Veil of Night: A Novel

Chapter Twenty-six

TAITE SAT IN THE BORROWED CAR, WHICH WAS IN THE shade of a tree across the street from the huge church and reception hall. The businesses in the redbrick building behind her were all closed on a Sunday afternoon, so she had the parking lot to herself.

She kept her eyes on the building across the street, waiting and watching. Discovering that Jaclyn Wilde would be there hadn’t been nearly as difficult as finding her Friday night. This was a big wedding, perhaps the wedding of the summer now that Carrie’s had been called off. She supposed you could say the wedding had been called off, given that the bride had been killed. Anyway, a lot of the people who came into the boutique talked about their plans as they shopped, which was how she’d found out Premier was handling this wedding, and that meant Jaclyn would be there.

For the first time since this had all started, Taite was worried. Since yesterday morning, the Hopewell cops had been calling her again. Detective Wilder had left three messages, and the other one, Sergeant Garvey, had left one. Why were the cops calling her again? They couldn’t know about Friday night. There was no way.

Was there? How could there be? She’d been so careful. But for the first time, a trickle of uncertainty made her doubt herself and her plans. Damn Douglas and his fucking fund-raiser, his airtight alibi. His Friday-night appearance had been so public, he couldn’t offer her an alibi when she needed one. She’d provided him with one when he’d screwed up and was in a total panic, but when she needed him, was he able to reciprocate? Of course not. And this was all because of his stupidity, his lack of control. Douglas had his weaknesses—every man did. But she’d had no idea he could be so violent when pushed to the edge. If he’d only told her what was going on, she could have helped him. They could have come up with a plan, a good plan. Instead she was having to act spontaneously, and that was always dangerous.

Taite hadn’t been home since yesterday afternoon, and she’d turned off her cell phone hours ago, tired of hearing it ring and seeing the same numbers come up on the display. If the cops kept calling they’d eventually just show up on her doorstep, and she couldn’t be there when that happened. She needed time to construct an unshakable out-of-town timeline before she returned any of the official calls. She needed to psych herself up to present a completely provable case. A few phone calls, a few favors called in … she could make it work. Chicago, maybe. She made several trips a year to the city, and there were people there who owed her. The big thing was, she would have had to drive, because obviously her name couldn’t appear on a passenger list anywhere, which meant she had to come up with a good reason for driving.

Or Jaclyn Wilde had to die. Without her, anything they had against Doug would just fall apart. Taite had had his car cleaned, because he’d been stupid enough to park at the reception hall, stupid enough to let himself be seen, stupid enough to act without thinking and risk everything she’d worked so hard to build. Being his mistress had worked out better than she’d ever thought it would. She had his balls in the palm of her hand, and they both knew it. The fool had actually fallen in love with her, gave her everything she wanted, and now she was in danger of losing everything. But Taite thought she’d covered his tracks fairly well. Unless Jaclyn could identify him, no judge would risk making an enemy of a future U.S. senator by issuing a search warrant without overwhelming cause.

For Taite, the solution was very simple. Eliminate Jaclyn, the only person who could put Doug at the reception hall when Carrie had been killed, and her very nice life could go on without disruption.

She wished she could simply have hired someone to do the job, put a layer of deniability between herself and the act, but it wasn’t as if she had “hit man” on her speed dial. Besides, what assurance would she have that she could trust a hit man? Anyone who chose that line of work was automatically untrustworthy. Every so often a murder-for-hire would be reported in the news, and invariably it was some undercover cop a nitwit had tried to hire. She was determined not to be that nitwit. Besides, if she went that route she’d have to get rid of the hit man, too, once the job was done, and then she’d be back to square one. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

She was coldly furious with Doug; this was all his fault. He’d let Carrie goad him, let her trigger a momentous loss of temper. Kabob skewers, for God’s sake. If he’d wanted to get rid of Carrie it could’ve been done in a hundred different ways, all of them less ridiculous. Most of them wouldn’t have led right back to him. She could have helped him plan a method of disposal that would leave people wondering where Carrie had gone. She could’ve been another runaway bride, and eventually people would have stopped looking. It wasn’t as if anyone would actually miss Carrie, except maybe her parents, but if they had any brains at all it wouldn’t take them long to realize how much nicer their lives were now that Carrie was gone. God, she’d been such a bitch. Taite had always been amazed that Carrie had been able to turn on the sugar and fool people whenever she wanted.

