Hard Evidence (20 page)

Had she ever felt that way before? No, not like that. Nothing like that.

She inhaled his scent, let it fill her, then climbed out of bed, feeling sore in places she'd never felt sore before, her heart light despite the voice that warned her she'd have to deal with a host of unpleasant realities sooner or later. Hoping for later, she slipped into a pair of his boxer briefs and one of his T-shirts and walked to the kitchen. Then she started a pot of oatmeal, her stomach growling with hunger, her mind filled with memories of last night.

Never had she imagined sex could be so satisfying. Or that she was capable of multiple orgasms. Or that an orgasm with a man deep inside her would feel so much more intense than one without. Or that a man's touch could become her entire world.

"Okay, Holly, you're right," she said, pouring oats into boiling water, unable to hold back a smile. "Sex rocks."

But it wasn't just sex. It was sex with Julian.

Despite her limited experience, she knew what they'd shared last night wasn't common. It had been more than just interconnecting body parts, more than mutually satisfying orgasms, more than a man and woman taking advantage of biology for a few thrills. Tessa had felt transformed, carried to a place she'd never been before. And although she knew he viewed sex merely as a casual diversion, one that generated no emotional ties, his touch had sent a different message.

The intense way he'd kissed her. The way he'd seemed to notice her every breath, breathing with her. The way he'd plied her with all the erotic pleasure her body was capable of feeling. The way he'd come apart inside her, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

His touch told her she was the only woman in his world. His touch told her he needed her as badly as she needed him. His touch told her he cared about her.

But if she'd expected him to show any sign that last night meant anything to him, she was wrong. He came out of the bedroom wearing jeans, a navy-blue turtleneck and a scowl, lines of fatigue and pain on his face. Then he wolfed down his oatmeal without so much as a "good morning."

"What's wrong?" he barked when the act of sitting made her wince.

"Nothing," she lied, trying to hide the far greater pain caused by his apparent indifference. "I'm fine."

His scowl deepened.

As soon as they'd finished with breakfast, he gave her a tour of the house. But it wasn't a "make yourself at home" kind of tour. He showed her the closed door of the second bedroom, which was his office and was strictly off-limits. He showed her his basement gym with its weights, punching bag, and treadmill, which he invited her to use. He showed her the walk-in closet downstairs where he kept his guns, knives, ammo, night-vision goggles, and other hard-core gear.

"Now I know you're not a cop," she said, trying to match his indifference with sarcasm. "No one could afford this kind of stuff on a cop's salary. Got any spare rocket-launcher parts in there? Mine's broken."

He didn't so much as smile.

On the way back upstairs, he laid down the law, rattling off his rules as if they were her Miranda rights, his voice cold and hard.

"Rule number one: don't reveal to anyone—not your friend and her senator husband, not your coworkers, not your asshole boss, not even Jesus Christ—your whereabouts or the location of this house. Our lives depend on secrecy.

"Rule number two: stay out of my office. I'll have a lock on it by the end of the day. In the meantime, don't open the door. If you do, you'll regret it in ways you can't possibly imagine. Don't even touch the doorknob.

"Rule number three: don't set even the tip of one pretty toe outside this house. Opening any door or window will trigger the alarm, and I, along with FBI-Denver, will know.

"Rule number four: don't tell anyone my name or repeat anything I tell you. Whatever I say in this house is strictly off the record. No playing reporter with me.

"Rule number five: do everything I tell you to do without argument.

"If you break any one of these rules, you will be very sorry. Understand?"

"Yes," she answered, acting bored and fighting to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I'm meeting Irving to get your stuff and to run a few errands, and I won't be back until early afternoon. You know how to reach me."

She stopped and stared after him, feeling suddenly afraid. Surely he wasn't leaving her completely alone. "Will there be officers parked outside?"

"No. Apart from Irving, no one at the DPD knows where I live. Not every cop is clean, Tessa. Someone is working for the other side. That's why you're safer here."

"Oh." She had wondered.

He strapped on his holster, his motions stiff, his jaw clenched in obvious pain. Then he grabbed his leather jacket from the sofa and looked over at her, his gaze softening.

