Mortal Sin (17 page)

“No, I never served. But I do fly.”

“Do you?”

“You probably already know that.”

Armstrong didn’t comment.

“Ralston was an informant for the D.C. police for years, as long as Tess has known him. The cop’s name was Jerry Biggler. Know him?”

“No. But I will.”

Sean was speechless when Lucy came to the door wearing a royal-blue dress that somehow managed to be both modest and sexy as hell. It had a high neck and revealed little flesh, but it hugged her shapely and athletic body as if it had been created just for her. The skirt swirled around her calves as it would on a dancer. With her hair pinned loosely back, she was, simply, stunning.

“Thanks again,” Lucy said as if
he
were the one doing her a favor. She set the alarm and locked the door.

Sean found his voice. “Hey, beautiful, my pleasure.”

She hesitated before putting her keys in her purse, and Sean mentally hit himself. That sounded like such a line. A line he’d happily use on any of his previous girlfriends, but Lucy was nothing like them, and he wasn’t going to treat her like the flavor of the month.

Sean lowered his voice. “I really mean it, Lucy, you look amazing.” He reached up and touched one of her thick curls. Her hair was soft and shiny, and her lips—he knew he’d better not think about her full, painted lips right now.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and he relaxed. He wanted to give Lucy a fun night out, even if they were going to a fund-raiser for a victims’ rights group. He intended to convince her to go for dessert afterward.

He opened the passenger door for her, and she said, “Chivalry isn’t dead. I thought my brother Dillon was the only one who still opened doors.”

“I don’t do it for just anyone,” he said as he closed the door. She might have thought that was a line, but it was the truth.

As soon as he pulled away from the curb, Lucy asked, “About what you said yesterday, looking into why Roger Morton was in D.C.—”

“Let’s not ruin this evening.” He wanted to tell Lucy about what he’d learned, and about Ralston’s murder, but he didn’t want her to be upset or preoccupied with Morton tonight.

“Not knowing is worse than knowing.”

“I haven’t learned anything important.” He hesitated, then said, “I narrowed down all Morton’s known associates within a hundred-mile radius who are still alive and not in prison. The three I spoke to don’t know anything.”

Lucy glanced at him, her narrow eyebrow raised. “And they told you the truth?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m a Rogan.”

“Is that like having a golden lasso?”

“Naw, I don’t look so good in blue shorts with stars.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” But he did. He couldn’t explain it to Lucy, not yet—he wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself. But Sean despised bullies, and Roger Morton had been a bully. Whoever killed him was a bigger bully, and that person was a potential threat to people Sean cared about: his partner, his business, and Lucy. The entire Kincaid family had treated Sean like one of their own, from Jack to Patrick to the brothers and sisters he’d met
when he went to San Diego to help Patrick with a project last summer. Sean had a large family, but they weren’t like the Kincaids. His family was spread all over the world—Kane in South America, Duke in California, Liam and Eden in Europe.

He couldn’t help but wonder wistfully if his parents hadn’t died in a plane crash, would his brothers and sister have ended up in the same places they were today, or would they have been as close knit as the Kincaids? Probably not. All of them, from his parents down to him, had wanderlust. Only Duke had stayed at home, and that was largely because he’d taken on the responsibility of raising Sean, then a teenager, after the crash.

“Sean?” Lucy said, breaking him from his melancholy thoughts.

“There’s one more thing,” he said reluctantly. “One of the contacts I was trying to make is dead. Ralston. They haven’t narrowed the time of death, but he missed a flight last Sunday. I’ll figure out how it’s connected.”

“But—”

“Tonight, let’s just put it aside, okay?”

She sighed. “Okay.”

He didn’t think she’d be able to banish all thoughts of the situation from her mind, but at least he could work double time to distract her.

“Sean, thank you. I appreciate your attention.”

It took Sean a second to realize she wasn’t talking about his personal attention, but his professional interest in Morton’s death. He didn’t want Lucy to think of him only in a business context. He was good at reading women in general, but he was having a harder time knowing what Lucy was thinking. She kept a large part
of herself closed off, and he needed to find a way to get her to open up to him.

