DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS (13 page)

Ethan looked down at the bank statements. Now he knew. Now he understood. Laney had been forced into the role of adult. Her father had worked and she’d been at home with her mother, after school and in the summer. And so, she’d become an adult, probably a long time before the age of eleven. No wonder she never answered a question on the fly. No wonder she assessed everyone. Children of alcoholics have a warped sense of trust, if they can trust at all. He understood that because of his father, who had been a mean and violent drunk before his stroke.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, not only because of how her mother had died, but also because of how her mother had forced her to live.

“I’m good,” she said. “I’ve done a pretty good job of getting over all that. But thanks.”

He nodded. She had done a good job. An excellent job.

She pushed her hair back and stretched and yawned. “So you mentioned earlier about my dad’s relationship with Senator Sills.”

“Right,” he said. “I did.”

“All I ever knew about Senator Sills was that he and Dad had known each other forever, and about once a month or so, Sills would come over to the house and he and Dad would sit in the living room with the door closed.” She stopped for a moment. “I
do
remember them yelling at each other. But I was a teenager and all I wanted to do was listen to music, so I pretty much stayed in my room with my stereo turned up.”

“Their meetings could be a clue. Maybe your dad made the withdrawals and then Sills came by once a month to get the money.” As he spoke, he stretched the rubber band around the statements and envelopes. When he did, a scrap of paper fell out.

Laney bent down to pick it up. “Something fell out,” she said, looking at the small piece of paper. “It looks like one of Dad’s notes. He was always writing me notes on torn scraps—” She gasped. “Oh, Dad.”

Ethan saw her face crumple. “What is it? What’s on the piece of paper?”

She handed it to him without looking up. She pressed her right hand against her mouth, trying not to sob.

Ethan looked at the scribbled note. The first line read, “I hope you find this, daughter. First thing, get away from Darby Sills. He’s dangerous.”

Chapter Eight

Ethan read the first line again, then the rest of the note.

I hope you find this, daughter. First thing, get away from Darby Sills. He’s dangerous. Quit that job and don’t go back. Take this note and the savings account statements to the police. Make sure they know how dangerous Darby is. And make sure you get all the money back. It was always meant for you.

“Meant for me,” she said through her tears. “Oh—” She sniffed, then bent her head and covered her eyes with her good hand.

“Hey,” Ethan said softly. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head. “He meant the money for me,” she wailed. “He was trying to take care of me and Darby Sills stole everything—” Her voice gave out and she began to cry.

Ethan had no idea what to do. Laney’s heart was broken, not only because of what Sills had done to her dad, but also because she’d just discovered that her father wasn’t the superhero and saint that she’d believed him to be.

For Ethan, as soon as he heard what was in the note, his first instinct had been to grab it and the bank records and rush down to the courthouse where the forensic accountants were working. By morning they could have the withdrawal amounts matched up with Sills’s deposits. Because as well-meaning as Laney’s father had been, he hadn’t actually written anything in the note that Ethan could use to prove that Sills was blackmailing him.

But looking at Laney, he knew he couldn’t just grab her dad’s records away from her and leave. She needed comfort and reassurance right now, and as much as he dreaded having to offer her comfort, knowing what it was going to do to him to be that close to her, he was all she had. So, gently and carefully, he put his arm around her and pulled her toward him. He did his best to keep it platonic and casual.

When he touched her, she stiffened at first, but he forced himself to keep his embrace featherlight. Within a moment the rigidity went out of her and she pressed her face into the hollow of his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt.

He said things. Later, he could never remember what, but whatever he’d whispered to her as her sobs faded, they must have helped because she stayed there, in the circle of his arms, for a long time. After a while he stopped talking and just sat and held her, torturing himself by mentally cataloging every wonderful, sexy thing about her. Her soft fragrant hair, her slender shoulder with the sweet curve that his fingers caressed, the warmth of her breath against his skin.

Finally, her breaths stopped hitching and became relatively quiet. A few moments later he felt her sigh, then she lifted her head and pulled away from him. He didn’t try to hold on to her, but he did leave his arm draped around her shoulder. She let it stay there, too.

He looked at her with a little smile. “Better?”

She made a face. “I don’t like to cry. It just messes up my face and gives me a headache.”

He laughed softly and she did, too.

Then she nodded. “Yes. Better.” She met his gaze and he marveled at how blue her eyes were. He’d thought from the beginning that they were lovely.

“I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked and her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips as her gaze slid downward from his eyes to his lips.

He had a sudden need to swallow—hard. Here they went again. Just like before, he sat perfectly still and hoped like hell that she didn’t kiss him, because he was already very much on the edge. If she so much as leaned toward him, the tension and anticipation that now zinged through him would erupt into full-on lust, and he’d have to stop himself from jumping on her like a horny teenage boy.

