He dumped the glass in the wastebasket and dropped the sopping towel in the washer, which was nestled next to the end of the tub thanks to the 1930s plumbing. “Good as new.” He went to work on his shirt buttons, slowly thanks to the clunky bandaged hand. “So what were you so excited about so early on a Friday, then?”
I watched his fingers work, distracted by the defined pecs they were revealing. He chuckled. “Princess? You were saying?”
I shook my head, my eyes not moving as he pulled the shirt carefully past the splint and hung it on the hook on the back of the door.
Frowning, he eyed his makeshift cast.
“Plastic grocery bags are in the box on the pantry floor,” I said. “There’s duct tape in the third drawer near the door in the kitchen.”
He nodded and turned for the kitchen again, taking the broom and dustpan with him and coming back with waterproofing supplies.
“Scoot up,” he said, the long fingers of his left hand moving to his Italian leather belt.
I pulled my knees up and hunched forward around them, focusing on the water faucet as he wrapped his hand, hung up his slacks, and slid into the tub behind me.
“How long have you been in here?” he grumbled, reaching for the hot water knob.
I pulled the chain on the plug, holding up my wrinkled fingers for inspection. “Too long.”
His breath went in sharply as his bare back settled against the cold iron, and I scooped the warm water pouring from the faucet toward him with cupped hands. “Sorry. Better?”
He grabbed my shoulder with his good hand and pulled me back against his chest. “That is.” He sighed, resting his chin on top of my head as he wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t even notice the itchy wet plastic, every muscle going limp as I relaxed into him.
“I missed you this week,” he said. “I’ve gotten spoiled to having you around all the time. Are you sure you don’t want—”
I arched my neck back for a kiss, cutting off the rest of that statement before we could start down move-in-with-me avenue. It led straight to knock-down-drag-out-ville, and I wasn’t interested in visiting again anytime soon.
Sitting in my bathtub kissing Joey was fabulous. Living with him was a great hearts-and-rainbows fantasy, but in the real world? Impractical.
Subject change.
“Trudy asked me to cover a speech the president is giving here next week!” I blurted when he raised his head.
Joey’s arms loosened, for just a fraction of a second, his chest going still under my back. “She—” He cleared his throat when his voice hitched. “She what?”
A chill skated up my spine despite the hot water pooling around me. His face had gone pale with olive undertones, his eyes locked on the coral seahorse stickers on the tile wall, unblinking.
Shit.
“You can’t go.” His voice was flat. Hard.
“Excuse me?” I sat up, shutting off the hot water and splashing the last of the shrinking bubbles away from my ribs. I couldn’t argue snuggled up to him in the tub. And ordering me to skip an assignment I’d dreamed about since forever was the express lane to an argument, which he damn well knew.
I blew my breath out in a whoosh, my eyes falling shut.
“What do you know, Joey?” I tucked my knees under my chin and swiveled to face him, leaning forward so I didn’t catch my back on the faucet.
He blinked. Shook his head. “I can’t have you in that room, princess. It’s too dangerous. Haven’t you been reading about the death threats in your own newspaper?”
Oh. I waved a dismissive hand. “She gets a hundred letters like that from crackpots a day. The Secret Service is the most highly trained security force on the planet. I’m probably safer in that room than I am sitting here with you.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know how much you want this. But you can’t.”
Like hell I couldn’t. I stood, reaching for a towel. “Something tells me this discussion is going to require clothing. And a lot more wine.”
Stepping out of the tub, I pulled the towel tight around myself and tucked one twisted end under the other, wiping my feet dry on the small pink rug. “Why is it that whenever you want me to bail on an important assignment, you never will tell me why?”
I held out another towel. He sighed and took it, pulling the plug from the drain and getting to his feet. “Why is it you haven’t learned to listen to me yet? Have I ever once been wrong?”
I planted my hands on my hips. No, he had not. But I also didn’t regret ignoring his advice in the past. Anger bubbled up my throat. I swallowed.
Time out.
I strode to the bedroom, hoping the quick, jerky movements would alleviate some of my frustration. Joey knew things other people didn’t. Sometimes bad things.
I shoved my arms into my robe, dropping the towel and yanking the sash so tight it pinched me. The more time stretched on, the tighter I clung to my secret fantasy that somehow this wasn’t a one-way express to heartbreak. That he would find a way out of the Caccione family, that we could move in together, that there was a happily ever after in store for us somewhere.
I loathed any reminder of just how ridiculous a daydream that probably was.
Covering my face with both hands, I pulled in a deep breath. Darcy’s claws clicked on the floor, coming closer behind me. Joey’s hand landed on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Two little words deflated my irritation. I sank back into him. “It’s just—”
He slid his arms around my waist, the splint lying heavy on my hip bone. “I know.”
And he did. I knew that, too. He’d risked just as much for me as I had for him. He’d uprooted his life and moved three hours south to be closer to me just a few months ago, and though he seemed fine with it, sometimes I wondered if it was everything he’d thought it would be. Did he come here thinking us moving in together was a foregone conclusion? Because how was that even remotely possible? I had spent weeks, since the first time he’d asked me about it, turning it every which way in my head, and it just flat wouldn’t fit. Our lives were too different to try to mesh without risking . . . everything.
