Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) (3 page)

His father had been a drunk who'd died instantly behind the wheel of a battered pickup held together by lube oil, dust and a prayer, when it kissed the trunk of a tree at 60 mph. For reasons he failed to comprehend, his mother had mourned the death of her mean bastard of a husband and committed suicide three months later. Only thirteen at the time, thin, pale and oddly quiet, Stevie Radgetz had been the one to find his mother, along with an empty bottle of tequila and prescription sleeping pills as her companions in bed.

He'd gone to live with his father's brother, William Radgetz, following his mother's funeral. His drunken father and suicidal mother had been a picnic compared to dear old Uncle Willie. At least Stevie had known his parents had loved him in their own misguided way, even if it hadn't been enough for them to stick around. Willie didn't give a shit about him and didn't care who knew it, even thin, pale, dirty little Stevie. It was no secret the only reason Willie kept him around was for the government check that arrived each month, a check Stevie never saw so much as a penny of in the five years he lived in his uncle's ramshackle house on the edge of town. The only thing he'd ever seen from his uncle had been his fists when he'd had too much to drink, which was often.

A week after his eighteenth birthday, Stevie legally changed his last name to Radcliffe and left the Kentucky backwater town, never looking back. With the stash of money he'd earned from the few folks around town who would even hire a Radgetz to do their odd jobs, Steven Radcliffe made his way to California. A high-priced set of forged high-school transcripts and an honest college entrance exam score had enabled him to enroll at the University of California at Berkeley. Part-time jobs, a few of them unsavory, supported him in the lifestyle he'd dreamed of having. While the federal government funded his education with loans and grants, the college housed him first in a dorm and then in a frat house. He'd despised most of his frat brothers, with their spoiled ways and overindulgent parents. He wasn't stupid, however, and kept his disdain to himself while making the necessary contacts he knew he'd one day need to get his foot in the door of the life he so desperately craved. A life filled with wealth, position, and above all, respect.

His plan had been so simple, and was executed with ease. Any and all traces of dirty little Stevie Radgetz no longer existed. He'd gotten his first step in politics thanks to the father of one of his frat brothers, who'd introduced him to an up-and-coming politician. Steve made a name for himself in the political arena, but he never did have the desire to run for office himself. He was better suited behind the scenes, where the deal-making took place, where the real power lay. Which was why one of the most revered senators on the hill, Senator Martin Phipps, an arrogant, pompous bastard, came to him to replace his former aide, the late Roland
Santiago. And why Steve was immediately called upon to clean up a very ugly mess.

The senator would trample his own grandmother if it meant getting ahead, and that suited Steve just fine. Hell, he'd even provide the running shoes, for the simple fact that when Phipps rose in power, Steve's own power and value increased. He liked that. A lot.

Quietly closing the door to his elegantly appointed office, he headed down the silent corridor to Phipps's office. Steve had news to impart, but he'd wisely waited until the offices were deserted, lest anyone overhear what he had to say.

The door stood ajar. Steve knocked once, stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind him. Phipps unnecessarily waved him in, said goodbye to his current mistress and hung up the phone.

“Rumor has it the president is going to announce the first appointment Monday morning,” Steve said without preamble. Phipps liked getting straight to the point, while Steve always preferred a subtle approach. Shifting gears was as easy as playing to the senator's arrogance. Steve excelled in both.

Phipps stood and crossed the lush, jewel-toned Oriental rug to the carved armoire on the opposite end of the office. Keeping his back to Steve, he poured himself a Scotch, neat. “How much truth do you believe is behind the rumor?”

Steve carefully sat in the leather wing chair. “My source in the White House is extremely reliable.”

“Good,” Phipps said with a nod. He turned and smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair with his free hand, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. “I've been invited
to Justice Elliot's farewell dinner. Beautifully ironic, wouldn't you say?”

“Only if the president appoints Galloway
and
Boswell to the bench once Middleton steps down,” Steve reminded him. He felt confident the president would appoint the two federal appellate court judges to the bench of the United States Supreme Court. He also knew Phipps believed he held in his hands the power that would enable him to convince his fellow senators on the judiciary committee to vote in favor of the appointments. The truth was much more complicated.

“He will,” Phipps answered arrogantly. “First Galloway, and then Boswell in a few months, once Middleton announces his retirement.”

“
If
Middleton announces his retirement before the end of the session,” Steve corrected.

