by Cassie Miles
"Break all the plates you want," she said. "But not in here. You'll wake everybody up."
Without another word, he gathered up the two place settings, stacking them carelessly. He hooked his fingers through the teacups, grabbed the wineglasses. In a few strides, he was at the back door.
Now what? She followed as he stormed out into the night. "You shouldn't be out here. The sniper could still be around."
He circled to the left of the house onto a path that led through the trees. Moonlight cast blue-gray shadows at the edges of towering pines and leafy shrubs. As she ran to keep up with Ben's long-legged stride, she stumbled. The thin soles of her moccasins provided little protection from the rocks and twigs, but she wasn't about to turn back. She had to see this through.
Finally, he stopped in a small clearing. They were out of sight from the house, separated by a wall of pine trees. Squatting down, he placed the delicate china on a bed of pine needles. Then he stood.
Breathing hard from running, she stared at him. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like he belonged in this rugged setting. The mountains gave him a stature he would never achieve from a bank account. He looked strong, tall and aggressively masculine. Who was this guy? A hard-driving CEO? A cowboy? A sea captain?
"'You're right," she said. "I don't really know you."
"Know this," he said. "Everything I do, every decision I make, is to serve those I love."
"Firing Annette?"
"Day after tomorrow, Natalie will be staying here for three days. I don't want my daughter to be frightened by Annette's delusional fantasies."
Liz hadn't considered what it would be like to have a child on the premises. "This isn't a good time for Natalie to visit. Not with the murder investigation. And a sniper. And Jerod being in the hospital."
"I'll protect her. And Jerod." He picked up one of the salad plates. "And you."
"Me?"
With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the plate like a Frisbee. The edge hit a flat granite boulder. The sound of breaking china echoed in the forest. Ben laughed. "Oh, yeah. That feels good."
She edged closer. "What do you mean when you say you'll protect me?"
He grabbed another plate, hefted its weight in his hands. "I want your trust, Liz. You believed in my innocence when everybody else was ready to condemn me, but you still think I'm some kind of spoiled preppy jerk. I want you to believe in me the way I believe in you."
His words struck her very soul. She'd come to the Crawford estate to find evidence to use against him. She didn't deserve his trust.
He fired another plate against the rock, grinned and said, "If I have to smash every heirloom in the house to prove that money doesn't matter to me, I'll do it."
"You have a strange way of proving your point."
He dangled a fancy teacup from his finger. "This is a hell of a lot more fun than arguing."
The problem wasn't him. It was her. She'd been lying from the first moment they'd met. She'd hidden behind her working class morality. Her assumption that rich people—like Ben—wanted only to take advantage of others was dead wrong. He was a good man.
Moving toward him, she held out her hand. "Give me one of those priceless bowls."
She flung it hard. The sound of shattering china gave her a thrill. "Nice," she said. "Kind of liberating."
"You think?" He threw a crystal goblet. The shards sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. "I say, the hell with fancy place settings."
"And maids in uniforms."
"And ten-course dinners."
Clearly, they were both behaving badly. Out of control. Wild and crazy. She loved it.
Grabbing the last dinner plate, she lifted it over her head with both hands and threw. Never again would a maid have to carry this delicate piece into the kitchen and carefully store it away.
When they were down to the last saucer, he held it toward her. "Go ahead."
"You take the shot." In a parody of manners, she added, "I insist."
He pressed the saucer into her grasp. She looked up into his face. The night breeze stroked his brown hair. The gleam from a thousand stars outlined the sinews in his muscular arms.
She glided her fingertips along his forearm and felt a slight quiver beneath his skin. The night air between them shimmered, and the glow drew her toward him. She would no longer resist their magnetism. Her arms slipped around him. The saucer fell to the ground, unbroken.
He yanked her tightly against him. His kiss was fierce and demanding. Her body responded with a burst of pent-up passion. All restraint vanished as she threw herself into that long, delicious kiss.
