Our Little Secret (8 page)

“Meg wouldn’t…” Lauren’s protest trailed off. What was the point? She would. She had. Lauren’s mind rebelled at the idea of her own sister purposely putting her in danger, but clearly Meg had been trying to mislead someone when she’d arranged Lauren’s arrival. Lauren simply couldn’t believe that her sister had known how dangerous things would get. She fell into a brooding silence, watching the ice-slicked city go by while she pondered Meg’s actions.

Drew shifted his attention to the backseat. “Any major injuries back there?”

“Yes, damn it,” Gerald responded, still brushing grit off his coat. “Besides all the potentially fatal internal injuries I might have, that overgrown grizzly bear ripped a button off my vest and tore the pocket on my London Fog topcoat. He’ll get the bill, too, once they catch him.”

Drew smiled at the rearview mirror. “I hope you get to collect.”

“Oh, I will,” Gerald’s voice rang with certainty. “I got a good look at the behemoth before he landed on me. That man’s going down.”

Detective Rasmussen of the metropolitan police department sat at the Creighton kitchen table, pen poised over his notebook, eager to take down the facts. But his face grew more confused as he listened to Gerald’s description.

“… and his hair was dark, a burnt sienna, barely long enough for me to get a grip on. His eyes were a deep umber, with evil little glints sparkling in their depths.” Gerald wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes in demonstration.

The detective stared.

Drew sighed and tapped the notebook. “Brown hair, brown eyes. Just write it.”

“And he wore this godawful sepia overcoat, probably from Sears.” Gerald shuddered. “I mean, can you imagine?”

Rasmussen looked at Drew.

“Brown coat.”

“Oh, and he had one of those college-type rings on his right hand, a big hunk of gold with an oversized fuchsia stone.” He wrinkled his nose. “Terribly garish.
Probably from some lower-rung community college.”

“Red stone,” Drew supplied, rubbing his forehead as if he felt a headache coming on.

Rasmussen wrote it down, muttering, “Man’s a goddamned walking box of Crayolas. Spell that red one for me.”

Gerald patiently spelled out “fuchsia,” then added, “He has a bite mark on that hand, too. Put that down as an identifying feature.”

Rasmussen stopped writing and looked at Gerald. “You bit him?”

“Right on the fleshy part between the thumb and index finger. No blood, but lots of bruising. I ground my teeth.” He flashed a perfect set in a satisfied grin.

Detective Rasmussen lifted an eyebrow and nodded slowly. “Good man.” He wrote it down. “Anything else?”

The three of them looked at each other, then shook their heads. Lauren was impressed with the descriptions Gerald had provided of both men, right down to the lapels on the Burberry overcoat. She’d been so stunned she couldn’t even be sure her attacker had hair at all, much less what color it was.

“They weren’t very distinctive,” Drew told him. “And it all happened so fast, we didn’t have enough time to get a good look.”

“He did.” The detective indicated Gerald with grudging approval. “Very observant.” Gerald took the compliment as his due. “If that’s all, then, I’ll notify the Secret Service and someone will be in touch with you tomorrow.”

“The Secret Service? Isn’t this a matter for the D.C. police?” Lauren asked.

“We’ll let them decide that, but I think they’ll be interested. You have a connection to Senator Creighton, and he seems to be pretty important, as senators go.”

“No kidding. He’s president pro tem of the Senate.” Gerald’s tone implied he’d have to be a complete moron not to know that. “That means he’s third in the presidential line of succession.”

“And if no one has been able to reach him for two or three days, I think those boys will want to look into this,” added the detective.

Lauren noticed he wasn’t too disturbed by the idea of handing over the case to another agency, and wondered if that meant there wasn’t much chance of finding the culprits.

As if sensing her thoughts, Rasmussen said, “Don’t worry, we got a couple nine-one-one calls about the incident. One of those people might be able to provide more information. Although, I doubt we’ll get a better description of the men.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I doubt we’ve
ever
gotten a better description of a perp. Thanks again. Someone will be in touch.”

Drew stood to follow as the officer left. Passing Gerald, he leaned down to mumble, “Burnt sienna? Umber?”

“I was being precise.”