Phipps ignored that comment. He moved from the armoire and propped his hip on the corner of his large oak desk. At sixty-two, Phipps was still athletically built and kept his body in shape. He worked out daily and was still as fit as he'd been during his years as the star quarterback at Texas A&M, followed by a brief stint in the pros.

Phipps's vibrant blue eyes filled with confident arrogance. “They not only share the same party affiliation, but they openly supported the president's platform during the last election. With everyone focusing on the abortion issue again, they're the perfect choice.”

“You're very certain of this.”

“I'd bet your career on it, Radcliffe.”

No doubt he would, Steve thought. Phipps never
had any trouble getting what he wanted. Steve saw to it.

Phipps took a drink of the Scotch, then asked, “What else is on your mind, Radcliffe?”

Steve leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “We've had a breach,” he said, watching Phipps's expression intently. Confidence fled from the older man's eyes, replaced by a flash of fear, followed by anger.

“When?” the senator demanded.

“About a month ago.”

“A month?” he roared.

Steve nodded.

“And why am I only just hearing of it?” Phipps lowered his voice.

“I only learned of it myself. I had a dinner meeting tonight with—”

“I don't give a rat's ass who you broke bread with,” Phipps snapped. “What went wrong that we weren't notified immediately?”

Steve straightened. He'd expected the senator to be angry, but the fear in his eyes had taken him off guard. But then, when someone was trying to upset the balance of the Supreme Court, he suspected a little fear should be involved. The senator had a lot to lose. So did Steve, which was why he'd make sure the truth would never be leaked.

“Whoever did it was good,” he told the senator. “We think it was a professional. He knew where to look and how to cover his tracks.”

Phipps rose and started to pace. “Do you think it was him?”

“It's entirely possible, but I have my doubts.”

“Enlighten me.”

“He would've made a move by now if it'd been him.”

Phipps let out a sigh. “We need to move first, before he does. Bring him out in the open, Radcliffe. You know what you need to do. It's time.”

“Yes, Senator. I'll handle it.” Steve stood and immediately headed for the door. He didn't have time to waste. He had another life to destroy.

T
AKING THE HARD VINYL
chair Jared indicated, Peyton sat at the round table in the far corner of the motel room and quickly surveyed her surroundings, surreptitiously searching for a means of escape. Her only hope was the bathroom, but from the brief glimpse she'd had when Jared flipped on the lights, she couldn't be sure if it even had a window. There had to be, she thought. Considering Jared had to have made getting out of places in a hurry his number one priority, she couldn't imagine him holing up without an alternate means of escape.

At least the place was clean, if a strong disinfectant smell was any indication. Although dull from years of wear and tear, the multicolored shag carpet was well maintained. Thankfully, she hadn't noticed a single critter scurrying from the light, either. Not that she cared one way or another, because she had no intention of staying.

The fact that he'd kidnapped her by disposable lighter, rather than gunpoint, reassured her to some small degree that regardless of all the tough talk, he didn't plan to hurt her. Still, a part of her wasn't quite so confident. In the hard man currently holding her captive, she barely recognized the Jared she'd known. Gone was the smooth, polished federal agent with a
promising career ahead of him. A fugitive she barely recognized remained, one accused of a brutal double murder.

Only memories existed now. Memories better left alone if she planned to maintain emotional distance.

She watched him as he secured the door, then peered through a crack in the draperies to the parking lot they'd left only moments ago.

“So what do you plan on doing with me now that you've got me here?” She touched the tabletop with the tips of her fingers. When they didn't stick to the surface, she crossed her arms and leaned against the imitation wood grain. “If it's ransom money you're looking for, forget it. I'm practically broke.”

He made a noise that could have been a grunt of disagreement. As if the security bar and dead bolt weren't enough, he slid one of the vinyl chairs beneath the knob and wedged it against the door.

“Jared? Are you going to tell me what's going on? I'd like to be home before midnight, if you don't mind.”

He turned to face her. In the soft buttery glow of the lamplight, she finally saw him clearly. Unable to help herself, she stared in utter fascination. His dark mink-colored hair, always kept short, now brushed his collar, the perfect accompaniment to the faded jeans and worn denim shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. There was that slight graying at his temples that conflicted with the rebel look, adding a distinguished quality that most men wouldn't see until their mid-forties or later. He was about twenty pounds thinner than she remembered, but from the way the jeans
and shirt clung to his body, she suspected he was no less muscular. Maybe even more so.

