“I didn’t, but nothing you’ve said will leave this room. You’re the only person who can decide when or if to share that information. Listening to you talk, I hear recrimination in your tone. You can’t possibly believe being raped is your fault.”
Leigh’s back was against the wall. She’d already said too much
. Tell him and be done.
“I didn’t realize the man I dated was a psychopath until it was too late. By the time I broke it off, he’d decided I was his property and wouldn’t let me walk away. My poor judgment came close to getting me killed.”
“By being so secretive, aren’t you selling yourself and the people around you short?”
“You weren’t around after the trial. Didn’t hear the wisecracks, the suggestions, the innuendoes.” Hurtful words from the past flashed through her memory. “People think women are catty bitches. Let me assure you, men can be damn cruel. A few insinuated I’d brought the rape on myself. When they learned I was pregnant, several cops came right out and said I should have an abortion. Took years of hard work to earn the respect of my peers. My promotion to detective transferred me into a new division. The new guys don’t know. If they do, they’re too smart to mention the past when I’m around.”
“How many people turned their backs on you, Leigh? Must’ve been a lot since you expect the same treatment from everyone. Someday you’ll be forced to trust somebody. For now, you’ll continue as liaison.” He rose and walked around the desk. “J.T.’s probably waiting on you.”
Leigh pushed out words. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Now go stop that damn sniper.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurried out of his office. The weight on her shoulders seemed a little lighter.
Leigh joined J.T. in the small conference room where he’d moved the files from the New York vigilante case. The first few of what had to be over twenty cartons were open, and he’d stacked folders on the table. She grabbed a box, opened it, and then stopped.
“How are you sorting?”
“Concentrate strictly on any reference to sniper assignments. We don’t have time to tackle anything else.”
“You got it.” Leigh rubbed her hands over her eyes. Time to focus on the job. “Preston’s police file with pictures is supposed to be right on top of one of these boxes.”
“Yep. Keep an eye out for them. Romeo’s getting copies faxed from New York. Doesn’t mean we skip reviewing Preston’s personnel file. After we separate all the information, we’ll read and catalogue by importance.”
J.T. took the heavy box from her and lifted it to the top of the table. He looked down at her.
“This is only until your bruises go away. Then my gentlemanly manners vanish.”
Leigh refused to look at him, knowing he’d try to talk about her attack, which was the last thing she wanted to do at work.
She and J.T. fell into an easy silence, working through the morning. The stack with references to the sniper continued to grow. Occasionally, J.T. let out a deep sigh. Leigh seconded the feeling and kept sorting. She welcomed the interruption when Olivia stepped in and broke the tedium.
“Along with the trust fund, Angie Preston had a safety-deposit box at her bank. As she is the deceased wife of our suspected sniper, I’ve got enough for a warrant and a look-see inside.”
“Interesting.” J.T. looked up from his file. “Not sure how we can capitalize on it. The New York office can exercise the warrant and get pictures and copies for us.”
He leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze aimed at the ceiling. Leigh could almost see his mind working. She and Olivia waited, letting him mull over the news.
“Everything in the safety-deposit box needs to be left exactly as is.” J.T. jotted down a note. “Preston may already know his wife’s dead. We have to think about this, maybe a waste of time, but if he tries to access the money, we have him.”
“He’s legally dead, so how could he pull that off?” Olivia asked.
“Don’t know, but if he’s desperate...” J.T laid his hand on the stack of files. “It’s possible Preston has numerous identities, money stashed, and contacts to help him in case of an emergency. We get those questions answered, and we’ll understand more about the man. He may not need anything his wife left behind. It’s a long shot, but who knows what he’ll try.”
The seldom-heard long sentences, the passion in J.T.’s voice, and the intensity of those green eyes mesmerized her. Plain and simple, his confidence made him even sexier.
“Alone and desperate is a hell of a place to be,” Olivia said on a sigh.
“We’ll set this up so Angie Preston’s attorney notifies us if anyone contacts him about the trust.” J.T. stood, stacked another empty box in the corner, and then rubbed his lower back with a groan. “I’m starving.”
“We going out or ordering in?” Olivia asked.
“Makes no difference to me.” J.T. shrugged. “Long as it’s in volume.”
“There’s nothing sexier than a hungry man. Don’t you agree?” She jabbed an elbow in the direction of Leigh’s ribs. The blow landed against bruised breast tissue.
A zillion razor blades shot through Leigh. She folded over and dropped in the nearest chair.
“Oh shit! What did I do?” Olivia knelt, her eyes wide.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Sweat popped out on Leigh’s face while she fought back the urge to vomit. J.T. moved to her. His large hand splayed across her back.
“I’m sorry.” Olivia clasped Leigh’s arms and squeezed.
“I’m fine. Really.” Leigh tried to laugh off the fact her nipple burned like a blowtorch from the inside. She stood and hurried to the restroom. The minute of privacy she wanted wasn’t to be. Olivia had followed.
“Talk to me,” Olivia said. Her lips formed a thin, grim line. “Did that happen during the break-in?”
“Bastard tried to pinch off my nipple. Any bump triggers a firebomb.”
“How do we make the son of a bitch pay?” Olivia’s dark brown eyes sparked fire.
“We don’t.” J.T.’s deep voice rumbled and bounced off the tile walls.
Leigh blinked back tears. There he stood again, feet apart, arms folded across his broad chest, prepared to protect her. His body, from head to toe, screamed I’m-in-charge-so-don’t-fucking-mess-with-me.
“Why not?” Olivia took a step back.
“Leigh will ask for our help if she wants it. Besides, Atlanta PD is handling the case.” His tone left no room for argument.
“What the hell are you doing in here anyway? Didn’t they test your reading skills at Quantico?” Olivia’s shoulders squared. He’d encroached on feminine territory and clearly, he didn’t intimidate her.