"There are motion sensors and hidden cameras outside. No one can come near the house without triggering the alarm. If the power goes out, the generator takes over. The security code is encrypted. The windows and walls are bulletproof, and the doors and door frames are reinforced steel. The bad guys can't reach you here, Tessa."

"Thank you, Julian." She searched for the right words. "I know bringing me here wasn't part of your plan."

"No, it wasn't." He turned to go, then looked back at her. "Is there anything you need?"

"A skinny vanilla latte would be nice."

He raised a single dark eyebrow. "Right."

Then he turned and disappeared into the garage, closing the door behind him.

She heard the door latch, then a tiny beep, and she knew she was locked in. There was the roar of a truck engine. Then the grinding sound of a garage door sliding up and down its tracks. And then he was gone.

For a moment she stood in the middle of the kitchen, feeling strangely lost. Then she walked slowly over to the window and looked out onto his snowy backyard. The storm had left at least six inches so far. The wind had blown itself out, and chubby flakes drifted lazily to the ground. But she barely noticed the beauty of it.

What a tangled mess this was. She was a virtual prisoner in Julian's home. They were working on the same case, at odds with one another. She'd almost gotten them both killed. She was investigating him. And she was in love with him, while he apparently felt very little for her.

Unpleasant realities, indeed.

"You walked into this with your eyes wide open, girl," she told herself.

As if knowing that was supposed to make it easier.

Chapter 20

Determined to put herself together, Tessa watched the Saturday morning news, then returned the dozen or so messages her friends had left on her voice mail to let them know she was safe and give them the number to her new encrypted cell phone. She told them what had happened—how she'd left the paper through the rear exit wearing a scarf over her head; how Syko's gang had picked her up off the street; how a certain unnamed undercover cop had found her at Syko's place, dragged her to his truck, and saved her life by taking bullets intended for her. Then she listened as they each, in turn, ripped her head off for having left the safety of the newspaper.

Kara was furious, Reece even more so. Lissy got teary with relief. Kat casually told her to stay put before she got someone killed. Holly wanted details about the undercover cop. It was Sophie who seemed the most upset.

"You lied to me," she said. "I asked you point-blank if you were going to try to find those gang members again, and you said no."

"I'm sorry." Tessa didn't know what else to say.

But Sophie wasn't finished. "I realized you were gone maybe ten minutes after you left. I tried the bathroom, the cafeteria. I looked everywhere. I tried calling your cell, but you didn't answer. When Tom called us into a meeting an hour later and told us there'd been another shooting, I thought for sure you were dead!"

"I'm really sorry, Sophie. I know it was stupid, but I picked up a valuable lead from—"

"I don't care about leads! No story is worth your life!" Sophie seemed truly angry now.

"You wouldn't say that if this were your investigation." Because Tessa truly regretted alarming her friend, she kept her voice calm. "You'd do everything you could to get to the bottom of it."

It was the truth, and they both knew it.

"And your point is?" A touch of humor had returned to Sophie's voice. "Now tell me about this man who got shot for you. Is he the same one who kissed you at the hospital and who threw your butt in jail?"

"Yes. He's meeting Chief Irving to get my suitcases from the rental car. I'm investigating him, Sophie. And I'm in love with him." The words were away before Tessa could catch them.

Tessa found herself telling Sophie everything that had happened between her and Julian since her arrest, taking pains not to reveal his name and skipping intimate anatomical details, despite Sophie's subtle or not-so-subtle inquiries.

"I know he doesn't love me. He was very clear that he isn't interested in a relationship." It hurt to say the words out loud, to hear herself say them. "But when he touches me, it feels like he means it. I guess I'm just an idiot."

"No, you're not. If some gorgeous man were to save my life and give me multiple orgasms, I'd fall in love, too. Besides, I think he must like you a lot to have done all he's done for you. Guys don't just jump in front of bullets, Tessa, not even special agents."

"Promise me you won't tell anyone I slept with him. I don't want this to become newsroom gossip, and I don't want to sit through a lecture from Tom."

"You know I would never share anything you told me in confidence, Tess."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh, God. you're going to tell everyone!"

"Well, not Tom."

They both burst into laughter, the first good laugh Tessa'd had since the night of the murder, and the ache in her heart lessened.