Much to her surprise, she realized she longed to see the hint of mischief that had once filled his green eyes, along with the lopsided grin she could never resist. If she could catch just a trace of the old Jared, then maybe the past three years would all seem like a bad dream.

She gave herself a hard mental shake. The past could not be changed. Hadn't she learned that lesson time and again throughout her life? Reality stood before her, changed and unfamiliar. She might not like what he'd become, but the hardness she sensed had always lurked beneath the surface was now more apparent than ever before. He'd been an FBI agent, one of the best. An agent didn't regularly handle Black Ops or deep-cover assignments by not residing at the top of the pyramid. So what if his eyes looked her up and down now with glacial hardness? It made no difference to her whatsoever, even if it did make him even more handsome than she remembered. They were no longer simpatico. The part of her that had clung to the dream of happily-ever-after had died the day he turned his back on everything good and right.

Too bad none of her arguments could change one little fact of life—Jared Romine would always be able to turn her head.

As if he hadn't heard her questions or demands, he left his post by the door and crossed the room toward her.

“Jared. I want to go home,” she repeated when he pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and tossed it on the nightstand along with her keys.

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, you can't go home. It's too dangerous.”

The expression in his gaze rattled her. “So you've already said.” She struggled to come to terms with the fear banked within the depths of his eyes. Fear for her? Or for himself when they caught him?

She pulled in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. The sooner she found out what he wanted, the sooner she could return to her life. To her safe existence, where beige was an exciting color.

“What's going on, Jared? If it's help you want—”

“Help?” Hardness replaced the anxiety in his eyes and he gave an abrupt bark of humorless laughter. “Oh, you'd help me all right. Straight into the gas chamber.”

She shook her head. “You're not being fair.”

He planted his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “Fair? You want fair?” His angry voice dripped with sarcasm. “How fair were you when you turned me over without even waiting to hear my side of the story?”

No, the night he'd come to her, she hadn't given him a chance to explain. If she had, they would've used whatever he'd told her against him. Her arms slid from the table. She balled her hands into tight fists, then stood and returned his glare with one of her own.

“They didn't give me a choice.” The bitter taste of betrayal hadn't waned one iota in three years. “What did you want me to do, Jared? Risk being disbarred? Lose everything? After what they put me through, I think I paid a high enough price.”

He let out a rough sigh and reached for her. “Look, I'm sorry.”

Whether he was apologizing for being a jerk or for what her involvement with him had nearly cost her, she didn't know, and quite frankly, she was too ticked off at being kidnapped to really give a damn. She sidestepped him and made it to the nightstand to snag her keys. “It doesn't matter. I'm leaving. Don't waste your breath trying to change my mind.”

“It's too dangerous for you now.”

She faced him, anger and frustration still brewing inside her. “The way I see it, the only danger I'm in at the moment is a result of having been kidnapped by a fugitive. It's safer for both of us if I leave and pretend tonight never happened.”

He narrowed the space between them. “It's not going to be that easy this time, Peyton.”

The unexpected and sudden gentleness of his tone stroked her like a physical caress. Sweet, caring and way out of line. Damn Jared, and damn the memories swamping her. “It wasn't the last time, either.”

She spun to leave, but before she took a single step toward freedom, he had her by the arm and used care to turn her around to face him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

The feel of the long length of his body pressed against her was instant electricity. The urge to wreathe her arms around his neck and pull him down for a long, hot kiss overwhelmed her.

Now who's out of line?

“Let me go, Jared.” Her nipples beaded and rasped against the lace of her bra, making a mockery of her demand.

That lopsided grin made an appearance, taking the edge off the hard angles of his face. “I remember a
time when you didn't mind so much.” The sensual darkening of his gaze matched the low, husky timbre of his velvety-smooth voice.

The insides of her thighs tingled in response, along with the first sensual tug of need pulling in her belly. “That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.” Obviously not long enough for her body to forget that heaven could always be found with Jared.

Oh, this was bad. Real bad. She had to get away from him. The last thing she needed was to complicate this mess any further. Stirring up wicked fantasies was not an option. Or worse, caving in to the desire weaving through her body. She set her hands against his shoulders and pushed.

Instead of letting her go, he tightened his hold, urging her body even closer. The soft denim of his jeans brushed against her legs, turning the tingling between her thighs to a demanding throb. Feeling the hard ridge of his fully erect penis pressing against his fly was like laying a match to a fuse of dynamite.

“Then why does it feel like I held you this way only yesterday?”

