Two could play that game. Her hand found him again, stroking gently, coaxing another gratifying moan from his throat. He withdrew his hand, and she nearly whimpered in frustration. Circling his arms around her, he rolled her over onto her back, the weight of him comfortably heavy on top of her.
Then he suddenly stopped, freezing above her. He peered down at her, a frustrated look on his face. “Wait. I don’t have anything.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. She was about to suggest they throw caution to the winds—after all, what was the point in worrying about that if they didn’t even know if they were going to survive tomorrow?—when she suddenly remembered.
“I do.”
Pushing him off her, she scrambled off the bed and crossed to her bag, rummaging in it until she found what she was looking for. The condoms had been passed out at Jackie’s girls’ night out as a gag. Audrey had taken a few as part of the joke, never expecting to actually need them.
She’d never been so grateful for a party favor in her life.
Once she had them in hand, she dropped the bag and moved back to the bed. “Now where were we?” she said with a grin.
To her delight, he matched her grin. The sight of that magnificent smile lighting his beautiful face sent both fresh heat and something that felt curiously like joy bubbling through her. He should always smile. It was a crime that he didn’t always look just like that.
He was lying on his back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch her, not self-conscious in the least. The pose was incredibly sexy, emphasizing the long, lean lines of his body, his erection still jutting up insistently from the rest of his prone form, and she knew she wanted him to stay just like that. As she climbed back onto the bed, he started to push up, but she planted a hand on his chest to keep him where he was, then straddled his legs. Dropping most of the foil packets on the bed, she tore open the one remaining in her hand. Reaching forward, she slowly rolled the condom over him, watching his face the whole time. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but the emotions flashing across his face were just as satisfying. The desire. The need. The strain that said he was barely holding on.
As soon as he was covered, she moved forward, holding herself up on her knees and positioning herself over him. Then, peering straight into his amazing eyes, she lowered herself onto him.
She’d intended to go slow, to savor every moment. He didn’t give her the chance. He thrust his hips upward at the same moment, her wetness easing his invasion, until he was buried in her, stretching her, filling her completely. She threw her head back, her eyelids sinking shut, a nearly breathless moan easing from her lungs and filling her ears. For a long moment, they simply stayed like that, their bodies joined, locked in that perfect moment of completion.
She felt his hands on her hips and opened her eyes just as he leaned forward, holding her in place. When they were face-to-face, he slid his hands around her and pulled her tight against him. The soft hairs on his chest brushed against her already sensitive nipples, creating a delicious friction. She barely noticed as she peered straight into his eyes just inches away. What she saw there took her breath away as much as that instant of invasion had, of having him inside her.
There was desire, of course, more than she could ever remember seeing before in a man’s eyes. But also tenderness, something so caring that everything inside her went completely still at the sight of it. And something else—wonder or amazement or something she couldn’t quite identify and wasn’t sure she wanted to. If she did, she might start to question what caused it, might read something more into that look in his eyes than was really there.
What would it be like to have him look at her like that?
Lost in that look, she barely registered one of his hands moving away from her back until it suddenly appeared in front of her face. Using the tips of his fingers, he gently brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face without her even realizing it, tucking it behind her ear with the utmost care, never once taking his eyes from hers. Then he leaned forward and caught her lips with his, kissing her slowly, tenderly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair. His hands returned to her hips, and almost immediately he began to move his own, pulling back slowly, withdrawing halfway, then driving into her again. She rocked against him, drawing him in deeper, tightening her muscles around him.
He tore his mouth away, moving it to the curve of her jaw, then the soft curve of her throat. Clinging to his hair, holding him close, she threw her head back. His thrusts gained speed gradually, deliberately. It was all more than she could begin to absorb, the feeling of him moving inside her, of his mouth on her neck, on her breasts, on her nipple, drawing it against his teeth and sucking hard. The pressure built deep inside her, driving higher and higher, harder and harder along with his thrusts. She could only hang on, his shoulders tensing and shifting beneath her arms, his thrusts coming faster and harder, until her climax finally came, her entire body seeming to shatter under the force of it, giving way to nothing but pure sensation. He was right there with her, his release shuddering through her, his moan vibrating along her skin, proof enough that she was still whole. She clung to him, floating on waves of pleasure.