Her breasts flattened against the hard muscles of his chest. She rubbed herself against his erection. His excitement fed her own desire.
Ending the kiss, he drew back, giving her the space to say no. His eyes were fiery sapphires. His lips, drawn back from his straight white teeth, beckoned to her. She wanted him. All of him.
"Yes," she whispered.
Still not kissing her, his gaze heated her skin. His hand slipped under her polka-dot nightshirt and ascended her bare midriff, finding her breast. His fingers plucked her taut nipple, setting off an incredible electric reaction.
She gasped. Her head rolled back, and he nibbled the line of her throat. Tingles shot through her. Amazing. Fantastic.
She wasn't sure how they ended up on the ground, but she was definitely prone. And he rose above her on his elbows. His legs spread to straddle her hips.
Arching her back, she writhed against him. She shoved aside the fabric of his shirt and stroked his chest. She wanted more. Her arms pulled him closer. She wanted his full weight pressed against her.
"Liz," he whispered her name.
"Yes, Ben. I already said yes."
"I don't have a condom."
The pressure inside her deflated. Oh, yes, she wanted to make love. But she wasn't about to take the risk of unprotected sex. "Couldn't we ring for a servant to bring one?"
"A condom valet?"
He fell to the ground beside her. They lay side-by-side, panting as they looked up through a tracery of pine boughs to the starry skies. Leftover tremors of anticipation trembled through her.
Maybe they could take this passion inside to his bedroom—make love like normal people in an actual bed. But she wasn't ready for premeditated sex. Too many other issues stood between them.
And the moment had passed.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben started early the next morning. By eight o'clock, he was showered, shaved and dressed in jeans and a blue workshirt with the sleeves rolled up. He grabbed a cup of coffee in the kitchen and went directly into the study, where he was pleasantly surprised to find Liz sitting behind the desk.
In deference to her new position as his personal assistant, she'd taken more care with her wardrobe. Her scoop neck, short-sleeved T-shirt actually fit. The bright blue fabric outlined her breasts and slender waist very nicely. When she stood, he saw she was wearing gray pinstriped trousers.
He focused on her feet. Her pink toes were visible in dressy, black sandals. "You're wearing heels."
"Hey, I'm a girl." She posed like a model. "It's my power suit. I had to get something appropriate for mock court, and this is it."
"Very powerful." And very sexy.
Given the slightest encouragement, he was ready to throw her across the desk and take her right here. But Liz was all business. She returned to the desk chair and gestured to the computer screen. "You've got lots of e-mails. Several from Crawford Aero-Equipment in Seattle and some from Charlene's friends. Oh, and—"
"Hold it. How did you get into my e-mail?"
"'It didn't take a genius to figure out that your password was Natalie."
"You might be too smart for your own good."
'There's no such thing as too smart." She stood and relinquished the swivel chair behind the desk. "Before we get into the e-mail, you've had some important phone calls. One was from Agent Lattimer. He'll be here in abo
ut an hour to update you on the CBI investigation. The other was from Jerod's doctor."
Apprehension tightened his throat. He forced himself to swallow a sip of coffee. "Did the doc sound positive?"
She nodded. "He wants to operate today."
Sinking into the chair behind his desk, Ben replayed the advice he'd heard from the specialists and neurosurgeons. There was risk in operating. His grandpa was seventy-six years old, and his health had been compromised by the tumor in his brain. He'd lost weight and motor skills. His vision was nearly gone. However, if they didn't operate, Jerod would surely be dead before the end of the year. "It's his decision."
"He wants to be well," she said. "When he's talked to me—thinking I'm Charlene—he's told me how much he wants to be strong again. To see the sunlight shimmering on the lake. He's tired of being sick."
He picked up the phone from its cradle. "We'll head down to the hospital right after we talk to Lattimer."
