Smoke Screen (32 page)

When she came out ten minutes later, showered and shampooed, he was sitting on the end of his bed, staring into the TV. The sound was muted. He looked up at her. “Finished?”

She gave him an aloof nod.

He got up and, taking his things with him, went into the bathroom and closed the door. She lay down on her bed and tried to get interested in the soundless sitcom rerun, but after a few minutes got up and turned off the set, then moved restlessly around the cabin.

They had so little with them, there was nothing to tidy up, nothing to read except for the out-of-date telephone directory, a dusty copy of the Gideon Bible, and Raley’s files, and she had reviewed them so many times she had practically memorized the material. There was nothing to do except wait for morning, when they would drive to Columbia and Raley would accuse the attorney general of being a felon. And then what?

Less than a week ago, she’d had a great job, celebrity status, the respect of her peers, friends she could count on. Now she was a journalist whose credibility would forever be in doubt. She was the target of powerful men who would murder their own friend to keep their criminal secret intact. And she was a fugitive who, when caught, would face an indictment for murder. What could the future possibly hold for her? If she survived to have a future at all.

The bathroom door opened and Raley stepped out. His hair was still wet. He had on cargo shorts, no shirt. He dropped his dirty clothes and the duffel bag on the floor beside his bed. He ran his hand around the back of his neck, then propping his hands on his hips, he looked up at the ceiling and mouthed something that could have been either a curse or a prayer.

Only then did he look at her, and when their eyes connected it was with an impact that stole her breath. He reached her in two strides. Before another heartbeat, she was being crushed against him and his mouth was on hers. Their kiss was long and lusty and left her wanting more.

When his lips skated down her neck, she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Not much, no.” He breathed the words against her lips before claiming them again.

His body was hard, his skin still damp and warm from his shower. When he spread his hand over her bottom and fit her against his lower body, she made a small, yearning sound. “Raley, about Jay—”

“Never mind.”

“It was a fling. Nothing more. A long time ago.”

“Okay.”

“And that night he died, I swear I don’t know what happened between us.”

“I don’t care anymore.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It didn’t feel—”

“Hush, Britt.”

“But you…” She rubbed herself against him. “You I remember. You I felt. I still feel you.”

A gravelly sound vibrated in his throat as he lifted her against him and carried her to the bed. “Take off your top.” Her mind was spinning because of what his fingers were doing inside the front of her pajamas bottoms, but she could think clearly enough to do as he asked. She pulled off her tank top and tossed it aside, then folded her arms around his head as he lowered it to her breasts. His mouth was hot and possessive.

The dual sensations of his swirling tongue against her breasts and his stroking fingers deep inside her, combined with the edginess of her emotions, rapidly brought on a shattering orgasm. But the release was momentary. When she coasted down from it, he was peeling her shorts down her legs, and once she was free from them, he kissed her softly just above her pubic hair. Gently, so that she barely felt the pressure of his thumbs, he exposed her to his tongue. The touch was feather light, but it sent an electric pulse of pleasure through her, breath-stealing in its effect, and the second orgasm, or maybe just an extraordinary aftershock of the first, radiated from it.

He didn’t stop until she came at least once again and was listless and breathless, begging him softly to give her a moment.

He turned onto his back, unzipped his shorts, and took them off. Seeing his erection made her smile drowsily. Reaching for him, she traced the rigid length with her fingertips, her touch as light as a whisper. He groaned and tried to move her hand aside. But she began to stroke him, and when her thumb pressed the smooth tip, his breath hissed through his teeth. “Stop, please. I don’t have anything.”

“I’m aware of that.” She moved onto him and slowly bent her head over his lap.

He thought the sexiest sight he’d ever seen was Britt’s damp hair spread loose and shiny across his stomach and thighs. But it wasn’t. Even sexier was when she gathered her hair in one hand and held it back so he could watch as her lips closed around him.

He heard his first gasped expletive when her tongue found the slit. And stayed. And kept on doing what it was doing until any sounds he made were completely involuntary and incoherent.

From that point forward, he didn’t know what else he said, or if he said anything, because the sensations that assailed him rendered him mindless to anything except this, this incredibly erotic experience that was all the silky wet dreams he’d ever had concentrated into one.

Sexier still was after he climaxed, when she pulled him over onto her. He lay his head on her breasts while he caught his breath and let his fever cool. It was so good, feeling her fingernails idly scratching his back, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath his head, the beat of her heart against his cheek.

