed.

  "I don’t think so, but I’ve bandaged my share of scraped knees," she smiled, thinking of Kari.

  "Where is Kari?"

  "She’s with Will. The two of them have been in­separable since last weekend."

  "What did they do?" she asked. Her question was more than gentle curiosity.

  "On Saturday Will took her to the beach. She fell asleep in the sun and came home with a slight sunburn, but she was too tired and too happy to do any­thing but sleep. On Sunday, they went to a kiddie play at Studio Area. She can’t stop talking about it."

  Brooke smiled, and Marianne returned it. She re­membered the man she’d thought was Will McAdams in Georgetown. Brooke’s story told her where he was. She was wrong. A man couldn’t be in two places at one time.

  "Who’s managing the restaurant?" Marianne changed the subject.

  "Would you believe Pete?" she laughed. "If we ever sell that place, we’ll have to give him the right of first refusal. He’s play­ing king tonight."

  "And who’s playing queen?" It was Brooke’s role.

  "Sue-Ellen." Both women laughed. Marianne’s eyes widened then held her stomach.

  "Sue-Ellen!" She was the clumsiest dancer Mari­anne had ever seen. Yet, Brooke liked her. "Do you suppose she’ll fall over the dessert cart or snag her dress on one of the tables?"

  "She’s not that clumsy," Brooke defended her.

  "You know she’s a runaway." Marianne put her hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle another yawn.

  Brooke nodded. "But she’s over twenty-one and an­swerable to no one."

  "I can’t see why you keep her around."

  Brooke stopped a moment, then she said, "She re­minds me of myself a few years ago."

  "You could never have been that clumsy," Marianne stated.

  "It’s not that she’s clumsy so much as lacking con­fidence. Given a little time, she’ll begin to believe in herself."

  Marianne didn’t ask, but she thought Brooke was speaking about herself and not about Sue-Ellen. And she hadn’t missed the slight hesitation Brooke had made before she began speaking. It was the first time Brooke had mentioned a past outside of the pre­pared one Jacob had ingrained in her when she entered the program.

  "Give her a chance, Marianne."

  "I promise, I will."

  Brooke smiled at her. Marianne was obviously tired. "You should go back to sleep." Brooke got up. Marianne didn’t protest. Brooke found a pink gown in the top drawer and helped her into it. Within minutes, she was asleep.

  ***

  Ladened with the silver tray, Brooke tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. She thought about Sue-Ellen. And thinking of her brought her own past back, when she was Robyn Warren, dancing briefly in a cho­rus line, nervous and unsteady until the other dancers let her know she was one of them. Then, her steps became sure and easy.

  And it had been like that when she’d been ap­proached to testify in the Alex Jordan trial. She was unsure and nervous. Grant being in Lebanon added to the pressure she was feeling. Then, the government came along and offered to get him out in exchange for her direct testimony. But to do so meant to suddenly and completely disappear from her friends. Even Susan didn’t know where she had been sequestered.

  When she’d arrived at the courthouse, she was bombarded with cameras and microphones thrust in her face and an opposing attorney who was known worldwide for winning cases that had been considered open and shut. She, a twenty-five-year-old, was up against that. And she had needed someone to believe in her. That someone had been Jacob Winston.

  At that time she didn’t know he would also be the man who would coach her in the program and the man who would protect her life and that of her child.

  Chapter 9

  "Where are you taking me?" Robyn asked, as the sleek car sped through the afternoon traffic. Grant had shown up unexpectedly. His comings and goings were hard to predict, and no matter what Robyn did, she ended up at his side.

  "Someplace I can talk to you without continually hearing you say you don’t want to see me, when every time I look at you, all I can see is a bedroom in your eyes."

  "That’s not true," she lied, looking away from him. She, however, knew whenever she looked at him, all she wanted to do was run into his arms and have him make love to her.

  "Liar." His accusation was tempered by the smile on his face.

  Robyn was silent. It had been two weeks since she had last seen him. Marianne’s burns were almost healed, and both of them were back at work. Grant had called to say he’d bought some new airplanes and was busy getting them in operating order since his work load had also increased. Robyn didn’t know if she was happy or sad. When he wasn’t there, she missed him, but his presence meant danger.

  They left the city behind and traveled up Route 33 to the airport. Grant guided the car into the airport driveway and proceeded to an area for small planes and helicopters.

  Minutes later, they were seated in a helicopter flying over the city.

  "When did you learn to fly helicopters?" She spoke into the headset Grant had given her. The noise pre­vented them from hearing each other without ampli­fication.

  "When I bought the air service, it came with heli­copters."

  "Is it the same as flying a plane?" Grant had taught her to fly a small plane years ago.

  "It’s quite different. There aren’t nearly as many controls, but it is more difficult to fly."

  "But you like it." She could see it in his face. It took her back to when they were first married. Flying was his life, he’d told her. It was the only thing he loved that loved him back before he met her. He’d said he couldn’t live without flying.

  "I love it almost as much as I like breathing. I feel like I can do anything when I’m up here." He was proud.

  "What would you have done if you weren’t a pilot?" For some reason she needed to affirm her decision, to make sure her decision had been the only one that could have been made at the time.

