Phoebe nodded gratefully. Sleep was what she needed. And a shower. And food. Though she had no idea in which order. She walked out of the kitchen and took the back stairs leading to the second floor. To her surprise the house had two staircases, one in the front and one in the back. The house looked well maintained and comfortable. The thick carpet under her feet swallowed the sound of her footsteps when she walked along the upstairs corridor in search of the master bedroom. Double doors led into it. A massive king-sized bed dominated the room which had French doors leading to a balcony overlooking the backyard. Closets lined the walkway that led into the bathroom.
The shower was equipped with dual showerheads, a luxury she’d never enjoyed before. But what drew her attention was the large soaking tub. Yes, that was exactly what she needed now. A long soak in the tub to soothe her aching muscles which weren’t accustomed to riding on a motorcycle for hours without a break.
Luckily the woman living in this home liked her baths too, if the variety of the various bath foams and salts was anything to go by. Phoebe picked a lavender-scented bath foam and filled the oversized tub with hot water while she undressed.
Minutes later, she sank into the heavenly liquid and closed her eyes. Time to relax and to think. So many questions swarmed in her head. She didn’t even know where to start. She would have to make a mental list. And on the top of her list was the most important question: who was Scott?
Other questions followed easily from there: who was he running from and why? Had he committed a heinous crime? Why had he saved the children and her? As the memory of the train collision surfaced again, she recalled the news report from Debbie Finch from WYAT News. She’d mentioned another, similar incident where a motorcyclist had saved the victim of a collision and had then disappeared before being identified. Had Scott anything to do with that? She shook her head. Impossible. It would be too much of a coincidence. After all, the odds of somebody happening upon an impending disaster like that and arriving in time to prevent it were huge. The odds of the same thing happening to the same person twice were astronomical.
Only somebody knowing of events like these in advance would be able to achieve this impossible feat. And she didn’t believe that Scott had anything to do with the bus driver or the cab driver from the incident two years earlier. No, it had to be a coincidence. A very lucky coincidence.
Phoebe sighed and dipped the back of her head into the water, wetting her hair before sitting up again, her eyes still closed. She’d only switched on the light over the sink which bathed the room in an orange glow.
“You look comfortable. May I join you?”
Phoebe gasped and jerked up. Water sloshed over the side of the tub. She found Scott standing at the door, looking at her, his eyes unreadable.
“You have to stop sneaking up on me like that,” she admonished.
“Apologies,” he said and stepped into the room.
She ran her eyes over him. He’d taken off his leather jacket and boots, but was still wearing his black T-shirt and pants. Involuntarily she licked her lips and felt her nipples pebble. Suddenly she was fully aware of the fact that she was sitting up in the bathtub and the foam wasn’t covering her breasts anymore.
“I take that as a yes.”
Her throat dry now, Phoebe watched him undress. First he pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the clothes hamper. Then he opened the button of his pants and pulled down the zipper.
Slowly she sank back into the water, her breasts now beneath the foam again. When Scott stepped out of his pants, her eyes zeroed in on his boxer briefs. The fabric stretched tightly over his groin. The moment his thumbs hooked underneath the waistband, she dropped her lids and looked away. God, she was ogling him like a star-struck teenager! It was positively shameless. Hadn’t she cursed herself only yesterday morning for being so naïve and falling for his seduction? And now she was about to do the same: succumb to his sex appeal when what she should be doing was asking him questions.
“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy,” Scott said and stepped into the tub.
When he remained standing, she looked up to him and stared right at his cock. It hung there, long and heavy, but relaxed.
“Are you gonna stand there forever?” she asked instead of an answer.
“May I get behind you?”
Phoebe scooted forward and he stepped around her to slide into the tub, sitting down behind her, his legs in a vee, his arms immediately pulling her against his chest. One hand slid to her stomach, resting there. The other lay across her breasts, though he was making no attempt to caress them.
“This feels good.” Scott’s breath blew against her nape.
