by Lauren Bach
A knock sounded on the door. Grey and the other agents had their guns drawn before the echo faded. Once again Tess noticed that Grey positioned himself between her and the door. Shielding her.
Shielding their child.
Grey huddled with the others near the door, before coming back to where she sat. She knew by the look on his face that her time with him had ended.
“The U.S. Marshal’s Service will take over from here, Tess. I know these men. They’ll protect you.”
A lump lodged in her throat at the thought of leaving Grey yet again, reminding her anew of how secure she felt with him. How badly she wished things were different between them.
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and stood.
“Come here.” He tugged her into his arms, squeezing her as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know this is hard, but it’ll work out,” he whispered. “I promise.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tess was flown to a private airstrip near Washington, D.C., before being moved to a nondescript safe house outside of Baltimore.
It was roomier than she’d expected; three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. At first she felt extremely self-conscious with the marshals, but after a few days she developed a rapport, got used to their schedules. And recognized that this type of detail was as boring for them as it was for her.
Security, however, was tight. Tess couldn’t leave the house without an escort. The blinds were kept drawn, and she was instructed to stay away from the windows.
A box with her personal belongings arrived the second day. Inside was a card from Grey.
THINKING OF YOU. I’LL BE IN TOUCH SOON.
She reread the card, recalling his promise to maintain contact. It made her acutely aware that once more she had no easy way to get in touch with him. Any contact was totally up to him.
It also triggered an avalanche of indecision over whether keeping her pregnancy to herself was indeed the right choice.
Besides the perpetual loop of should-she-or-shouldn’t-she tell Grey, she worried about the question coming up in court. The prosecutor had warned her that the cross-examination regarding her sexual liaison with Grey would be riddled with thinly veiled accusations, designed in part to embarrass her -- to tempt her to prevaricate and thereby damage her credibility with the jury. As much as she wanted it over, she dreaded the trial’s approach.
By the end of the first week, the computer in her room was hooked up to the Internet. She was assigned a bland, numeric screen name.
“This puppy is encrypted with all the latest security, but you’ve still got to be cautious. No e-mail to family or friends, no shopping with credit cards.” The marshal showed her how to log on. “Double click here and voila. Welcome to the World Wide Web.”
Glad for a new diversion, Tess spent most of the afternoon checking out jewelry-design web sites. Just as she got ready to log off, a small message flashed on the screen.
Mail waiting.
Curious, she clicked the icon.
The sender’s name was as nondescript as hers. Tess’ first thought was spam. Then she spotted the subject line.
From G.T.
Grey Thomas? She clicked READ.
The note was short. HOPE YOU’RE FEELING OKAY. ARE THEY TREATING YOU WELL? YOURS, G.
Tess traced a finger across the screen. Hope you’re feeling okay. Such an innocuous statement. Would he have written that if he knew about the baby? Would he have even written at all?
She scanned Grey’s e-mail again, wishing she could read something between the lines. All two of them.
She eyed the REPLY icon, recalling the marshal’s warning against e-mail. To family and friends. Grey definitely wasn’t family. Technically, he wasn’t a friend. The term sperm donor popped into mind, leaving her scowling.
She tapped out a short, equally cryptic, reply.
FEELING FINE. WISH YOU WERE HERE. T.
She frowned at the screen again. Did wish you were here sound too...personal?
She went to hit DELETE, intent on rewording the entire message. Instead she hit SEND. The screen went blank, then a little box appeared, confirming her mail had been sent.
“Guess that problem resolved itself,” she muttered.
A knock sounded at her door. She snapped off the computer. It was one of the marshals, reminding her of an outside meeting scheduled with the federal prosecutor.
Tess gathered her stuff and glanced at the computer one last time. At least now she had something to look forward to.
At the meeting she learned the threatening note had been mailed from Canada but yielded no tangible clues to identify the sender. Hence no charges could be filed.
* * *
When Tess returned to the safe house, there were no new e-mail messages. Masking her disappointment, she ate a light meal and retired early.
But sleep eluded her, and a book failed to hold her interest.
At a little after ten, one of the marshals rapped at her door. He looked hesitant when she answered.
“Uh, sorry to wake you, but Special Agent Thomas is on the phone. Said he had a few questions if you were still awake.”
Tess’ heart flittered as she picked up the phone beside her bed. “Grey? Where are you?”
“I’m at a conference in L.A. Hope I’m not calling too late. Were you in bed?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t sleep.”
He grunted. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months. “I got your e-mail.”
Silence swelled.
Then Grey spoke again. “Did you mean it?”
Wish you were here.
She sighed, curling and uncurling the cord around her finger, tired of weighing every little nuance of every word and action. “Yes.”
The tightness in his chest eased. “I’m glad.”
Grey checked the time. He had a dinner meeting scheduled in twenty minutes. The time difference meant it was nearly ten-thirty on the East Coast. It would be too late to call again when he got back. For a moment he considered canceling his meeting, wanting to spend the evening on the phone with her. Why did talking to her make him miss her even more?
