Sean Page 8

  She’d had no choice but to leave, and she’d certainly had no right to drag him into the mess in which she’d found herself smack in the middle. She wished she could have told him how many times she’d wanted to pick up the phone, track him down in Denver, just so she could hear his voice. So she could tell him everything, convinced that somehow, some way, he’d make it all okay. Or at least more bearable. But she couldn’t call him then and she couldn’t tell him now. Any of it. Because she did know him well enough to know that he’d jump right into the center of it with her, and he didn’t understand what was at stake. Because he was an honorable man, he’d expect her to do the right thing, expect her father to do the right thing.

  She tugged her chair out and slumped into it, feeling so tired her bones ached. Guilt racked her, even as she seethed in anger at what Alan was doing to her, and to her father, as well—though he was mercifully unaware of it. Of course, her father’s role in this also had her upset, angry and confused. But she couldn’t confront him. Or wouldn’t. He was this close to finishing his term and to retiring, with a golden career record and a potentially bright future in politics. And she knew he was planning to run for office.

  Against the very man who was presently blackmailing her.

  “Jesus, maybe I should have just crawled back to Alan when he begged me to the first time. Solved everyone’s problem.” She shuddered at the very idea. Giving in momentarily to her bone-deep fatigue, she folded her arms on her desk and rested her forehead on them. For the umpteenth time, she told herself there had to be an explanation for what Alan had accused her father of doing. But she’d dug into the case Alan had referred to, and she had to admit it looked very fishy. It hadn’t even been a splashy case, just a small criminal charge that had ultimately been dropped. But not before a few legal maneuvers had been run and a few motions filed—all in front of her father when he’d held the bench she currently occupied. And all centering on the same man now going to trial in front of her for much larger-scale crimes. Jack Rochambeau.

  This was a case Alan Bentley had been thrilled to have the opportunity to prosecute. The obvious reason being that it would help him make an even bigger name for himself before he tossed his hat into the political ring. No one knew of the desperation behind his apparent glee. No one knew that Alan was in a deeply troubling situation, one that had ramifications far bigger than his future in the D.A.’s office.

  No one but Alan. And, now, the judge presiding over the trial.

  He’d accepted, albeit unknowingly at the time, a campaign finance deal from the very “family” the district attorney’s office was now trying to publicly expose. Which was the real reason he’d fought for the case. So he could lose it. In exchange for a path straight to the state senate door, paved with unlimited laundered funds provided by many of the Rochambeau business connections, Jack Rochambeau was going to receive a Get Out of Jail Free card.

  And if Alan failed, more than his future in politics was likely at stake.

  But Alan hadn’t made it this far without learning how to connive his way out of a bind. He was going to lose this case—he didn’t see that he had any choice. The Rochambeaus had him by the short hairs. And, frankly, if Seamus Patrick tossed his hat in the ring for the senate as expected, Alan had likely realized he was going to need the “family’s” help if he had a prayer in hell of winning. So Jack was going to get off, and he expected Laurel to help him make that happen, help him unravel what looked to be an airtight case against the arrogant local “businessman.” But she was going to help him lose it in such a way that it appeared the D.A.’s office had done everything it could. A technicality here, a difficult ruling by the judge on this motion or that…and Alan’s hands were tied. It wouldn’t be the significant win Alan had wanted, but he wouldn’t be burned too badly for losing it. He’d make sure Laurel took the fall for that.

  And if she didn’t comply?

  Well, she hadn’t fallen for his attempts at seduction. Nor had being publicly humiliated caused her to consider stepping down from the case—so she could be replaced by a judge Alan already had in his pocket. So his latest threat was to make sure certain facts about that long-ago case Seamus had overseen would be fed to the media sharks. What a feeding frenzy that would be! Alan hadn’t shared the apparent proof with her, but she had enough reason to believe it existed—and it was tearing her apart.

  When he’d come to St. Thomas and she’d made it clear, once and for all, that renewing any kind of personal relationship was never going to happen, he’d initially only threatened to destroy her career. If that had been his leverage in getting her to comply with his scheme then, without blinking an eye, she’d have gunned right back and exposed Alan for the lying, manipulating bastard he was.

  She’d have taken the fallout that would have surfaced when he countered with supposedly lurid details about their previous relationship. Not that there had been anything remotely lurid about the weekend they’d spent with each other…but Alan would have gone out of his way to make it appear that way. And just as surely, by the time she could prove otherwise, if she could do such a thing, it would have been too late. Her reputation would have been in question, the illustrious Patrick image tarnished, her career irrevocably impaired.

  But that wouldn’t have stopped her. And Alan had known that, which was why he’d had his ace in the hole. That one shaky case, years before. But with the current media focus on this much higher-profile case involving the same man, the journalists would feast on this new detail and her father’s future in politics would be put in serious jeopardy. She had no idea what proof Alan had, or where he’d come by it, but she couldn’t risk exposing Alan’s scheme, either publicly or to the police. The potential damage to her father was too debilitating.