And through it all, he continued to hold her, her breasts tight against his chest, so she could feel his heartbeat and hers racing as one.
Lost in the sensations overwhelming her, she forgot about what lay in store for them only hours from now, about everything that faced them, about everything that kept him from truly being hers.
None of it mattered. The only thing that did was this, being here with him, this moment, right now. Something remarkable, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Something she wanted to hold on to as long as she could.
This man. For as long as she could have him.
Chapter Twelve
It was time. Jason knew it. Just as he knew he wasn’t ready to leave this moment.
He lay perfectly still, Audrey nestled against his side, his arm around her shoulder. He knew she was awake, but she didn’t say anything. Ever since they’d finally untangled their bodies and fallen back against the mattress, they’d simply lain there in a haze of comfortable silence, neither saying a word.
He should say something to her. The urge was there, deep down inside him, compelling him to speak. To comment on what had just happened between them. To acknowledge the significance. To admit that something had changed.
And it had. He couldn’t even begin to deny it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just didn’t know what it was that had changed, or maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit it.
Too many thoughts, impressions, memories, were rushing through his head, too many emotions churning inside him. He couldn’t begin to absorb them all, couldn’t start to figure out what to say.
He didn’t know what he could, didn’t want to offer promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.
There was only one thing he could bring himself to say, something he had to, something he didn’t want to.
“Audrey?”
He felt her tense, the reaction sending a twinge of sadness through him. “Yes?”
“It’s time to go.”
If she felt any disappointment that their brief moment was over or that that was all he’d had to say, she didn’t show it. She simply nodded and pushed away from him. He instantly felt the loss of her closeness.
He didn’t let himself linger on it, pushing the feeling away and rolling over to the other side of the bed.
He didn’t know what the experience they’d just shared really meant. He didn’t know how much it truly changed, how much he was willing to let it. There were too many other things he had to focus on now. In the end, it might not even matter.
He didn’t know if he was ready or in any way able to live.
All he could do was make sure that she did.
T
HE TUNNEL WAS EXACTLY
as Marybeth had described it to them, a long, narrow passageway carved into the earth that was just wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. Audrey still followed behind Jason, glancing back every once in a while and shining her flashlight into the darkness to keep an eye out behind them. They’d managed to break the padlock securing the entrance with a pair of bolt cutters, opening the door with little difficulty. Jason hadn’t spotted any signs of a remote alarm that would tell someone the entry had been breached, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one, or that a security guard wouldn’t come along to check and notice the lock had been cut, the brush pushed away from the door. Just as they couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be someone waiting for them at the other end.
All they could do was continue with the plan, keep moving forward, and remain as alert as possible.
The passage was dry and cool. The only light came from their flashlights, narrowing their world to only what they could see in the beams. It was a disorienting feeling, and it began to seem as though they’d been walking forever, even though Audrey knew it should only take them a half hour at most to reach the house.
They moved in silence. It made sense to try to make as little noise as possible, neither of them knowing for sure what lay at the end of the tunnel or how far the sound would carry. But then, they really hadn’t spoken at all since they’d left the inn. They’d driven to the tunnel in silence. Neither of them had said a word about what had happened only a few hours ago. It was probably better that way. No point making a big deal about it or turning it into something it wasn’t. It wouldn’t have even happened if it wasn’t for their current circumstances. They were both better off focusing on those anyway.
The knowledge didn’t prevent the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel him again.
She tried to tell herself it was simply because she didn’t want to lose him, only to recognize the thought was probably far more accurate than she would have liked.
Finally, the tunnel arrived at a set of wooden steps leading upward. They must have reached the house.
At the top of the steps was a short landing. There were two wooden doors, one leading directly ahead, one to the right. Audrey knew they should be in the rear right corner of the house, with the doors corresponding to the two largest bedrooms on the second floor. Now that she’d seen it for herself, Audrey couldn’t help but admire the ingeniousness of it. Marybeth had said the openings didn’t appear to be doors on the other side. The walls themselves opened, the panels that released them discreetly hidden. It really was a perfect way into and out of the house without anyone knowing. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised, given what she knew of the present-day Bridgeses. Deviousness was evidently a long-standing family trait.