The hour passed quickly and smoothly. With Liz helping him organize and holding the rest of his demanding household at bay, Ben glided through the workload. His only real stumbling block was coming up with an obituary for Charlene. She had two ex-husbands but no other family that he knew of. No children. She'd been involved in a couple of charities, but he wasn't sure which ones.
When Agent Lattimer entered the study, his attitude was more like a business executive than a cop. His beige suit fit well, and his loafers were polished.
After shaking hands, he took a seat on the sofa and flipped open a small spiral notebook. "I'm afraid we didn't find much evidence from your sniper attack last night. There was a spot on the hillside that he might have used. The sightline to the elk was excellent."
"'What about footprints?" Liz asked.
"Nothing but smudges. The soil is too rocky."
"How about bullets or casings?"
Lattimer shook his head. "He cleaned up."
"A professional," Ben said.
"We're the professionals." Lattimer looked down at his notes. "The CBI forensics teams are second to none. Highly trained. Highly efficient. And we found nothing. If Liz hadn't been along as a witness, I might not believe there was a sniper."
Ben was taken aback. So much for the sniper attack's removing him from top spot as a suspect in Charlene's murder.
"But there was a bullet," Liz said. "In the elk."
"From a 12-gauge shotgun. Nothing remarkable. No indication of the silencer you claim he used."
Claim? As if he were making this up? Ben folded his arms across his chest and grumbled. Apparently, he had to be shot and bleeding to prove his innocence.
Liz was handling Lattimer with far more finesse. She poured fresh coffee from a thermal carafe and offered him fresh rhubarb muffins baked this morning by the chef. Her smile was sweeter than honey. "Can you give us an update on your murder investigation?"
'There's not much to tell." Lattimer helped himself to a muffin and peeled away the wrapper. "Our forensics are inconclusive. In the log barn—the crime scene—we found a number of fingerprints, including yours, Ben."
"It's my workshop." Being surly would get him nowhere, but he couldn't help being frustrated. "Of course my prints are there."
"What about on the murder weapon?" Liz asked.
"Wiped clean," the agent responded. "Tell me again, Liz. What's your interest in this investigation?"
"I'm Ben's personal assistant."
'The first time we talked, you were wearing a maid's uniform."
"Big promotion," she said with another big smile. She was positively oozing hospitality. "What about footprints? Fibers?"
"We have dozens of footprints—shoes, boots and barefoot—going up and down the hillside. Nothing to clearly indicate the murderer."
Liz continued to ask the questions. "You mentioned that the barn is the murder scene. Was she killed there?"
"Yes."
"So," Ben said, "when Annette said she saw someone carrying Charlene's lifeless body, she was mistaken."
"Not necessarily," Liz contradicted him. "Charlene could have been drugged and then carried. Is that what happened, Agent Lattimer? Do you have autopsy results?"
Lattimer shifted uncomfortably on the sofa but still managed to take a giant bite of the muffin. "It's highly unorthodox for me to share this information. I hope you're aware of that, Mr. Crawford."
"I appreciate your cooperation," Ben said. He didn't need to remind the agent of his many highly placed political friends who wanted to keep Ben as a happy campaign contributor. "About the autopsy?"
"Charlene was drugged. Nothing lethal. A sedative combined with the alcohol in her system to knock her out."
"How about witnesses?" Ben said. "I assume you've spoken to the other people at the party. Did they notice Charlene stumbling around?"
He finished off his muffin and washed it down with a swig of coffee. "I can't talk to you about the testimony or alibis of other witnesses, except to say that no one at the party noticed anything unusual when they went upstairs to bed."
"Ramon left early," Liz said. "Did anyone see him go?"
Lattimer stood. "That's really all I can say right now. If I have a significant break in the case, you'll be informed."
After they showed Lattimer to the door, Ben turned to face the chaos that had already developed this morning.
The first face he saw was Rachel's, her eyebrows pulled down in a ferocious scowl. "Sir," she whispered, "something terrible has happened."