But instead of careful planning, Doug had lost his temper and now here they were: Taite was left cleaning up his mess so her own life wouldn’t be ruined. Without Doug, her home would be taken away, her lifestyle would suffer. She wouldn’t even have the dream that one day he’d leave his bitch of a wife and marry her.

He owed her. He owed her big-time. When this was done he was going to owe her a shitload of diamonds, and maybe a beach house. Make that definitely a beach house.

If she got good at this, maybe Mrs. Hoity-toity Dennison could be next. It was the time crunch that made the planning of Jaclyn’s murder so difficult. Next time, she’d be able to plan properly.

Not that Fayre Dennison was the type to just up and disappear. Her murder would need very careful planning.

Douglas wasn’t getting off scot-free. No, this was his mess and he had to help clean it up. Taite knew she couldn’t very well drive all over town with no car tag, not after Friday night, and she didn’t dare let anyone see her own car in the vicinity of Jaclyn’s demise. So she was driving a borrowed car, one Doug had provided—one of Mrs. Dennison’s vehicles, a BMW sedan. Taite thought that was a hoot. She almost wanted to be seen—well, the car, not her personally—so the high-and-mighty Mrs. Dennison could be grilled about her whereabouts this afternoon. Wouldn’t it be cool if she didn’t have an alibi? If the cops began to think that maybe Mrs. Dennison killed Carrie to keep her out of the family?

In fact, it might be a good thing if someone did take note of the car. Taite wore gloves, so she didn’t have to worry about prints, and the hat and sunglasses made a decent disguise, at least from a distance. All she had to do was get off one good shot, then get the hell out of Dodge and ditch the car somewhere. It would eventually be found, but the important thing was there wouldn’t be anything to link her to it.

It was early in the evening but still light out—ah, summer—as the bride and groom made their getaway. Finally! Taite was getting a little cramped, sitting in the car for so long, and her hands and head were sweating beneath the gloves and hat. Soon after the bride and groom departed, wedding guests started climbing into their cars and making their getaways, car after car peeling out of the lot, heading in all directions. No one paid the car across the street any attention at all. Taite had made certain she was parked at the back of the lot, in the shade, so even if anyone glanced in her direction the car might look empty.

She even saw Doug and his bitch wife leave. Good. Now no one could place Mrs. Dennison at the church while Jaclyn Wilde was getting killed somewhere else. Now it would be Doug’s word against his wife’s, and the evidence would point to her. It struck Taite as a neat solution.

Finally, Jaclyn Wilde left by the side door. Twilight was deepening by then. She wasn’t alone; she never was, damn it. There were two older women and a pretty black girl with her. They all hugged, and after a few words headed for separate parts of the parking lot. One of the women headed for a Jag that looked just like Jaclyn’s. Taite had wondered about that car when she’d seen it in the lot, had wondered if somehow Jaclyn’s car had been repaired and returned so soon. It hadn’t seemed likely, but the detail had jarred her. Nice to know there was a logical explanation.

Naturally, Detective Wilder was close by, following Jaclyn out to the parking lot. Taite was almost glad. The job she had to do would be easier if she could get Jaclyn alone, but he could go, too. She might as well get two birds with one stone, if she could. It would be best if she could concentrate on one at a time, Jaclyn first and then Wilder, but she didn’t know what the night might bring. Besides, killing a cop wouldn’t be so easy, and would rain all sorts of hell down on the scene, but she was prepared for anything. If she had the chance, she’d take it, just because he’d been such a pain in the ass.

