Chapter Seventeen
Grace tried to get her mouth to work, and when her lips finally moved she couldn’t believe the words that came out. “He raped you?” Without thinking she slid closer to Cowboy, her skin suddenly cold and needing his warmth. Her mind as well as her heart raced through a gambit of questions and emotion. Isaiah was a product of rape? They’d killed Jessie to keep a dead man’s secret? No, they’d killed her because Lyle Stanton wanted his son in the White House. “Jessie knew this?”
“Jessie was my confidante at the home. Neither of us had many friends. We were two young women in a new city.”
“You never told anyone?”
“Ms. Irvine,” Regina said, as if Grace should know better. “It was the South. I was black and he was the white son of a very political and powerful family. Who was going to believe me? Plus, he died a week later, a hero,” she scoffed.
“It was bullshit, wasn’t it?” She asked the question but knew the answer. “Why would he rape a woman one week and save another the next?” It was starting to make sense.
“He wouldn’t,” Regina agreed.
“Someone changed the story,” Grace said, looking to Cowboy for agreement, but he oddly remained silent. “Lyle must have found out. He must have bribed or threatened the victim into keeping quiet. His grandson died attempting to rape another woman.” Yes, it was starting to make sense. “And Lyle Stanton is afraid if the media finds out you have his grandson, they could potentially find out about the rape. But you’d have to talk for that. You haven’t up to now. So why would he think you would?”
“And I would never speak of it. I have my son to think of. I don’t want him to know he was born out of violence. But Jessie was adamant Lyle wouldn’t take my word for it.”
“Do you know what time you returned her call?” Cowboy asked.
“Yes. Nine fifteen. It’s on my phone, and you don’t forget a call like that.”
The call she’d gotten at the diner. This was all so confusing. Then she remembered what Mrs. Lewis had said to her husband. Poor Jessie. Hadn’t she suffered enough. “Mrs. Lewis—”
“Please, call me Regina. I think we’ve gone beyond formalities.”
“Regina, earlier you asked, well, eluded to the fact that Jessie had suffered. What did you mean by that?”
Regina looked down at her hands, now folded on her lap. “I guess since Jessie’s gone, it’s all right to tell. With both her parents passed, there is no one to feel the shame she feared would consume her. But it was her secret…”
Beside her, Cowboy stiffened as if understanding what shame Regina referred to. His face too had gone rigid. And it was then Grace knew the words struggling to come out of Regina’s mouth. So she said them herself. “Jessie was raped by Edward.” She closed her eyes and waited for the woman’s response, pushing down the bile already rising from her belly.
“Yes. Apparently he’d shown her the same unwanted attention and when she’d told him to leave her alone, he did not respond well. Edward Stanton didn’t take kindly to rejection.”
She wanted to curl up into a ball, the coffee she’d drank earlier turning to acid in her stomach. She ached for Jessie, yet another secret she’d died with. Why hadn’t her best friend in the world told her? The ugly truth of it slapped her in the face. “When? When was she raped?”
“The night Edward died.”
Grace felt the blood drain from her face. “Did she kill him?”
“No. Someone else, the real hero who saved her. She claimed Edward would have killed her had it not been for him,” Regina said looking up at Cowboy. “She never told me who he was, but together they changed the story to make it look like that bastard had been the one to come to her rescue.”
Grace’s palms hurt. She looked down to see her fists turning white. She unclenched her hands. “This doesn’t explain why she believed Lyle would hurt your son.”
“Because,” Cowboy said. “Edward seemed to have had an affinity for black women and if it gets out that Regina has a secret child related to the Stantons, other victims may see it as a sign and come forward. Even if they don’t have proof, it would be enough to ruin the senator’s political aspirations. And if Lyle thinks it’s a possibility, then he knows there have been others.”
“Then we need to find the other victims. For Jessie’s sake and Regina’s.”
“Mine?”
“You can keep your secret that way. I don’t think anyone in the Stanton household has cancer. It was a ploy he planned to use to flush you out.”
“That’s a possibility,” Cowboy agreed. “There wasn’t a name on those blood results.”
“That man is pure evil,” Hugh said.
“First things first.” Cowboy rose and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Let’s get this family to safety.”
