Deadly Obsession (31 page)

Congressman, Richard Burbanks learning all the tricks of the trade."

They took another shower once they were at hotel. Brayden had to stop on the way home because Christian got sick.

Rage roared through him.

A congressman? A damn congressman. And the man lived only a mile--one fucking mile--from his family home.

Once he’d known that, he’d called Aiden, who had driven back to Seneca earlier, and gave his brother a shortened version. He wanted Tori safe. The urge to go up there and get her himself rushed through him, but Aiden talked him out of it. Told him that he’d call a security agency and hire a bodyguard, and he was going right then to get Tori.

Thank God, for family.

He knew his daughter was safe.

And he knew Christian was safe, if emotionally drained. Tonight had been so damn hard for her and there hadn’t been a thing he could do about it.

The idea of having a speed bag here appealed to him, but it did no good right now. He’d already punched another hole in the wall. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, wondering what was taking her so long in the bathroom, though it was probably a good thing since she didn’t see him lose his temper.

Brayden left the bedroom and went into the living room. He paced by the bar, his robe flapping around him, and finally poured himself a drink.

God, the things he’d heard tonight.

The pain and despair that had poured up out of Christian had made his heart break and his hatred burn.

If he found the sonofabitch....

Morris was not a stupid cop. The lieutenant told him point blank that he did not want to have to arrest him over such a lowlife scum.

That was debatable. But then the smartass informed him that he was being tailed--for his protection.

Yeah right.

He wanted to find the bastard.

He wanted to rip his heart out.

He wanted to....

The glass shattered in his hand.

Damn it.

He looked around, grabbed a dishtowel and swept the mess into the trashcan.

"Did you cut yourself?"

Her soft voice startled him.

Swallowing, he didn’t turn to look at her. "No."

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

Was he okay?

He turned to her, incredulous that she’d even ask him that. "Me?"

She was dressed in a pale blue silk robe. Her dark wet hair stood up all over her head and she looked so perfect, so innocent his breath froze.

"You’re angry," she said.

Did the woman think he wouldn’t be? Her remark didn’t even need a response.

"Are you mad at me?" she whispered from across the room.

He threw the towel down. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

She shrugged.

Brayden cursed himself and strode around the bar, walking to her. "Christian, I’m frustrated and disappointed that you didn’t tell me this all before." He saw the dejection in her eyes. "But," he said, cupping her face and tracing her jaw line, "I understand why you didn’t, baby."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I think I do." He wasn’t for sure if he did or didn’t.

A grin peaked out of the corner of her mouth. "Is there any champagne over there?"

He smiled. "Why?"

Her finger ran over the vee of his robe. "Well, because I would like some."

"I think there might be."

She hugged him tight. "Thank you. Thank you for going with me, for being there, for understanding."

Her words humbled him and he kissed the top of her wet hair.

"You don’t have to thank me."

She pulled back. "Yes I do."

God he loved her eyes.

"Yes I do," she continued. "If not for you, I wouldn’t have been able to get through tonight, through the last few months. I love you."

Brayden ran his hand over her face. "I love you too."

"Champagne?" she prompted.

"I’ll get it."

When he turned back around she was gone.

Sighing, he got two flutes and walked to the bedroom.

The cork popped and the bottle fogged out a stream. He filled the glasses and sat on the bed beside her.

"To us and new beginnings," she whispered clinking her glass with his.

He stared deep in her eyes and noted that the fear, if not all the shadows, were gone.

Her lips were soft beneath his.

"To us and new beginnings."

* * * *

Christian lay awake watching the play of nightlights across the ceiling. Brayden’s deep, even breathing told her he was asleep.

He was warm against her and she snuggled deeper.

She smiled into the darkness. For the first time in years she felt free. Well, not exactly free, but she was getting there. It was like black chains had been worn away and now all that was left was memories and the threat that something could happen. But the story, the whole horrible story was out.

The stone on her heart and soul was gone. It was a relief and it was ... empty.

Now, now, maybe life could really, truly go on.

Brayden turned and pulled her tighter against him, kissing her neck. "I missed you."

"You just had me."

He laughed, rich and deep. "Yes, I know, and I’d love to again."

"Now?"

"Always, but there’s something I want to give you."

"What? You’ve given me enough."

He sighed and squeezed her tighter. "I love you. I was going to do this earlier, but we got distracted, thought I’d do this after dinner. Which come to think of it, we never ate."

Brayden’s mouth covered hers. She tasted wine and mints.

