Concrete Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You left the front door wide open.”

  “I did?” God, how could she be so careless? “I was surprised the place had been cleaned. I guess I walked in without paying attention.”

  He studied the box for a moment, then tossed it into the air and caught it with the same hand. “I’ve been worried about you.” The box flew up again. “How are you feeling?” He caught it and tossed it again.

  She was hypnotized by the motion. Every cell of her being screamed for her to grab the box midflight. She put her hands behind her back and leaned against the counter, trapping her itchy fingers. It took her a moment to comprehend his words, caught up as she was in the rhythmic game. That box contained her salvation.

  “I’m fine,” she managed, her throat dry. Jesus, she was so distracted, she hadn’t thanked him for staying with her at the hospital or having her apartment cleaned. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “For everything you’ve done for me. I’m overwhelmed.” The box flew up again, and she searched for something to say. “How much do I owe you?”

  He missed the box; it bounced off his arm and hit the floor.

  She did not race him to retrieve it. She could not, would not, let him see any glimmer of its importance.

  He looked at her, his eyes showing a mixture of anger and hurt. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

  She’d hurt him. Dammit, this wasn’t how she’d imagined seeing him for the first time since he’d saved her life and spent the night at her bedside. And she had imagined it. In the shower, on the long drive here, even when she’d faced Jake, Lee had been in her thoughts.

  But now the Jell-O box lay at her feet, clouding her mind, destroying her ability to talk, to act. Had she waited long enough to casually pick it up now?

  She bent down, but again he beat her to it.

  “You having a craving for more hospital food?” he asked, handing the box to her.

  “I was just going through the cupboards to see what food I have left.”

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at the cabinets. She instantly realized her mistake: all the doors were closed.

  “It’s expired.” She tossed the box in the garbage, thankful the can was lined with a clean, empty bag.

  Finding her focus, she pulled him out of the kitchen, away from the box and questions she didn’t want to answer. They stopped in the center of her hollow living room. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried. The hospital said you’d been released, but JT said you weren’t at the Watergate, and you weren’t answering your cell. I guessed you might have come here.” His mouth was a firm line. “You should have called me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He touched her cheek. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  She leaned against him, but he was stiff, still angry. She needed to get his mind away from the Jell-O. She stretched up on her toes to gain a few inches in height, but she still came up short. She grasped the front of his shirt to pull him down so his lips could meet hers. Whatever works, she thought, hating the reason for the mercenary action but still anticipating the kiss.

  He hesitated. His green eyes bore into hers, questioning, hurt, mad. Dammit, he could see right through her, knew she was hiding something.

  His height meant she couldn’t kiss him if he wouldn’t bend. Mortified he’d leave her there, lips poised for a kiss that wasn’t coming, she dropped back to her heels. Suddenly his arms clamped around her waist, locking her in place, and his mouth descended on hers.

  The kiss was pure heat. Thoughts receded as sensation ran through her like fire.

  His mouth left hers to explore the column of her throat. Her eyes remained closed as each touch sent shock waves of desire through her. He pulled back, and she opened her eyes and stared into his.

  His arms tightened, and his mouth returned, but softly this time, with tenderness in addition to passion.

  His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. His hands cupped her butt and squeezed, pressing her hips against his. Want—no need—coursed through her, and she moaned against his mouth. She’d started this to distract him but was caught in her own trap.

  His hand slid up her side, under her top and cupped her breast. Her hardened nipple ached as he brushed aside the cup of her bra. He bent her over his arm, and his teeth grazed her nipple through the fabric of her T-shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

  This man had enticed her from the first moment they met. He’d been sweet and tender, hot and passionate, silly and sexy. He’d comforted her after her apartment was destroyed and had saved her life. These thoughts combined as his searing kisses drove her into a frenzied arousal.

  She felt wild, ravenous and fumbled with the top button of his shirt. She needed to touch his skin.

  He let go of her with an abruptness that left her off-balance. She stumbled backward, and he caught her before she hit the wall.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she whispered, feeling completely vulnerable, lost.

  His eyes conveyed nothing but fury. “I wouldn’t say no to a fuck right now, but I’m still going to ask about the box of Jell-O.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LEE WAS STUNNED BY HIS own reaction. His last thought before he shoved Erica away had been that she would have sex with him, not because she ached for him like he did her, but because she wanted him to forget he found her clutching a too-heavy box of Jell-O as though it were her only friend in the world.

  Ironic that she’d merely done what he’d been doing to her from the start: using the attraction between them to redirect attention. It was his comeuppance that he detested having her use the same technique to manipulate him.

  Her eyes narrowed. She straightened her spine and transformed from sensual woman to angry ice queen.

  “Good. Now you’re as pissed as I am,” he said. “Don’t ever use what’s between us as a weapon.” Hands on her hips, he pulled her back against him and locked his arms around her waist. “Don’t demean this—us—by making it a tool.” He was the worst sort of hypocrite. Someday she’d know it and hate him.

  And then he’d lose her.