She remained stiff in his arms, her head raised.
“What’s wrong? Relax, Phoebe. Rest your head against my chest.” When she finally did, his hand stroked leisurely over her stomach. “That’s better.”
“I need answers, Scott,” she blurted before her courage could desert her. And this time she wouldn’t stop until she’d gotten the answers she sought.
16
Scott sighed. He had the feeling this time he couldn’t pacify Phoebe with a kiss like he’d done the night before. But no matter what she asked,
he
would be the one controlling what he told her. He wouldn’t be cajoled into revealing his secrets, though he knew in order to keep Phoebe from mounting a mutiny, he’d have to give up some information.
“Why is this story so important to you?” he asked to buy himself some time.
“It’s not really about this story.” She hesitated. “Well, it is and it isn’t.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Phoebe shifted, turning her head sideways. “The paper is in financial trouble, and they’re letting people go. If I can’t prove I’m somebody worth keeping, I’ll be axed. And since the editor-in-chief’s son was one of the kids on the bus, he’s gotten it into his head to get your story.”
“So that’s why you followed me.” For a moment he’d thought maybe she’d followed him because she’d felt spurned by him. And some women just needed to have the last word.
“Well, your insulting note didn’t help. That’s for sure.”
He pressed her more firmly against his chest and dropped his head to hers. “I already explained why I wrote it.” He planted a quick kiss on her temple. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to tell your editor there’s no story.” Scott slid his mouth farther down and kissed her neck, but she pulled away, making it abundantly clear he couldn’t butter her up this time. “Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll tell you about myself.”
She turned her face to him, smiling, her mouth already opening, ready to ask her question, but he stopped her.
“But you can’t print any of it. If the public finds out about it, I’m as good as dead.”
Her face fell. “But there must be something I can give to Eriksson.”
“Make something up. Isn’t that what reporters do anyway?”
Outrage colored Phoebe’s face. “That’s not true! I only write the truth! I’m not some unethical gossip columnist writing for a worthless rag. I work for the Daily Messenger.”
Scott lifted his hands in defense. “Nothing personal, but I know from experience that not even the Daily Messenger always prints the truth. And with this lie you would protect me. Unless of course you don’t care what happens to me.” He threw the bait out there, hoping she’d bite.
She did, but not without making her own demands. “Fine, but you’ll tell me the truth.”
“Good, but you’ll never breathe a word of it to anybody. I’ll give you the truth.” Well, a sanitized version of it, anyway. Because Phoebe would never believe the entire truth, and it wasn’t for him to divulge it. Too much was at stake. He couldn’t risk the lives of other men like him, if some of them were indeed still alive and living in hiding like he was.
Scott pulled her back to lean against his chest and wrapped his arms around her again, one arm across her luscious breasts, one hand low on her stomach. So low that his fingertips were grazing the top of her mound, ready to take action if he needed to divert her attention when her questions went in a direction he didn’t want to take.
“I spent the first eleven years of my life in an orphanage in Richmond, Virginia,” he started. “I hated every moment of it. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t get along with the other kids. I was bullied. Well, back then, I guess they didn’t call it that.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows who my parents were. They abandoned me. I was found as a baby in a trashcan, barely alive.”
A shocked gasp came from Phoebe.
“I assume that my mother was a teenager and I was the result of an unwanted pregnancy.”
“Did you ever try to find out? I mean, these days with DNA analysis and everything…”
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to know who she is. She didn’t want me. So why would I want her?” Scott wasn’t bitter about it anymore. Because somebody else had given him the love he’d craved as a child. “I was adopted when I was eleven.”
“A good family?”
“A single man who gave me the home I needed. He taught me everything. He was my father in everything but blood. We were so much alike.”
“Could he have been your biological father? I mean, maybe he found out about you and came to claim you because he knew you were his son?”
Scott smiled wistfully. “No, he wasn’t my biological father. But it didn’t matter. I loved him and looked up to him.”