Why was he too stubborn to see that?
I wriggled, turning to face him and stepping back just enough to allow breathing space between us. “I cannot walk away from this opportunity. You know I can’t.”
“It’s not safe.”
“Neither is driving a car. Drinking coffee.” I furrowed my brow, watching the muscle in his jaw that meant he was really annoyed—long reserved for moments when he had to breathe the same air as Kyle—flex in and out.
I took two big steps back, his arms falling away as he tipped his head to one side. “You okay?”
I shook my head so hard my hair half flopped out of its messy bun. “Do you know something, like really know something? Beyond what’s been on the news? Why are you so intent on me skipping an assignment I’ve worked for half my life to get?”
He rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
That wasn’t an answer.
“Joey. We still do a fair amount of don’t ask, don’t tell, and some days it’s the only way we work. I know that. But if you know something about someone who’s planning to . . .” I couldn’t even say the words. It was too insane. People talk a big game, especially on the internet, but it’s a once every other generation crackpot who’s going to sacrifice their own life to try to murder the president of the United States. That wouldn’t happen. Certainly not here. And if it could, Joey couldn’t know about it and not tell anyone, for Chrissakes. He might have some shady business ties, but treason was a whole other level of shadow. He wouldn’t.
He stretched one hand toward me. “I do not know anything more than you know.” He paused. “Well. Maybe that’s not entirely true.”
I snatched back the hand that had started to creep toward his. “What?”
He shook his head. “And here I thought we were past the my-girlfriend-thinks-I’m-a
-serial-killer hurdle.”
My stomach didn’t even do its usual flip when he called me his girlfriend. “How could you know something like this might happen and not alert the proper authorities? Call an anonymous tip line, for the love of God.”
“I didn’t mean I know something’s going to happen.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, retucking the aqua towel slung low on his hips. “I meant I see things in the everyday that you don’t. Or won’t.”
Oh.
I sat next to him. “You see the Grim Reaper shadowing me with his sickle at the ready. To be fair.”
He put his arm around me. “A more accurate picture is probably the Roadrunner. I see you walking blithely through trap after trap, danger after danger, and somehow managing to come out not too worse for wear compared to the people setting those traps.”
It wasn’t an unfair assessment from one perspective. But I deserved more credit than a cartoon bird.
“Somehow isn’t chance, it’s smarts,” I said.
He turned, brushing a floppy hair strand out of my face. “I’m aware. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I’m just afraid you’re so excited about the opportunity here that you’re not seeing the whole situation for what it is. Or maybe you are and you’re too nice.” He smiled when my eyebrow popped up at that. “You want to see the best in everyone. Believe me when I say that’s one of the things I love about you. But I think it makes it hard for you to see real darkness in the world around you, too.”
“So what darkness in the world am I missing today?”
He pointed to my laptop. “There are entire websites dedicated to photoshopped images of sick assholes doing horrible things to her. Politics today isn’t the same game it was when she was a wide-eyed law student, when Reagan shook hands with Gorbachev, or when Clinton denied his dozens of affairs. The world has changed. We’ve had a front-row seat for it, and because of that sometimes it’s hard to remember things aren’t still the way they used to be. But they’re not. Look at the headlines in your own paper. Did the news talk about nutjobs shooting up schools and malls and churches when you were a kid?”
I shook my head, then laid it on his shoulder and put a hand alongside his face. He was working himself into a speech. “I know.”
His shoulders dropped, his breath going out. “Then why don’t you understand why I don’t want you in a room with the most hated woman on the planet?”
“Oh, come on. She’s never even been in the room with a single Kardashian. So I’m not sure that’s a fair assessment.”
“You would be if you spent thirty-five seconds on the dark web. And this is not funny.” He tried to look stern. Didn’t quite get there.
I sighed. He was just being his usual protective self, not the cryptic I-know-something-I-can’t-really-tell-you mystery guy.
“So. The world is falling apart and bad people are feeding on each other’s hate online, and there’s not a damned thing we can do about it.” I smiled. “Dinner, then?”
Joey’s good arm tightened around my shoulders, and I snuggled my head into his collarbone. “I don’t like fighting with you.” My words came out muffled by his skin.
“Me either, princess. I just can’t stand the thought of something happening to you. It’s been a great six months being with you every day, you know?”
“I do.” My voice was soft, the back of my brain conjuring a hazy fantasy of saying those words to him in front of our friends and family. I pushed it away.
This moment was all I needed.
I peppered his stubbly jaw with soft kisses, pushing his shoulder back toward the bed.
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “What was that you were saying about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
He fell back onto his elbows, his towel coming loose. I dropped my robe into a puddle of satin on the bed, twisting up onto one knee and settling astride his hips.
“I missed you this week.” I reached up and pulled the few remaining pins out of my hair, letting it fall all the way down as I leaned forward. He sighed when it brushed his shoulders and chest.
“Me too.” He put his hands on my knees, craning his neck upward as I covered his mouth with mine. His lips were soft, parting quickly, his good arm circling my waist and pulling me down to the comforter with him.