Probably because it felt that way to her, too, but she kept the traitorous thought to herself. “Why did you bring me here?”

Why did you have to come back into my life, even for a few hours?

“Answer me, Peyton.”

She wasn't going near that one, even if her life was in danger, as he claimed. “No. You answer my questions. You said once we were somewhere safe you'd tell me everything.”

He lifted his hand and smoothed his thumb along
her lower lip. “Your mouth has haunted my dreams for far too long.”

“Jared,” she replied. Whether in protest or invitation, she couldn't be sure. She wanted it to be protest, she really did, but the way her body was humming with anticipation, invitation was closer to the truth.

She stared, mesmerized, as he slowly dipped his head. The keys slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Oh, mercy, he was going to kiss her. She knew she should stop him, but somewhere deep inside, some part of her that still clung to traitorous old memories ignored the necessary protests and outrage that would quickly put an end to the resurrection of the past. Instead, the second his lips brushed hers, her eyes closed and she welcomed the pressure of his mouth on hers.

She'd expected gentle. Maybe even tentative. But what began as the tender brushing of lips quickly evolved into something deeper and hotter and wetter than she'd experienced in a very long time. The last thing she anticipated was for need and desire to tear through her, causing every possible point of pleasure to pulse and throb.

As if the last three hellish years had never existed, she clung to him and gave herself up to the insistent pounding of desire as she slid her hands over his torso, exploring familiar territory. As if undressing Jared was still second nature to her, she quickly undid his shirt and smoothed her hands along his bare skin. The enticing flex of muscle and sinew beneath her fingertips had her sighing into his mouth.

An invitation didn't come any more engraved.

He responded by moving her backward until her
bottom came in contact with the textured wall. His heat surrounded her, engulfed her, and burned slow and hot, catching her completely off guard with its intensity. As though they'd never been separated, her body responded to his with the building of pleasure so overwhelming she knew she never wanted it to end.

His tongue stroked hers in a hot, erotic dance of seduction, sending tiny little tremors of pleasure dancing beneath her skin, igniting a hot flame that seared her from the inside out. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew allowing them to continue was wrong, yet even the knowledge that she was charging down a forbidden path did nothing to stem the insistent need where she craved his touch the most. As much as her conscience screamed at her to push him away and put an end to this erotic nonsense, her heart yearned for the single moment in time where she could forget the past three years of loneliness, of longing for what could never be, of steeling herself against the hurt she'd seen in his eyes the night she'd betrayed him.

The kiss ended all too soon and he backed away from her. He shoved a hand through his hair and stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. Or maybe he was remembering another time, a time when they'd been in love.

Cool air brushed her skin, sending a chill down her spine. The desire to slip back into his arms, to feel the heat of his body pressing against hers, to reassure herself she wasn't suffering from another dream where she'd wake up to nothing but darkness and a deep ache in her chest, stunned her. She didn't know whether to weep with frustration or shout for joy that he was standing in front of her, holding her, kissing
her, making her forget the horrendous pain after he'd run from the feds, leaving her behind to cope with the emotional and physical aftershocks from events that had spun out of control.

“That shouldn't have happened,” he said, turning his back to her while he buttoned his shirt. “I apologize.”

She shouldn't have let it happen, for a whole series of reasons, but she hadn't let it stop her from enjoying every second she'd been in his arms. It was only the shock of seeing him again, of knowing he was alive. Yeah, that made sense. She'd plastered herself all over him and kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, just to reassure herself he wasn't a ghost of her imagination this time.

Now there was an argument she could
never
hope to sell to a jury.

“But it did happen,” she heard herself saying. “And dammit, Jared, it felt right.”

Was she insane?

Obviously.

He spun around to face her and stared in disbelief. “Right?” he said, after a half-dozen heartbeats of dead silence. He took a step toward her and snagged her left hand, lifting it until the engagement ring Leland had given her was between them. “Take a good look at that and then tell me again how
right
it felt.”

There wasn't a single thing she could say in her defense, so she kept her mouth firmly shut. The absolute truth of it was she hadn't given Leland a solitary thought when she'd been wrapped around Jared. Did that make her a bad person? Maybe. Probably. But would a jury convict her because she'd lost her
head for a moment in the arms of the man who'd once touched her soul?

Without a doubt, she thought. She'd slipped. Made a mistake. Her emotions were running in high gear and she'd been momentarily rendered conscienceless. No matter how right her heart and body had felt being in Jared's arms, she wouldn't let something like that happen again.