“What kind of conference are you attending?” she asked.
“A drug symposium. Boring.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll trade places with you.”
He knew time in protective custody was tedious and monotonous at the same time. God, he’d make it all go away if he could. “I know it’s bad, but what’s the worst part? Lack of privacy? Microwave meals?”
“Trying to sleep, I guess,” she said. “I don’t get enough physical activity during the day to really get tired, so I toss and turn most of the night. Which gives me a backache.”
“I know what would fix that.”
“The insomnia?” A vision of Dallas, naked, flashed through her mind. Wish you were here. “Or the backache?”
“Both.”
“What?”
He chuckled at her impatience. “Feel like playing a game?”
“What kind of game?”
“A mind game.” Grey walked over and closed the drapes, darkening his room, wanting to concentrate solely on the sound of her voice. He sat on the edge of his bed, checked his watch again, knew he’d run late for his meeting. “I want you to get comfy.”
“Comfy?” She stared at the small double bed that wasn’t hers.
“Yeah. Comfy. Turn off the lights.”
Intrigued, Tess snapped off the bedside lamp. Immediately the room was plunged into a thick, inky darkness.
“Still there?” Grey asked.
“Yes.” She gripped the phone tighter, focusing on his voice. The house, the room, everything was still unfamiliar to her.
“Don’t be scared. I’m right here,” he whispered. “Your eyes will adjust to the dark in a minute. Are you in bed or on it?”
The husky timbre in his voice had her hand fisting in the spread. There was something calming and erotic about whispering in the dark. But only w
ith this man.. “I’m sitting on the bed.”
“I want you to lie down. Under the covers.”
Careful to keep the phone pressed to her ear, Tess slipped beneath the sheets, drawing a sharp breath as her bare feet slid along the chilly fabric.
“Sheets cold?” he asked.
“Very.”
Grey lowered his voice to a raspy, seductive whisper. “If I was there, they’d already be warm.”
The memory of lying in bed, beside him, on him, shook her. The tiny shivers of awareness she’d had since turning off the light suddenly morphed into waves of desire.
“If you ever get tired of playing secret agent, you could probably make a fortune doing phone sex.” She regretted the remark as soon as she made it. She didn’t want to think of him talking like this to anyone but her.
“Why?” He paused. “Is this turning you on?”
She shuddered, not wanting to admit it, yet not really wanting to change the subject. She answered back with his same question. “Is it turning you on?”
Grey groaned. If she could see him the answer would be obvious. He was hard as a rock. He adjusted himself, but got little relief. He had a psychic flash -- saw a cold shower in his immediate future.
“Hell yes, I’m turned on,” he answered bluntly. “You have a way of drawing in a little breath that drives me crazy. Makes me hard instantly.”
Tess gasped, envisioning him. Long. Hot. Hard.
“See what I mean?” Grey said. “The next sound you’ll hear will be the snap and crackle of fiber-optic line melting.”
Tess shifted, growing warm. Wet. Daring. “So...if we were having phone sex...what would happen next?”
The connection grew quiet, and for a moment she worried he’d been cut off.
“I’d ask what you were wearing,” Grey said finally. “Then I’d tell you to take it off. You’d have to be totally naked.”
“You too?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And then?” she pressed.
Grey shut his eyes, savoring the image in his head. He knew this dream by heart.
“Then I’d have you lie flat on your back with your hands clasped behind your neck. I’d tell you to spread your legs. You’d have to lie there, like that, while I told you in graphic detail what I would do to you if I were there.”
Again silence stretched, hummed like taut wire. Then Grey’s voice dipped low, almost gruff. “I’d start with your nipples.”
Hers peaked painfully. Tess groaned, remembering the feel of his mouth. On her breast. On her belly. “Grey...I...”
“I know.” Grey knew they were both close to the edge. He purposely backed away. When it came to physical reactions they were like flame and jet fuel. He could combust just thinking about her. And, damn it, that wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
“But we’re not playing that kind of mind game,” he said finally. “At least not tonight. What I had in mind initially was a massage.”
“A massage?” She stuttered, struggling for control. “Over the phone?”
“A verbal massage,” he continued. “Roll onto your side. Use a pillow if that’s more comfortable.”
Tess obeyed, hugging the spare pillow. “So how does a verbal massage work?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing. You imagine it and tell me how it feels.”
That sounded like phone sex again.
“Think you can get into it?” he asked. “Play along?”
She closed her eyes, thought of Grey. Yes, she could get into it.
“Are you using oil?” she asked.
Grey made a choking sound. “Oil?”
“Massage oil.” She felt her cheeks grow warm.
“You’re a quick study. Yes, I’ve got massage oil. And it’s heated.” In spite of his earlier resolve, Grey touched himself, rubbed the fierce erection straining against his zipper. “Now, I’m going to slide your hair over one shoulder. The feel of my hands on your bare skin the first time might make you jump a little.”
Bare skin.