She’s your responsibility. Your responsibility.

“Look, Laney—” he said stupidly, because he had no idea what to say. He was just desperate to stop her from looking at his mouth. It worked. Her gaze snapped back to his face.

“Ethan?” she whispered. Her eyes were dewy bright and her cheeks were pink. He brushed his thumb across her flushed skin and her head inclined toward his touch.

Laney saw the question in Ethan’s eyes. She had no idea how to respond, wasn’t even sure she was reading his expression correctly.

He leaned forward, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips. Then, as she let her eyes drift shut, he brushed her mouth with his, nothing more than a featherlike touch, but the impact of it was stunning. For that brief second, she’d felt as though someone had lit her lips on fire.

His gaze flitted upward, toward her eyes, then back down and he inclined his head and kissed her again. This time, the touch of his mouth on her wasn’t featherlike at all. His mouth was firm, his kiss demanding. Laney took a short gasping breath before he covered her mouth with his and kissed her more deeply.

She let her lips part. Her tongue met his. She tasted him as he tasted her. She couldn’t believe the rush of feelings his kiss was evoking in her. She felt it like a river of lava, flowing through her, igniting fires everywhere it went. And she wanted more. She moaned with the yearning.

Ethan went still. “Am I hurting your arm?” he whispered.

“No,” she gasped. At this point, if it were burning like the fires of hell she wouldn’t admit it. That’s how badly she wanted to stay in his arms. That’s how badly she wanted him to make love to her.

“Are you sure—?” he started.

She’d had enough of his caution. She leaned forward and kissed him openmouthed, teasing him with her tongue, daring him to kiss her back as intimately as she was kissing him.

He hesitated for an instant, but then with a throaty groan, he met her boldness with his own. He opened his mouth, kissing her fully, deeply, exploring with his tongue in a rhythmic dance with hers. His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb played that magic again across the apex of her lower lip, pulling her deeper into his spell.

Her arms slid up to wrap around his neck. The bruises on her arm ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the exquisite pleasure of his kiss.

After a long time, Ethan pulled away again. This time though, he left his hand on the bony curve of her shoulder. His gaze met hers, searching. She let her eyes drift shut and wet her lips with her tongue. He skimmed his fingertips across her sensitized skin, tracing a sensuous path across the sloping line of her collarbone and on to the small indentation below the column of her throat.

She swallowed and opened her eyes to meet the question in his. In answer, she caught his hand and guided it downward, downward, until his fingers nestled in the hollow between her breasts. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply, leaving her breathless. Then he planted light, erotic kisses along the line of her jaw.

She gasped as he moved upward to nibble on her earlobe, then back down to savor the soft, sensitive skin beneath her jaw. At the same time, he cupped her breast and played with her nipple until it was hard and throbbing.

“Ethan?” she panted.

He pushed her back against the couch cushions, fumbling at her waist. Desperate to feel him inside her, she brushed his hands away and undid her slacks so he could slide them down. Then he rose to his knees above her to undo his own clothes.

Once his arousal sprang free he sank between her knees and pressed it, smooth and hot and hard, against her. She whimpered in yearning. His hand slid between them and he touched her, tested her, caressed her. She felt the flowing warmth that signaled her readiness. He did, too—she knew because he made a sensual growling sound, deep in his throat, then lifted himself and pushed into her with a shuddering gasp.

Laney inhaled sharply as he sank into her, filling her with exquisite pleasure. Without hesitation she lifted herself to meet him and then both of them were frenzied, too turned on to be gentle or careful. They moved as one, not because they knew each other’s bodies and preferences, but because they seemed fused together, feeding off each other’s passion.

Within what seemed to be seconds, Laney’s body tightened in almost unbearable anticipation. As Ethan thrust harder and deeper than he had so far, she felt herself explode into a thousand tiny shards.

Ethan came almost immediately after, with a soft, shuddering cry. The two of them collapsed against the couch cushions, panting. Soon their harsh breaths slowed and softened, and they lay together, languid and spent. Laney trailed her fingers across his shoulders, raising goose bumps where she touched. Ethan’s hand rested against Laney’s cheek, where his thumb played lightly back and forth, mimicking the flutter of butterfly wings.

When the doorbell rang, Ethan started and Laney stiffened beside him. They’d fallen asleep, still in each other’s arms.

“Oh, no,” Laney whispered, sitting up and squirming to pull her pants up and fasten them. “That better not be—” She pushed away from him and struggled to her feet, still fumbling with the button at her waist. She smoothed her hands down the front of the pants, then pushed her fingers through her hair to tame it a little. She put her hands to her cheeks, then fanned them with her hands.