“Where are you staying tonight, Jaclyn?” Taite whispered. She wondered if the wedding planner and the cop had come here in one car, wondered if that would make things easier or harder. It didn’t really matter. From here on out she was going to have to play it by ear. When an opportunity presented itself, she’d make her move.

Jaclyn got into a Toyota, and Taite had to grin. Boy, wasn’t that a comedown from the Jag? Detective Wilder continued walking, and now that the parking lot was mostly empty she could spot his car, at the far end of the lot. Separate cars, then. Probably just as well. Somehow, some way, she needed to get Jaclyn Wilde alone. A few seconds were all she needed.

Jaclyn said she just wanted to get back to her hotel room and fall into bed. Alone. Eric suspected she didn’t really want to do that, but she thought it would be best that way. She was protecting herself from him, which annoyed the hell out of him but at least now he understood where her objections were coming from. He didn’t intend to give up, though; they had something good. At the very least, they had something that had the potential to be very good, and eventually she’d admit it.

“I’ll go straight to the hotel,” she promised. “You don’t have to follow me to the hotel and lock me in.”

“Yeah, I kinda do.”

She looked momentarily exasperated, but then she cast a glance over her shoulder at the church, and visibly shivered. “It’s okay,” he said gently. For now, anyway. Nothing could happen to her on his watch, because he couldn’t live with himself if it did. Friday night’s attempt had been too damn close, and the thought of how close she’d come to a bullet still sent his blood running cold.

She nodded tiredly, then unlocked her car and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. “I’ll be right behind you,” Eric said, and continued walking toward his car.

She had to wait on some traffic, so even though he had to walk farther, he was right behind her as she left the lot. She drove the speed limit, and stuck to the slow lane. He wondered if she did it to annoy him, and grinned at the thought. Everyone knew cops drove faster than the speed limit; it was kind of a job requirement.

Traffic was light, so as he followed her Eric had plenty of time to think, to consciously admit some things to himself. He wanted her. Not just for a night here and there, not for a date or two. She’d gotten under his skin in a big way, and he might as well not fight it. He wanted her, bad coffee, trust issues, and all. It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone or anything this damn bad. He even liked the way she poked at him, like she was doing now with her overly cautious driving. If this was her normal mode of driving, she wouldn’t have been paying a speeding ticket the first time they’d met.

His gaze was on her taillights, and his mind was definitely elsewhere, so the red light caught him off guard. He’d have been tucked right on her ass, otherwise. Jaclyn made it through on yellow. Was she trying to get away from him? Trying to annoy him? It wasn’t like he didn’t know where she was headed. Had she run through that light because she was driving as absentmindedly as he was, and maybe for the same reason? Maybe she was thinking about last night, or last week, or the possibilities for tonight. Even better, maybe she was thinking about the possibilities for next week, or next year.

After checking oncoming traffic and finding none, Eric thought about going through the red instead of waiting for the light to change, but a woman in a tight exercise outfit made a quick turn and popped into the crosswalk directly in front of him, jogging, her ponytail dancing with each step. He made a disgusted sound in his throat. She had to be the slowest damn jogger he’d ever seen.

Headlights suddenly loomed behind him. A light-colored car, a BMW, flew past him on the left, blowing through the red light and almost taking out the jogger. The woman jumped back, directly in front of Eric’s grill. She yelled at the car that had almost mowed her down, and then shot her middle finger toward the taillights.

Directly ahead the street shifted from four lanes to two, with turn lanes in between, and oncoming traffic began blaring horns at the Beamer. The Beamer swerved, then sharply pulled in right behind Jaclyn. Damn, that had been close.

And why take the chance of running the red light, and getting ahead of exactly one car? The payoff was way too small for the risk. Except—

“Shit!”

Eric popped the red light onto his dash, turned it on, and lowered his window to scream at the jogger, who was still standing in front of his car staring at the offending BMW. “Lady, get the fuck out of the way!”

