Lethal Attraction: Against the Rules\Fatal Affair Read online

  “You’re good, Sam,” Nick said, his tone reverent.

  As if she had been in a trance, Sam looked up at him. “What?”

  “The way you describe it…If I were a juror, I’d convict.”

  “All I have to do now is prove it and figure out who did it.”

  “You will.” He moved to the closet, opened the doors and contemplated the row of dark suits, dress shirts in white, various shades of blue and some with pinstripes. There were easily a hundred ties to choose from.

  Peeking into dresser drawers, Sam asked, “Did he ever wear anything besides suits? Where’re the jeans? The sweats?”

  “He didn’t keep a lot of that stuff here.”

  “Where else would it be?”

  “At his place in Leesburg.”

  “He has a second home?”

  Nick nodded. “A cabin near his parents’ property. We both use it as a retreat from the insanity of Washington.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything about it the other day?”

  “To be honest, it never occurred to me. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I’m still not. Between what happened to John and seeing you again…”

  “Take me there.”

  “Now?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s almost midnight. You’ve been at it for eighteen hours. I can take you tomorrow.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I won’t have time tomorrow. If you drive, I’ll nap in the car—if you can stay awake that is.”

  “I’m fine. I do my best work from midnight to three a.m.”

  His comment was rife with double meaning that Sam refused to acknowledge. Her face, however, heated with embarrassment as she helped him decide on a dark navy suit, pale blue silk dress shirt and a tie decorated with small American flags. They unearthed a garment bag, and Sam zipped it over the suit.

  “Underwear?” she asked.

  “He didn’t wear it in life.”

  “How in the hell do you know that?”

  Nick laughed. “We were at a luncheon with the Daughters of the American Revolution a year or so ago, and everyone was starting to leave when one of the blue hairs came to tell me the senator needed me at the head table. I went into the room, and he was sitting all by himself.”

  “How come?”

  “Apparently, he’d managed to split his pants and was in need of an exit strategy.”

  Sam laughed at the picture he painted. “Let me guess—he was in commando mode?”

  “You got it. So I found him an overcoat—not an easy feat in July, I might add—and got him out of there with his pride intact.”

  “Where did that fall in your job description?”

  “Under ‘other duties as assigned,’” he said with a sad smile that tugged at her heart.

  “All right then. No underwear. Shoes?”

  “Would you want to spend eternity with your feet encased in wingtips? The tie will be bad enough. I’m sure I’ll hear plenty about that when we meet up again in the afterlife.” He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

  Flustered, she extracted her hand and jammed it in her pocket. “It’s no problem.”

  “Is choosing clothes for the deceased part of your job description?”

  “This is definitely a first.”

  On their way out of John’s bedroom, Nick looked at her in a way that reminded Sam of what he wanted from her. A burst of yearning took her by surprise. Sam wasn’t a woman who yearned, especially for a man. She was focused, efficient, dedicated to her work and her family, hard nosed when she needed to be, and independent—fiercely and completely independent. So it should have been unsettling to want a man as much as she wanted Nick.

  Truth be told, she had fantasized about him for years after the night they spent together. She had followed Senator O’Connor’s career and watched hours of congressional coverage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the senator’s trusted aide. But only rarely had she seen Nick. He apparently kept a much lower profile than his illustrious boss.

  In the parking lot, he held the passenger door of his car for her.

  She slid into the buttery soft leather seat and sighed with contentment. When he turned the car on, she quickly discovered the seats were heated and felt like she’d gone straight to heaven. “This car suits you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Uh huh. It’s classy but not showy.”

  “Is that a compliment, Samantha?”

  She shrugged.

  He reached for her hand as they headed out of the city. When she tried to resist, he held on tighter. “No one but us, babe.”

  “There’s no tablecloth to hide under.”

  He flashed that irresistible grin and laced his fingers through hers. “Give me just this much, will you?”

  Since he’d asked so nicely and it really wasn’t much, she didn’t argue with him even if the simple feel of his hand wrapped around hers set her heart to galloping and put her hormones on full alert. Guilt was mixed in there, too. She had no business spending this much time with him or wanting him so fiercely. But since it was dark and she was tired and no one was looking, rather than push him away, she tightened her grip on his hand.

  CHAPTER 14

  Sam hadn’t expected to sleep. But the combined lull of the moving car, the heated seats, Nick’s hand wrapped companionably around hers…

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”

  Coming to, Sam looked out at the vast darkness and was able to make out the shape of a cabin in front of the car. “Let’s get to it.”

  The rush of frigid air slapped at Sam’s face. She followed Nick up the gravel path to the door and stood back while he used his key in the lock.

  Inside, he flipped on lights.

  Sam blinked a comfortable living area into focus. Big, welcoming sofas, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, overflowing bookshelves on either side of the stone fireplace, framed family photos and a couple of trophies. Here, at last, was Senator John Thomas O’Connor.

  She shrugged off her coat, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, tugged the clip from her hair and got to work. Two hours later, she had discovered that John loved Hemingway, Shakespeare, Patterson and Grisham. His musical taste ran the gamut from Melencamp to Springsteen, Vivaldi to Bach. She had sifted through photo albums, yearbooks and a file cabinet that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to anyone other than its owner.

  She perused a series of essays John wrote for his senior project at Harvard, detailing the roles of government and the governed. The essays were bound into a small navy blue volume with smart gold embossing.

  “He was proud of that,” Nick said from the doorway to the office.

  Startled, she glanced up at him. She had almost forgotten he was there.

  “His father had the book made and gave it to everyone who was anyone.” Nick stepped into the room and handed her a steaming mug.

  “Oh, is that hot chocolate?” she asked, soaking in the mouthwatering aroma.

  “I figured it was too late for coffee.” He had removed his suit coat and released the top buttons on his dress shirt. Her eyes fixated on a dark tuft of chest hair.

  “You figured right. Fat free, calorie free, I hope.” Swirling her tongue over the dollop of whipped cream on top, she took a moment to appreciate the taste. Looking up at him again, she found his hazel eyes locked on her. “What?” she asked, her voice shakier than she intended it to be.

  “It’s just…you…and whipped cream. It’s giving me ideas.”

  She swallowed, hard.

  “I like your hair down like that,” he added.

  Choosing to ignore the comments and the flush of heat that went rippling through her body, she returned her attention to the book John had dedicated to his father. A photo slid out from between the pages and fell to the floor. Sam put her mug on the desk and leaned over to retrieve the picture of a strapping blond boy of about sixteen in a football uniform.