Despite Drew’s grumbling, Gerald seemed pleased with himself. He winked at Lauren. Lowering his voice so the departing Drew couldn’t hear, he said, “He’s always worried I’ll piss someone off and he’ll have to defend me. He’s the protective type.”

“Do you need protection?” As slight as Gerald was, Lauren had the feeling he was resourceful enough to take care of himself.

“No, but he’s cute when he gets all gruff and grumpy.” He slid a glance at Lauren. “Don’t you think?”

She almost answered that Drew was far too masculine and sexy to be called cute, but stopped in time. Waving a finger in Gerald’s face, she said, “Uh-uh, you aren’t playing those games with me. I have no opinions about Drew Creighton.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” He patted her hand and winked. “Denial is cute, too.”

“Shut up.” Lauren gave him an irritated swat but wondered just how transparent her face was when she looked at Drew. Half the time she was annoyed with the man, and when she wasn’t, she tried hard not to notice how his upper lip had a sexy little curve, or how incredibly well his jeans fit. She thought she’d hid it well. But as the detective said, Gerald was very observant. She’d have to remember that. She’d also have to do a better job of remembering Jeff.

She hurried after Drew. He was standing in the open doorway, speaking to Detective Rasmussen.

“Listen, can we keep this stuff about my father out of the press?” Drew said. “If they turn up in a motel in Fairfax, having a belated honeymoon, it might be kind of embarrassing.”

“Sure, no problem. Good night, Mr. Creighton.”

She ground her teeth. As soon as Drew shut the door, she asked, “A belated honeymoon? Are you serious?”

“Of course not. But I don’t want anything in the media until we know what’s going on.” After a second’s reflection, he added, “Probably not then, either. You never know what might damage re-election chances.”

She marched after him into the living room. “You’ve got to be kidding. Your father and my sister have disappeared under suspicious circumstances, and you’re worried about damaging his chances at re-election?”

“Believe me, Dad would want me to consider it.” He stopped as he saw the large suitcase and briefcase on the floor. “What’s this?”

“It’s mine. I packed it when I went to wash up.”

He turned toward her, frowning. “Going somewhere?”

She’d known he’d object. From what she’d seen, Drew was used to taking charge of situations, a natural leader like his father. He probably wasn’t used to defiance.

“I think I should stay at Meg’s old apartment. They just got married this week, so I’m sure it’s still leased to her. I can look through her things for a clue to what’s going on, like you did here.”

“I don’t think so.” He grabbed the suitcase and started toward the stairs. “Don’t you think those two men might look for her at the apartment?”

“But you said they knew she lived
here
.”

“Yes, but here you won’t be alone, and there’s a good security system.”

Lauren watched as he went upstairs without waiting for an answer. In the kitchen doorway, Gerald lounged against the doorframe. “Protective,” he mouthed silently, and winked.

She gave him a stern look as she grabbed her briefcase and followed Drew. Way to be defiant, she grumbled to herself. But he’d found her weak spot—security. She wasn’t eager to meet the armed kidnappers again.

He tossed the large suitcase on the bed like it weighed no more than her briefcase.

“If you need anything, I’m right across the hall.”

“What?” She dropped the briefcase. She’d assumed he’d only stayed last night to help Gerald search the house. “You’re staying here, too?”

One eyebrow lifted in mild surprise. “Yes. I said you wouldn’t be alone if you stayed here.”

“I thought you meant Gerald.”

“Gerald only works here. He has his own house.”

“Don’t you?” She didn’t mean to sound rude, but he had to be in his midthirties. Drew didn’t seem like the type who would still live at home with Dad.

“Yes, in Colorado.” He looked her over, head cocked, his mouth pulled sideways with wry amusement. “Are you afraid to stay here alone with me, Aunt Lauren?”

Not until he’d looked at her like that. Tiny prickles raced over her shoulders, and her insides squirmed. Mortified, she reminded herself that she had a fiancé who fulfilled all her squirming desires quite, um, adequately. Imagining Drew in that role was unacceptable.

“Why would I be afraid of my own nephew?” she asked, glad he’d tacked on that reminder of their family relationship.

