Crown's Law (28 page)

Then there was the stranger, Sam Crown, Medal
of Honor recipient. He was one sexy devil! She had avoided all
relationships with men since the fiery breakup with a senior FBI
agent six months ago. She had caught him with one of the rookie
female agents when she came home a day early from a trip to
Quantico.

She had to admit that she had felt aroused a
couple of times last night. She didn’t know how she would have
reacted if he had come on to her again, but he had not. He was an
honorable man—kept his word not to hassle her. She conjured up a
picture of the two of them in bed, listening to the waves,
caressing each others scars. When her nipples started to harden,
she sat up and put her feet on the carpet.

Nonsense! I need whatever information he has,
then I’m out of here! I don’t need any more complications in my
life right now! After Monday, I’ll never see him again.

However, in the shower, she found herself
lingering over her erogenous areas as she soaped herself.

She dressed in her dark blue denim
shorts and a light blue tank top, then went downstairs to find Sam
and Becky. She found them out on the deck sitting at one of the
round, redwood tables with a blue-and-white-striped umbrella
sprouting from the hole in its center. Becky’s shoulder-length,
blonde pony tail was still damp from her swim. Sam had donned his
usual Aloha shirt, this time covered with naked
wahines
.

Becky was talking a mile a minute, teenager
style, and Sam was laughing. Bo stood and watched the two for a
moment, some unseen finger plucking at her heartstrings. She
inhaled deeply, sucking in the sea air, and then stepped out onto
the deck.

“Hi, guys!” she said. “I guess I
overslept!”

Sam and Becky turned in unison to look at
her. Becky waved. Sam swallowed and held his breath. He was
overwhelmed—again—by her beauty and sexiness. It was obvious that
she was braless beneath her tank top.

Sam exhaled and said, “Good morning. Slept OK
I hope.”

“Perfectly! The sound of the waves was
euphoric!” she smiled as she sat next to Sam. “Cured my jet
lag.”

“Want some coffee? Juice? We held breakfast
till you got up. We had our morning swim,” said Sam, smiling.

“Coffee would be just great!”

“Sugar? Cream?”

“Do you have the pink stuff?”

“Sure. Coming right up.”

Sam walked over to the wet bar where a coffee
machine was keeping a half pot of coffee warm. He poured some into
a mug that sported a Marine Corps globe and anchor insignia. He got
some pink packets out of a bowl, grabbed a spoon and returned to
the table. Bo stirred a half packet of the sugar substitute into
her coffee.

“How do you ever leave here to go to work?”
queried Bo as she peered out at the water. The waves were bigger
than when Sam and Becky had gone out earlier, and at least 30
surfers dotted the blue-green water now. A pelican dove into the
water from on high and grabbed a fish for breakfast.

However this turns out, I’m
glad I came here. This experience is unbelievable!
thought Bo.
It’s been so long since
I’ve been to the ocean
.

“It’s hard. But I’m not here all the time. I
have a rat-hole apartment in Tustin. Also, I’m on the road a
lot—depending on the assignment.”

Bo blew across the top of her coffee mug,
then took a sip. “Delicious! I detect a hint of vanilla.”

“Freshly ground, too,” replied Sam. “Becky
and I were just planning our day. She doesn’t want to spend all day
worrying about tonight, so we thought we could pack a lunch and
take the boat out for awhile. Get back here around 3 or 4 o’clock
and start the transformation.”

“Transformation?” queried Bo.

“Yeah. Turning Cinderella here into a
princess,” laughed Sam.

“That shouldn’t be hard,” chortled Bo. “She’s
a beautiful girl! I assume you have the dress, shoes, and all the
accessories?”

“Hell, I think so! Don’t we, Beck?”

“Yes! But I could use some help with my hair
and stuff. And that Black Widow bra. And, some advice, you know. Do
you think you could help me, Bo?”

“You mean Merry Widow bra,” laughed Bo.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll be honored to do whatever you need
doing, Becky. Hair and appearance I can help you with. I don’t know
if my personal advice will be any good, however. I have a bad track
record when it comes to relationships!”

“Any help at all will be welcome.”

