All the Way (11 page)

“Good night.”

She stepped lively toward the door but stopped before she opened it. She turned to the guard. “You headed out?”

“Soon as I check the bathrooms.” The man casually strolled away from her.

“If I were you, I'd clock out before Sherman comes down.”

He turned to her and smiled, happy for the heads-up Sherman was in one of his moods. “Thanks.”

Payton was so happy that she reached her car safely, she whimpered a cry. She tossed her briefcase across the seat, jumped inside, and activated the locks on the sports car. She fumbled in her purse, her fingers too cold to feel the sensation of her car keys. Finally, she dumped everything onto the seat and fished out the keys. It took minutes before her trembling hands could connect the key with the ignition. The engine roared to life. She glanced up to where she knew there would be one light on, illuminating the suite where a murder had just taken place.

Her mind had truly been scrambled by witnessing the trauma, because instead of flooring the gas pedal and getting the hell away from Skye, she hesitated.
Sherman had just ordered a murder, and she'd seen his bodyguard do it.
She couldn't just drive away. She sat in the darkened parking lot, frozen, not knowing what to do, but she had to see the guard leave the club. Minutes later, he did, whistling all the way to the corner of the parking lot where his beat-up car was parked. He got inside, turned over the engine, and drove away, seemingly without even noticing her.

Knowing he was safe, she could leave. She cracked the window and took several deep breaths, willing herself to get it together enough to drive. In this condition, she'd be wrapped around the first telephone pole she encountered. She didn't know how long she sat there, willing her foot to lift to the pedal, but the back door of Skye swung open again. She shut off the engine, ducking her head behind the steering wheel.

A big, burly man stepped out, looking left to right. Comfortable he was alone, he took long strides across the lot and got inside a big, dark-colored Cadillac. He pulled up to the back entrance of the club, left the motor running, and went back inside. Seconds later he reappeared with a rolled rug over his shoulder.
A body.
He dumped the rug in the trunk, slammed it closed, hopped back inside the Cadillac, and drove off.

Payton leaned over and puked on the floor of her car.

Chapter 12

Wild sloshing noises pushed Adriano to risk intruding on Payton's privacy. Under the circumstances, he had to check on her. His heart pumped a little harder with each step, his imagination going wild at the possibility of Grazicky having found them. Besides, he didn't want to arouse suspicion with Tom or Lila. His defenses on full alert, he slipped quietly into the bathroom to find Payton asleep, her body jerking in response to the nightmare she was having.

He approached the old-fashioned claw-foot tub, and his penis jumped to attention at the sight of Payton's perfect body submerged in a sea of bubbles. He'd never been one for traditional romance, but he was suddenly converted. He imagined himself naked, slipping into the water with her, doing things, assuming positions it should be impossible to achieve in a bathtub. When her lids flipped open and she looked at him with those beautiful brown eyes straight from the movie
Bambi,
his heart leapt out of his chest and landed in the bottom of the tub at her feet.

She gasped, assuming a protective posture, dipping down into the water until only her head and neck were visible.

“I heard noise,” he said lamely.

“Nightmare,” she answered, relaxing a little.

“Tell me.”

“Well,” her eyes darted around the room as if measuring the space and calculating her odds for a successful escape.

Her hesitance brought attention to his tightened posture, closed fists, and stiff jaw. His body bowed with sexual tension. There was no way he'd make it through one night of sharing a bedroom with her without acting on his impulses. He consciously fought the strain of his muscles, wished he had some control over his erection, and eased his stance. It was enough for Payton to begin telling her story.

He found a footstool underneath the sink and positioned it behind Payton as she spoke, settling in to comfort her during the rough parts. “Hand me the washcloth,” he told her, noticing the bunched muscles in her shoulders.

Engrossed in getting the details right, she mindlessly handed him the wet cloth. He pressed his hand to her shoulder, tilting her forward to better his reach. He wrung the cloth over her shoulders, the warm water sluicing down her back. Her skin was golden, smooth, and tantalizing, and he had the unexpected urge to taste her.

“Where did you go after the man pulled away with the body?”

“Home. I called my brother, but no one answered. I was so scared.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I didn't know what to do.”

“Shock would still have most people glued up against the wall.”

She seemed to need his forgiveness. She offered him an unconvincing smile, but the knots of her shoulders were softening.

“When I stopped shaking and puking, I went to the police and reported what I saw. They were hesitant about believing me, and when they didn't find a body,
I
became the suspect. For filing a false police report. One of the detectives overheard and came into the interrogation room. As soon as he heard Sherman's name, he jumped on the phone and had the assistant DA there. It was enough to search the club.”

