Wrongfully Accused

by Ana Barrons

  “What does this have to do with me?” Kate asked. “I mean, it’s awful and disturbing, but there’s got to be more, or you wouldn’t have come here.”

  “I’m worried about your safety,” he said, and began ticking things off on his fingers. “Four Republican congressmen. Two Democratic senators—so far—and we just learned that Senator Fischer has suddenly bowed out to take a long cruise.”

  “Are you serious? Arlen Fischer? I can’t believe he would leave before this vote. He’s come out so strongly against the bill all along. I wonder what happened?”

  Gabe shrugged. “No one knows or no one’s talking. And in the midst of all this, someone breaks in here and attacks you with no obvious intent. I don’t like it.”

  Kate wrapped her good arm around her middle and leaned back into the cushions, her expression somber. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not an elected official. I have no control over the vote. And besides, who would target both sides of the fence, assuming this all has to do with the Global Intel bill? Which is awfully close to passing in the House, thanks to Joy. Maybe it’s all about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  She tugged a lock of hair forward and twirled it around and around her finger. Just like she used to when she watched TV with him and Steve, or played cards at the lake with Joy and Ben, or talked on the phone or just sat staring into space... Like she was now.

  “You still do that,” he said quietly.

  She stopped twirling, and a tiny flush colored her cheekbones. “You know,” she said. “Those three senators did have some things in common with Drew and the others on the plane.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, for one thing, they’re all fiscally conservative, and they all voted against additional funding for endangered species.”

  Gabe snorted. “So, maybe some rabid environmental group knocked them off?”

  “Why not?” she said, a little indignant. “Is it any less likely that Greenpeace did it than that I did it?”

  Gabe couldn’t miss the hurt in her eyes. He’d known her for thirteen years, even though they’d barely interacted for the last eight. But he’d spent a hell of a lot of time with her in the early days, and there was no way he would have believed then that she was capable of hurting a fly. It was only after he’d made love to her that he’d—

  “If nothing had happened between us, would you still have wondered if I’d deliberately driven Steve to—” She stopped short and swallowed. “—crash his car?”

  Gabe stared at her. “You a mind reader now?”

  She shrugged and looked away, but the flush in her cheeks remained. “If you want I can look into their voting records,” she said. “See if I can find anything that ties all those people together.” She glanced at him. “But then again, I’m sure the FBI and the police would prefer to do that themselves, in case I decide to fudge the facts. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Gabe rose from his chair, lifted the ottoman and set it down right in front of her. He sat so their knees nearly touched. She was giving off a delicious scent, no doubt from whatever was in the massage oil. He wished he’d been the one rubbing it into her skin. He forced himself to stop that thought before he started imagining Archer’s hands on her body.

  Kate inched away, keeping her torso half turned away from him. Her body language was telling him loud and clear to back off, but he couldn’t. Still, he refrained from touching her. “There’s something else,” he said.

  She turned and shot him a look over her shoulder. “What?”

  “Mancuso called me this morning.”

  That got her to shift forward. “What did he want?”

  “He told me the NTSB investigators have determined conclusively that the explosion came from inside the cabin, as opposed to one of the engines, or something that had been fastened on the outside of the plane.”

  Kate stared at him without blinking. “So, you’re saying someone planted explosives inside the plane before it took off?”

  “Or carried it on board with them.”

  She sat back against the cushions. They were silent while each of them thought about what that meant. “Do they know what it was?”

  “They’re still running tests, but it was probably PETN.”

  “Oh, right. The stuff the shoe bomber used, and that Christmas Day incident way back when.” She turned to him, frowning. “But the passengers all went through security.”

  “I know.”

  “They didn’t have to, to board a private jet,” Kate said. “They probably did it to make a point about Global Intelligence and Security.”

  Something about that statement niggled at Gabe, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “So if it wasn’t already onboard, then someone either deliberately or inadvertently smuggled in an undetectable explosive.”

  “Deliberately?” Kate sounded incredulous. “That would make the person a suicide bomber.”

  Gabe nodded. “Well, one of the things we’re looking at is whether someone on that flight was suicidal or some kind of psychopath, including possibly a political radical.”

  Kate held his gaze. “Or, as the media has convinced everyone in America, it could’ve been someone with a shitload of money who wanted to eliminate someone on the plane.”

  In that moment, looking into hazel eyes that held determination, pain and sincerity, Gabe was certain she was innocent. It also occurred to him that some of the pain he saw there was likely physical.

  “When was the last time you took something for the pain?” he asked.

  She looked momentarily startled at the non sequitur. “I had some Advil about... I don’t know. Maybe...maybe this morning.”

  “Maybe, huh?” He rose. “Where are they?”

  She sighed. “In the cupboard next to the refrigerator. I would have taken them but I couldn’t get the top off.”

  Gabe went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and four brown pills, which he held out to her. “So you haven’t actually taken anything since your sister left.”

  She took the pills and reached for the glass. Gabe watched her drink it down without stopping.