"By the way, you had a visitor this afternoon," Sophie said when their laughter had ebbed. "After word went out about the shooting on the five-o'clock news, a woman stopped by the paper. She seemed really upset. She said she was your mother. At first I thought she was just a crazy woman, but she looks just like you. I didn't know your mother lived here."

Julian pulled into the newspaper parking lot and parked his truck beside the old olive-green Lincoln, snow crunching under his tires. By the time he'd gotten out of his truck, Irving was waiting for him by the tailgate. "This is bullshit, and you know it."

Irving met his fury with a steady gaze. "The doc says you've got ruptured muscles. It must hurt like a sonofabitch."

It did. The pain and stiffness were worse this morning. But Julian wasn't going to admit that. "It's nothing I can't handle. I don't need a week's medical leave."

"Most cops would be grateful for a paid week off."

"I'm not most cops. I have a job to do."

Irving nodded, grinned. "Exactly."

Completely surprised, Julian stood rooted to the spot while Irving popped the trunk on the Lincoln and lifted out a laptop computer and a box of file folders. Some of his black mood dissipated. "So this was intentional?"

"Where do you want this stuff?" Irving walked toward the passenger-side door of Julian's truck, arms loaded. "Of course it was intentional. With your cover likely blown and leaks around every damned corner, I figured you could use a little time away. If everyone thinks you're out of commission, so much the better."

Julian followed Irving, unlocked the door, cast a covert glance at the little Toyota four-door parked nearby, memorizing the license plate number. They were trying very hard not to look like they were watching him—and failing. He'd noticed them the moment he'd pulled into the lot. They probably thought they were being clever.

"Is Dyson in on this?"

"No. There wouldn't be much point to it if he were, would there?" Irving set the laptop and the box on the seat. 'That's her rental over there."

Julian grabbed his window scraper and considered the possibilities as he walked with Irving over to the snowy mound that was a blue Honda Civic. With no obligations to the police department, he'd be free to work any angle he wanted without anyone at the FBI or DPD knowing what he was doing—and he'd could keep an eye on Tessa.

Irving was giving him the freedom he needed to close this case.

He glanced at the Toyota—they were still watching—and began to wipe the snow from the rental car's windshield. "I'll need you to keep me up-to-date, let me know what the team uncovers."

"Easy enough." Irving brushed snow off the trunk with his sleeve. "And I'll need you to make Ms. Novak's safety your top priority."

So that's what this was about. "Five rounds to the vest says I'm already doing that."

Irving nodded, walking around to the other side of the car, brushing snow aside as he went. "True enough. But I'm not talking about your vest. I'm talking about your dick. Don't think I don't know what's going on."

Julian brushed snow off the roof, fighting to keep his temper in check. "I'm pretty sure Ms. Novak is past the age of consent."

"She's also the victim of a series of violent crimes and more than a little vulnerable—not to mention utterly dependent on you. Don't take advantage of her, Darcangelo, or you'll have to answer to me."

It was a mark of how much Julian respected Irving that he kept his mouth shut. He fished in his pocket for Tessa's keys and opened the trunk.

Irving grabbed one of the suitcases, lifted it with a grunt. "Looks like we have spectators."

"I noticed." Julian took the other, his breath catching as the muscles in his back screamed in protest.

"So it
does
hurt." Irving chuckled. "I was beginning to think you were tougher than the rest of us."

"Happy now?"

They walked back to Julian's truck and slid the suitcases into the cab behind the seats. Then Julian shut the door and handed Irving the keys to the rental car.

"Do you think your coziness with Ms. Novak means she'll back off investigating you and the whole Zoryo mess?"

Julian met Irving's gaze. "Not a chance."

"Didn't think so."

The Toyota was still sitting there, its occupants watching him intently.

"Any idea who they are?" Julian pointed to the Toyota with a jerk of his head.

"The one in the passenger seat looks like Kara McMillan."

'The senator's wife." He ought to have known. "You got a ride back?"

"Got a black-and-white set to meet me in twenty at the rental place."

"Good enough." Julian rounded his vehicle, opened the driver's-side door. "Keep me posted. I'll be in touch."

Irving nodded and started back toward the rental. Then he turned to face Julian again. "Hey, Darcangelo. I'm damned glad neither of you got killed. Good work."