He smiled with a lazy confidence she found unsettling. “I didn’t mean to suggest you would. I thought you might be afraid of your own—” He paused while he raked her with another gaze. “—impulses.”

Heat rose to her face. First Gerald and now Drew. She might as well have “Lauren is hot for Drew”
written on a T-shirt. “You’d better hope so, because my impulse is to kick you again.”

He smiled. “Feeling threatened, huh?” Before she could come up with a huffy retort, he added, “Come downstairs when you’ve unpacked. I’ll see if I can find us something to eat.”

She stood frozen in place until he was gone, desperately fighting the desire to massacre another nail. Ah, hell with it. She stuck her finger in her mouth and viciously bit at number four. Between her missing sister and her hot nephew, she didn’t give the remaining six long odds for survival.

Drew lined up all the condiments he could find on the kitchen island next to the meat and cheese. He was slathering mayo on a slice of rye when Lauren walked in.

From the corner of his eye he could see she’d changed into jeans. He could no longer see those appealing legs, but the jeans hugged her even-more-appealing hips and butt. Even though he had no intention of sampling the merchandise, he enjoyed looking.

Drew would never make a serious move on the sister of one of his dad’s bimbos. He knew their type well. Typically, the senator’s female “friends” were short on morals and long on ambition, neither of which appealed to him. He’d give up women entirely before he’d mess with the sexually aggressive game-playing nymphets he’d met in Washington. Even if Meg Sutherland hadn’t made off with his mother’s jewelry—yet—he was sure she had some nefarious motive for marrying a man thirty-three years her senior. At the least, she was probably obsessed with power
and prestige, hoping to move up to an even more politically influential lover. If Lauren was anything like her sister, her unknown fiancé had his condolences.

But there was the little matter of the chemistry between them. Drew had enough experience with women to know that physical attraction went beyond the superficial tits and ass consideration. After the initial “wow, what a babe” reaction, there was something more. An unexplained tingle when they touched, or a pleasant flash of heat in his groin when a particular woman smiled into his eyes. He’d felt it before, but not like this. With Lauren, the tingle had almost been a visible jolt of electricity arcing between them, and the flash was a hot rush of sexual desire that aroused thoughts of crushing her to his chest and kissing her breathless. He knew she felt it too. She hid it well, but he saw her green eyes widen and her breath catch when he touched her. The sexual tension was intriguing as hell. It was too bad he couldn’t do anything about it.

The object of his fantasies was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island, watching his preparations. He took a second look at her. Not green eyes—gray. Strange. He could have sworn they were green.

“Help yourself,” he told her, applying mustard to a second slice of bread. “I’m not much of a cook, but I found enough to make sandwiches. I was hoping for something hot, but Gerald is Dad’s secretary, not his cook, as he informed me just before he left. So this is it.”

“Gerald’s gone?”

The timid question made him glance up, and it happened again. As soon as his gaze met those luminous
eyes he could feel the electricity spark between them. This time it came with a predatory impulse that told him how simple it would be to turn those little shocks into a bolt of lightning that could set them both on fire. Tempting, but not wise.

He kept his voice nonchalant. “It’s late, Lauren. He’ll be back in the morning. Have something to eat.”

“I’m too worried to eat.”

“Suit yourself.” He wasn’t about to feel guilty for having an appetite.

She frowned as he piled more meat on his sandwich. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

He flicked a quick glance at her, his mouth twitching with amusement at the thought of what else they could do. But she was talking about her sister, so he answered seriously. “You can help me look through my dad’s office for some clue to what he’s been involved in lately,” he told her. “
After
I eat.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. He waited for another fingernail to get nibbled off, but she began twisting a lock of hair instead. He smiled and took a leisurely bite of his sandwich.

The kitchen phone rang midway through chewing his first bite. After three rings Lauren said, “Aren’t you going to get that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t live here. It’s not for me. Let the machine get it.”

She didn’t seem happy with his answer. Probably the responsible, compulsive type who felt she had to respond to every request and jump at every summons. She fidgeted while the machine played its recorded message. Drew waited for the caller to hang up or leave some boring “call me when you can” request.
What he heard next stopped his mouth in mid-bite.

“Drew? Are you there? Pick up if you are.”