Becky thought,
Something weird’s going on. She didn’t sleep with Sam last
night. How unusual! Oh, well. I’m just a kid. I’m not supposed to
understand adults—at least that’s what they tell me!

“Tell me more about this boat outing,” said
Bo, changing the subject.

Sam replied, “My Dad has a boat in Dana Point
Harbor. I’ll throw some stuff in the ice chest and we’ll go relax
for a few hours. You can fish if you want. Or swim. Or nothing.
Whatever.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Good. Now, how about some breakfast? What
would you like, Bo?”

“I’m easy; I don’t want to be any
trouble.”

Becky interjected, “How about one of your
mushroom and shrimp omelets, Sam? You’ll love it, Bo!”

“Sounds fattening, but OK. I’ll just do some
extra swimming,” shrugged Bo, winking at Becky.

“OK. I’ll go get started while you two ladies
get acquainted,” said Sam as he headed inside to the kitchen.
“Becky, get Bo more coffee when she’s ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bo decided to find out more about Sam while
he was gone—and his relationship with Becky.

“Well, Becky, you have brains, beauty, and an
idyllic life style. You must be quite happy,” she observed,
intending to get Becky talking.

“I am. Thanks to Sam plucking me off the
street three years ago. God knows what would have happened to me if
it weren’t for Sam—and his parents, of course. They’ve been
wonderful to me!”

“You were out on the street? Sam didn’t tell
me that. Only about your accelerated education.”

Becky gave her a quick rundown of her pitiful
B.S.—Before Sam—life.

Bo was intrigued by the poignant story. It
gave her better insight into both Sam and Becky—and their
relationship.

“So, Sam is your legal guardian?” Bo asked as
she sipped her coffee.

“Yes. Do you have any kids?”

Bo’s heart leaped into her throat, and she
fumbled for a cigarette. She had to glance away and wrestle with
her sudden rush of feelings. Becky had taken over as the
interrogator.

“Do you mind if I smoke, Becky?”

“Nah, go ahead.”

Finally, after lighting her cigarette, Bo
answered, “No.”

Becky bored on, “Why? Too busy with your
career?”

“I guess you could say that.”

That answer, of course, was not the whole
truth.

***

Rainbow Amelia Trout was born on March 1,
1965 in Durango, Colorado, making her 36 years old as she chatted
with Becky. No husband. No kids. The consummate “Old Maid” some
said, but not to her face.

Her parents owned and operated the Durango
Wilderness Camp, located on the banks of the Animas River in
southwest Colorado. She was born and raised in the camp. The camp
consisted of a rustic, 12,000 square foot, red cedar log Main
House—or lodge—and a dozen smaller cabins for rental to tourists
and adventurers. The major income was generated by arranging and
supervising activities for an endless stream of tourists and
thrill-seekers.

In the spring and summer, activities included
white-water rafting excursions, kayaking, and fishing the various
rivers and lakes; horseback riding; and guided visits to Mesa Verde
National Park and the Anasazi Indian ruins in Aztec, New Mexico.
Also, a ride on the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad was a
favorite.

In the fall and winter, activities became
snow-related: downhill skiing at Purgatory; snowmobile excursions;
cross-country skiing; dog sledding; and horse-drawn sleigh
rides.

Bo was a certified instructor in both
white-water rafting and skiing, and had worked for her parents
during her high school years and during the summer while she
attended college at the University of Colorado at Boulder. When she
moved into the law school there, her times at home helping her
parents diminished to an occasional weekend.

In 1985 at the age of 20, a sophomore in
college, she became involved in a drunken orgy at a frat party and
emerged the next day with a killer of a headache and hangover. She
discovered a month later that she was pregnant. She couldn’t
remember whom she had sex with—or how many of the men there—and
decided to have the baby on her own. No one ever came forward to
take responsibility, but she was not really romantically interested
in any of them anyway.

Unfortunately, since she was actually looking
forward to motherhood, she had a nasty miscarriage at the end of
her fourth month. By the time the surgeons had stopped the massive
bleeding, she had lost the ability to ever conceive again. She had
been devastated!