  Her phone rang, making her flinch as she jerked upright, snatching it up before it could ring again. “Patrick.”

  “I need to see you. Privately.”

  She stiffened, her stomach revolted. “Absolutely not.”

  “Oh, I think you will. We need to find a channel of communication. A private channel. Time is ticking away. Plans must be made.”

  “Al—”

  “No names. And don’t try to be clever. Just do as I say. Everyone comes out smelling like a rose.”

  Laurel thought about all the people Jack Rochambeau had hurt—financially, physically, emotionally—during his tenure as the head of one of the most notorious crime families in the state. She thought about the rock-solid case the D.A. had supposedly built against him. Bile rose in her throat. “Where?” she choked.

  “That’s better. Tonight, eight, our place.”

  Our place. Laurel could only assume he meant the backwater bridge, where they’d walked and talked after returning from their weekend in New Orleans. Where he’d tried to get her to change her mind about continuing what they’d started. Where she’d seen past the intellect and good looks to the thing that had niggled at her often enough over the course of the weekend to have her ending things before they’d really begun. She’d spied more fully that opportunistic undercurrent that ran just below the river of charm he used to sweep most people off their feet. Laurel, as it turned out, wasn’t most people.

  Nor had she been interested in being courted for the powerful position she held rather than the woman she was.

  “It could have been so different,” he murmured into the long silence. “You shouldn’t have left me.”

  Laurel physically recoiled from the image he painted…the underlying threat in his tone. It hadn’t taken her very long to discover Alan’s controlling, manipulative tendencies. He hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer. After all, he’d seen their future together from the moment they’d met. Why hadn’t she? Only it wasn’t their future putting that gleam in his eyes…just his. And he’d expected to use her power, her place in the legal community, her prestige, to get him where he wanted to be.

  Sure, she could have kids if she wanted, but there would be no stepping down from th
e bench. Oh, no, not when he had so many plans. He would give her children, certainly. Kids looked good on campaign posters. They’d make enough money to hire nannies. They would be the ultimate power couple. Alan’s aspirations knew no bounds.

  Listening to him had made her blood run cold. She’d told him then, with no further attempt to soften the blow, that there was no future between them and never would be. Then she’d literally turned and walked away, leaving him standing there.

  Alan hadn’t taken it well. Nine months had passed since then. She’d assumed he’d gotten over it, gotten over her, moved on, perhaps already found someone more easily patronized, someone who shared his golden vision of the future.

  She’d been wrong. Very wrong.

  “Be there. Tonight,” he commanded, his voice a soft purr that made the hair on her arms stand on end.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp.

  There was a smug chuckle. “Good girl. Or should I say, good Daddy’s girl?” The line disconnected before she could utter a response.

  Very carefully, with shaking hands, she replaced the receiver, staring at it as if it was some kind of snake that might suddenly leap up to bite her.

  “What the hell was that all about?” came a quiet voice from the doorway.

  Laurel gasped, hand flying to her chest as she jerked her gaze to the doorway. Sean Gannon stood just inside, his hand still on the doorknob. How much had he heard? She hadn’t said anything incriminating. Her mind racing, she tried to corral her thoughts and her fear.

  “What—” She had to clear her throat. She sat up straighter, doing her utmost to pull herself together. It was almost impossible. Not when what she wanted to do was to shove her chair back and race into those strong arms that had once been so open for her. Before she’d walked away from them. “What are you doing back here?”

  Sean quietly closed the door behind him, then walked toward her desk. His expression was deadly serious. For the first time, she truly appreciated who he was…what he was. “I was in my car, ready to go, but I couldn’t shake that look I’d seen in your eyes.” He braced his hands on her desk. “That hunted look.” He leaned down. “Like the one I see right now.”

  She wasn’t a good enough actress to not blanch at his comment. She’d been yanked too hard emotionally over the past several days to maintain any semblance of normalcy. Especially in front of Sean, who seemed to see so much deeper inside her than anyone ever had.

  “So I’m going to ask you again. What in the hell is going on? And you might as well tell me. Because one thing you’re going to learn about me is that I don’t run.”

  “I didn’t run.” She forced the words out. “I chose to leave. It was for the best. Just like leaving now will be for the best.” She looked up at him. “Please. It’s better if you go. Trust me on this.”

  “Funny, I was hoping you’d give me that honor.” He pushed away from the desk but didn’t walk to the door. Instead he pulled up one of the pair of leather padded chairs facing her desk and took a seat.

  She looked at him and didn’t know which she feared most—that he’d refuse to leave…or that he’d walk out when she needed him most.

  7

  SEAN STARED AT LAUREL and asked himself who in the hell he thought he was to come barging back in here like the light brigade or something. Whatever her problems were, she’d made it clear they didn’t involve him. And that she didn’t want them to involve him.

  It was that latter thought, underscored by the white-faced fear he’d witnessed when he’d stepped back into the room, that kept him where he sat. “What has you so afraid?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you’re not. I didn’t hear the conversation, but I saw your face. Who’s after you?”

  It was a guess, but the look of panic that flashed across her face told him he’d gotten it in one.