Finally he lifted his head and surveyed the exquisite terrain. He grazed her nipple with his lips. “They’re always slightly raised.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s maddening.”

“You didn’t buy the right kind of brassiere.”

“That depends on your point of view.”

Her soft laughter turned into a whimper of pleasure when he touched her lightly with his tongue, then sucked her into his mouth. Her legs folded across his back, hugging him close. That was sexy as hell.

But the sexiest yet was when he lowered his mouth to hers. It was a lazy kiss that went on forever, a melding of their mouths, an exchange of tongues, intensely intimate, dangerously evocative.

He got hard against her belly, and he wanted to be inside her so damn bad his heart ached for it as much as his body did. He had just enough willpower to resist burying himself again in the snug, wet heat he remembered from that one time that had been way too rushed, too brief.

He had to content himself with her nakedness beneath him, and with her matching desire, which manifested itself when she gripped his ass and pulled him tightly to her, groaning something about life not being fair.

She said, “You could—”

“I could, but I wouldn’t. Once inside you, I know I wouldn’t.”

So they had to settle for kissing, touching, and eventually spooning, his arm across her waist, their hands clasped between her breasts.

Just before drifting off, he whispered sleepily, “I may like you a little.”

B
RITT?”

“Hmm?”

Raley, already up and dressed, leaned down and rubbed the curve of her hip. “Get up. Time to go.”

Squinting against the cruel glare of the overhead light, she rolled onto her back and came up on her elbows. Shaking her tousled hair off her face, she yawned. “What time is it?”

The bedcovers dropped to her waist. Her breasts were within reach and looked oh-so-touchable. But he resisted. “Just after six.”

“Six? It’s only a two-hour drive to the capitol.”

“That’s right.” He grinned at her bafflement. “I’ll explain in the car. Come on. Haul ass.”

Fifteen minutes later, as he drove away from the motor court, he noticed her yawning again. “Did I get you up too early?”

“You kept me up too late.” Then, smiling shyly, she looked across at him. Their gazes held for several seconds, but neither remarked on what had transpired between them last night. None of it. Not their fight. Not their first heated embraces. But especially not…

No, don’t even think about
that. Like her sleep-flushed breasts, it was a distraction he couldn’t allow himself this morning.

She said, “I’m surprised.”

“At what?”

“Your bringing me along. I intended to come, but not without an argument.”

“After what you did to Butch and Sundance’s car last night, they’ll be breathing fire this morning. I was afraid to leave you alone.”

“They couldn’t have followed us.”

“I wasn’t willing to take even the outside chance.”

“You would worry about me?”

He gave her a look, and the smile she sent back was as good as a caress.

Well, almost. Not quite. Her caresses were mind-blowing.

He turned his attention back to the road and concentrated on his driving.

“How do you plan to sneak me into the capitol?” she asked. “I’ll be arrested on the spot.”

“I have a plan.”

“Good to know. But I have one, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Pull in there.”

“Wal-Mart?”

It was one of the chain’s superstores, open twenty-four hours. Since the sun was barely up, there were only a few other cars in the vast parking lot. He wondered what this was about but did as she asked.

She opened the glove box and rifled through the contents: the paperwork he’d got when he bought the car, the owner’s manual, a folded state map, a card about air bag safety. She ripped a blank page from the back of the manual. “Do you have something to write with?”

He didn’t, but a former owner had left behind a ballpoint pen. It was almost dry, and the tip had lint on it, but it was usable enough for her to scratch several words onto the paper. Passing it to him, she said, “Your shopping list. If they don’t have that particular brand in stock, it’s okay to buy another so long as it has the same features. I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

He read what she’d written, then nodded his understanding. “Keep your head down. I won’t be long.”

In less than ten minutes he returned with a package tucked under his arm and carryout cups of coffee in both hands. Once they were under way again, she placed her coffee in the cup holder and began unpacking the shopping bag. Raley watched out of the corner of his eye as she tore into the box containing the camcorder.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Do I know how to use it,” she muttered with scorn. Then she told him about the smaller stations where she’d got on-the-job training in every aspect of broadcast news. Some of the work had been menial.

When she finished, he said teasingly, “If this TV thing doesn’t work out for you, you can always go back to sweeping floors.”

“Ha-ha.” She plugged an adapter cord into the car’s cigarette lighter so the camcorder battery could charge. She adjusted the small video screen that served as a viewfinder, fiddled with the zoom, and tested the built-in microphone. “I’ve operated cameras more sophisticated. This one is a no-brainer. I’m no Spielberg, you understand, but I’ll get an image and audio. Besides, I’ve got hours to practice.”