The woman turned sharply, anger plain on her face. Maybe she’d been about to argue with him, maybe shoot him a bird, too, but she saw the flashing cop light and obeyed, lurching back onto the sidewalk. As he shot past her he saw her smug, vindicated expression as she sent a “gotcha” smile down the road.

Jaclyn and the other car were too far ahead of him. He could feel every foot that separated him from her, panic moving like shards of ice through his veins. If he were right, he couldn’t get there in time. He knew it. He could see it happening in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. To make things even worse, as he shot through the intersection another car made a right turn in front of him, slowing him down even more. No one seemed to be registering the light yet; oncoming traffic wasn’t moving to the side, and the asshole in front of him wasn’t pulling off the road.

He grabbed his radio and began yelling into it, edging to the left as he tried to force a path past the car in front of him, who stubbornly refused to yield. No matter what, he thought, this asshole was going to get a ticket.

Jaclyn realized, too late, that she’d left Eric back at the red light. She slowed down a little so he could catch up with her after the light changed. He probably thought she’d left him behind on purpose, but she hadn’t. Maybe he did turn her upside down and inside out, but she wasn’t silly, and trying to evade him when he knew where she was going was worse than silly, it was downright stupid.

Because she was watching him in her rearview mirror, it was impossible to miss the speeding car that ran the red light. Instantly she saw the hazard, the car flying toward her, the road narrowing down to two lanes, the oncoming traffic. She flinched and speeded up, trying to give the car room to pull in behind her because there wasn’t room on the shoulder for her to let it by, which she would have preferred doing. It was better to have stupid drivers ahead of her than behind her, anyway.

The car darted in behind her, then surged forward and hit her rear bumper. The rental Toyota lurched, skidded sideways a little, regained its traction. Jaclyn cried out, but knew to let the car’s steering correct itself. That’s what the bells and whistles were for. She wanted to fight the steering wheel, but she knew better, and sure enough the car straightened itself out.

What was wrong with the idiot behind her? Her first thought was “drunk,” and then her heart skipped a beat. The last time she’d thought a drunk driver was on the road with her, that “drunk” had tried to kill her. This wasn’t the same car. Even though every witness had remembered a different color, they’d all remembered dark. This car was light in color, kind of a tan. She knew Eric would want her to try to make out an emblem or a name, something by which to identify the car, but as the car rammed her again—harder this time, so hard she was jostled and once more the Toyota went skidding sideways—she gave all her attention to the road. Thank God! In the distance she saw the flash of light that assured her Eric was coming.

The car behind her pulled into the now-empty turn lane and speeded up to pull alongside. Jaclyn turned her head, looked at the other driver. Despite the wide-brimmed hat that shaded a large part of the driver’s face, and despite the rapidly fading light, the headlights of the oncoming cars and the lights from the dash revealed a face she knew.

Taite Boyne, the maid of honor who had told Carrie to fuck off in such spectacular fashion. Her teeth were bared in a grotesque travesty of a smile. The passenger-side window was down, so Jaclyn also saw, very clearly, the pistol in Taite’s hand. Instinctively Jaclyn hit the brakes.

The shot went wide, missing Jaclyn but shattering the driver’s side window and the windshield. The car behind Jaclyn rear-ended her and sent the rental car up and onto the curb. The impact was incredible, rattling every bone in her body and throwing her forward against the seat belt, which jerked her back with a force that jarred her head as if she were being whipped back and forth on an unpredictable roller coaster. She held on tight, shaking and shaken by the gunshot and the jerking of the car. Her heart pounded, every muscle in her turning into a weak, trembling mush. The only thing that kept her from completely losing control was the fact that Eric was coming.

The car that had rear-ended her shuddered to a stop and the driver jumped out.

“You stupid bitch!” the driver screamed at Jaclyn, “what the fuck you doing?” He was scarlet in the face, shaking his fist at her as he advanced toward her car.