Fevered, deep kisses and strong hands and the scruff on his chin sent tiny shocks down my spine. Staying in the here and now. That was how this worked. I had all weekend to convince him I was right about covering the speech—and if I didn’t, it wasn’t like he could actually stop me from going.
“I really do love you, you know that?” he whispered.
I nodded, leaning in for another kiss. For tonight, I was right where I needed to be.
9
My coffee cooled on the counter as I pecked at my phone screen Saturday morning, my brow scrunched into hard creases no moisturizer would ever erase. Les Simpson. First thing on Saturday morning, blowing up my phone with bullshit questions about the “murder in the rotunda.” Jackass couldn’t even get the basics right, but somehow he was Bob’s understudy.
I heard Joey’s shuffling footsteps behind me and slammed the phone down on the counter, reaching for another fair-trade Colombian coffee pod.
“Morning, princess.” He dropped a kiss on top of my head on his way to the fridge for the milk. “Why is your phone offensive this early in the day?”
“Bob is hiking up in the Blue Ridge,” I grumbled, pulling a red ceramic mug from the cabinet and plunking it down as I punched the “Brew” button. The smell wafting from the machine settled my ruffled feathers a bit. I breathed deep.
Joey put the milk on the counter. “And you’re pissed about that because . . . ? Is he feeling okay?”
I turned, the corners of my lips tipping up when my eyes landed on his bare chest. “I’m sure he’s having a great time.” I stepped into the circle of his outstretched arms and rested my forehead on his collarbone. “Les is, too, because he relishes any opportunity to be a pain in my ass.”
“Ah.” He ran his uninjured hand lightly up and down my back. “Doesn’t he know it’s Saturday? Why isn’t he harassing the weekend stringer?”
I turned when the coffee maker beeped, pulled his mug out from under it, and added a pump of caramel syrup and a splash of milk before I handed it to him. “Emphasis on my previous statement.”
I poured milk into my own cup and took it to the table, where the paper was already waiting. Joey took the other chair and reached for the business section while I flipped through the Saturday lifestyles, admiring the photos dotting my Southside feature. Lindsey had outdone herself. Joey struggled turning pages with his splint, so I reached across and flipped one for him.
We were so domestic it was downright cute.
My phone buzzed from the counter. “Go away, Les,” I said.
Joey peered over the newsprint obscuring most of his face. “Seriously, what gives?”
“He’s giving me hell about this murder. Acting like Charlie is going to beat me to the story if he doesn’t nag me. Which is just stupid.”
“We got distracted before you got to tell me about that last night. What the hell is going on over there?”
“Distracted? That’s what we’re calling it now?” I winked and sipped my coffee. “There’s not a whole lot to tell yet, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to dig up more today.”
He tapped my story on the front page. “This isn’t going to fly long if there’s any politics around the corpse at all. Not that you don’t already know that.”
I put my cup back on the table. Shit. I did know that, but I hadn’t framed the thought quite that way, and he was a hundred percent right. Virginia’s law preventing consecutive terms in the governor’s mansion meant Baine could be facing an assault from both sides. Charlie might not have better sources than I did, but a politician with sights on the governor’s mansion? They knew how to dig up the rankest, smelliest dirt—and how to do it the fastest.
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I jumped out of the chair and ran for my laptop. Opening it before I got back to the table, I typed Hamilton Baine’s name into the browser search bar.
“Can I help?” Joey resumed his seat.
“You don’t know who killed her, do you?” I flicked my eyes up at him and flashed a half smile. “Because that’d be super helpful.”
He caught a sharp breath that sent him into a coughing fit.
I put the computer on the table and stood to thump him on the back. “You okay?”
He nodded, taking a couple of slow, deep breaths. “Good. Sorry—I didn’t even know it was a her. Girlfriend? Secretary? Both?”
I returned to my chair and pulled the computer closer.
Joey touched the back of my hand with one finger. Not giving up, then.
How much should I say? I pinched my lips together. “What Kyle told me, he told me on deep, deep background . . . ,” I began.
“Miller is in this? What did he tell you?” Joey’s thick brows pulled together over his straight Grecian nose. “And why? I thought the state police protected the governor.”
“Well, Kyle—” I paused. The more I turned that over in my head, the better a question it was. Like I didn’t already have enough questions to juggle.
I looked up from the screen, shaking my head. “I don’t know that, either.” I puffed my cheeks full of air and blew it out fast.
My brain rewound through the press conference. Kyle texted me. Asked me to meet him way away from where the press corps was gathering. Aaron gave a crazy nonstatement, flanked by solemn-faced state troopers in wide-brimmed hats.
“I’m the only reporter in town who knows Kyle was there. So why would he tell me at all?”
Joey pressed his lips into a thin, pale line, tapping his index finger on the table. “What can you get that he can’t? You say he told you something you can’t tell anyone, and he knows you’ll keep your word on that, so he’s risking very little. For what reward?” His eyes stayed locked on me, dark and serious, as his good hand crept across the table to rest on mine.
“You are just full of insight this morning.” I smiled.
Deadly Politics Page 8
