White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Wyatt sat on the sofa holding his head. She watched him labor with the pain for a moment, feeling at a loss for a way to help him ease it. When he began to relax, she felt better, too. As if she was going through his pain with him.

  "If you'd relax the pain wouldn't be so intense," she told him.

  "How long have I been here?" He ignored her words.

  Sandra suddenly had the feeling he was headstrong and difficult. She thought it better to answer his questions, since she had her own set that needed answering. "The snow fell for three days. You showed up in the thick of it."

  "Three days!" He tried to sit up straight, but fell back against the sofa.

  "Has anyone been here? Looking for me?"

  Sandra kept the panic that reared inside her out of her voice. "Not yet. No one can get up the mountain." She paused to take a deep breath. "Is someone chasing you?"

  "I don't know. I thought I'd lost them, but in the last week . . ."

  He stopped. Instinctively Sandra looked over her shoulder. There was no one behind her and she knew they were alone, but she felt even more afraid now. Relax, she told herself. You're safe and Brian is only a call away. When she looked at Wyatt again, his eyes were closed and he appeared calm. Sandra breathed a little easier. For a long moment she looked at him. His swollen eye had gone down a lot in the past three days, and she'd fed him water with ibuprofen in it. It should have helped his pain and the inflammation. Another week in bed would do wonders for him.

  Suddenly, she found herself shaking. She didn't want him here for another week. In that time Brian would be certain to come up the hill to check despite her constant assurances the she was fine. Whoever was looking for him could find him in that time, and she had no desire to be in the middle of people who wanted him dead.

  She didn't want him dead. She didn't know why. She didn't know much about anything she felt since she'd pulled him out of the car and brought him here. When she'd touched him she didn't want to stop. As his face had begun its return to normal, she looked at his profile, staring at his sensual lips and wondering what they'd feel like on hers before she forced her thoughts back to the logic of mathematics. That's what she should be doing now instead of staring at him.

  "Where . . . where are they?" he asked without moving. Sandra was startled. She didn't have to ask what he meant.

  "I put them away."

  "Where?"

  "You don't need them now."

  "Where. . .are. . .they?" His voice was forced. He tried to raise himself, but couldn't.

  "You must be hungry." Sandra seized the first thought that came into her head. "Wait here, I'll heat you something to eat."

  Not giving him time to protest, she left the room and escaped to the kitchen. There she breathed freely for the first time since she'd touched him.

  What was wrong with her? She thought earlier when he'd awakened and she was leaning over him that it was a fluke, but now her reaction to his proximity was stronger than anything she'd ever felt toward any man. Why? Slamming her thoughts closed, she refused to even entertain the idea of an association with Wyatt Randolph.

  Mechanically, she fixed a tray with a tossed salad, beef stew, rolls, a slice of apple pie, and a large glass of iced tea.

  She took as long in the kitchen as she could. When she had no further reason to remain there, and when she felt her heartbeat was substantially back to normal, she reentered the living room.

  Wyatt lay where she'd left him. His eyes were closed. She set the tray on the table next to her books and went to him.

  He was asleep. For a long moment she just looked. Why, she wondered. What is it about you that makes me want to protect you? She'd found at least ten million dollars in diamonds in a bloody band, yet the man lying before her had the most honest face she'd ever seen. Even his bruises didn't take away from the strong jawline and sensuous mouth.

  Sandra wet her dry lips. Quickly, she stepped back. She wanted to kiss him. Her eyes widened in surprise and her hand went to her lips as if the deed had been done. Sandra moved back so she wouldn't bend down and put thought to action.

  Turning away, she went back to the table and removed the tray. In the kitchen she restored the food and wondered why each time she came into contact with the man in the other room her emotions surfaced to skin-level.

  ***

  Night had fallen when Wyatt awoke. The back of the sofa restricted his movement. It was just as well since the small turn brought the pain to life. Sandra sat at the table in the dining area of the room. He'd barely looked around before. There was another sofa with a low wooden table in front. From his vantage point, nearly eye-level with it, it appeared to be the size of a dining-room table, polished and uncluttered. Two winged chairs covered in blue chintz fabric sat on the opposite side of the table and a fire burned warm in the hearth before him. He didn't remember it being there when he fell asleep.

  She must have put the blanket over him, for he noticed it now. It smelled sweet, like a perfume, and had a decidedly female scent. He knew it had to be hers, and it wasn't at all unpleasant. Without rising, he saw her sitting at the table. The table was covered with open books. Some of them lay on top of others and a calculator stood close to her right hand. An unconscious finger pushed her glasses up her nose and smoothed her hair back. A laptop computer held her concentration.