  She shoved at his chest. “I wasn’t using you—this—us—”

  “Then what were you doing?” He let her go, and she stumbled again.

  “I wanted to kiss you. You saved my life, and I’m grateful.”

  Her words were a kick in the gut. “You kissed me because you’re grateful.”

  “No. That didn’t come out right.”

  “I’m sick of your lies,” he said.

  She jerked and looked him in the eye. “What lies?”

  “Do you know who destroyed your apartment?”

  “No!”

  “Let me rephrase that. Do you think you know who destroyed your apartment?”

  “No.” Her mouth was a thin line, so different from a moment ago when her hot kisses had him seconds away from pulling down her shorts.

  “Who do you think tried to kill you?” he persisted.

  She flinched but said, “No one. I think it was an accident.”

  “Dammit, Erica, I want to help you!”

  Her harsh, brittle laugh echoed through the empty room, filling the air with grief. “No. You just want to fuck me.”

  A new wave of anger washed through him. “That’s only part of what I want from you,” he said, his voice low and tight with barely controlled temper.

  Her gray eyes lit with cold contempt. “Yeah, I know the rest. You need me to sign off on your internship or Mommy won’t pay tuition in the fall. Since you suck at the job, you’re trying to screw your way to a pass.”

  It took Lee a moment to understand; in the midst of the argument, he had forgotten his role. She had no clue who he was, what he was doing. She was so focused on her own deceptions, it hadn’t occurred to her that he had his own agenda.

  When her words did sink in, his anger pe
aked. He had to marvel at her methods. She’d managed to neatly turn the tables, charging him with the exact same thing he’d accused her of moments before. The shit of it was he couldn’t demand the truth from her without tipping her off that he was more than an idle intern.

  “Guilty,” he said, his voice dropping to silken tones. He decided to go for blood. “You won’t believe how relieved I was that first day when I saw you and knew screwing you wouldn’t be a chore.”

  A stricken expression flashed across her features.

  Shortcake, that’s the least of my lies. Or yours, for that matter. Hell, if she couldn’t figure out that he’d been drawn to her from their first encounter in the company gym, that was her problem.

  There was a knock on the still-open front door. JT entered without waiting for a response. “Oh, good,” he said. “You’re here.” Lee was certain he’d been listening the whole time, waiting for an opportunity to enter.

  Several emotions—none of them good—crossed Erica’s face before she said, “JT. I had no idea you were here.”

  “Lee got me worried when he couldn’t reach you, so we agreed to meet here before we called the police.”

  She looked down at the floor, wiped a cheek, and looked up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you or Lee.”

  Was she crying?

  “Excuse me,” she said and disappeared down the hall.

  He wanted to chase after her.

  “You blew it,” JT said in a quiet voice as soon as they were alone. “You had her right where we want her, and you let ego take over instead of sealing the deal.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Do your job.”

  “Go back to New York.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  She returned a minute later with clear, dry eyes and gave no excuse for bolting. Instead, she said, “From the look of things, I can move back in here. Thanks to Lee.”

  “The walls need to be painted,” JT said.

  “I can’t afford that.”

  “I’m paying,” Lee said. “The painters start tomorrow.”

  “You can’t afford tuition, but you can pay to have my apartment painted?”

  Dammit. The lies were piling up and negating each other. He shrugged. “I have money, just not enough for tuition at Columbia. I found someone cheap who can start tomorrow. He said he’s got another job scheduled after he does the first coat, so it’ll take him at least a week to finish.” He congratulated himself for thinking fast and securing her presence in his apartment for another week.

  Her eyes were unreadable. Finally she nodded. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, when I can.” She wrapped her arms around herself, like she was cold or needed a hug, but he just stood there, hating himself, hating the situation.

  JT turned to Lee. “Now that we know she’s okay, I need you back at the office. That database is vital, and we need it by Friday.” He pulled out his wallet, took out two hundred dollars, then turned to Erica. “You’re taking the rest of the day off.” He pressed the money into her hand. “Go clothes shopping. If you wear that outfit to the office, then Skippy here will never get any work done.”

  Her face reddened. “I can’t accept this.” She held the money out to JT.

  “You can and will, and it’s not a loan.” He headed for the door. “If you don’t buy yourself some decent clothing, you’re fired.” The front door closed, and they were alone again.

  “Is he mad at me?” she asked.

  “No. He was just making it impossible for you to refuse.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  He looked into her eyes and could see the pain she tried so hard to hide.

  “I don’t know,” he said. He headed for the door but stopped at the entryway. With his back to her, he said, “Don’t take off without telling me again. Someone tried to kill you. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

  “Okay.” She paused. “Lee?” Her voice cracked.

  He turned.

  “Thank you. For saving me.”

  He walked back to her and cupped her face in his hands. “Stay safe. Keep your cell phone on you at all times, and go directly to the Watergate when you’re done shopping.” He kissed her firmly and left.