  “You’re dehydrated,” he said. “When was the last time you ate or drank?”

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t hassle me, Gabe, okay?”

  “You’ve got a ton of leftovers in the fridge.”

  “Alison left me well stocked. You should see the freezer.”

  “So why haven’t you been eating?”

  “Too much work,” she said.

  “Jesus.” He went back to the kitchen and dug through a bunch of plastic containers, some of which smelled so damn good his stomach growled.

  “When was the last time you ate or drank?” Kate asked from behind him. He turned and saw a tiny glint of amusement in her eyes.

  He smiled. “Was it that loud?”

  She sidled up to him and bent down. “Michael Clark dropped off some salads and Italian soda from Balducci’s this morning. Let’s bring over these containers and couple of forks.”

  Wow. She was inviting him to sit down and eat with her. He pointed to the table with a stern expression. “You go sit your boney little butt in a chair and I’ll take care of it.”

  She gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir, commandant.”

  He pulled down plates and glasses, found the forks and carried it all to the table, then pulled out the Balducci’s containers from the fridge. Kate poured herself a tall glass of grapefruit soda and took a long swallow, then put it down with a little shiver. “Bitter.”

  “It’s grapefruit, what do you expect?”

  She started filling her plate and he followed suit. After a few generous forkfuls she said, “God, I’m starved.”

  They didn’t talk much while they ate, and Gabe managed to contain his satisfaction at getting her to take some pain pills and eat. She was letting him take care of her, as though he were still the trusted friend and brother who had helped her out when she and Steve both had
the flu. Or the guy who’d brought them pizza and beer when their car was in the shop. It soothed something in his soul.

  But, greedy soul, it wasn’t enough.

  When they were both full, he cleared away the plates and put the food in the refrigerator. Kate slumped in her chair, eyes closed.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “Food coma. I think I need a nap.” She yawned and ran her good hand through her snarled hair. “Yuck.”

  “Have you been able to take a bath or shower since your sister left?”

  She made a silly show of sniffing her armpits, like she would have all those years ago when they’d been close. He couldn’t have imagined her doing that even as recently as an hour ago. Some barrier had come down between them, and he was unreasonably pleased about it.

  “Why?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Do I smell?”

  “Seriously,” he said. “Do you need help with that?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Electricity arced between them, leaving their gazes locked. Kate couldn’t take a breath for several seconds as the image of Gabe joining her in the shower filled her mind, overwhelming her senses. Moisture pooled between her thighs, and her nipples tingled. She couldn’t speak.

  “I mean,” he said after they’d stood there too long like that, “do you want me to run you a bath, or wash your hair in the sink or something?”

  She couldn’t keep her gaze from traveling down his body to the bulge in his jeans, but then she quickly shifted back to his face. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved that morning, and a tuft of dark hair stuck out at the side of his head. Almost as though he’d just rolled out of bed and come over. “Um...what?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and started toward her, slowly, like a predator. She shivered, but didn’t move away. “Do you put a plastic bag over your arm?” he asked without taking his eyes off hers. He wasn’t looking anywhere near her arm. “I can fix you up, and then get the water started, or...” He stopped about a foot away from her and rested his hip against a chair.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them it felt like her lids hadn’t made it all the way up. Damn it. “I can run a bath myself,” she said. “Washing my hair is a problem, though. I kind of do it one-handed.”

  Gabe scooped her hair into his hand, then pulled it all over one shoulder. “Let me wash it for you,” he said quietly.

  Her heart was pounding too fast. “How?”

  “However you want.” His pupils were huge in spite of the light pouring into the kitchen. “Wherever you want.”

  It was hard to swallow. “In the kitchen sink.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go up and get your shampoo and whatever else you need.”

  She told him exactly what to bring down, then lowered herself to a chair to wait. Oh, God, she was being an idiot, letting him touch her. Damn, damn, damn. Gabe had to know it was a mistake. Maybe he would change his mind once he got upstairs and had gathered her things together. He was famous for changing his mind where she was concerned. If only she didn’t want him so bad. If only her body wasn’t screaming for him. Hadn’t screamed for him for the past eight years.

  Maybe they should just do it and get it out of their systems.

  The one time they’d had sex Gabe had been overcome with guilt so strong he’d never recovered from it.

  She had never recovered, either, but not from the guilt. From him. From Gabe. She’d been in love with him, and he’d turned away from her with a finality she still couldn’t comprehend. All that was left of the passion they’d felt for each other was lust. Pure and simple. And that wasn’t enough to risk going through it again.

  When he touched her head she jerked away. “What happened while I was upstairs?” he asked, his voice rough.

  She glanced up at him, then quickly away. “I don’t think this is a good idea after all,” she said. “I’ll get Violetta to help me. She comes in a couple of days to clean.”

  “You can’t stand having dirty hair,” he said. “It depresses you. I can’t remember how many times you told me that.”

  “A long time ago. My moods aren’t so volatile anymore.”