Julian acknowledged Irving's words with a nod, then slipped behind the wheel, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror and the little Toyota.

So Tessa's friends wanted a look at him. He would oblige them.

He waited for Irving to leave the lot, then kicked his truck into reverse and backed up until the he was bumper to bumper with the little car, trapping it. He climbed out of his truck and walked up to the driver's window.

With a buzz, the window lowered to reveal four pretty women, one clearly pregnant. They looked guiltily at him, all except for the knockout blonde. Her gaze slid over him in blatant sexual appraisal, a little smile on her face.

And Julian knew.

Tessa had told her friends she'd had sex with him.

His anger at being watched temporarily overcome by an odd surge of male pride, he unzipped his jacket, let his holster show. Then he leaned down and pulled off his shades. "You ladies seen enough?"

Four heads nodded.

The strawberry blonde behind the wheel spoke. "We didn't mean to—"

"Sure you did. But don't worry. I won't hold
you
responsible."

"It's not Tessa's fault. She has no idea we're here." The woman who spoke had long, dark hair and sat in the front passenger seat. The senator's wife. "You won't take this out on her, will you?"

"Yes, Ms. McMillan, you better believe I will."

Then he turned and walked back to his truck, grinning.

Tessa had planned to wait until she was good and ready to call her mother. But nothing was going as she'd planned, and Tessa knew she couldn't put it off any longer. Her mother's last message—and Sophie's news—made Tessa realize how truly frightened her mother was. It wasn't right to leave her hanging.

Tessa dialed her mother's phone number and paced the living room, a tight feeling in her stomach. What was she supposed to say to her mother after ten years of silence?

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. She was about to hang up and call it an honest try when her mother answered.

"Hello?"

She hesitated. "Hi, Mom. It's Tessa."

"Oh! Oh, bless your heart, Tessa Marie! You're safe! Oh, thank God!" Her mother's voice grew tight, then moved away from the phone. "She's safe! This is her on the phone!"

Tessa could hear voices in the background. "Who's with you?"

"Just some friends from Denny's come over to cheer me up. We been watchin' the news, waitin' to see if they had anything new about you. I been worried sick to death!"

"You shouldn't worry, Mom. I'm fine. I'm safe."

"Where are you? Can I come—?"

"No, you can't, and I can't leave." The words came out quickly, sounding like a rejection, even to Tessa. She tried to explain. "It's not that I don't want to see you. It's that I can't. I'm in protective custody in a police safe house. I have to stay here until this is all over. The location is secret, so I can't have visitors."

"Oh. Oh, I see." Her mother tried to hide her disappointment, but Tessa heard it anyway. Then her mother raised her voice again, speaking to her friends across the room. "They got her in protective custody—that's what they call it when they put you in a secret police safe house."

"How long have you been living in Colorado?"

Tessa's new cell phone beeped, and she saw Kara was calling. Not wanting to be rude to her mother, she let the call go to voice mail.

"About three months. I wanted to get settled before I called you, didn't want to be a burden. I'm makin' pretty good money now your grandpa ain't drinkin' it." She gave a little laugh. "I got a nice apartment here in Aurora and a good job waitin' tables."

Tessa learned her mother also had a boyfriend, that she'd given up smoking, and was taking classes to prepare for her GED.

"You been an example to me, Tessa Marie. But I don't want to waste another second talkin' about me. I want to hear about you."

Then her mother peppered her with one question after the next until Tessa began to feel claustrophobic. Had someone really fired a gun at her? Wasn't she afraid? Did she like her job? Did they pay her well? Did she have good friends? Did she like Colorado? What did she think of the mountains? Had she learned to ski?

Tessa did her best to answer, an old and unwelcome feeling of annoyance welling up inside her. She bit back cutting responses, unnecessary words that would have hurt, fighting that part of her that wanted to lash out. Her mother wasn't doing anything wrong. There was no reason for Tessa to be short-tempered with her.

At the same time, Tessa would have been a liar if she'd said there wasn't a part of her that welcomed her mother's attention, even hungered for it. The sound of her mother's voice. Her soft Texas twang. Her good-natured cheerfulness. Her unmistakable pride in Tessa's accomplishments.