Terror and Temptation_A Romantic Suspense Novel

by Vella Day

  He'd already prepared his answer—an answer that held a lot of truth to it. “I wanted to protect him.”

  Stanton slammed his fist on the desk. “Just tell me how denying you know who Jake is, helps him in any way.”

  “The Georgia cop told me Ashley Wood was dead, killed in a hit and run. It was the same way juror #8 died. It couldn't have been an accident. I figure the longer I keep Jake and Susan safe in a jail cell, the better.”

  “That's bullshit.” Tom, who was usually quiet, spoke with a wealth of venom.

  “Just exactly what do you expect me to do?” He put all acting aside. If these two could figure out a way to get him and Jake out of the mess, he'd be ecstatic. He had to keep his wife and two children safe.

  Stanton locked gazes with him. “Call the cops back and tell them to release Jake. Have Jake get back to DC, ASAP. We have to find a better way to protect Mrs. Chapman.”

  If only Stanton understood why his plan wouldn't work. “If you insist.”

  Richard would be forced to tell his blackmailer that Mrs. Chapman and Yarnell were on their way back here. Their lives would end too soon. And he liked Jake and wanted to protect him.

  He expected the Jake-support team to nod and disappear, only rhey didn't. Fine. It would be their fault their prize prosecutor died. Not him.

  The irony of the situation didn't escape him. His job was to keep people safe and yet he couldn't even protect his own family from blackmailing mobsters. If only his wife wasn't bedridden, he'd put them some place where no one could find them.

  Stanton and Tom stepped toward him. He picked up the phone and pushed redial. When he reached the Georgia cop, Richard claimed he wanted to get to a secure line before admitting he knew Jake Yarnell and the girl.

  “We have a few more questions for them,” the Atlanta cop said. “Then we'll release them.”

  “Excellent. Do me a favor.”

  “Sir?”

  Richard liked the sound of the respect in the man's voice. “I haven't been able to contact detective Yarnell. Tell him, he's to return to DC, pronto.”

  “Will do.”

  Richard swallowed hard and hung up. He stared at Stanton Lowry. “Happy?”

  “Tickled pink.” Stanton turned his sourpuss ass around and left.

  Tom unclenched his fists. “What happened to the bodyguard you sent down to protect Ashley Woods?”

  Richard pretended to flip through a file. “He should have been there by now. I'll check that out. “

  “You do that.” Tom stomped out.

  Richard prayed he'd done the right thing.

  **

  Susan sat alone in a small, windowless room awaiting word about what they were going to do with both of them. No one had come to check on her for three hours. Her butt had nearly fallen asleep from the hard chairs. What could possibly be holding them up? Surely, they weren't going to arrest Jake. She'd been the one driving. Not having a driver's license was bad, but Jake would pay the fine, whatever it was.

  A lead ball rattled in the bottom of her belly. Had Jake's brain swelled and he'd shown some signs of disorientation? Had they taken him to the hospital and didn't want to tell her?

  Would she be left on her own? Panic sizzled in her stomach. She needed him.

  Funny, just a day or two ago, she couldn't wait to get away from him.

  Though the room was no more than ten feet by ten feet, she had to pace, had to do something. After she'd sat for those few hours after the accident, her muscles had bunched and tightened. Her knee had swollen, which made walking painful, but sitting was worse.

  When she took a step, sharp pains stabbed her chest and her knee, but she was confident she would find some relief if she could just get the blood flowing again.

  She tried to do a few exercises to loosen her muscles, but her mind wandered back to Ashley Wood and to who was driving the SUV. Jake had said a black SUV had followed them for a short while in Lake City. There was no way the driver could have known where they would be headed next—unless they had the addresses of the jurors.

  That was it. Whoever was killing these people was heading north, picking off the jurors one by one. When the last man was dead, they'd come after her. Though why she wasn't dead already confused her. Why wait to kill her, especially when they had the chance twice now? Was she to play a role somehow?