  “It really doesn’t concern—”

  “I know. And I know you want me out of here in some misguided attempt to protect me. Except if this isn’t about me, then I don’t know why you’d be worried about that. You know, I do have some background in taking care of myself.” He looked her in the eye. “You can trust me on that.”

  She opened her mouth, as if to argue her point further, then shut it again and slumped back in her seat. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I didn’t come here to fight, either.”

  She looked at him then. “Why did you come back?”

  “To help you.” He lifted a hand to stop her reply. “Not to interfere. Even if it’s just to give you an unbiased ear, a shoulder.”

  She gave him a look.

  He felt a tug at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, so maybe I want to be a bit more involved than that. Sue me. I’m worried about you.”

  He looked at her then, past the weariness, past the armor she’d probably learned to throw on somewhere back in law school. Sitting on the bench could only have strengthened that instinctive reaction. But behind all of that, he knew there was a woman with a heart, a woman with passion. And that passion had to extend beyond the physical attraction they’d shared. He couldn’t say if she had that passion about her work. They’d talked about it, but he hadn’t sensed the same fervor in her for her vocation as he had for his. Which begged the question…what did she care enough about to be this afraid of losing?

  One thing came to mind. Her father. When she’d spoken of him, of her family legacy, she’d been passionate, she’d been proud.

  “I appreciate that,” she said quietly. “But I don’t need you to worry.”

  He changed tactics. She did need someone to care—it was clear no one else was stepping up for the duty. And here he was, ready and willing to take on the job. “Laurel, tell me one thing. And be honest. If you weren’t caught up in the middle of…whatever it is that’s eating you up like this…would you be so quick to run me out the door?” He leaned forward, fingers digging into his thighs. “If it makes it easier, I’ll be honest first. I’ve never chased after anyone, and I don’t want you to think I’m dogging you because we…because of what we—” He broke off, shook his head, swore under his breath.

  “Because we had mind-blowing sex for one night in the islands?” she said, and for the first time he saw a hint of that smile, a hint of that attitude that had so attracted him.

  He felt the color rise in his cheeks, but his grin was easy…and made him feel more relieved than he’d thought possible. “Well, since we’re being honest, I can’t lie and say that didn’t have some impact on my feelings about you.” His grin faded and her expression sobered, as well. “What I was trying to say was that this isn’t something I make a habit of doing. In fact, it’s something I never do. I don’t have the time or the inclination to chase women down.” His lips twitched. “No matter how hot the sex.”

  She gave him that look, a little eye roll. And he finally started to settle down. This was what he’d come looking to find. That rapport they shared, both spoken and unspoken. So easily, so naturally.

  “I came here,” he told her, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I meant what I said earlier. I missed you. Really missed you. And, yes, I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but that didn’t seem to matter to us then. That didn’t change for me, even after I came back home. There are things I want to share with you, things I find myself wanting to say to you, just to get your reaction. We’d only just begun and, as hard as I tried to forget about it, let it go…I just couldn’t.” He looked at her, expression as open as he knew how to make it, heart right out there on his sleeve where it had never once been before. “So I’m asking you, when you left, was it easy to forget? Was I easy to forget?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said softly.

  “Would you have walked away if not for this crisis?”

  She looked at him for so long, he didn’t know what to think. Then her lips twitched. “Well, maybe at some point I would have, it’s hard to tell. Maybe you’d have turned out to have some obnoxious ch
aracter trait that I simply couldn’t handle.”

  He fought to keep from smiling. “You think?”

  He watched her fight to keep the humor in their banter, but the toll suddenly became too great. She shook her head and her bottom lip trembled. Ever so slightly, but visible nonetheless.

  He was out of the chair like a bullet and around the desk she’d kept between them. Barricades be damned. He pulled her up from the chair by her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Do you feel this,” he asked her, trying like hell not to sound as desperate as he felt, “between us, this…this—”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “But, Sean, I can’t—”

  “You can. Let me help you, Laurel. Let me be there for you.” He leaned down, brushed his lips over hers. She didn’t return the kiss, but her shuddering response told him enough. He looked back into her eyes. “Do you have anybody there for you? Anyone you’re turning to?”

  She simply stared at him and that was answer enough.

  “Let me. I’m a big boy, I can handle the consequences.”

  Her breath came out in a little laugh, then hitched. “That’s just it, I’m not sure I can.”

  He tilted her chin up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s going to get—I couldn’t guarantee—” She turned her head aside. “I’d disappoint you, Sean. If you knew what’s going on—”

  He turned her face back to his. “Let me be the judge of that, okay?” he said softly. Now that she was here, in his hands, so close he could breathe in her scent, just dip his head and taste her…he knew he wasn’t going to let her go. Unless she asked him to.

  “Tell me you don’t want me here, Laurel. Problems be damned. Tell me you don’t want me in your life.”

  She stared into his eyes, and the yearning he saw there almost undid him completely. What was he doing? What exactly was he offering? He realized he honestly had no idea. And yet the thought of walking away was simply untenable.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.