“You’ve got less than two,” he said.

“But the appointment isn’t until eleven.”

“That’s when the appointment is, but that’s not when we’re meeting with the attorney general.”

“How did you know where he lives?” Britt asked when Raley pointed out the stately, red-brick Colonial. They cruised past it slowly, then continued down the street and turned at the next corner.

“After he was elected, I followed him home from the capitol one day.”

“To confront him?”

“No, just to seethe. I had a lot of time on my hands, nothing else to do but stoke my bitterness. His career had soared at my expense. At Suzi Monroe’s expense. I resolved to set things right one day.”

“And today is that day.”

“Not a day too soon, either.” He parked at the curb on the next street and cut the engine, then reached across the console and caught Britt’s arm before she could open the door.

He understood and respected her need to be personally involved in the solution to her problem. Her stake in this was as high as his, maybe ever higher because she stood to lose the most. She deserved a chance to remedy the wrong that had been done to her. In theory, he empathized.

But from a personal standpoint, he was afraid of something going terribly wrong and her getting hurt. “This could be ugly, Britt. You don’t have to go along.”

“I expect it to be ugly, and I most certainly do have to go along.”

He nodded, acknowledging that she was capable of making her own decisions and had the right to do so. But knowing that didn’t mitigate his fear for her safety. “This is a last resort kind of plan. We’re taking a huge risk.”

“Some risks are worth taking.” Her quiet tone, and the way she looked at him when she said that, let him know she was referring to more than their ambushing Fordyce at home.

“Damn right.” He hooked his hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him, giving her a hard, quick kiss before setting her away. He ran his thumb across her damp lower lip, then said hoarsely, “Let’s go.”

They followed the sidewalk around the block. It was an upscale neighborhood with its own police force and a crime watch co-op among homeowners. So as not to attract attention, they kept to a leisurely pace. A dog barked at them from behind an estate wall, and a jogger with iPod earplugs gave them an absentminded nod as he huffed past on the opposite side of the street. Other than that, they didn’t draw anyone’s attention.

When they reached the attorney general’s house, they turned and started up the central walkway as though that was their morning routine. Britt had expressed some misgivings when Raley outlined his plan to her.

“He may have security guards,” she’d said.

“He may. If so, we’ll create a ruckus. Media would get on it. Even if we’re dragged away in shackles, he’ll eventually have to address why we came knocking.”

“He could refuse to give us an audience.”

“I doubt it. Not after what Candy told him. She hinted that I was at my wit’s end and likely to do something crazy. I’m betting he doesn’t want a public spectacle and would much rather meet me in private.”

“But not quite
this
private.”

“No. We’ll definitely be an unwelcome surprise,” he’d said.

Now, Britt remarked, “One less worry. I don’t see any guards.”

In fact, the house and property had an aspect of serenity. Automatic sprinklers had left the lawn looking dewy and fresh. The front porch, running the width of the house, had four fluted columns supporting the second-floor balcony. Large urns containing Boston ferns framed the double front door, which was painted high-gloss black.

Reaching it without being challenged, Raley looked at Britt. “Ready?”

“Get to the good stuff soon. This battery isn’t fully charged.”

She aimed the camera’s lens at the door. Raley rapped the polished brass knocker three times. While waiting for it to be answered, he braced himself. For what, he didn’t know. He tried mentally and physically to prepare himself for anything. An attacking Doberman? A formidable housekeeper? A child in Lightning McQueen jammies?

Surprisingly, the door was opened by Cobb Fordyce himself. He was dressed in suit trousers, shirt, and tie but wasn’t wearing his jacket. He was holding a linen napkin. Apparently they’d caught him having breakfast.

Britt started recording.

He reacted as though the camcorder was an Uzi, staggering backward several steps. “What’s this?”

“Good morning, Mr. Fordyce,” Britt said. “It’s been a while.”

Identifying her as the newswoman cum fugitive, his eyes went wide. Then his gaze swung to Raley, and again he asked, “What is this?”

“This is the day you’ve been dreading for five years. We’ve come to talk to you about Cleveland Jones. Remember him?” Raley held up his files, which he’d brought with him. “If your memory needs refreshing, it’s all in here.”

The AG’s eyes skittered beyond them, and he looked relieved to see that they were unaccompanied. Coming back to Raley, he said, “Cleveland Jones. Of course I remember. He was the man who started the fire at the police station.”