At the Omni Shoreham Hotel, Sean bypassed the valet parking and parked his GT himself.

“Is no one allowed to touch your car?” Lucy asked as he opened her door.

“
Especially
not valets.”

Lucy glanced at Sean and her anxiety about the new information about another dead body faded. Sean winked at her and took her hand as she stepped from the car. Lucy felt that not-so-subtle tingle she’d had earlier when she first opened her door and saw Sean in the tailored dark-gray pinstripe suit, the cerulean tie nearly matching the blue of his eyes. He was breathtaking, and she wasn’t used to physical attraction. She admired good-looking men in an intellectual, “
Yes, he’s attractive,
” kind of way. But with Sean Rogan, her body reacted before her mind, responding to his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her, before her thoughts could catch up that maybe he was flirting. And that maybe she liked it.

Sean draped her wool coat over her shoulders in a gesture that was as timeless as it was endearing, yet she didn’t sense that he was being calculating. He took her arm as they walked through the lobby toward the fundraiser.

“Give me the rundown,” Sean whispered as they approached the bustling reception room. “Who’s who and all that.”

Lucy looked around. “There’s Fran Buckley, the director of WCF. She retired from the FBI several years ago. Senator Paxton introduced us when I interned with him, and I started volunteering.”

“You interned with a senator?”

“He was on the Judiciary Committee, and I wanted to learn everything I could about how Congress impacted federal law enforcement and criminal justice issues.”

“For your FBI career,” Sean said.

“Pretty much. I didn’t particularly like working in Congress, but I learned a lot.”

She scanned the crowd. “There are several elected officials here, the deputy mayor, and a lot of law enforcement—we have several cops who volunteer for WCF when off-duty. The chief of police is here. That pretty blonde next to the buffet? She’s Gina Mancini, Fran’s
über
-efficient assistant. She’s talking to Donald Thorne, one of our top donors. I don’t know who the other couple is with them.”

“Okay, overload,” Sean said.

“You’re in luck, it looks like they’re getting ready to start the speeches. And it won’t take long; Fran likes to mingle. That’s when she says she raises the most money—one-on-one.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Thank you. Red wine, please.”

Lucy watched Sean stride to the bar, where he comfortably chatted with the bartender. He could walk into any room, any situation, and make friends. Lucy couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable or carefree—though carefree wasn’t quite the right word for Sean. He was alternately serious and driven, then light and fun. She wondered who the real Sean Rogan was, and if she’d find out.

After Fran briefly spoke about the state of WCF and gave her thank you’s, she introduced the chief of police,
who gave a speech on crime stats and sex crimes in D.C. and the surrounding area.

Sean returned with her wine. He was drinking beer from the bottle, and she grinned. It fit him, sleek suit notwithstanding.

“Make a new friend?” she asked, nodding toward the bartender.

“Everyone has a story,” he said. “Some are really interesting.” He whispered, “Who’s that going onstage?”

“Aubrey Lewis. Her daughter was killed by a repeat sex offender two years ago. Senator Paxton introduced legislation to tighten restrictions on sex offenders, and she testified before Congress. She’s amazing.”

After a brief, moving speech, Aubrey introduced Senator Paxton.

Jonathon Paxton, sixty-six, played tennis and golf regularly and took his health seriously. He walked onto the small stage, gave Aubrey a hug, and took the podium. He began with the story of how he got involved in WCF. It all started with the murder of his daughter more than two decades ago.

It was hard for Lucy to give her full attention to the speeches while Sean was standing so close to her. He wore a subtle aftershave or cologne that had her inching closer, trying to figure out what it was. When he leaned down to whisper in her ear, she shivered.

“Look at that couple,” he said quietly. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Valerio; they own VT Communications.”

“You know them?”

“They hired RCK a couple of years ago to test their security. Took me seventeen hours, but I broke in.”

“You should talk to them. I don’t know them personally, but they’ve been supporters of WCF for years.”

He shrugged. “They don’t know me.”

“But—”

“Duke always works with the clients.”

“How’d you know it was them?”

“I saw their photo once.”

“Good memory.” She glanced up at him, surprised at how close his face was to hers as they quietly chatted in the back of the room.