  She leaned on the chair to steady herself from the terrible thoughts. Her stomach grumbled, and she had to go to the bathroom. Bad.

  Susan pounded on the door. They couldn't ignore her forever, godammit.

  The door opened about ten minutes later. “Come with me, Mrs. Chapman.”

  About time. “Can I use the facilities?”

  The guard nodded when they reached the bathrooms. “I'll wait outside.”

  The small bathroom was clean, but the floors were stained with dirt, and the grout needed a good scrubbing. She used the toilet, washed her face and hands and stepped out. In the hours she'd been detained, the sun had set and the sky had turned a purplish blue. Darn. They wouldn't be getting on the road until tomorrow.

  When they rounded a corner, Jake was standing, his shoulders tense, and his lips drawn back. The relief forced out a breath. His skin was pale and his head wound was bleeding, but she probably didn't look much better.

  When he noticed her, he smiled, transforming his face from tired to handsome, and her heart skipped a beat. For an insane moment, she wanted to throw herself in his arms, but for many reasons, she refrained.

  Captain Vargas, or whatever his designation was, turned to her. “You two are free to go. From the impact on Ms. Wood's car, we realized your car couldn't have done the damage. The truck that hit her had a much higher bumper.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “And our car? Will you release it?”

  “I'm afraid it can't be driven. You two were lucky you got as far as you did. The front end was crushed into the engine and the axle is nearly cracked. I'm sorry. I'll be happy to have one of my men drive you to a motel.”

  It was the least they could do. Now they'd have to rent another car, head to another hotel room, all the while using a traceable credit card. Christ. They might as well go on the nightly news and give the killer their room number.

  Jake slid next to Susan and slipped an arm around her shoulder, acting as if they were a single unit.

  “Fine,” he said, but his sharp tone implied losing the vehicle was anything but okay.

  As they stepped outside, the cold air slapped her in the face. Even with her sweatshirt on, she shivered. Jake only had on the shirt she'd handed him in the car. Poor man must be freezing, but he didn't act as if the weather affected him.

  “What about our luggage we left in the trunk?” she asked. They needed warmer clothes.

  “We've got it for you.”

  She leaned into him. “Can't your people in Virginia have someone deliver another car? Or help us out?”

  “I don't think I'm their favorite son. Besides, I think our killer has a direct line to someone in the office.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  From the rigid set of his jaw, she understood he wouldn't elaborate. Pure speculation wasn't the way he operated.

  “I want to stay at the Hyatt in downtown Atlanta. The security will be tighter in a high rise than if we stay in a motel in the suburbs.”

  “And there's the Marta,” she added, having been to Atlanta for a convention two years ago. “We can get anywhere on the rail system.”

  “True. Our big chore will be to convince another car company to trust us with one of their vehicles.”

  The Georgia policeman apologized as they pulled to the curb in front of the hotel. “Captain Vargas wanted me to tell you that your boss wants you to call him.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they checked in, Jake asked for a room above the tenth floor and with two queens. Susan appreciated his request. She'd never get to sleep if they shared the bed.

/>   Once they arrived in the room, he put her suitcase on the first bed.

  Exhausted beyond words, Susan dragged herself over to the bed and sat. “Why did you want the tenth floor or higher?”

  “We don't have to worry about anyone shooting out our window.”

  At first she thought he might be kidding, but from the creases in his brow, he was dead serious. “That's horrible.”

  “We have to be more cautious from now on.” He paced the small room.

  The floor choice made sense, but she wasn't convinced they were out of danger even at this height. Susan opened her case and took out her pajamas. “Why can't your friend, T-Squared, contact this last juror? Or have the local police stand watch at his door.”

  “To address your first question, when a person moves in, they are given a cell phone, but only Richard has the number. Secondly, Richard sent down an FBI agent to protect Gary Cho, our last living juror. The bodyguard may be at the Cho's place now.”