More terrible than murder? Than a sniper attack? Than being suspected of a major crime? "What?"
'Two settings of the good china are missing." She cast dark glances to the left and right. "Someone must have stolen them."
"I took the place settings."
Her mouth flopped open and closed a couple of times like a fish out of water. "You, sir?"
"Is there anything else? I need to see Jerod at the hospital."
'Tony Lansing arrived a few moments ago. He's in the dining room. And there's a gentleman from a security company. He said you called him about bodyguards."
Tony could wait. "Where's the security guy?"
"Front room."
He strode forward, intending to make quick work of these issues and get to the hospital. "Come with me, Rachel. I'll need your assistance."
After a firm handshake with the security guy, whose neck was bigger than Liz's waist, Ben said he wanted full protection at the estate, including someone to monitor the front gate and keep the reporters under control.
"Also," Liz interrupted, "you need a personal bodyguard to accompany you when you drive in and out of Denver."
"How many men?" the security guy asked.
"As many as necessary," Ben said. "And as soon as possible. Rachel will give you the identifications for people who work here. Thank you."
Now for Tony Lansing. Ben stalked across the foyer with Liz at his heels. "That was fast," she said.
"I'm a decisive guy."
And there wasn't time for dancing around. He needed things taken care of. In the dining room, Ben didn't bother shaking hands. He circled the table and leaned down to stare Tony straight in the eye. "You want to be the Crawford family attorney, right?"
"Yeah." He struggled to keep his gaze steady.
"Here's your first assignment. I want you here. All day. Don't let anybody—namely Patrice—do anything stupid. Do not talk to the press."
"You can count on me."
That remained to be seen. "And I want you to put together an obituary for Charlene. Find out when the body will be released and make funeral arrangements."
Again, Tony nodded. He seemed relieved he wasn't being asked to do anything difficult or outrageous, and Ben allowed him to think he was safe until he got to the door leading out of the dining room. Then he turned, "One more thing, Tony."
"What's that?"
"I want a copy of Jerod's new will. And Charlene's."
"Interesting that you mention Charlene's will. I need to do a
n inventory of her things. Technically, I can't release either of those documents to you without—"
"Make it happen," Ben said.
He caught a glimpse of Annette, who immediately dashed off in the opposite direction. Though he still intended to fire her delusional little self, it would have to wait. He and Liz had almost made it to the front door when Patrice caught up with him. "Where are you going? What are you doing? I have a terrible headache."
"Deal with it," he said.
"I mean it, Ben. My head is killing me. I need something more than aspirin."
"Call Dr. Mancini." The family doctor had been coming here daily for months, might as well pay for one more house call. "I'm going to the hospital, Patrice. The doctors are probably going to operate on Jerod today."
For a moment, he saw a flicker of concern in her eyes. He hoped that—for once in her selfish life—she might be thinking of someone else. Might be worrying about her grandpa, the man who had made her expensive lifestyle possible, the man who had always cared for her.
Just as quickly, her compassion disappeared. She frowned. "Are you leaving me here alone?"
'Tony's here. And a team of bodyguards. You'll be okay." He hoped he could say the same for Jerod.
Alone at a square table in the hospital cafeteria, Liz stared into the depths of her coffee cup and worried. Hospitals always made her nervous. It should have been the other way around; this was a place people came for healing and hope. She desperately wanted to believe that Jerod would recover.
She'd stuck by Ben's side while he'd talked with the two specialists and the brain surgeon. They'd reviewed the results from Jerod's tests; most of what they'd said about micro-lasers and neuro-systems stretched far beyond her comprehension. She wished the doctors would have given odds on the operation, like one in three. Or a percentage—ninety percent sure he'll make it. But neurosurgery wasn't roulette. All they'd say was that Jerod's heart was strong and the tumor appeared to be operable.
One of the specialists had made a point of complimenting Ben on providing the experimental treatment his grandpa had needed. Whatever that meant. She'd ask him later.