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” she asked hesitantly, pity evident in her voice.
“Murdered.”
“Murdered?” Phoebe echoed. “Oh my God!”
“I couldn’t prevent it.”
“Were you with him when it happened?”
“No. Had I been there, maybe I would have been able to save him. But they made sure they got him alone.”
“Did the police find the killers?”
“There was never an investigation.”
Phoebe spun around, staring at him in disbelief. “But for every murder there’s a police investigation.”
“The official story was that he died of a heart attack.”
Her eyebrows knotted. “But…I don’t get it. Are you sure he was murdered?”
Scott saw skepticism in her eyes now and couldn’t really blame her. If somebody were telling him the story, maybe he’d be skeptical too. “I never saw his body, but I managed to access the unofficial report.”
“Unofficial report?”
“They covered everything up, swept it under the rug.”
“The police? But if they did that, you’ll have to try to prove it. Go to the FBI, have them investigate. Or the government. There must be people who can help you.”
“I’m not talking about the police, Phoebe. I’m talking about the government. They are the ones who covered it up.”
Phoebe’s head went from side to side. “But why?”
“Because they can’t afford for anybody to find out that one of their top secret CIA programs was compromised and its director murdered. They can’t let anybody know the program even existed. And because of that, they’ve become accessories. I can’t trust them.”
“But don’t you think that’s—”
“Paranoid?” Scott finished her sentence.
“I was gonna say crazy, but paranoid works too.”
“I’m alive. If that means I’m paranoid, then I’m paranoid.”
Her forehead furrowed. “But why would they be after you too? Just because your father was the director of some super-secret government program? That makes no sense.”
Scott took her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “Phoebe, I worked with my father. I was one of his agents. The people who killed my father are hunting me and everybody else connected to the program. And when they catch me they’ll kill me unless I kill them first.”
A shocked gasp came over Phoebe’s lips. She swallowed. “What program were you in?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’ve already told you more than I’ve ever told anybody else. Please don’t ask anything else. The less you know, the safer you are.”
Slowly, Phoebe nodded, then she turned fully and put her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.
“What’s that for?” he murmured, surprised at her sudden show of affection. He hadn’t expected her to agree to his demand so readily.
“Thank you for telling me about you.”
He didn’t know what to say, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. And guilty. Because he hadn’t told her the most important thing. He hadn’t revealed to her that he’d had a premonition about her death. And the knowledge that he was the only thing that stood between her and her killer sent an ice-cold shiver down his spine and chilled him to the bone.
Scott shifted to sit up with Phoebe in his arms. “The water is getting cold. Let’s dry off.” He reached for the plug and pulled it, letting the water drain as he got out of the tub and helped Phoebe out of it.
He opened the large linen closet and pulled a bath towel from it, draped it over Phoebe’s back and started to dry her off. When she took a step toward him, rubbing her still damp body against his, he was suddenly fully aware of her nakedness.
She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Scott,” she murmured, her lips parting while her hands reached for his face and the towel slid from her shoulders.
Automatically, his hands went around her back, one capturing her behind to press her against his growing erection. Maybe that’s what they needed right now—a reaffirmation of life, though Phoebe couldn’t even guess the extent of the danger she was facing. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”
A tantalizing smile crossed her lips. “Are you always aroused that easily?”
Scott arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Do I need to?” Her fingers trailed down his torso, heading for his groin. “Or are you going to give me what I want voluntarily?”
“What is it that you want this time? More answers?”
She shook her head and licked her lips. Her hand now combed through the thatch of dark hair that surrounded his cock. When her fingertips made contact with his hard flesh, he hissed in a breath. Yes, making love to her would take the edge off. And after that he’d come up with a plan to prevent the event that could end Phoebe’s life. The premonition had shown him that they were already onto him and he couldn’t outrun them. It meant he had to fight them. Before they had a chance to force him into a corner.