  “Oh, no? So, how do you explain why five minutes ago you wanted me to—”

  “Hah!” she said, the anger welling up inside her. “Talk about volatile. Who’s the master at changing his mind?”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “You’re just trying to—” She stopped before saying it.

  He held her gaze for several moments, then set down the towels and hair products and folded his arms over his chest. “I promise not to do anything remotely sexual,” he said. “I will wash your hair while you’re fully dressed, and when I’m done I’ll comb it out for you. That’s all.” He raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You got kicked out of Boy Scouts.” But her anger was fading as quickly as it had risen.

  “Not until after I learned the pledge.” He was grinning, and it was impossible to resist him when he looked like that. Which was exactly the problem.

  “Fine,” she said, and went to the sink, which was remarkably clean. “Did you put all those cups and stuff in the dishwasher?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Do you want me to put the towel around your shoulders or what?”

  “Okay, but throw it on quickly. Don’t...linger.”

  He did as she asked, then turned on the tap and adjusted the temperature. She bent her head forward and felt Gabe’s big hand on the back of her neck, positioning her so he could wet all of her hair. His body was close. Too close. He was slightly behind her and to her left side, and his heat saturated through her clothes. His arm brushed her back and neck repeatedly as he gently tugged on her hair in an attempt to get it thoroughly wet.

  When he began to massage shampoo into her hair and scalp she nearly groaned. “You okay bent over like that?” he asked.

  She grunted and he kept it up. After a couple of minutes of sweet torture she said, “That’s probably enough. You can rinse now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He held her head in his hands while he moved it from side to side. Rivulets of water ran down the back of her neck, but rather than feeling uncomfortable it made her feel...sensual. “Conditioner? Or do you want a second wash?”

  She lifted her good hand and ran small clumps of hair between two fingers to make sure it squeaked. It did. “Okay, conditioner.”

  He massaged the thick, aromatic stuff into her hair. “Smells good,” he said. “Like watermelon and lemons.”

  The smell, of course, was nothing compared to the feel of his hands on her head, his right arm resting on her neck and upper back. “That’s probably enough,” she said, her voice hoarse. He rinsed her hair for a long time, rubbing to make sure all the conditioner was out and that it still squeaked. Finally he was finished. He turned off the tap, squeezed her hair between his hands and wrapped a second towel around it.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She lifted her head and grabbed the end of the towel to mop her face. It felt like heaven to have clean hair. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks for the help.”

  He smiled. “Anytime. Why don’t I run a bath for you, and then you can feel good all over?”

  “That’s a great idea.” Okay, she was handing over control, but was she really going to pass up a bath just to prove how independent she was? “It’s been a couple days.”

  Gabe went up ahead of her and got the bath started. She grabbed a plastic newspaper sleeve from a cupboard and followed him, amazed at how much lighter she felt. Was that from having a clean head, or was it something more?

  Remember, he changes like the wind.

  No, she wouldn’t forget. But damn it, when Gabe sent a gentle breeze her way it was so easy to block out the gales that had come before.

  She waited in her bedroom—the one she’d been using since the attack—while Gabe messed around with the water temperature. The smell emanating from the adjoining bathroom told her
he’d poured in lavender bubble bath. When he stepped out she was sitting on the bed, waiting.

  “Can I help you get that sling off?” he asked.

  “Oh.” His offer surprised her. “No, I can get it.”

  “What about the bag? Can you manage all that?”

  “Yes. The hardest thing will be keeping this towel on my head.”

  “Well, get undressed and I’ll wrap it up good and tight.”

  She stared at him, but his expression was unreadable. “I think you got that backward.”

  “How are you going to get that little shirt off over a turban? Go put on a bathrobe and then I’ll wrap your hair up.”

  “I have a better idea,” she said. Read: a safer idea. “Maybe you could just help me comb out my hair and—”

  “—stick it up in a ponytail.” He finished her sentence for her. They used to be able to do that, once upon a time. “Yeah, where’s a comb?”

  She got off the bed and went to sit at an oak dressing table, which held a mirror and hair and face products. Gabe came behind her and went to work with the comb, starting at the ends of her hair and moving up, making sure all the snarls were out before he moved on. Kate was mesmerized by their reflection in the mirror. Big, tan hands holding sections of her hair, working at it gently. And slowly. He didn’t seem to be in any rush, and neither was she.

  When all the snarls were out, Gabe proceeded to comb through her hair from root to end, over and over, holding the damp mass in one hand while he pulled the comb through with the other. Kate tipped her head to the side, exposing her throat, unable to look away from the protruding bit of Gabe’s anatomy directly behind her head. Her hand was trembling when she reached for a hair tie on the dressing table and held it out to him.

  He gathered her hair up and wrapped the band around a couple times to hold the ponytail in place, then brushed the length of her neck with the tips of his fingers and brought his hands to rest on her shoulders. She shivered and he tightened his hold, then began gently kneading her muscles. She closed her eyes and let her head drop forward, giving him access, telling him without words that she wanted his hands on her, that she didn’t want him to stop touching her.