“There was no body. What made them believe you?”

“Forensics checked for blood and found traces on the carpet in the suite. There were also specks on the wall and furniture. Someone had tried to clean it away.”

“Blood-splatter experts can find the smallest drop of blood in the most hidden places.”

She nodded. “That's what the detective said.”

“So there was enough blood to raise suspicion and lend credibility to your story. Did the police do DNA testing to identify the murder victim?”

“They had no DNA to match it to.”

“Which means whoever Grazicky killed has not been reported missing yet.” Adriano filed the information away, more pieces to help solve the puzzle. “I've been thinking about your planner and why having Grazicky's calendar might be significant. Even after he reprimanded his assistant, he let you just walk into the office and write down his calendar?”

“No. Sherman usually scribbles the meetings on paper and gives it to the secretary to put in his calendar. The secretary files the originals because he accused her once of omitting an appointment—it saved her job. She always gave me the discarded originals. I put them in my calendar and then replace them in the secretary's folder.”

“Always? It always went this way?”

“Yes. Well, mostly. Lately, I've been really busy with Miami Skye so I've been a little behind in transcribing Sherman's schedule. I have a few months' originals folded inside my backup calendar.” She was watching him, reflecting his excitement in her own eyes.

They needed to get their hands on her planner. “Where do you keep this calendar? Exactly.”

She told him about the fireproof safe hidden in the floorboard of her coat closet.

His mind whirled, trying to sculpt something out of the small amount of evidence they had.

“Adriano,” Payton said, bringing him back to the present.

When his mind returned to the present, he realized the washcloth had been lost and it was his bare hands stroking up and down her spine.

“I'm ready to get out.”

His eyes locked on hers, debating if he should climb into the tub with her. Jake was right. He'd fallen for a pretty face and lost every drop of his objectivity.

“Adriano?”

“I don't kiss women often. Too intimate.” Why had he just admitted this to Payton? It was his unwritten rule, and not even Jake, his friend and partner, had ever heard about it.

Her eyes roamed his face, unreadable.

“The kiss with you. I meant it.” He looked away, severing their connection. He wasn't prepared to handle the level of intimacy he felt with Payton, yet he wanted more. He needed a deeper connection. A bond shared by lovers who are planning for a future of growing old together. He stood and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

 

Adriano felt as if he were falling through pitch-black darkness. His body accelerated against his will, and he felt sure he'd slam into the pavement at any second. Stark fear moved through him as the wind beat against his face. Suddenly the terror disappeared and was replaced by a serene calm that materialized in bursts of pink and blue butterflies, and he accepted his impending death with honor.

The pavement appeared again. His arms and legs flailed wildly. He couldn't die yet. Payton needed him. His eyes flew open, and he was underwater.
Falling? Drowning?
He jerked upright, sending water over the rim of the tub. He choked and coughed, trying to reorient himself. The small farmhouse bathroom. The tobacco plantation. The old albino, and his doting wife. Black car chases. Payton Vaughn. Beautiful, courageous Payton Vaughn.

He climbed from the tub and drained the water, using a towel from the hamper to clean up his mess.
What was with the dreams? And why did they always involve Payton?
He had never been a man who experienced many dreams—he could recall them all, they were so few—but since meeting Payton, every time he closed his eyes she was there, traipsing through his mind.

He used the back of his forearm to clear the fog on the mirror. What arrogance had possessed him and made him believe he could save Payton? Why couldn't he do as Jake suggested: get the story, take her to the authorities, and watch the trial on Court TV? Somehow, he'd let a pretty face get him tangled in a mess he might not be able to handle. But it was more than a pretty face, wasn't it?

Growing up Catholic, Adriano had been taught by his parents to pray every night. Above the altar where he kneeled between his brother and sister hung a painting of Jesus in a jeweled chair with two angels at his feet. When he saw Payton's face for the first time, the picture had popped into his head. More than a resemblance to the picture, Payton's aura was pure and good—like that of an angel.

Adriano slipped into his pajamas and pulled the drawstring around the indentation of his waist. He brushed his hair back and secured it with a rubber band. He laughed at his reflection in the mirror. “There is no divine power at work here. If Jake had been on time at the Adam's Mark, I wouldn't have been in the parking lot and some other sucker would have been carjacked by Payton Vaughn.”