Ahead, Taite made a wide U-turn in the road. Panicked, Jaclyn turned her head and saw the light that signaled Eric would be here in seconds, but Taite was much closer, and seconds would be too late. She was a sitting duck; she had to get out of the damn car.

“Get down!” she shrieked at the angry man bearing down on her. “Gun!” As she screamed she fumbled for the release on the seat belt, trying to fight her way free, but the latch seemed to be jammed. The man glanced around, noticed the flashing light and the speeding car and the shattered windows, and with a curse he moved to the side of the road to duck around and behind his own car, flattening his body on the ground and covering his head with his hands.

Jaclyn threw an agonized glance at the oncoming car. She couldn’t get out; the seat belt held her pinned so tightly she could barely move. No, it wasn’t the belt, it was her hands; they were shaking so violently she couldn’t press the release. Three seconds.

She pushed the latch and the seat belt snapped away. Two.

She threw herself sideways, trying to reach the passenger door. She was too late, too late. One. Taite was almost there, almost even with the car.

And then Eric’s car sliced by, light flashing, and instead of swerving around Taite, he rammed his car into hers, head-on.

Air bags had to be one of the best inventions ever, Eric thought foggily as he swam toward consciousness. Thanks to the impact his head swam, too. And, fuck, he hurt. He felt as if he’d been hit in the face with a baseball bat. He was going to feel like hell tomorrow. But he knew where he was, knew exactly what had happened.

He’d only been out a couple of seconds, because Jaclyn had just reached the car and was doing her best to open his door, frantically yanking on the door handle, screaming at him. Eric lifted his head. He could see just enough through the shattered windshield to tell that the front end of his car was smashed and twisted. The car might be totaled. Shit. The paperwork on this was going to take a week and a half.

“Eric!” Jaclyn was shrieking. Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well, distant and echoing, but it rapidly became much clearer.

“What?” he finally managed to say, and he sounded grumpy even to himself. Jesus. The interior of the car was full of the white air-bag propellant that looked like smoke, as if the car was on fire, but he knew it wasn’t. Cars didn’t burn as easily in real life as they did on television.

“Are you crazy?” Jaclyn yelled as she continued jerking on the door. She looked to her right. “Come over here and help, you asshole!” she bellowed.

“Maybe,” he said, in answer to her question. “Just a little.” Okay, things were snapping back into place. Damn, that had been some impact.

He’d radioed in as he chased the car that had run the red light, and patrol cars were beginning to arrive on the scene, boxing the driver in—not that her car was drivable. She had an air bag of her own—too bad—but from what he could see she hadn’t moved yet. Other sirens, far away but getting closer, were added to the mix.

“Taite Boyne?” he asked.

Jaclyn nodded her head. “I saw her when she tried to shoot me—this time.” Tears shone in her eyes as she struggled with the door, and Eric pushed away the deflated air bag and reached out a hand. He caught one of Jaclyn’s hands, and she let him hold on. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. She can’t try to hurt you anymore. It’s over.”

Jaclyn swiped the back of a hand across her face and yanked the other hand away from his. “That’s not why I’m crying, you … you stupid, moronic idiot!”

Oh. She was crying for him. That was okay, then. “I’m fine,” he said, trying not to smile because he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t like it.

Her blue eyes flashed. Tears hadn’t dampened her anger. “You rammed your car into hers. You could’ve been killed!”

She looked so pale, mascara was running down her cheeks, and even though he was no longer touching her he could see the way she was shaking.

“Police issue. They’re built like tanks,” he explained, but she didn’t look mollified.

She kept jerking at the door, and some guy—must have been the one she called an asshole—came up and started jerking on it, too. Eric sighed and unlocked it—they could have reached through the broken window and unlocked it themselves, if they’d thought of it—and the guy managed to tug the door open far enough that Eric could unclip his seat belt and squeeze out. He was only a little bit unsteady. Okay, maybe more than a little, but even as he stood there he could feel the world steadying itself again. Blood dripped down his face, his shirt, from both his nose and a cut on his forehead. His nose felt numb; he hoped it wasn’t broken, but if it was, it wouldn’t be the first time. No, he was breathing through it semi-okay, even though it was bleeding.