  Wyatt was reminded of his law school days. Nights pouring over law books, learning, memorizing, referencing and cross-referencing case after case for his constitutional law class. Con Law. Little did he know that class would have the most influence on his future—if he had a future.

  He hadn't had time in the last week to think things through. Since the package had arrived on the heels of finding out Chip was dead, he'd been running. Keeping only one step ahead of the killers and not knowing where to go and what to do next, he'd hidden. Then he'd found the connection between Senator Rutledge and the stones and he knew he had to get to him, had to convince him to turn himself in, that selling out his country was not the answer.

  He hadn't counted on finding a daughter and a beautiful daughter at that. He pulled the blanket closer to his nose. She didn't see him, didn't know he was awake yet. He studied her as she concentrated on her books. The light above her head shone off her hair. It was brown but had a reddish sheen to it. She'd pulled it free of the ponytail she wore earlier and it hung loosely about her shoulders.

  Her eyes were light brown and compelling. He'd hate to have her opposing him in a courtroom. Not only did she command attention, but juries believed people who looked them straight in the eye as she had done to him. He liked her. A smile came to his face. It had been a while since he could say that about anyone. Every woman he met wanted something from him—an appointment or an introduction to someone, a job in the government, or the promise of a favor. Most people learned in school how Congress worked. That was in theory and theory had no relationship to reality. Laws were wheeled and dealed, traded for a future favor or the collection of a past one.

  He didn't often meet women who had nothing to do with the government. Technically, Sandra Rutledge had a connection, too: her father. His smile turned to a scowl when he thought of the majority senator. He was involved with those diamonds up to his patrician nose and Wyatt would prove it. Again he looked at Sandra. Regret surfaced. He'd truly like to get to know her, but when he explained his reasons for looking for her father, the only emotion she'd have for him would be hate.

  "What are you studying?'' he asked quietly.

  She jumped as he knew she would. Her hand snatched the glasses away from her face as if she didn't want to be seen wearing them. It was quiet enough to hear the wind blowing outside.

  "You're awake." She got up and came toward him. He watched her walk. Her gait was short, but strong and sure, and her hips swung under the knee-length sweater.

  "I got you up the stairs once," she explained. "I didn't have the strength to do it again."

  He didn't mind sleeping on the sofa. It had
allowed him to see her in an unguarded moment. Her eyes were hooded now and her defenses in place. Wyatt had read people's expressions all his life. As a trial lawyer he'd used his ability to determine the meaning of body language, and Sandra Rutledge's body told him she was nervous. He wondered why?

  He remembered the gems. How long had he slept? Had anyone called looking for him? He noticed a phone on a small table next to her. Had it rung while he slept? Did anyone get through the snow? Was he safe?

  His heart began to beat faster. It had been running nonstop for the past week. Each time he thought of the diamonds and the men trying to get them, his heart pounded with a cold fear. He was no spy or government agent. He was a plain lawyer who'd planned to spend his career in corporate law, wearing clean shirts and eight-hundred-dollar suits. He'd planned to deal with estates and wills, maybe a few tax cases; being a criminal lawyer hadn't been his idea, and running for the senate was the last thing he expected to do. Taking the job in legal aid had been to gain experience, but he'd gotten caught, snagged into defending the common man, people who needed him, who had nowhere else to turn. He found he liked it.

  "What did you do with them?" he asked quietly.

  Sandra sat down on the low table. He didn't need body language to tell him she was disconcerted by the stones. Anyone would be, even a jeweler.

  "The diamonds?" she finally asked.

  "Where are they?"

  She hesitated, deciding. Wyatt could tell her curiosity was getting the better of her. She wanted to know about them, more than she wanted to keep them a secret from him.

  "I washed the blood off—"

  "With water!" He tried to sit up but only got as far as his elbows.

  Sandra leaned back as if he could reach her. When she saw he couldn't, she relaxed. "There are many jewelry cleaners on the market. I've tried several of them to clean my rings." She held up her hands, each finger naked of any adornment. "However, the best way to clean diamonds is to use ammonia and water. You can drop them in a solution and let them stand for twenty minutes. The brilliance of the stones and even the setting will gleam in normal light."

  "Tell me you didn't," he said.

  "I didn't," she said, and smiled. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen since his arrival. "We don't have any ammonia. I used a dry cloth to clean your blood away. The residue I brushed away with an old toothbrush." She paused. "I examined them."

  "And you found," he prompted.

  "I found them to be the most unusual stones I'd ever seen."

  "Is that all?"

  She nodded. "Is there more?"