* * *
Three hours later, the Lewis family was on a plane and Grace and Cowboy were in their car a short distance from Manhattan. But ever since Regina Lewis had dropped her bombshell, Cowboy had been quiet and Grace wanted to know why. He hadn’t given her one of those sexy lopsided grins or used his southern charm on her once and it was disconcerting to see him out of sorts.
She should be the most upset. If Jessie hadn’t wanted anyone to know she’d been raped, she was well within her rights. She had shared with Regina, but then they’d had something in common. However, it raised the question: how well had Grace known her roommate? She told herself not to go there, to keep that side of herself that had been ingrained into her psyche tamped down. This had nothing to do with her. Jessie had her reasons for keeping quiet, and taking it personally was beyond selfish. She rationalized that if Jessie had feared for the Lewis family, then it would make sense for her to not include Grace in that circle of trust.
No, not circle of trust. This wasn’t about trust. This was life and death and given what had happened, Jessie might have been right to try to take her secret to the grave.
“So,” she said, tired of the silence. “How long do you think the Lewises will have to hide?”
“I can’t answer that. Hugh Lewis’s concerns were not without merit. We need proof and the ability to make it stick. If our theory is correct, then they’ve already killed once for it,” he said. His voice sounding cold, like this wasn’t about Jessie they were talking about.
She didn’t want to distract him while he was driving but why was he behaving like she’d done something wrong? “Have I done or said something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Really? Because you’ve barely said two words to me since we left the Lewis’s vacation home and even less after they boarded their plane.”
“I’m just trying to process everything we learned.”
“Me too, but I’m not treating you like the bad guy.” She needed some support right now. Holy Hannah, what was wrong with her? He wasn’t her boyfriend. It wasn’t his job to make her feel better. She scrubbed her hands over her face then folded her arms across her chest. Losing it now was not a good idea. And falling for a guy whose real name she didn’t even know was even less of a good idea. It was downright stupid.
“I’m sorry,” they said in unison, which didn’t help her mood any. Couples did that and they were not a couple. Cowboy turned his head and gave one of those grins. Without thinking she smiled back.
If they weren’t a couple, why did she want to crawl into his lap and never leave? What was it about this man? Sure, the world was a crappy place and what she’d just learned proved that, but her usual resentment didn’t consume her the way it always did when crappy stuff happened.
“I’m sorry,” Cowboy repeated, not sure what else to say. “I tend to shut down when I’m trying to solve a problem. I get tunnel vision. It’s nothing personal.” He reached over and gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. He wanted to pull over to the side of the road and do more than that, like forget himself in the woman. And as fucking amazing as that would feel, it wouldn’t solve his problem.
He kept telling himself to relax. Just because Jessie’s secret had come out didn’t mean his would too. If anything, it died with Jessie. But one question spun endlessly in his mind. Why was she silenced? The odds of anyone having discovered she’d been raped were slim to none, especially given she hadn’t even told her best friend. Could it be she discovered Lyle was looking for his grandson and by sheer coincidence she’d known who that was? What were the odds?
“We’ve been doing this together. Why stop now?” Grace said.
She had a point. “I’m trying to figure out if Lyle knew Jessie had been a victim of his grandson’s”—and how that would screw up his life—“or if she stumbled onto his search by accident and it was one big twist of fate.”
“I’m leaning toward the latter. I have to believe that if she didn’t trust… if she didn’t tell me, then she told no one, except Regina. And Regina said the two of them didn’t share that information with anyone except Hugh.”
“So then how did Lyle find out?” That was an important question.
“I don’t know.”
“We have to be careful. The Lewises were adamant about not calling the police. And as much as Jessie deserves justice, that boy is still in danger. I would say it is time to tell your father what we learned. We have motive.” Even though ICU worked under the radar of the law, it didn’t mean they worked against it. “But if we tell him what we’ve discovered, he’ll have to talk to the Lewises.”
“He’s going to be really mad at me.”
And it didn’t look like it sat too well with her. Was she going to renege on their deal? “Remember, Stanton has powerful friends. Friends who might leak information. And your father went out of his way to bring me in without anyone finding out.”
“I know. He must suspect someone in the department. And Jessie could have easily gone to the police too. Instead she chose to warn them. I think there’s a whole lot more to this we don’t know.”