Jaclyn wrapped both arms around him, lending him her support, and even though he no longer needed it he didn’t think it was all that important to share that information with her right now. Holding on to her was nice.

She leaned into him, held on, and he watched as the Atlanta P.D. assisted Taite from her car. He’d radioed that she was armed, and they were treating her as armed and dangerous, which she was, which meant they weren’t being very solicitous of her. Her nose was bleeding, too, and he felt a rush of satisfaction because, unless he missed his guess, her nose was broken. He hoped it healed crooked.

He’d have liked to coldcock the bitch, but he kept his distance. For one, he wasn’t about to offer her the chance for a civil lawsuit, and it was more important to stay with Jaclyn. And two, if he decked her, the paperwork would damn near kill him. The car was going to be bad enough.

Taite wiped the blood from her nose, squared her shoulders even though her arms were being wrenched behind her back, and called to him, “I want to make a deal! I can give him to you. I can give you the man who killed Carrie!”

“Of course you can,” Eric said softly, and smiled.

Eric couldn’t help but smile, even though it made his face hurt. This time around, Senator Dennison was on his turf. Earlier in the day a warrant had been issued for the car Dennison had been driving the day he’d killed Carrie Edwards, and Taite Boyne was singing like a birdie. She still thought she could cut a deal and get off with probation, but she’d soon be disabused of that notion. With the blood evidence in the car, the district attorney didn’t really need her testimony to make the case.

The senator fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in the interview room. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but he would soon. Eric was doing his best to make sure the senator was comfortable, for the time being. Maybe he’d say something that would make this process easier.

He gave a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I can kind of understand how it happened,” he said in a sympathetic tone. “From everything I’ve heard, Carrie Edwards could be hard to get along with.”

“Yes,” Dennison said nervously. “She was.” He glanced toward the closed door. “Is my wife out there? She really shouldn’t be here, but when you called she insisted …”

“Sergeant Garvey is taking care of your wife, Senator. She’s in good hands.” Poor woman. She was about to get the shock of her life. She might’ve suspected that the dirtbag she was married to was unfaithful, but Eric doubted she’d had a clue that he was capable of murder. On the other hand, she was also a strong woman, and this wouldn’t break her. “What did Carrie do? You aren’t the type of man who commits cold-blooded murder.”

“No, of course not!” the senator said, jerking back.

“She had to have done something, something that made you so mad you lost your head for a minute.”

The senator paled. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I’m just going by what Ms. Boyne has told us, so far, but of course she wasn’t there. You were.”

Eric hadn’t thought it was possible for Dennison to get any whiter, but he did. “I don’t know what Taite’s told you, but she’s just as unstable as her friend. You can’t believe a word she says.”

No, but they could definitely believe the smears of blood that had been found in the senator’s car. Someone had cleaned that car well, but not well enough, because Taite hadn’t told them to use bleach—and the tests could even work around bleach. It was harder, but it was possible. A detailer wouldn’t have used bleach on expensive leather, anyway.

“Come on, Senator,” he said softly. “What did she do? Was it blackmail? Did she keep pushing and pushing, wanting more and more?”

The senator must’ve seen the certainty on Eric’s face, because the next words brought the interview to an end. “I want my lawyer.”

Eric sighed and nodded. “I’ll have someone bring you a phone.” It would have been nice to get a confession, but it wasn’t necessary. They had the evidence, and they had Taite’s confession. Other people might have started singing, but Dennison was a politician. He knew all about lawyering up. This was something else that was rarely as easy as it was on television.

Eric left Dennison in the interview room to stew, while he waited for a phone to call his lawyer. He caught sight of Garvey talking to a very distraught Fayre Dennison. He hated that she’d be hurt by all of this. He doubted she was one of those stand-by-your-man types—she was too tough, too realistic—but it would hurt her.