According to Marybeth, the door straight ahead led to the master bedroom, Dick’s room. The one to the right led to the room that had been Rich’s. They had to hope it still was. Marybeth said it was the second largest bedroom in the house, so it seemed reasonable that he would have kept it, rather than move to a smaller one.
Stepping to the door on the right, Jason reached for the latch set flush in the wood. Once he had it in hand, he glanced back at her. Their eyes met, his uncertainty clearly mirroring her own. This was it.
She nodded once, urging him to proceed. He returned the nod, then turned the latch.
There was a small click as it released, then he slowly pushed the door in slightly.
They both listened intently. The soft sounds of a TV, its volume turned so low it was almost inaudible, reached them. Audrey didn’t hear anything else—no voices, no movement.
Jason gently eased the door open farther, his body tense with alertness. Audrey waited for an alarm, even the slightest indication the motion had been detected.
Nothing. All remained calm and mostly silent in the room.
As the gap widened, Audrey caught a glimpse of what lay on the other side over Jason’s shoulder. It was a bedroom, exactly as Marybeth had said. She saw curtains, a chair.
Finally, the gap was large enough for them to fit through. Jason slowly pushed his head around the corner. Evidently finding nothing, he straightened, then stepped through.
Moving on the tips of her toes, Audrey waited only a few seconds before following.
The room was large and spacious, more of a suite than a bedroom. The Bridges homestead might be called a farm, but Audrey should have known the house wouldn’t be a simple farmhouse. The room was empty, although the fact that the TV and all the lights were turned on gave the impression that someone was here. It had to be a little after seven o’clock. Audrey quickly checked the exits. One opening led to what appeared to be an outer chamber, another to a bathroom.
Then she heard voices coming from another opening to the left.
Five seconds later, Rich and Julia Bridges stepped into the room.
Jason and Audrey both froze.
Rich was tying his tie, already dressed in a crisp white shirt and dress slacks. He looked exactly as he did in all the pictures Audrey had studied, albeit a little smaller, as larger-than-life people tended to when seen in person. He was still a powerful figure, as handsome and magnetic in real life as he was in front of the cameras.
Her eyes on Rich, Audrey barely noticed Julia, until she stopped abruptly. As though reacting to his wife, Rich suddenly turned and spotted them, his eyes widening.
Jason instantly raised a hand in a warning gesture. “Before you call for security, Senator, you’re going to want to hear us out. We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk to you and try to come to an understanding so you will stop trying to hurt us.”
“Hurt you? Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Jason Stone. This is Audrey Ellison. I’m sure you know who we are, since you’ve had someone trying to kill us for the past four days.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then I guess you also have no idea that Audrey’s uncle was Hal Talmadge, who was working on a book about you, one that he believed would make headlines with what he had to reveal about you.”
Tellingly, Bridges hesitated, his eyes flaring with surprise and darting in Audrey’s direction.
“What exactly did he believe he had to reveal?”
“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Jason said. “But you should know that we’ve left that information with a third party who will release it if anything happens to us here today.”
“All right,” Bridges said slowly. “I understand. And I can promise you you’re in no danger here.”
“I appreciate that. And to guarantee that fact, I’m going to ask that your wife remain in the room.”
Bridges glanced at his wife, finally noticing that she’d begun to move toward the door. At his nod, she stopped, remaining where she was.
He turned back to Jason. “Now why don’t you tell me what it is you believe you know about me?”
“Gladly. Audrey?”
Audrey barely heard him, any more than she’d heard anything that had been said since Bridges had entered the room. She could only stare helplessly at the man, her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Because his weren’t the warm brown eyes she’d seen staring back at her from his campaign posters and all the photographs she’d studied, nor those of Will Kent, which she’d thought had been the same as his father’s.
No, this man’s eyes were blue, a startling, clear, light blue, the color unmistakable.
Contact lenses,
she registered faintly. He must normally wear colored contact lenses. She and Jason must have intruded before he could put them in.
But why would he wear them? There was nothing wrong with having blue eyes. And yet, he wanted people to think he had brown eyes.
Like his father, Dick Bridges, did. Like his son, Will Kent, did.
An uneasy feeling slid through her system as something she’d learned in grade school, one of the most elementary rules of genetics, suddenly rose to mind.