By the time she graduated from law school in
1990, she had lost her desire to become just one more lawyer
scrounging for business. She chose instead to join the FBI. Now,
eleven years later, she wondered where the time had gone.

Her relationships with men had been spotty.
Those who were looking for a lasting commitment and a family
drifted away when they learned she was barren. Short term affairs
were plentiful when she desired them—but, in the end, they were not
very emotionally fulfilling. So she drifted in the limbo of
work—one case after another. Sometimes she was rewarded with an
overwhelming surge of adrenaline when the job got hairy! But that
wasn’t often.

Bo had not been averse to using sex to better
her position in the Bureau. She had slept with several supervisors
in the hopes of getting the job of SAC in Albuquerque, New Mexico
so she would be closer to home—see her parents and brother more
often. It wasn’t as if New Mexico was a prime location—most men
climbing the Bureau ladder used New Mexico SAC only as a stepping
stone to something better. Sometimes, it was used as punishment
when SACs were demoted for some infraction. She would have been
happy there, but so far it had eluded her. As it turned out, she
had been just an easy lay for all those smug supervisors. Six
months ago was her last roll in the hay with a Bureau man. He
finally had admitted he would not go out on a limb for her to get
her promoted.

Screw ‘em all!
she had thought.
No! I don’t mean
that! I’ve already screwed too many of them! Never again

!

Saturday, June 2, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

The three of them ate breakfast on the deck
at one of the umbrella-covered tables. Sam served the fluffy
omelets with cantaloupe, strawberries, and wheat toast with orange
marmalade. He sat a carton of orange juice and a bottle of
champagne on the table, along with three stemmed glasses.

“Mimosa, Bo?” he asked.

“The perfect accompaniment to this delicious
omelet! By all means!” she smiled, her white teeth flashing.

“How about you, Beck? Straight orange juice?
Or would you like a splash of champagne in it?”

Becky beamed. “I’ll try a splash! Thanks,
Sam! It’s a day to celebrate, isn’t it?”

Bo arched an eyebrow at Sam, but said
nothing. He caught her expression and shrugged. It was none of her
business. Becky was alone in the house a lot and could drink the
plentiful bar dry if she were so inclined—but she never did. Sam
figured a splash of champagne in her juice while under his
supervision was responsible. That was the rule in Holland—where he
had spent some time—and he thought it made sense. Several other
European countries did as well.

Several seagulls soared lazily in the
cerulean sky. The colors exhibited by the morning waves were simply
extraordinary. The sun shining through the breakers created various
shades of blue, and an occasional series of greens—from emerald to
aquamarine. Bo commented on it.

Sam said, “That wave is the color of your
eyes, Bo!”

“Really? You think so?” she smiled, warming
to his attention in spite of herself. “Why the color changes in the
waves?”

Becky leapt in and began talking about
wavelengths, prisms, refraction—and other things neither Bo nor Sam
understood.

Sam laughed, “I should have warned you, Bo!
Don’t ask unless you really want to know!”

Becky shrugged, and giggled. “Well, it’s like
the rainbow, Rainbow!”

They chatted and laughed throughout their
scrumptious meal. Becky prated on nonstop about all sorts of
nontechnical subjects. She was careful not to overwhelm them again
with her endless store of knowledge.

The three of them cleared the table and
loaded everything into the dishwasher, then began preparing for the
trip to Dana Point Harbor. Sam packed the cooler while the women
went upstairs to pack a large, straw bag that Sam and Becky had
purchased in Tijuana on one of their shopping jaunts. Bo did not
want to leave her weapon in the end table, so she went to her
bedroom door and yelled out to Becky.

“Hey, Becky! Do you have a gun safe in this
house?”

Becky yelled back from her room, where she
was gathering things for the excursion, “Grandpa has one, but Sam
just leaves his gun on his night stand when he’s here.”

Bo walked into Becky’s room so she could talk
without yelling. It was not like most teenage rooms she had seen.
First of all, it was clean and neat—the bed made. But . . . there
were no posters on the walls, no school memorabilia displayed.
There was a desk against one wall with a computer monitor and
keyboard, a printer, and a scanner arranged on it neatly. There was
a small television and a stereo system. That was it. No indication
that a teenager lived in it.