  “And you don't want to call and ask Richard?” She held up a palm. “I know. He'd wonder why you were asking, and he'd tell you it isn't your job to protect the all witnesses, just me.”

  “You got it.”

  She needed a shower, but right now the bed was calling her name. “Where is Mr. Cho staying?”

  “Brevard, North Carolina.”

  Another state, another long drive. “And then where to?” She'd been about to say, what happens when all the jurors are dead, but she figured he'd understand what she was asking.

  “We find a place to hunker down and wait for the men in blue to capture the bastard.”

  12

  Joseph Francisco had finished breakfast when his cell rang. He pulled the phone from his top pocket, and as he checked the caller ID, the maid entered the dining room and removed his plate. She stood next to him waiting patiently for further instructions.

  “You may go.” He waved her away.

  Once she disappeared he answered the call. “Good morning, Dom. I trust you have some news for me.” He better not say he'd been arrested. One time when he did an important job, the cops had caught him. It was hell to get the verdict overturned.

  “If the pattern holds true, the FBI agent and Mrs. Chapman will be heading to Brevard, and I have the perfect plan.”

  Don's gloating irritated Joseph, but his son was a Francisco, and Franciscos were born braggarts.

  His granddaughter came running in the dining room. “Poppy, Poppy. Look what I drew for you.” She held up a picture of him at his desk, and his heart softened.

  “This is wonderful, sweetie. Can you put it on my desk for me?”

  She nodded and raced away.

  Joseph leaned back in his chair, and a sharp pain raced down his leg. Stupid sciatic nerve. “Tell me about this perfect plan.” He winced and tried to keep the sound of agony out of his voice. If Dom suspected something was wrong with his health, he'd tell Maria, who would insist he go back into physical therapy. He'd rather eat his gun than be subjected to those torturers.

  “Cho is the last juror. The Feds put him in some remote cabin. Trees everywhere. It'll be a piece of cake to sneak up on him.”

  “You've been to his place?”

  “Yes. I'm not going to do anything until later though. That's the perfect part.” Like always, Dom kept silent after he dropped a bomb.

  “Tell me.” Dom's excitement about the plan made Joseph curious. Maybe his son had come up with something extraordinary.

  “Who is Peter Caravello's good friend?” Dom asked.

  An easy question. “Jake Yarnell.”

  Joseph knew all about how Nicki Caravello had helped raised Yarnell as a kid. Smart man, suggesting his protégé go into law enforcement. Joseph wished he had a cop in his back pocket.

  “Wouldn't it piss Peter off if the man trying to protect him is accused of murder?”

  His son had misunderstood the whole point of removing the jurors from the face of the earth. “We want the Feds to believe Peter has been killing these jurors, not Jake Yarnell.” Idiot.

  Dom cleared his throat. “There's a problem with that idea.”

  Joseph sat up straighter. “You know I hate problems.”

  “It couldn't be helped. When I was in Florida taking care of one of the jurors, the Feds arrested Peter. He couldn't have gotten released on bail and driven down to Florida in time to kill Marcadis.”

  “Shit.”

  “But that's where my plan comes in.”

  Joseph wanted to spit. His goal was to remove Peter Caravello from society so his precious daughter would look elsewhere for a husband. Now Caravello would be exonerated. His brilliant planned foiled because his son didn't check his facts.

  “Tell me.” He gulped down the last of his now cool, bitter coffee.

  “I've got it all figured out. Don't worry about it.”

  His son's best trait was the fact he didn't tell him about how he accomplished his feats. Only this time he did need to know in case someone better could do the job.

  “You're going to be careful, right?”

  “I'm thirty seven. I know what to do. I'll call you when it's done.”

  The line went dead and Joseph squeezed shut his eyes. He'd been so close. But Franciscos didn't leave things to chance. He called his backup man who answered on the first ring.

  “Yes, Mr. Francisco?”

  “I have work for you.”