Two blue-eyed parents couldn’t make a brown-eyed child. Yet Will Kent had brown eyes. Marybeth was obviously his mother and Audrey was certain she had blue eyes. But this man also had blue eyes. Marybeth had no reason to lie about Bridges being Will’s father, which meant he had to be. So the only possible explanation was—
“You’re not Richard Bridges.”
The words came out on their own, muted with the shock jolting through her, but she didn’t regret them. Instead, a sense of certainty fell over her once she spoke the words aloud.
And she knew she was right.
“What are you talking about?” the man before her asked, but she caught the hint of alarm in those clear blue eyes.
If he wasn’t Rich Bridges, then logic said there was only one person he could be, one solution that tied up all the pieces they’d accumulated over the past several days.
She arched a brow. “Tim Raymer, I presume?”
Ever the politician, he didn’t let his expression betray him. He frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in a display of confusion she would have believed if she hadn’t known any better. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“Audrey?” Jason asked, his confusion obvious in his voice.
“Rich Bridges had brown eyes,” she explained without shifting her focus from Raymer. “Look at him. This man’s eyes are blue. I guess we caught you before you could put your contacts in,” she told Raymer.
He choked out a laugh. “This is preposterous. So I wear contact lenses. That doesn’t mean I’m someone else, whoever it is you think I am.”
“Tim Raymer,” Audrey repeated. “The high school sweetheart of Julie Ann Foster, who just happened to go on to marry Rich Bridges a year after Raymer’s death. Everyone we talked to seemed to think that must have meant she was two-timing Tim, dating Rich at the same time the summer before he left for Europe.” She glanced at Julia Bridges, who stood frozen, her eyes round. “But you weren’t, were you? You weren’t dating Rich at all. You were dating Tim the whole time.” She looked back at the supposed Rich Bridges. “It was Tim who went to Europe. Tim, who came back and married Julie Ann Foster. Which means it must have been Rich whose burned body was found in Tim Raymer’s truck.” Poor Marybeth, she thought with a twinge. Rich hadn’t left her at all.
Neither Julia nor her husband said anything. They simply stared at her.
Bridges/Raymer finally cleared his throat. “And this is what you believe you know?”
“No,” Audrey admitted. “That was something else. I didn’t know this until just now when I saw your eyes. Because, like I said, Rich Bridges—the
real
Rich Bridges—had brown eyes. I’m sure there are plenty of people who remember that.”
“You can’t prove any of this,” he said calmly.
Audrey thought quickly. She didn’t want to drag Marybeth and Will into this if she didn’t have to. Then again, maybe she didn’t have to.
“Perhaps not,” she agreed easily. “But I can prove enough to make things messy and raise some uncomfortable questions for you. Like Jason told you, we have information waiting to be released if anything happens to us here. As you can probably guess from what I just said, we’ve been looking into the accident in which Tim Raymer supposedly died. So did my uncle. He spoke with the medical examiner who performed the autopsy on the body discovered in Tim Raymer’s truck. I’m sure you know what he found.”
He looked almost bored, though his gaze never wavered. “Do I?”
This was where it got tricky. “The ME found injuries on the body that were inconsistent with a car accident,” she guessed, putting together what must have happened based on what they knew. “The victim was dead before the car crashed and caught fire. The ME covered it up on Dick’s orders, but he retained a copy of the file in case he one day had a chance to tell the truth. He didn’t know about the switch. He thought it was Tim Raymer who died, Tim Raymer whose murder was covered up. He gave a copy of those records to my uncle, who digitized them. I have a copy.” She drew the scenario to its logical conclusion, her unwavering voice never revealing that she had no proof at all. Then she continued, “Now, combine those records with the fact that Rich Bridges left town immediately after Tim Raymer’s death, spent the next year on an out-of-character trip in Europe, then returned to Barrett’s Mill and married Tim Raymer’s girlfriend shortly thereafter. I think people will start to question what happened to Tim, why Dick ordered the ME to call it an accident when it wasn’t, and why Rich suddenly left for Europe, only to marry Tim’s girlfriend upon his return. They probably won’t guess the truth—too outlandish, too unbelievable, of course. Instead, it’ll seem like Rich probably killed Tim.” The conclusion they, and most likely Hal, had drawn.