“Be who?” he asked as he stood and fastened his pants.

“Oh, nothing. A stupid girl with a silly cat!” she groused as she headed for the front door.

He followed her, grabbing the edges of his shirt and settling it on his shoulders. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to banish the haze of sleep. He had no idea who the stupid girl was or if she or her silly cat might be dangerous, but he wasn’t taking any chances. His gun was in his car, damn it. So he stood behind Laney and to her left, prepared to jump the person if needed.

With her hand on the doorknob, Laney called out, “Who is it?” Her voice was after-sex husky and it sent a spear of lust through him. He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on who might be on the other side of the door.

“My name’s Emma. I’m selling candy for our marching band,” a small, childish voice said.

Laney’s breath whooshed out in a long sigh. She grabbed her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill.

Ethan stopped her with a hand on her arm as she prepared to open the door. “Hang on. It’s almost ten o’clock. Late for a child to be going door-to-door. Step back as you open it. If it’s not just a child selling candy, I’ll have a straight shot to jump them.”

She frowned at him, but did as she was told.

Ethan stiffened as the door swung open, but it actually was a little girl standing on the stoop with a woman who was obviously her mother. The girl smiled shyly.

“What in the world are you doing out this late?” Laney asked, eyeing the mother, who smiled sheepishly.

“She forgot to tell me about it,” she said.

“And it’s not late,” the little girl said, sounding much older than her years. “I go to bed when Mommy and Daddy do. Do you want some candy?” She held up a cardboard carrier.

“Sure,” Laney said. “How much will this buy?” she asked, proffering the bill.

The little girl grinned. “Two boxes. And you get a dollar back.”

“Good,” Laney replied, smiling. “Give me two boxes, and you keep the dollar for your marching band.”

“Mommy! She said keep the dollar!”

“I know, Emma. I heard her.” The mother mouthed
Thank you
as she led the little girl back down the sidewalk.

Laney closed the door.

“What stupid girl and silly cat?” Ethan asked her as she put her purse back on the foyer table and walked back into the living room.

“Oh, it really was nothing,” she answered, making a dismissive gesture. “Last night some annoying little housewife from down the street thought her cat had gotten under my car. She wanted me to come out and help her find it.” Laney flexed her shoulder and winced.

“You didn’t go out there, did you?” Ethan asked, a faint warning buzz taking hold at the edge of his brain.

“Yes. I thought it might save me from being talked to death.” She shook her head. “I’m not even convinced there was a cat. I never saw it. We looked all around and underneath my car. Then finally she said she saw it running back toward her house. So she just headed off down the street with barely a thank you.”

“And that’s all that happened?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know, if she’d waited instead of bothering me, within ten minutes that cat would have been back at her door wanting food. Then, not five minutes later, little Miss Carolyn knocked on my door again. She had my phone! She said she’d picked it up off the ground near the driver’s-side door and—get this—forgotten to tell me.”

The buzz in his brain grew louder. “How long did it take you to look for the cat?” he asked.

“Maybe five or six minutes.”

“And what time was it?”

“When I went outside? I don’t know. Around seven or so? When she handed me my phone it was seven-ten.”

“So it was dark.” He didn’t like the direction his brain was taking. Had the young woman gotten Laney outside and distracted her while an accomplice had snatched her phone from her purse? But why would anyone go to all that trouble to take her phone, then give it back to her? “And she wanted you on the far side of your car from the house?”

“Okay Detective Delancey,” she said. “What’s with the third degree?”

“Where’s your phone now?”

“In my purse.” She got it and handed it to him.

He examined it. There was only one explanation he could think of for lifting her phone and then bringing it back. “What’s your password?”

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Give me your password.”

She did.

“Damn, Laney. That’s the last four digits of your phone number. That’s the default password for every phone out there. You’re supposed to change it as soon as you get the phone.”

Laney gave a small shrug of her right shoulder. “I know,” she said. “Lazy.”

“Yeah,” he said in disgust. Then a moment later, “Not just lazy. Dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why?”

“Your phone’s been bugged.”

“My phone? Bugged?” Laney repeated Ethan’s words. “As in, they can hear what we’re saying? I thought a bugging device was—big. Too big to go inside a cell phone.”

“This is a totally new technology. It’s software-based bugging. They can track your whereabouts with GPS any time the phone is on. They can hack into your conferencing software with their number so their phone rings when you make or receive a call, and they can listen to all your telephone conversations. I’ve seen it before. Whenever your phone rings or you dial out, the software alerts them and they can record or listen in on your conversation.”