He agreed and it was why he didn’t want her near Stanton again. “Maybe you should stay away from the ranch and that party.”
“Not a chance. For starters, Mrs. Stanton will be there. I may have talked to the senator but I don’t know how much he’s involved in all of this. It’s Lyle I need to interview.”
“No way, Grace. He’s too dangerous and I’m still your bodyguard.”
“Oh cut it out. They were after Jessie, not me. I never needed a bodyguard.”
“Maybe. And maybe not.” He wasn’t willing to chance it. “Which bring us to the next point. Why accept the assignment?” He’d wondered that particular point since he’d first been given the case, and since Grace now knew, he could ask. “Why had she gone along with it? Is your editor a hard ass?”
“No and I’ve been wondering the same thing. He hadn’t been very keen on the idea. At least not at first. Frankly, I was surprised when he called to tell me he was giving the go-ahead. Could it be she wanted to deal with what had happened all those years ago?”
“Not the best way, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “There’s so much we don’t know. Like who saved Jessie?”
Although he agreed there was plenty they didn’t know, that particular fact could never get out. “I don’t think going to this party will accomplish anything.” And he didn’t want Grace near Lyle Stanton. But if he told her that, he was fairly certain he’d get her back up and nothing would be accomplished.
She was silent and when he glanced at her, he could practically see the wheel in her head turning. A cold foreboding went down his spine. “What?”
“I was thinking that maybe, you know, we could lay a trap… with me as bait.”
Traffic began to pick up as they entered the city and because he wanted her full attention, wanted her to see he wasn’t fucking around, he said the only logical thing. “Not a fucking chance. And if you don’t want us getting into a car accident, don’t say another word until we get to my place.” It was childish but effective. Her mouth clamped shut.
Use her as bait—was she nuts? He forced himself to focus on the road. He’d have time to ring her neck later. Luckily traffic lightened up and he was able to get to his place before he ground his teeth down to nothing. He’d found a spot in a parking garage only two blocks from his place so the walk was short… and thankfully silent. The moment they passed through the door, all hell broke loose.
“Hear me out,” she said.
“There is nothing you can say that will convince me to use you as bait to draw out Stanton.”
“How else are we going to get the proof we need?”
He headed to the kitchen, in desperate need of a beer. “Not that way,” he said over his shoulder.
She followed. “You haven’t even heard my plan.”
“And I’m not going to. If he’d kill to keep a dead man’s secret, it makes him a whole lot of crazy, and crazy is dangerous.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a long neck for him and a bottle of white wine for her.
“Not if we do this right.”
“There is no right way. I was hired to protect you, not toss you in the middle of a hurricane. No way.” He opened a cupboard, grabbed a wineglass, then yanked a little harder than necessary on the drawer that held the opener. Cutlery flew everywhere.
“We can hint to the fact that I know his secret. When he goes after me, you can nab him.”
“Sure, I can hide behind that same curtain you did in his office and jump out with handcuffs.” He drove the corkscrew into the top of the bottle, forgetting it was a screw top. “Damn.” He unscrewed it and tore the two pieces apart.
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea.” He poured a glass, then thrust it into her hand. “Drink.”
She looked down at the wine, then at the bottle. “That’s the wine I had at the restaurant.”
“Yup.” Uncapping the beer, he took a healthy swallow. “I had my cleaning lady drop it off this morning after she was done.” He headed back to his living room, seriously debating calling her father and ratting her out. He plucked his ass down on the sofa and tossed his cowboy hat onto the leather chair next to him.
She sat beside him, tucking one leg beneath her, totally oblivious to how pissed she was making him.
“Thank you,” she said. “It was sweet of you to remember the wine I like.” She touched her fingers to his shoulder and smiled like she had something other than trying to convince him she wasn’t crazy on her mind.
He was a little surprised at her behavior. “It ain’t gonna work.”
“What?” she said, far too innocently.
“And it doesn’t suit you.”
“What doesn’t suit me?”
“This,” he said motioning with his hand between them. “You think seducing me is going to get me to change my mind?”
“That’s not my style.”
She acted offended. But she wasn’t. She sipped her wine, then slowly ran her tongue across her lips. It was a great tongue. Hell, those were great lips. And he wasn’t stupid. His dick, however… He drank more beer, felt her knee nudge his as she set both feet on the floor and cuddled closer. And didn’t she have the nerve to put her hand on his thigh.