Suddenly, it felt as if a thousand ants were crawling under her skin. She glanced around the room but didn’t see anyone staring at her. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there were eyes upon her. She rubbed her arms, and Sean put his arm around her.

“Lucy?” he questioned.

She didn’t answer, pretending to listen to the senator’s speech. She pretended to ignore the people glancing not-so-discreetly at her. Her story wasn’t a deep, dark secret. She’d spoken to schools, written fund-raising letters for Fran, even testified in the Judiciary Committee in support of Senator Paxton’s legislation that had been dubbed “Jessie’s Law.” She never enjoyed it, always felt tainted, and worse, hated that people pitied her, that they thought she’d been a stupid, irresponsible teenager. No one would ever say it out loud, but many held her accountable for putting herself in a vulnerable position.

She’d agreed to meet her attacker in a public place because she’d believed it was “safe.” She’d thought he was a college student named Trevor Conrad. She’d been wrong.

Applause signaled that the senator was done speaking, but Lucy was still on edge. She said to Sean, “Want to get out of here?”

He took her hand. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold.”

He stared at her. “Lucy, what’s really wrong?”

She froze, tilted her chin up, and stared him down. “I just told you.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Sean held on.

“Lucy, something has you spooked. Tell me.”

Lucy didn’t want to share anything with Sean. She tried to put him back into the role of her brother’s partner, but she’d already gone far beyond that. And the way he was looking at her implied a much more intimate relationship than a business one.

“It’s personal,” she said, hoping she made clear by her tone that their relationship wasn’t. Even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either, or exactly how attracted she was to him.

She felt comfortable with Sean, and she liked that he was smart. But he was also into his toys. His car. His pool table. Patrick had even told her he had a plane he flew all the time. She was too focused on her career and her future to get involved with anyone who wasn’t equally devoted. The best thing was to put distance between them so she could think clearly.

Not that he was interested. Or she. Or …

“Lucy.”

She jumped, and Sean squeezed her hand as she turned to face Fran. “Fran.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled at Sean. “I’m Frances Buckley, WCF’s director.”

Sean extended his hand and smiled his award-winning grin, melting Lucy’s resolve to flee from him.

“Sean Rogan,” he said.

“Patrick’s partner,” Lucy explained.

“Very nice to meet you,” Fran said, giving Lucy a
smile that showed her approval of Lucy’s choice in escort. Lucy resisted the urge to explain to Fran that they were just friends. That might be hard to prove, since Sean was still holding her hand.

Sean said, “The room is crowded. I hope they’re all paying customers.”

“Even in this tough economy, we were able to surpass what we raised last year.”

Lucy saw Cody stride into the room and scan it, spotting her just after she saw him. He walked over. “Lucy, can I talk to you privately?”

Lucy felt a distinctly protective shift in Sean’s posture, and Cody glanced at him with stern eyes. “Sean, this is my friend Cody Lorenzo, with the D.C. Police Department. He volunteers at WCF. Can you give us a moment?”

“Go ahead.” Sean dropped her hand, but Lucy felt him watching her follow Cody outside the ballroom into the hall.

“What’s wrong? You’re agitated.”

She couldn’t imagine he’d be this upset that she’d come to the event with Sean.

“Tell me the truth, Lucy. Did you change the meeting place with Prenter?”

She blinked several times, switching her focus. “What? Why on earth would I do that?”

“Before I came here, I stopped by Club 10. Prenter boasted to the bartender that he was going to get laid, that he was meeting a hot blonde who liked to talk dirty online.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Fran has a copy of all my transcripts!” Cody hesitated, and Lucy grew enraged.
“You think I could have played the game that far?”

“No, not under normal circumstances, but if the chats weren’t getting what we wanted out of him, maybe you pushed a little too hard, got in too deep. I’m not blaming you, Lucy, but—”

“Hold it. What makes you think it was me? Maybe he was chatting online with someone else. I did not change the meeting place, nor did I talk about anything sexual. Read the damn logs—I flirted, nothing more. Why don’t you believe me? Why would you think that Fran would have allowed it?”