Love me to death

FIFTEEN

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 uber-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?”

“You’re sharp. You could have changed the logs. Or logged in from home and not copied the transcripts.”

She shook her head and squeezed her lips tight. That Cody could think she was capable of such a thing! He knew exactly who she was and where she’d been in her life. He knew what had happened to her, and why her volunteer work was so important. She would never jeopardize her career with the FBI or Fran’s trust in her by crossing the line with a suspect.

Cody reached out to her. “I’m sorry, Lucy-I had to ask.”

“You didn’t ask. You accused me. And you shouldn’t have had to ask in the first place! You should have known that I would never do anything like that. There is a logical explanation: Prenter was meeting up with another woman. Or he was lying through his teeth. You know how these rapists are, embellishing the truth to make themselves feel powerful and in control. It was a fantasy in his head, not one I deliberately put there.”

“You’re right, I just-”

“Leave it.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Maybe she was overreacting, but his accusation had stunned her. “Did you learn anything else? About the man and woman Prenter argued with in the alley?”

“No, I came here directly from the bar. I’m really sorry, Lucy.” He glanced toward the reception.

“Are you upset that I’m here with Sean?”

“No,” he said, but she didn’t believe him, and he made no pretense to convince her that he was being truthful.

She nodded, still shredded inside over Cody’s accusation. Jealousy was another burden she didn’t need. “Excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”

She walked briskly down the hall. The feeling that someone was watching her was strong, and she suspected that Cody was staring after her, feeling guilty.

Lucy pushed open the door and was relieved that no one was inside. She walked into the small powder room off the main restroom. She leaned against the vanity counter, arms holding her weight, forcing herself to breathe slowly. She stared at her hands. Her nails were cut short but neat. Clear polish kept her nails strong and provided a finished look. Her fingers were long and slender, and she’d always imagined she should be good at piano, but the five years she took lessons proved she had no musical talent. These fingers flew over the computer keyboard, though, almost with a mind of their own, telling lies to sexual predators, enticing them through words to lure her. She had no guilt about how she helped put predators in prison.

Her arms, like her legs, were lean and muscular from spending hours at the gym. But no amount of physical strength could have prevented her from being kidnapped and raped six years ago. She’d been attacked from behind, grabbed and injected with a drug that had immediately weakened her muscles. Only street smarts might have prevented the attack, but she would never know. She had none then, and now? She imagined every scenario where someone could get the drop on her and she did everything she could to protect against it, but nothing was foolproof.

After that first year, Lucy realized she couldn’t live in a plastic bubble. She refused to be a victim for the rest of her life. She was angry with herself, and angry with the men who had abducted and hurt her. But even the rage had faded, because she would not allow them to control her emotions from the grave.

Her family didn’t understand why she wanted to walk in the darkness by being a law enforcement officer, by chatting with sexual predators online, why she continued to read and research and learn everything she could about the men and women who committed horrid crimes. They thought that because she’d been a victim, she should find a career completely unrelated to crime. Her mother wanted her to be a teacher. Her father wanted her to go into linguistics, just as she’d planned in high school. Even Dillon, her own brother who was a forensic psychiatrist and worked every day with criminals, was skeptical of her decision.

But if not her, then who? Who else had the passion and the resolve to dedicate their life to putting these bastards behind bars?

Already she’d had some success, times when she knew she’d helped someone. When she’d spoken at a local high school and a fourteen-year-old girl came up to her afterward with a story that was all too familiar: a thirty-seven-year-old man had befriended her online and wanted to have sex. That man had been arrested two weeks later when the girl and her mother helped the cops locate him. Or the twelve-year-old boy who had almost run away with his online boyfriend, until Lucy had proven to him that his fourteen-year-old cyberpal was really a sixty-two-year-old pedophile.

And there were the people she’d helped who she’d never know. The kids who listened silently to her talks, pretending to ignore her; the ones online whom she’d scared straight; the women and children who wouldn’t be victimized because she’d helped put a predator where he belonged.

So it was worth the watchful eyes, the whispers behind her back, the wrong-headed belief by the ignorant that she’d asked for it, she was to blame, she was different from them. That predators didn’t go after just anyone, they only went after other people.

The door opened and she straightened, glancing in the mirror to see who was entering.

Sean.

“You’re in the wrong bathroom,” she said.

“Not unless you are.” He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He held her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Her self-doubt leaked through her expression, and it mattered to her that no one, especially her friends and family, thought she was on edge.

“I’m fine.”

“I know.” But he still held her shoulders, giving her a slow, firm massage. “You’re tense.”

“I don’t like fund-raisers.”

“Something happened out there. Tell me.”

“Nothing happened.” She looked down at her hands, which were still pressed against the marble countertop. She closed her eyes and let herself relax under Sean’s thumbs. The knots in her muscles loosened and she sighed.

“Lucy.”

When he didn’t say anything else, she opened her eyes and saw he was staring at her, his mouth a firm line.

“Cody accused me of falsifying some data. That hurt. We’ve been working together for a long time, and-” She sighed.

“I understand. But that wasn’t what I was talking about. Right before we talked to Fran, something happened. Tell me.”

She stared at him. How could he have such a single-minded purpose? And what could she say?

“It’s-just-” How could she explain it to him? She certainly didn’t want to talk about her past. “I don’t like being the center of attention, and I don’t like people watching me.”

“Who?”

“No one, everyone, I don’t know. It was just that creepy-crawly feeling you get when someone is looking at you on purpose, you know? It’s ridiculous. I know when I come to these things that I’m practically onstage.”

Sean edged closer. “You need to trust your instincts. How long have you felt this way?”

She couldn’t look at him anymore. A rush of humiliation flooded through her. “Six years.”

“But this is different.”

“No-yes-I-”

Was it different? Lately … “I don’t know. It’s my nerves. It’s been a stressful few months, with the FBI application process and then Roger Morton’s murder, and the Brad Prenter situation-”

“Who?”

The door opened and two older ladies walked in, startled to see Sean standing with Lucy. Lucy cracked a sly smile. “Busted,” she said.

He took her hand and led her out, giving the ladies a low bow as they left. As soon as the door closed, he steered Lucy to the side and said, “Is this Prenter guy harassing you?”

She shook her head. “No-I didn’t know him. He was a college TA who drugged and raped a student. He was killed in a robbery this week. That’s been on my mind, too.”

“Divine justice.”

“Maybe.”

“Lucy, you have solid instincts, so don’t dismiss these feelings as being some neurosis. Trust yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Having faith in me.”

“Who doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer because there wasn’t really an answer. Her family supported her, but they were always watching out for her when they didn’t think she knew. She wasn’t ignorant, and she picked up on their protective vibes. “You want to go?” she asked.

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Now.” They started down the hall to the coatroom.

“Can I interest you in dessert?” Sean asked lightly.

“You mean the buffet wasn’t enough?”

“You didn’t eat anything.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“I know a place,” Sean said cryptically. “Do you trust me?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t trust him, but so many emotions were jumping around inside and she wasn’t sure she could keep a lid on them.

“It’s beginning to snow.”

Sean glanced at her. “Are you kidding? A few scrawny flakes aren’t going to deter me from treating you to the most incredible strawberry cheesecake east of the Mississippi.”

“Cheesecake?” Her stomach growled and she put a hand to her mouth.

“I heard that,” he said. He took her hand and kissed it. It was a spontaneous gesture, and Lucy tried to convince herself it was a kiss of friendship, but a warm sensation ran up her arms to the base of her neck as they walked to the car.