He sidestepped Olivia, ignoring her outburst, and unfazed by his surroundings. Deep green eyes softened as they searched Leigh’s face. He reached for her, his fingers hovering over the bruise on her cheek. J.T. standing so close seemed to have settled her stomach instantly.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She worked to find her voice. Other than her family, no one had ever rallied to her defense like he did. “I’m better for having you two around. Let’s order in and keep working.” She hoped the change of topic would end the discussion about her injuries.
“Works for me. Olivia, if you’ll order, I’ll pay.” J.T. walked to the door and held it open.
“I’ll call out for an assortment of Chinese.” Olivia turned to Leigh, raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for approval.
“Sounds good.” Leigh headed back down the hall to the conference room only to be stopped by J.T.’s hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you call your dad? Check on how the installation is progressing,” he suggested.
“Good idea. Maybe I can sleep in my bed tonight.”
“Hello.” Olivia whirled. Her gaze darted from Leigh to J.T. and back. “And whose bed were you in last night?” Her eyes flared wide, full of curiosity.
“Nowhere juicy.” Leigh prayed her face didn’t turn beet red. “Staying at home is off-limits until the alarm system is installed. Dad’s making sure the job’s finished today.”
Leigh had danced around the truth and half-expected Olivia to push for more details. Thank God, she accepted the explanation and returned to her desk. When she was out of earshot, J.T. leaned down close to Leigh’s ear.
“Nice save,” he whispered.
“Too nice.” She’d lied to Olivia without thinking, stunning herself. The answer had popped out of Leigh’s mouth with no effort. She hated liars.
J.T. fell in step with her on the way back to the conference room. After they were inside and alone, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “That’s what you wanted, right? For us not to interfere? You say the word, and I’m on it.”
She grasped his forearm, felt the muscles twitch. “I don’t want anyone here involved.”
“Except me.” He smiled down at her. “By the way, I was way off base when I offered to sleep with you last night. I apologize for being a smartass. I didn’t realize how badly you were hurt.”
“I like some smartasses,” she said, unable to concentrate on anything except him standing inches away. His hands gripped and released her shoulders, the gentle massage telegraphed hormonal shocks to regions left untended for too long. The same breast, which felt pain a minute ago, now ached with desire. The faint scent of his cologne drifted into her nostrils. Woodsy, musky, and all man. Leigh held back the sigh riding at the top of her chest.
He tilted his head sideways with a cocky, lopsided grin. “But I stand by my offer.”
“Stop that.” She laughed as the tension between them thickened. He stared at her mouth for a second and abruptly turned away.
J.T. rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, lifted another carton of files onto the conference table for her, and then returned to his stack. The muscles in his forearms rippled and flexed with the movement. The innocent baring of skin hit her as sensuous and personal. The severity of his daily attire, the starched, snowy white shirt, and black slacks set all her woman-nerves sizzling. She’d had the privilege of seeing how he looked in the mornings, unshaven with dark stubble and uncombed black hair hanging across his forehead. All disheveled, J.T. fired her imagination and sent images of naked, sweaty bodies to her brain. Lord have mercy, shave him, dress him in the standard FBI outfit, settle his weapon over his right kidney, and she went weak in the knees. He took her breath away. No doubt, he’d deny his good looks. He’d be wrong.
She’d ventured out into the dating world a couple of times. She’d bounce back if things turned sour. Poor Ethan had been hurt badly when one bastard dropped her after learning the truth about the rape and pregnancy. J.T. might react differently.
Dare she put him to the test? No. Tonight she’d sleep in her bed. She needed to clear her head, and get her life back in order.
****
Monday, May 3, 11:00 a.m.
Jason’s grin drew his new secretary’s attention when he hung up the phone.
“Good news?” Tricia laid a stack of messages on his desk and waited.
“Very. Check my father’s appointment calendar. I need a few minutes with him.”
“Right away.” Her gaze slid down Jason’s body, hinting at her willingness for an after-work fling.
Tricia looked and behaved exactly the way a woman should. Blonde, blue-eyed with a nice ass and perky tits, she waited on him hand and foot. Even better, she always agreed with him and didn’t talk much.
He returned his attention to the software package he was testing for the firm. Boring but profitable, the business brought the Carrington family in contact with powerful clients. He’d use these connections to ensure his alibis came from upstanding citizens.
“Your father’s free for a few minutes.” Tricia reappeared in the doorway. Her lips curved, sending a clear, unspoken message.
“Thank you, Tricia,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured.
Jason strode with purpose, head up, shoulders back, making every effort to look the role of a Carrington while he made his way to the corner office. Thick carpet cushioned his footsteps, making his trip silent. The tastefully decorated beige and gold office was quite a contrast to his jail cell. His knock was solid and done with confidence.
“Come in, my boy.” His father’s voice vibrated with good cheer.
Jason paused with the door half closed. “May I?”
“Of course.” His father moved from behind his desk to the Italian-suede couch. “I hear you’ve made design changes in the Cartain’s new software package. Good ones.”
“Easy finds.” Jason sat across from the couch. “Morgan Anderson called. He’s found a judge who’ll at least listen.”
“We got the paternity test?” Carlton Carrington sat straight up. “Excellent.”
“Don’t have the go-ahead, yet. At least the request’s on the docket to be heard.”
“When?”
“No date yet.”
“You’ll be persuasive when you speak to the court.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason understood his father issued an order...not praise.
“By the way, I hired a private detective.”
Jason jumped to his feet. “You what?”
“I had him take pictures of the boy for your mother.” The nerves in his father’s jaw jerked when anyone questioned his actions. “He doesn’t favor you at all. Are you sure he carries your DNA?”