  "Not fly. I don’t know. I was sixteen, still in high school, when I went on my first plane ride. It was then that I decided I had to fly, and since then it’s been the only thing in my life." He paused a moment before adding. "I have to admit, if it weren’t for flying, I’d probably have lost my mind when Robyn died."

  "Look there’s the Liberty Bank Building." Robyn, changing the subject, pointed to the twin statues at each end of the famous landmark. Further down Main Street, she could see the War Memorial Auditorium, and then Grant flew directly over Yesterdays.

  "Have you ever been in a helicopter before?" he asked.

  "Never, not even to sit in one."

  "How do you like it?"

  "It’s wonderful." She offered a smile. "I didn’t know you could get so close to things. I can actually recognize streets."

  "Maybe one day you’d like to learn to fly," Grant said.

  Robyn sat back in her seat. "No, I don’t think so. I do very little traveling, and I have no need for a helicopter."

  "How about just for the fun of it? Someday, you could just soar off into the sky and leave everything behind you. Up here, it’s just you and the sky."

  Robyn sensed he wasn’t speaking to her any­more. He was in his own heaven. The sky was his world. The place where nothing else mattered, where he could go to solve his problems. A place to come to grips with anything the outside world threw at him. Even the death of his wife.

  "Grant," she called to him tenderly. "This is not my world. It’s your world. And I can’t be a part of it."

  "Why not? What happened to you that spoiled you for me? Where you beaten as a child? Where you so in love with your late husband that no other man can ever hold a candle to him?"

  Robyn averted her glance, once again looking out at the blue of the sky and the clouds that c
ontrived to make it a beautiful scene. She didn’t want it to look like this. She’d rather the day be cloudy and wet in­stead of brilliantly alive. She felt like she was dying again. Every time Grant flew into and out of her life, he took a little part of her with him. This time would be no different.

  "Nothing traumatic happened to me," she lied. Death was always traumatic. "We don’t travel the same paths. You’re a pilot with government connec­tions." Deep connections, she thought. "I’m just a res­taurant owner with people to support. When you set me down again, we’re not going to see each other so there’s no need to make future plans."

  "You’re either very good, or you’ve been trained well," he observed.

  "What do you mean?" Robyn asked.

  "Your mouth says one thing but your body doesn’t speak the same language."

  "I mean what I say."

  "Liar," he said again. Grant banked right, and Robyn noticed they were no longer over the city. Be­low them was nothing but green counterpanes of fields ready for harvesting. She’d only seen it once from this angle. Grant was right in his assessment of the flight. In the air, she felt like she was floating. She didn’t need the metal casing around her. All she needed was the man sitting next to her, and he could take her to heights greater than any aircraft could.

  "Does that stick control everything?" Robyn made another subject change as she pointed at the control Grant held.

  "It controls the rotors, the blades on the top." He glanced up as if he could see through the roof. She followed his gaze.

  "Are there elevators and ailerons and rudders to control?"

  "You know how to fly!" A surprised smile curved his lips.

  "No, I just took some ground lessons long ago."

  "But you’ve never had the controls in your hands."

  "No," not to a helicopter, she amended silently.

  "How long ago did you take the ground course?"

  "Before Kari was born."

  "Did you want to fly then?"

  "Yes."

  "What changed your mind?"

  "Nothing. I guess I’d still like to fly, but I’m no longer interested in taking lessons or flying planes. I had a fear then. I think I’ve conquered it."

  "What scares you now?"

  "Nothing." Robyn stole a glance at Grant. Had she said that too quickly? She was frightened. Afraid of a faceless, nameless person who knew her movements. She’d received the photo several weeks ago and done nothing about it, hiding it as if that would eliminate the problem. Then Marianne’s room caught fire. Did that happen because of her friendship? And yesterday the poison. . .

  "There is something." Grant broke into her thoughts. "Something that terrifies you. I see it in your eyes. Something scares you so badly you don’t want to confront it."

  Fear knotted in her stomach. She pushed herself into the upholstered seat, her body tight to keep from trem­bling. She was losing her edge. Grant read her all too clearly. "Can we drop this? It’s none of your busi­ness."

  Grant set the helicopter down in a field and pulled a picnic basket from behind his seat. He ducked under the rotating blades and came around to open the door for her.

  Robyn looked around, pushing all thoughts of yes­terday out of her mind. They must be a long way from anywhere. "Is this legal? I mean, can you set a heli­copter down anyplace you want?"

  "Not in our country. We’re in Canada."

  "Canada?"

  "I checked with the Canadian authorities before we left. That’s why we had to answer those questions at the airport."

  Robyn remembered the man asking her nationality, and how long they planned to visit. At the time, she was too caught up in her argument with Grant to rec­ognize the questions were the same as those the cus­toms officials asked when she crossed the Peace Bridge.

  Grant spread a red blanket on the ground and pro­ceeded to sit on it.

  "You may as well enjoy it. You’ll notice we’re quite a ways from anywhere. You can’t run away. I have you at my mercy until I decide to fly you back to civili­zation."