Eric walked toward them, and as he approached Mrs. Dennison’s head snapped around and she stared at his battered face. “Is this really true?”

He nodded once, and that was enough. Mrs. Dennison was going through so many emotions, and they all showed clearly on her face: disbelief, hurt, acceptance, and then rage. She’d loved her husband, once, maybe still did, but that strong streak of realism kicked in fast.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“That he’d killed Carrie? No. I’m still not sure I believe he could do such a thing.” She somehow managed to remain regal, put together in spite of her pain. “About Taite … I knew there was someone. We haven’t had a real marriage in years. But I had no idea he’d taken up with someone so young. Good heavens, Taite’s younger than our son.”

“He’s asked for a lawyer,” Eric said.

“That’s too bad,” Garvey said under his breath.

Fayre seemed to regain some balance. She lifted her chin. “I need to make some phone calls of my own. I’ll be damned if Douglas will use my family lawyers, or my family money to pay his legal fees, or Ms. Boyne’s. My husband doesn’t have much money of his own; he’s always been content to live off mine. I want him to feel every penny he has to pay out for lawyers. By the time he goes to prison, he won’t have a dime left.”

Nope, Eric thought. Not a stand-by-your-man kinda woman at all.

There had been interviews to give and paperwork to fill out, but finally, Jaclyn was home. She turned on the lights as she walked through, since it had been dark for a while. It was late, past her usual bedtime. Nothing made you appreciate home like having it taken away for a couple of days. Her couch, her chair, her kitchen. Her own bathroom. Her bed. Home. Knowing that the woman who’d tried to kill her was locked up added to Jaclyn’s appreciative mood. For the first time in days, she could relax.

Garvey had picked her and Eric up at the scene of the accident and had transported them back to Hopewell, where Eric had very quickly managed to get another city car. He’d refused to go to a hospital to be checked out, of course, but Garvey had given him an order—the city’s insurance demanded it—and he’d given in with bad grace. Garvey had also offered to arrange for a new rental car for her, but he also said he thought her Jag would be released tomorrow and he’d be happy to take her anywhere she needed to go until then. She declined the rental car. Who was she kidding? She’d been running from this for days, and the time for running was over.

Jaclyn walked into the kitchen and reached into a cabinet for a bag of decaf coffee. It was late, it had been a long day, but there wasn’t any way she’d be going to bed anytime soon. She was absolutely too wired to sleep. She intended to just sit here, in her home, and be. It was over.

She was measuring the coffee into the filter when her doorbell rang. Mom, she thought, because of course she’d called Madelyn and given her the lowdown on everything. But when she looked through the peephole, it wasn’t Madelyn on her doorstep. She opened the door and stepped aside so Eric could enter. He had on a clean shirt, and butterfly bandages closed the cuts on his forehead and across the bridge of his nose. He had two black eyes. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Silently she put her arms around him, and his closed tightly around her. Deep inside she felt herself surrender, let go of the fear that had all but paralyzed her life. She’d been fighting this since she’d run into him at city hall, and she wasn’t fighting it a second longer. There was something real between them, and she wanted to find out what it was, where it might lead them. Maybe they’d had a rocky start, but he’d saved her life; without hesitating, he’d rammed his car into Taite’s, put his life in jeopardy to save hers. How much more trustworthy could a man get? He was a good guy, her own Studly Do-Right. Hell, all he needed was a white hat.

She eased away from him, tried to think. It was so hard to know what to say to make this right. She’d been pushing him away for days: falling for him, holding on to him, then pushing as if her life depended on it. She didn’t want to push anymore. This could be an important moment, a turning point in her life, and she didn’t want to screw it up. She didn’t have a plan for this, no chart, no neat list to check off.

“You snore a little,” she finally said. “That might take some getting used to, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

His eyebrows rose, a bit. “You make the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted in my life, but you’re worth the pain.”