He turned her gently around and propped on his elbow above her.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

What was he up to? She studied his eyes for a minute, only seeing a smirk hiding. Finally, she complied.

Something cold and hard grazed down her nose, over her lips, across her chin. She giggled when it slid down her neck.

"You’re such a bad boy, Brayden Kinncaid. Sex toys? I thought I was enough for you."

"Oh, you are. And this isn’t a sex toy." His laughter rumbled through her and she shifted against him.

Whatever he held he ran over her shoulder and down her arm. The cold metal sent shivers down her spine as it grazed the sensitive flesh of her inner arm.

Down and around her wrist.

What was it?

Over her pinkie, down the valley of her finger.

Up her ring finger.

He stopped.

"Open your eyes."

A ring.

Her eyes shot open.

There, held above her left ring finger, was an engagement ring. A huge, beautiful, marquis diamond solitaire.

"Oh my God. Brayden?"

His smile was devastating in its charm. "There is so damn much going on right now, I don’t know what the hell tomorrow is going to be like. I just want to know you’ll be there. That you’ll still be mine."

Tears filled her eyes and it felt like a hundred butterflies flitted in her stomach.

"Will you be mine? Christian? Will you marry me?" He swallowed and a muscle jumped in his jaw, even as those intense blue eyes of his stared down at her.

She couldn’t look away. "You really want me? With all that you know?"

He only cocked a brow. "I’m waiting."

She smiled. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." Christian pulled him down for a kiss even as she felt him smile against her lips, felt the slide of the ring down her finger.

"I love you," she said, breaking the kiss.

"And I love you, mia bella," he whispered softly.

Their kiss was long and passionate. His hand slid up from her hand, to cup her face.

"You’re talking Italian again,"

"Of course, got things to show you."

She laughed as he kissed her senseless. His hands cherished and shoved the bedding away so that nothing kept her from him.

Christian brought her hands up to cover herself, but he took them in both of his. "I want to see you. All of you."

He kissed down every inch her body.

Brayden loved making love to this woman. It was a need he could never get enough of, a bottomless pit of need that fed off her.

He propped himself up on his elbows and watched her between her spread thighs.

She lay open and inviting for him. He grinned, ran a finger up the inside of her leg, paused as he reached the tender skin between her thigh and body, skimmed it with his fingers and drew circles up to her breasts. He loved her breasts. He ran his hands over them, smiled when she arched into his palms, sighed as his fingers played over the nipples. He wanted her every which way he could dream up. But that was for later. Now, he knew what she was comfortable with. And since she’d agreed to be his wife....

They had years to play in bed....

That didn’t mean he couldn’t have her begging now.

"You’re exquisite," he said, as he slid his hands down her belly, over smooth, warm skin, fluttering over her hipbones. He raked his nails lightly over her thighs.

She gasped and opened her eyes. Brayden scooted a bit closer to her, spread his knees wider, and in turn opening her more for him.

Slowly, he ran his hands back up the insides of her thighs.

"Bray?" she asked.

"What?" he watched his hands, skim up the soft supple skin.

She scooted, her bottom against his knees.

His gaze rose to hers.

His eyes were so hotly blue, the center of flames. Christian took a deep breath and smiled. "What are you waiting on?" She wanted him to touch her.

A grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "I want to go slowly."

"I just want...." she trailed off as his eyes darkened.

"What? Tell me what you want." His voice was deep and dark as the shadows.

"Whatever you want," she whispered.

His brows rose, and the grin grew. She felt his hands go higher up her thighs, felt his cool thumbs spread her for him. She watched him watch her and knew she was getting warm.

Christian closed her eyes.

"I just want you. To please you. To make you smile."

His thumbs ran over her back and forth, back and forth. She shuddered out a breath. Then he spread her further open and played, his fingers dancing wickedly, wherever he pleased, stroking as he please, as deeply as he pleased.

The feelings in her coiled, tighter and tighter. She locked her gaze on his, saw the hard set of his jaw.

"Bray...." She wanted him in her.

His hands grasped her hips and he pulled her up his thighs and entered her in one sure thrust. He rocked them, the feelings he brought to life within her so powerful she could only hold his forearms and arch, accepting.

"I love you," he whispered, his hand running from her face, over her chest, down to her center.

He thrust again, and she shattered, stars bursting behind her lids.

Brayden groaned, leaned over even as he stroked her still, mumbling against her lips, he said, "That smile. I love that smile I can give you."

Her grin grew then faded on a moan as he took her back up.