  Robyn wanted to be angry. She also wanted to drop down on the blanket and rummage in the basket with him. It was warmer since they’d landed, and her tem­perature rose just by being in his presence. She slipped the white jacket that matched her practice clothes from her arms and placed it on the edge of the blanket.

  "We have soft drinks, iced tea, ginger ale, water." Grant offered her one of the aluminum cans.

  "Ginger ale," Robyn took the canned beverage. She hated canned tea, preferring her own home-brewed concoction. She sat down as far away from him as the blanket allowed. "How long do you plan to keep me here?" she asked.

  He sat up straight. "I didn’t mean it to be a prison. If you’d like to leave, we’ll go." He placed the can he held in his hand back in the basket, making ready to go.

  "Grant," she said hesitantly. "I’d like to stay for a while."

  He stopped, shifting his gaze to look directly into her eyes. Smoke clouded them. He didn’t know how he was going to keep his hands off her if she looked at him like that. And he knew if he made a move in her direction, she’d freeze.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "Ontario, about thirty miles east of the beach Kari likes."

  "Logan Beach. It’s really an amusement park." She took the sandwich he offered.

  They ate in silence. He liked looking at her and didn’t want to break the silence. She shifted several times, and he knew her back was uncomfortable with nothing to rest it against. Grant lounged against the back of a tree watching her. Then without him know­ing it, he reached for her and pulled her against him. She fit into the cradle of his arms and didn’t say a word. She turned her eyes to his, and he thought he’d lose himself in them.

  "If you keep doing that I’ll kiss you."

  She dropped her gaze and laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating. It was going faster than normal, and she smiled at the obvious arousal she knew she caused in him. Settling comfort­ably, she watched the billowy clouds in the distant sky.

  "Did you ever draw cloud pictures?" she asked.

  "Everybody’s done that. I used to paint them with bright colors."

  Robyn laughed.

  "Don’t laugh. I was very good. With my fingertip, I had all the paint I needed, and I’d use vast amounts of red to draw smiles and big baggy pants. Tell me something you used to do?"

  "I didn’t paint the clouds. I used to let them form their own pictures, and then they’d talk to each other in foreign languages."

  "Do you speak a foreign language?" he asked.

  "No, but when I was ten I was going to learn every one I could—French, Spanish, and German." She shifted against him.

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips.

  "I had a friend who could speak six languages. She’d been a service brat and lived all over the world. I envied her." Robyn remembered Linda Sawyer fondly. The last she’d heard Linda married a captain in the air force, and they lived in Germany.

  "What about you?" she asked Grant.

  "Only enough to get me a good dinner and a hotel room with a shower in just about any country." The tinkle of Brooke’s laughter had him fitting her closer into the crook of his arm. "When I flew for Trans-Global, I learned the rudimentary phrases."

  "Do you miss flying for them?"

  "Not anymore. I did at first, but I needed the air service. The time was right." If it hadn’t been for Robyn’s death, he might have continued flying for them. He’d been alone, devastated, and needed something to occupy his time and energy. During the long months in Beirut, when they tortured him and tried to get information he didn’t have by inflicting pain on other crew mem­bers, thoughts of Robyn had kept him sane. At first, he was sure the hijacking had something to do with Project Eagle, but no one had questioned him about that. Then Robyn was gone—and with her, his will to live. Shortly after Eagle was safely put to bed, the air service deal began falling in place. He gave i
t every­thing. Night and day he’d worked until David and Susan thought he was killing himself.

  Maybe, he really did want to die then, but it had passed, and now he wanted to go on living. He wanted to live with Brooke Johnson and discover all the mys­teries that made her who she was.

  "Tell me something else you used to do," Robyn broke into his thoughts.

  "Well, when I was eight," he smiled, his eyes bright and dancing. "I had only seen the U.S. as a map. I thought the lines defining the boundaries of states were really there."

  Robyn started laughing. He could feel her body shaking against his. She sat up and looked at him. Her laughter continued until she could barely control it. "When did you find out they weren’t there?"

  "When I met Will and he arranged my first flight." He joined her laughing. "I admit it’s silly, but I be­lieved it. Don’t tell me you never believed anything silly."

  "Me, of course not." She straightened her face. "I was a model child." She snickered. "I never believed anything silly." Her face cracked.

  "Come on what was it?" He straightened, too. Sit­ting with his back fully against the tree.

  "Promise you won’t laugh."

  "No," he said leaning toward her. "Give, what was it?"

  "I thought the wind carved out Mount Rushmore."

  Grant threw his head back and laughed. Robyn stared at him. Then, she laughed, too.

  "And when did it dawn on you that it wasn’t a natu­ral occurrence?" He could hardly stop the tears com­ing down from the corners of his eyes. When he looked at her she had tears in the corners of her eyes, too.

  "I was in high school. Must have been a slow learner." She touched her head.

  Grant caught her arm then and pulled her back against him. "Didn’t you ever wonder why the wind," he stifled another laugh, "picked those particular men to carve into the side of a mountain?"

  "Not until I saw an article in the newspaper when I was fifteen. Then, it all sounded so silly. How could I ever have thought the wind could do such a thing?"

  Grant laughed again. "You’re wonderful, wonder­ful." He hugged her closer.