“It ain’t gonna work.” He could feel some of his anger dissipating and he wanted to remind himself this was serious. Lyle Stanton had more than likely killed Jessie. And as wrong as it would be to have Grace try to convince him her idea was sound—it wasn’t—he’d never give in. But he could let her try, couldn’t he?
“You already said that. But that would mean you think I’m trying to seduce you into seeing things my way.” She rubbed his thigh. “But you and I both know sex isn’t the answer. Right?”
“Right,” he said, oddly sounding less sure of himself.
“Good. We’re on the same page. So… about those handcuffs.”
He laughed. She was being ridiculous. This wasn’t her. “What exactly are you up to?”
She blew out a breath and slapped his thigh none too gently.
“Ouch.”
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You haven’t been yourself or maybe you have. It’s not like we really know each other. You could be a moody SOB.”
He set his beer down, then did the same with her wineglass. He wasn’t a moody SOB. Life was too short for crap like that. He slid a hand under her knees, picked her up, and, ignoring her protests, plunked her onto his lap. “So all this was to put me in a better mood?”
“I don’t like it when you’re… cranky. I’m cranky enough for the both of us. You’re the ray of sunshine to my dark cloud,” she said, her wide smile over the top.
“Wow, and here I thought you were the sane one. Goes to show.”
She cupped his face and pressed her lips to his, the gesture so sweet that if he had been moody, as she claimed he had, she’d be his ray of sunshine. When she drew back, her eyes stayed locked on his.
“It’s been an exhausting day. You must be tired. Can we fly back in the morning?”
“Sure, but it means spending the night here. You okay with that?” Please, he thought, let her be okay with that.
“That’s fine. You want to order in and watch TV?”
Like a real couple? Would it be so bad? Or so wrong? “Pizza? Thai? There’s a cool Indian place down the street.”
“Pizza, but no green peppers.”
“You got it.”
“And no pineapple. That’s gross.”
“Anything else?” he said, unable to keep from smiling.
“Nope.”
“I have one request.” And he was curious to see how she’d respond given she was still sitting on his lap.
“What’s that?” she said, sounding leery. Rightfully so for what he had in mind.
“Kiss me again.”
The grin that spread across her beautiful face almost made him forget how a secret he’d kept for more than sixteen years had nearly been blown sky high. And when she put her mouth over his, he could barely remember his name, not the one he’d been born with, not the one he went by. Twice now he’d lost himself over a woman. The first time born out of necessity for Jessie. This time it was born of desire. He ran his hands over her back and pulled her closer. Then when it wasn’t enough he pushed down on the sofa, covering her body with his.
There was no rationality to how much he wanted her. It made no sense. He wasn’t a player, not anymore, but when he wanted to get laid, he got laid. So why did it feel like he was desperate? The fact that they were both dressed and not in his bed drove him insane. Drawing her arms over her shoulders, he linked their fingers together and worked what he hoped was magic on her neck. She seemed to like that, the attention he gave the tender skin in the hollow of her collarbone. And he wanted her to like it. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her because it wasn’t fair how much he needed her. He hit a particular sensitive spot and when she purred, throwing a leg over his hip, he couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.
A t-shirt flew over the couch. His belt stayed on his jeans, which fell to the floor along with hers. A bra landed on his hat and he was fairly certain he owed her a thong. He had no idea where his underwear ended up, nor did he care. He stood over her, naked, panting and ready for more. But when she deliberately put one foot down on their clothes and drew her other knee up in welcome, he knew if he didn’t slow this down it would be over before he’d gotten what he really wanted, even though he wasn’t all that sure what that was. So he knelt and positioned her in front of him, one leg on either side of his hips. Somehow her hair had come free of that messy bun she’d worn all day and it now fell over her shoulders and perfect breasts in rich, silky waves that made him want to lose himself in it—in her. She smiled and hooked her heel over his spine, urging him forward. Like he needed any encouragement. When he hesitated, too caught up in the beauty laid before him, she closed her eyes and arched her back, reminding him of a wicked cat, lazily stretching, taunting the dog to chase her…to bite.
He arranged himself at her entrance, eager for how this position would give him delicious ways to torture her, when…. “Shit.”