Tess did lurch, clutching her pillow tighter as she imagined Grey’s hands on her shoulders.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Good.”
“It’ll get better once you relax. You’re tense as hell. That blocks pleasure. Take a deep breath and imagine my finger running down your spine. Tell me when to stop and rub.”
“There,” she said after a moment. “The small of my back.”
“I’m going to start off lightly, get the muscles warm. Tell me when you’re ready for more.”
Tess kept her eyes closed, imagining the rhythmic stroking of Grey’s hands on her body. Except in her mind his hands were all over, touching her breasts, cupping her buttocks, sliding up between her thighs, slipping inside her, while his lips grazed her nape, his teeth nipping.
She reached for the lamp, flicked it on. The light, while it hurt her eyes, broke the spell.
“I think that’s enough,” she said. A dishonest answer. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“You’re right.” Grey’s voice was tight. His own vision had been totally uncontrolled. He wanted to make love to her. Long and slow. Again and again. In person -- not on the phone.
He glanced at his watch. He was out of time.
“You okay?” he asked.
No. “I’ll be fine,” she said. Once I see you again.
“I need to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Tess stared up at the ceiling after they hung up, blinking back frustration. That had been erotic and unsatisfying at the same time. It also made her realize she could no longer deny the powerful physical bond that existed between them. That had always existed between them.
Too bad they couldn’t build a life on lustful cravings. They’d have it made.
* * *
An early winter teased the Baltimore area. It was barely the end of October and already they’d had frost, with more predicted that night.
By the time the trial got under way, Tess had been confined for almost a month. Jury selection seemed to drag on forever.
After that night on the phone, most of her communication with Grey had been through the computer. Short and impersonal, which fed her insecurities even though he explained he was on an assignment and had limited phone access.
She wondered what kind of assignment he was on. Undercover again? Knowing he faced danger daily in his job caused her to fret constantly. She didn’t want to delve into what that meant. She didn’t want to care about someone in his line of work. Wonder if they’d come home each night. The worry would eat her alive.
The trial had been under way for two days when word came that Tess needed to be present at the next day’s proceedings.
The moment she’d been dreading had arrived. Could she sit in a courtroom full of people and recount everything that had happened?
Denny Bennett, the federal prosecutor handling the case, had warned her in a pretrial conference that he would reveal her intimate relationship with Grey, to present it in the best possible light. It also prevented the defense attorneys from springing it later as if it were a terrible secret the prosecution had tried to hide.
Tess had revealed her pregnancy to Denny, who asked point blank if Grey was the father.
She nodded, cringing when Denny noted it in his case file. “I’d prefer that wasn’t brought out in open court,” she said. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”
Denny grimaced. “Let me check with the higher-ups to see if we can keep it secret. Quite frankly, I expect the defense to raise the question, just to embarrass you and make you appear uncomfortable in front of the jury. It’s a valid point to ask, given your physical association with Agent Thomas.”
Tess prayed the question wouldn’t come up. Denny also reminded her that Matt Michaels’ parents would be at the trial. Tess hated they would have to hear her testimony on the awful sequence of events leading to their son’s death.
Snake and Bogen would, of course, be present. More then any
thing she wished she didn’t have to see them again. She recalled Bogen’s parting remark at the camp. That he could still have her killed. The threatening note had underscored those words.
She barely slept that night and was awake and dressed an hour before the alarm went off. She had been advised what to wear. Subdued colors. Mid-height heels. Simple jewelry. She braided her hair, French style, down her back and managed to choke down a slice of dry toast with tea before they left the safe house.
As she sat outside the courtroom, flanked by the two U.S. marshals, she caught a glimpse of Grey standing a little farther down the corridor, huddled with another man.
She hadn’t seen him in weeks again, still hadn’t adjusted to the physical differences between how Grey looked now -- and how he’d looked as Dallas. He wore a sharp-looking suit, navy, double-breasted, that emphasized his tall, lean body.
Her throat felt as if it would swell shut at the sight of his strong profile. He was strikingly handsome. Would their child look like him?
Guilt deluged her as she realized how unfair it was to keep that news from him. By keeping her pregnancy concealed she had taken away his right to know. His right to decide.
God, she remembered how unjust that felt.
Should she walk over and ask to speak to Grey? Tell him now? She hadn’t heard from Denny Bennett again, and assumed that Denny’s silence meant he had no plans to disclose her pregnancy, leaving the decision up to her.
At that moment a bailiff summoned her into the courtroom.
Just before she looked away, Grey turned, catching her eye. Lowering his dark glasses, he winked. She felt herself grow warm, her face flush.
Standing, she smoothed her skirt, fidgeting with the single strand of pearls at her throat. She glanced at Grey one last time, determined to hold her head high and do what was right. In the courtroom and out. After testifying she’d tell him.
She made it through the morning without any problems. She kept her gaze focused on Denny Bennett as he asked questions, only occasionally glancing at the jury or the judge, thus avoiding any direct eye contact with Snake or Bogen, who were seated directly in front of the witness stand.