Her head jerked up. “I do not!”

He looped his arms around her waist. “Yes, you do. I spit it out. What the hell was that shit, anyway?”

“Hazelnut raspberry. It’s one of my favorites.” Well, not really. She could tolerate it, but mostly she’d just been using up what was in the bag. He could find that out later, though. But she really did like flavored coffee, just not that particular one.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I work really strange hours, some days.”

“So do I.”

“Lots of weekends.”

“Ditto.”

She laid her head on his chest, listening to the sturdy thumping of his heartbeat. He held her tightly, but she could feel the difference in the way he held her, the very subtle shifting of his body. Already, she knew him surprisingly well.

“Sore?” she asked.

“Some,” he admitted grudgingly. So like a man, not to want to confess that a car wreck might’ve left him less than one hundred percent.

It was a flaw, but one she could live with. “Poor baby. How about a nice, hot soak in the tub?”

Oh, she liked that sigh. The one that came from deep inside, that revealed without a word that he was affected. “Only if you’ll soak with me.”

Jaclyn smiled and rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Sounds good to me.”

Eric just wanted a decent cup of coffee. Coffee that didn’t taste like chocolate, or hazelnut, or—he still could hardly believe it—crème brûlée. A fine dessert when served with coffee, but damned if he wanted that taste in his coffee. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Turned out that god-awful swill from the first time had been a onetime thing.

It had been a couple of weeks since Taite Boyne had been arrested and had rolled on the senator. The case had fallen together perfectly, piece by piece. Of course, the resulting press had been epic. The paperwork had been epic. But things were settling down, and even his personal life seemed to be in order.

He was all but living with Jaclyn. At least, he had a toothbrush and a change of clothes at her place, and he was there more nights than not. She even had him watching HGTV, though to be fair they didn’t spend a lot of time in front of the television. Soon enough they’d make the living arrangements full time—he could see it coming, wanted it surprisingly badly. By fall, Christmas at the latest, they might as well get married. He’d let Jaclyn do all the planning.

The arrangement was almost perfect. He hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to confiscate her coffee and take command of her coffeepot; she kept thinking he would grow to love chocolate-flavored coffee in the morning, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He loved her, more than a little. Eventually, though, they were going to have a come-to-Jesus talk about her coffee. Maybe his and hers coffeepots were in order. Surely she’d let him keep a can of Maxwell House in the cabinet.

But for now, he wondered if it was safe to stop somewhere and buy a cup of coffee. He hadn’t dared try it, but maybe that particular streak of bad luck was behind him. Still, he didn’t want to go to the Mickey D’s drive-through, and the gas station/convenience store was off-limits. Jaclyn had been bragging about Claire’s, and he thought he could kill two birds with one stone. Muffins for Jaclyn, a cup of decent coffee for himself, and brownie points for bringing her the muffins.

Naturally, a place like Claire’s didn’t have a drive-through, so he had to go inside. He glanced around, liking what he saw. Plants—either real or very good fakes. Little round tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs. Gentle, unobtrusive music played through hidden speakers. Best of all, middle-aged, nicely dressed people—mostly women—were sipping coffee and nibbling at muffins. Couples talked and ate. Women chatted. One woman sat alone and read a book, another was on her laptop. What could be safer? This was not the kind of place where he had to duck behind a stack of motor oil.

Eric ordered his coffee and a half dozen muffins. Different flavors, since he didn’t know exactly what Jaclyn’s favorite was. He fantasized about feeding them to her, one pinch at a time. The woman behind the counter was handing over his coffee—he didn’t even have the muffins yet—when the door chime signaled a new arrival. The cashier who’d just released his coffee cup turned white, and she stepped back so abruptly she crashed into the coffeemaker.

An angry voice split the silence. “You bitch! I knew I’d find you here!”

Eric glanced over his shoulder. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head forward. “Oh, shit, not again!”