* * * *

Lieutenant Morris sat astride a chair in the interrogation room.

"Come on, Ivan, talk to us," Gabe coaxed.

Mr. Ristovolich had been in jail for hours, while his prints ran and they tried to ascertain whether or not he was even a U.S. citizen, which he was not. No visa, no passport, not even a green card.

Gabe shook his head. At least the man should have a fake one, wouldn’t he? For God’s sake, his boss was an U.S. Congressman.

Or maybe Ristovolich did, indeed, have fraudulent papers. Ivan had been in this country long enough to know that he couldn’t go anywhere without some sort of identification.

So why had he?

Unless he wanted to get caught?

Gabe frowned down at his watch.

Four a.m.? God, could it be?

"Why did you want to kill Mr. Kinncaid?" Gabe asked.

Something flickered in the darkened depths of Ristovolich’s eyes.

"Or maybe you didn’t?"

Eyes shifted from his.

Gabe ran his hand through his hair. Why couldn’t the guy talk? Ivan knew English. They’d been in here for over an hour.

A knock at the door preceded the person walking through it.

"Who the hell are you?" Gabe asked, standing.

The man extended his hand, and for a moment Gabe experienced déjà vu. Running through his memory, Gabe tried to place the face, but nothing came to mind.

Something about the man....

"I’m Duncan Gregor, from Immigration and Naturalization Services." He propped a briefcase on the table. "I’m here to represent Mr. Ristovolich." The locks on his briefcase clicked in the small confines of the room. "We wouldn’t want anyone crying ‘foul’ for any reason later would we?" Gregor asked, sitting down in a chair beside Ristovolich.

Duncan Gregor had burnished red hair, rosy cheeks, as if he didn’t get out in the sun much, and bright green eyes, and was bit overweight. Yet something about the man was familiar.

Shaking off the thought, Gabe cleared his throat. "No, that’s true."

Gregor shot off a stream of some guttural language.

Ivan, after a moment, shook his head and answered in the same tongue. The conversation between the two men flew and every bit of it was beyond Gabe. Though he thought he heard a niet, and thought that was ‘no’. Maybe not. Gregor shook his head and said, "English."

Ristovolich ran his tongue around his teeth. Finally, he tilted his head toward Gabe and said, "I want deal."

His accent was so heavy, the man sounded like he was swallowing the ‘l’ on the end of his last word.

"A deal?" Gabe asked.

Ivan nodded. "A trade. I get deal, you get dirt."

"How much dirt?" Gregor asked, then looked at Gabe. "I read through the file. A U.S. congressman. I must say you have balls."

Gabe found his first smile in a long while. "That’s what they tell me." Standing, he strode to the door, then around the room.

"What dirt?" he asked, leaning on the table.

Ivan shrugged. "Depends."

"On?"

A furrow appeared between Ivan’s bushy brows. "You said ... you said...."

"I said?" Gabe asked.

"You said, she thought I help?"

Christian.

"Does it matter?" Gabe inquired.

Ivan nodded.

Gabe sighed. "Yes, that’s what she said. We got your name and visual I.D. from her. She seems to think you want to escape."

Deep lines appeared on either side of the man’s mouth. "I want deal. I want immunity, if I can. If not and I must go to prison, it is no less than I deserve. I want asylum here in United States and I want my family brought over from Lithuania. I have wife, two daughters and son. I want us all to be able to live here."

Gabe thought for a moment. "You won’t do this out of the goodness of your own heart?"

Ivan sighed. "I do have family. If he got away, he would hurt them. They are all I have in this world."

Gabe looked to Gregor.

What the hell kind of last name was Gregor anyway? Four a.m. God, he needed sleep.

Gregor shot off another bout of indiscernible words. Ivan shook his head, his hands gesturing while he said something back.

Gabe leaned against the wall and waited. After several moments he cleared his throat.

Gregor looked up frowning. "Sorry, he speaks Russian easier than English."

"What did he say?" Gabe asked.

The man smiled. "Client/attorney privilege, lieutenant."

Prick.

"But," Gregor continued, smoothing a hand down his perfectly buttoned suit. "I would advise you to push for a deal. I think we both know he’s full of all sorts of information."

Gabe knew that.

"I can get it through INS, but you need to push it with the powers that be, here."

True.

It would be another couple of hours before the captain was in, but he could call him. This was a big case, or would be once it was blown wide open. God, the headlines danced in his head like poisoned sugarplums.

Striding through the door, he said over his shoulder, "I’ll see what I can do."