Don't lose your head over this woman. Keep her safe—as you promised—and then get back to your own business.
Useless words. His heart wanted her more than his mind could justify. He knew the consequences, but they didn't matter anymore. Getting Grazicky locked up was important, and his breaking the story would be a big part of it. But he was a man, and Payton was a woman. When the publicity from the story ended, where would their lives be? They would be irrevocably changed, and right now he couldn't imagine returning to Chicago and never seeing her again.

Adriano moved down the hall to the bedroom he would share with Payton. Lila had placed a tray outside the door with two slices of chocolate cake. He vaguely wondered why Payton had not gotten it before lifting the tray and entering their room.

“Why didn't you pick up the tray?”

Payton lay in a small knot on one side of the bed. Lila's gown covered her shoulders but was too short to completely cover her thighs. The nightclothes Jake had bought were purchased with a male state of mind, and although Adriano highly approved, Payton's eyes went wide at the scraps of material. He marveled over the beauty of this woman as he studied the smooth curves of her legs.

She must be exhausted after the past two days,
he thought. He'd need her strong and rested for the long days ahead of them. He placed the tray next to the bed, where he noticed an open bottle of cough syrup. She'd caught cold wandering down the highway, half naked in the pouring rain. She didn't move when he unfolded the blankets at the foot of the bed and covered her, careful not to wake her. He couldn't resist the urge to place his hand next to her radiant skin. He softly rested the back of his hand on her cheek but she jerked away when he touched her. He tested the temperature of her forehead.

“Payton?” He gently shook her shoulders. “You're burning up.”

She shifted, her eyes at half-mast.

His mind raced through a million scenarios. She had pneumonia. She took too much cough syrup. Lila and Tom the albino had harmed her while he slept in the bathtub. Frantic, he climbed onto the bed with her, shaking her until her eyes lazily opened. “Payton, are you all right?”

She moaned, “Yes.”

“You're burning up.”

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Adriano left the bed, pacing a tight circle in the middle of the tiny room. He was helpless. Could he place his trust in Tom and Lila? He really didn't have a choice, did he? Mr. Conners never would have sent them to the couple if they were anything less than honest and trustworthy . . . but Grazicky had a lot of money and was deadly. The couple had been so nice to them . . .

Remembering their charade, Adriano pulled up the pallet where he had planned to sleep and stuffed it into the closet. He took to the stairs with heavy steps that seemed to shake the foundation of the house.

Tom's head jerked up when he bounded into the living room. “What is it?”

He hesitated only a minute. “There's something wrong with Payton.”

Tom and Lila jumped up from their chairs. Lila, lifting the front of her dress as she ran, shot up the stairs. Adriano and then Tom followed. The men stood back as Lila kneeled next to Payton. She called Payton's name, softly, calmly.

“Do something to help her.” The plea sounded desperate to his own ears.

Lila's plump hand rested against Payton's forehead. “My God, this child is burning up. Tom, get me the thermometer.”

Tom hurried off and quickly returned, shaking down the mercury of the thermometer. Adriano stood helplessly by, waiting for his orders from Lila. She held the glass stick up to the light, shook it again, and then encouraged Payton to open her mouth. She checked her wristwatch several times before determining the themometer was ready to be read. She held it to the light again, frowning at the reading.

“What is it?” Adriano was anxious, on the verge of an explosion. His heart was racing. He could drive strategically, escape hit men and rabid FBI agents. He could shield her body with his, but he didn't know a thing about taking care of someone who was physically ill.

“One hundred and two.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?” Tom asked his wife.

“Yes, the hospital,” Adriano said, and then remembered their situation. “We can't.”

Tom and Lila watched him suspiciously.

“No insurance. Our finances are thin.”

“Tom, call the doctor.”

“No doctors!” Adriano shouted, stopping Tom. “Payton has a phobia about doctors.” He had aided in her escape from the Adam's Mark and helped her outrun paid killers. Now he was in danger of losing her to a militant summer cold. His mind formed a string of “I-should-haves.”

The old couple didn't question his bizarre behavior. Evidently, Mr. Conners had explained enough of their situation for them to know if Adriano didn't want to take Payton to the hospital, it was for good reasons.

Lila remained the rational voice. “We could try to bring her fever down. She's sluggish because of the fever.”

“And the cough syrup.” Adriano grabbed the bottle and held it out for Lila's inspection.

She nodded, not commenting on the medicine. “Tom, turn on the shower in our bathroom. Adriano, help me get your wife into the bathroom. If this doesn't work, we'll
have
to take her to the emergency room.”