  “Anything, sir.”

  Now there was a good man.

  **

  After some haggling with the rental car company and giving them his solemn pledge he wouldn't wreck this car, the company rented Jake a Jeep at a big premium. He signed up for a vehicle with four-wheel drive to handle the North Carolina hills.

  “You sure you're okay to drive,” Susan asked.

  He appreciated the worry in her voice. “You care about me. I like that.” He glanced over at her and smiled.

  She quickly looked away and rubbed her knee. “I want us to be safe, that's all.”

  “Bull. I saw the look on your face when you were at the police station. You thought I might not be there when they reunited us. I bet you were worried I had some repercussion from my injury.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He waited for a smile to lift her lips, but she schooled her appearance. Just when he thought he was making progress with her trust issues, she turned cold on him—or maybe the pressure was getting to her.

  “Don't worry. We'll get this guy.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and immediately winced, apparently forgetting her injuries for a moment. She lowered her hands to her lap. “The Feds haven't done a very good job so far.”

  Too bad she was right, nullifying any comeback.

  His cell rang. Keeping one eye on the road, he glanced at the display. “It's Stanton.” He ignored the cell.

  “You aren't going to answer him?”

  “No.”

  “Don't you think he'll suspect something if you don't?”

  The slight panic in her voice made him reconsider, but only for a moment. “Yes, which is why I need to get rid of this thing. I told Tom to tell him my cell burned up in the townhouse fire. I guess he didn't believe him.”

  “Why did you want to ditch a perfectly good phone?”

  “It's got a GPS in it.”

  Her jaw lowered and her cheeks sagged. “They know where we are?”

  “If they're looking.”

  She dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I know you suspect someone in the bureau of leaking information.” She sat up and turned toward him. “Do you think they might be telling the killer our exact location?”

  Jake gripped the wheel hard. “Yes. We'll get off I-85 at the next exit and get a disposable phone.”

  He glanced in the rear view mirror for the hundredth time. He'd memorized every vehicle behind him. Everyone seemed to be following them, but he couldn’t figure out who.

  A mile down the road, he exited and stopped
at the gas station on the corner. It was one of those big places that had several fast food restaurants and a fairly complete grocery store. He parked on the side and got out. Susan didn't move. Jake tapped the window and motioned she come inside with him.

  She rolled down her window. “I don't need anything. I'll stay here and wait for you.”

  “I don't want to leave you alone.”

  She looked around. “I'm safe. There are three people getting gas and lots of people coming and going.”

  That's what bothered him. Two more cars pulled into the lot and drove up to the pumps. “Please come inside.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  He understood that as a prosecuting attorney, Susan was used to calling the shots. Having someone dictate her every move obviously didn't sit well with her, but he had a job to do and couldn't worry about her emotional needs right now.

  Liar. He did care about her stability. Maybe too much. He studied her, liking the way she held her own when they discussed their next move, the way her eyes softened when she spoke of her injured brother, and how she moved her hips right then left before she slid out of a car. He prayed his attraction to her wouldn't screw with his logic.

  She trudged next him, her limp rather pronounced. He shouldn't make her walk, but mild movement might help ease her pain—or so he wanted to believe.

  “As long as I'm here, I might as well use the bathroom.”

  Jake waited until she disappeared into the restroom before searching for a phone. He picked up some ice for her swollen knee, two cold drinks, and some snacks for the rest of the ride while he kept a close eye on the bathroom door.

  After he paid for the phone and the extra goods, he waited for her.

  She came out minutes later and looked up at him. “You do take your job seriously, don't you?”

  “Yes, I do. When I can't see you, my sixth sense goes into overdrive. I worry something will happen to you.” Irrational perhaps. No one knew where they were—or so he hoped. If someone had gotten a lock of their location, they wouldn't anymore. He'd dumped his cell phone in the trash.

  He held open the convenient store door for her and checked out the lot. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he led her to the car.