“You’re sticking to that story, then?” Britt asked.

Irritably, Fordyce raised his hand as though about to cover the lens of the camera with the napkin, then thought better of it and lowered his hand back to his side. “He set it just before he died of head wounds.”

“Ms. Shelley and I think otherwise,” Raley said. “And you
know
otherwise. So did Pat Wickham, Senior. So did Jay Burgess. That’s why they’re dead.”

Fordyce’s eyes shifted over to Britt. “She’s charged with Burgess’s murder.”

“So arrest her,” Raley said. “We’ll wait while you read her her rights, and then when the police get here to take her into custody, they may be interested to hear what you were doing at the police station the very day it became a tinderbox and seven people died.

“Oh, and we’ll gladly surrender this video recording so they can see for themselves the nervous perspiration that broke out on your lying face at the mention of that incident. Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce. Forgive the intrusion.”

The attorney general spun around to find that his wife had come to see who had interrupted their breakfast. Raley recognized her from Jay’s funeral. She was a pretty, ladylike woman. Even at this early morning hour, she was in full makeup, dressed casually but well. She had a small purse hanging from her shoulder and a set of car keys in her hand.

Apprehensively she regarded the trio at her front door. “Cobb? Is everything okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“The boys are due at baseball practice. Should I—”

“Yes. Go. Take them. Everything’s fine.”

Apparently she never questioned her husband, even when there was a fugitive from justice on her threshold. There was only the slightest hesitation before she turned and went back to the part of the house from which she’d come.

Fordyce faced Raley and Britt again. During that brief exchange with his wife, he’d regained his composure. Being a natural politician, he was ready to compromise. “I’ll talk to you, but not here. Not now. You were supposed to be at my office at eleven. I agreed to that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing.”

“Good try, but no dice,” Raley said. “We talk here.”

“My family—”

“They’re on their way to baseball practice. Even if they weren’t, we don’t mean any harm to your family. Where would you like to talk?”

“I won’t talk to a man with a weapon.” He said it without fear, levelly, firmly.

Figuring this probably wasn’t a point the AG was willing to concede, Raley said, “If you agree to talk, I’ll surrender the pistol.”

“And no camera.”

“The camera stays on,” Britt said. “This recording may be the only possible means I have of exonerating myself.”

Fordyce mulled that over for several seconds, then said tersely, “Fine.” He turned and motioned for them to follow.

The room to which he led them off the central foyer was a well-furnished and tastefully decorated home study, more for show than for actual work, Raley guessed. Fordyce moved behind his desk and sat down. “The pistol, Mr. Gannon.”

Raley pulled it from his waistband and laid it on a square end table in the corner, within his reach but out of that of the attorney general. Then he sat down in a chair facing the desk. Britt took the matching chair. He noticed her fingers adjusting the focus on the camera.

Fordyce motioned toward the files Raley held. “What is all that?”

“The findings of my and Teddy Brunner’s arson investigation. They’re incomplete insofar as the seven casualties are concerned. I wasn’t allowed to finish my investigation into the cause of Cleveland Jones’s death. Brunner settled for the PD’s explanation.”

Fordyce stared at the file folders still crudely held together by a thick rubber band, then looked at Raley. “Do you refute that Cleveland Jones started the fire?”

“He was dead before the fire started.”

Fordyce leaned back in his desk chair and folded his hands together beneath his chin. He may have been about to pray; he may have felt the need to. “What do you base that assertion on, Mr. Gannon?”

Raley talked for the next fifteen minutes uninterrupted. He showed Fordyce the copy of Cleveland Jones’s autopsy report. “It was never ascertained how he got those skull fractures, but is it reasonable that head wounds severe enough to kill him would go unnoticed by the officers who arrested him? I don’t think so. I was assigned to investigate, but I got nowhere.”

He explained the police department’s evasiveness. “I was stonewalled at every turn. At first I thought, Okay, they’ve had a fire that destroyed their headquarters and everything in it. They can’t help but be a little scatterbrained and unorganized. Cut them some slack. On the other hand, there was a dead man who had died while in police custody, and not from smoke or burns. So I persisted.” He paused to take a breath. “Before I could get any satisfactory answers, I was invited to a party at my friend Jay’s house.”

Not even his politician’s poker face could completely conceal Fordyce’s slight grimace at the mention of that. Raley guessed that the AG needed nothing to jog his memory of the incident, but he iterated the facts anyway for the benefit of the video camera.