  He was in the elevator when he realized he’d forgotten to grab the Jell-O box from the garbage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  JT GLANCED UP FROM THE TV when Erica entered Lee’s kitchen at six fifteen the following morning. She clutched her gym bag and wore one of Lee’s old T-shirts and a pair of paint-splattered sweatpants. Shadows under her eyes told him she wasn’t as chipper as her smile tried to appear. He held up a hand to stop her from speaking, as the news segment he’d been waiting for was just about to start.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, then leaned against the counter.

  Lee entered the room. “Is it on?” he asked.

  “Just starting,” JT answered. It was too early for the national morning programs. Local news would have to do.

  The reporter stood in front of the casino, microphone in hand, looking eager and excited, knowing the story could be picked up by the network. “The Menanichoch Tribe is hosting a gala reception Saturday night for the grand opening of the newest room at the casino. Sources say Senator Joseph Talon himself will cut the ribbon at the ceremony and will use the occasion to make a big announcement.” She grinned. “One we’ve all been waiting for.” She winked in an exaggerated manner, completely upping the cheesy factor.

  JT shook his head. “She just lost her shot at the network. Now they’ll send their own pretty drone to stand in front of the casino to say the same thing, rather than use this footage.”

  “They could cut off that last bit,” Lee suggested.

  “Not if they want to include this part.” He turned up the volume.

  “…revealed the new room will have an Aztec theme. Tribal Chairman Sam Riversong promises the room will be chock full of Aztec art and history.”

  A crash startled him. Erica cursed as she bent to clean up a shattered coffee mug. “Sorry, I missed the counter.”

  He grabbed a towel and bent to help her, but she shooed him away. “Watch the segment.”

  The broadcast switched to stock footage of the casino. Artwork and signage befitting a museum surrounded gamblers sitting at baize tables, oblivious to the cultural experience around them, as the chipper reporter described the themes of the other rooms: the Inuit people of the Arctic, the Great Basin cultures of Utah and Nevada, the Pueblo people of the Southwest, the Cherokee Tribe of the East and Southeast. At least thirty seconds of precious airtime was spent describing the casino’s practice of having a table in each room at which gamblers could try their luck at the designated culture’s own historic or prehistoric game of chance.

  The Indian games had been Joe’s idea. It had always amused Joe that every culture gambled. “We couldn’t buy advertising like this. Too bad the reporter screwed up, because the networks might’ve replayed the whole piece, including that last bit.”

  “Is that why the senator is making the announcement at the casino?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah, plus it ties him to his cultural heritage. He’s decided that if he’s going to run on Indian heritage, he’s got to run on all of it, the good, the bad, and the stereotype.” The segment was over, and he shut off the television. “I’m heading back to New York after meeting with Dad.” Crap, he’d forgotten to say, my dad and now wondered if he should say the next bit in front of Erica. What the hell. She must have figured out Lee was a closer family friend than they’d let on. “Lee, he’d like to see you too. Old Ebbitt Grill. One o’clock.”

  Erica glanced at her watch. “I’m heading to the office. You ready, Lee?”

  “I need to talk to Lee about the database. You go on ahead,” JT said before Lee could jump up and follow her. After she left, he said, “I won’t be at lunch. I’m meeting the senator earlier so I can get back to New York. I want
to warn you, he’s going to ask you to replace Drake.”

  “Drake’s leaving Talon & Drake?”

  “Even if he’s not involved with the smuggling, he’s a liability. He wants to use Dad to get more government contracts and I suspect he’s set his sights on becoming a key player on the campaign team. He’s finished at T&D.”

  “He knows this?”

  “I’m sure he suspects.”

  Lee nodded. “That’s why he met with Riversong. Why he’s so pissed with you.” He met JT’s gaze. “I don’t want to run the Bethesda office.”

  “I need you. You aren’t intimidated by me and won’t push me to take the company public so you can make a killing in stock options.”

  “I’ve got my own business to run.”

  “It won’t be forever, just until we find the right person to take over.”

  “Have you told Joe that I’m working undercover in Bethesda?”

  “No. He doesn’t know you’re in the Bethesda office at all.”

  “I’m sick of lying, JT.”

  “You can’t tell him. The press will scream cover-up if he knows anything—even after the fact. He knows nothing until the smugglers are caught.”

  “He’s going to ask me to run the very office I’ve been spying on, and I’m going to have to play dumb? JT, this sucks.”

  “You’ve only got a few more days. Sara C comes back Friday, and in all likelihood, your cover will be shot Saturday night.” JT stared into his coffee mug. The situation was rotten. Worse even than Lee realized. “I have no idea how Dad will react if we find out Sam’s in on the smuggling.” Sam. His father’s best friend and mentor.

  Lee flopped back in his chair. “The deeper I look, the worse it gets for Sam.” He paused. “I think I’ve isolated who received the text message.”

  “Sam?”

  “No. It was Sam and Drake’s new buddy, Jake Novak.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  JOSEPH TALON WAS ABOUT to make the biggest announcement of his political career in front of Aztec artifacts Erica intended to prove were stolen. Her actions could damage his reputation and that of his tribe. She could destroy his campaign just as it was getting started.