  Of course there was more. A man died over those unusual stones, and right now both their lives could be in danger. "Where did you put them?" he asked, ignoring her question.

  "In a safe place."

  "There is no safe place. I need to know where they are." He was getting irritated, but the pain of the knife wound reminded him of his limitations.

  "Are you a thief?"

  The question threw him. "No," he grunted more than laughed. "I'm not a thief."

  She stared directly at him, her features fixed. Wyatt knew she didn't believe him. She didn't fear him, either, at least not at the moment. She was safe. In his condition he couldn't overpower her. Even as slender as she appeared, she could incapacitate him with a touch to the tender flesh she'd sewn back together.

  "How much are they worth?" she asked. "I estimated ten, twelve million dollars."

  "You can't possibly know their worth." Or their cost, he added silently.

  Chapter 3

  The vast concrete gardens of the Watergate Hotel calmed Jordon Ames. The day's shoot hadn't been easy and he needed to unwind. The Kennedy Center sat in the distance, its marble facade lighted like a huge pedestal waiting for an ancient king. Already crowds were gathering for tonight's performance. One he thankfully would not be attending. He would have a leisurely dinner, good conversation, and, if he was lucky, a good night's sleep, but that all depended on Suzanne.

  The woman never walked into a room. She made entrances. The air of old money surrounded her like a cloak. Her chin tilted slightly higher than the rest of world, most people thought she was a snob. He knew better.

  She paused on the top of the two steps that led to the sunken dining room and leisurely surveyed the area. The hesitation was just long enough for every eye in the room to turn to her. Jordon lifted his third martini and drained the glass. He could watch her all day and never tire of the face that launched ships, lips that puckered for lipstick ads, or eyes that sparkled for mascara. Jordon frequently watched Suzanne Wright, a name she'd chosen the day she started modeling. Called Suzanne by everyone who knew her, she used to be plain Annie—Annie Boatwright. She had left the backwater town in rural Georgia and through some stroke of luck become the adopted daughter of Senator and Mrs. Bradford Rutledge. Her life with them had been privileged, but Jordon knew Annie still harbored a deep-seated fear that life would one day plunge her back to the poverty-stricken one she'd escaped.

  Her face was her fortune. She'd taken New York by storm when she walked into the first modeling agency she'd tried. Jordon remembered meeting her that day, struck almost dumb by the raw beauty of her skin tone and the natural way she carried herself.

  Since that time everything about her had changed except the exquisitely delicate look she used to get whatever she wanted.

  Jordon knew this, yet he still watched her. He watched her through his camera lens and it loved her—almost as much as he did. Her skin was smooth and flawless. She was the darkest woman he'd ever seen, but the smoothness of the color forced, almost commanded notice. Even if she hadn't been as beautiful as an Egyptian queen, she'd have demanded attention.

  Jordon got up and went toward her. She noticed him before he reached the step where she stood. Her face transformed into a smile. How often had he seen that? She could smile when she didn't mean it. When the product called for a smile, it was there waiting. When tears were necessary, they fell from her brown eyes like large marbles.

  "Jordon," she purred, descending the two steps as if she were royalty. He offered his arm and she took it. Every male eye in the room was trained on her, following her sensual movements as she walked past them. Jordon heard the intake of air from the women. He noted it was either from surprise of Suzanne’s God-given beauty or jealous of it.

  He led her to their table. "Well, Annie. . ." he said as he pulled out a chair for her. He was one of the few people she didn't throw an angry look at for dipping into her past. Jordon took his own seat and twirled the empty martini glass. "How does it feel to have Washington, DC at your feet? You can have any job you want. The most photographed woman in the world."

  Suzanne, instead of tossing her hair and giving him her most disconcerting smile, dropped her head just as he saw the pain come into her eyes.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately sorry that he'd hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. He only wanted her to look at him and see him. Not the photographer, but the man who loved her. The man who wanted to give her the things money couldn't buy.

  "Nothing’s wrong," she snapped. “Order me a drink."

  Jordon called the waiter and ordered a cup of coffee for himself and a white wine for Annie. He'd seen her in all kinds of moods, but tonight was different from any he'd recognized before. He wondered what had happened. Had she met someone new or lost someone old? He was certain the root of the cause was a man.

  "I'm sorry, Jordon," Suzanne apologized. "I don't want to fight tonight and least of all with you." She paused a long time before taking a breath and saying, "It's just that I don't like Washington."

  Jordon knew that. She'd never told him why, but when the assignment came through for a major ad campaign using the historical landmarks as a backdrop, Annie immediately refused the job. It had taken him days to persuade her to take it, and even then she wouldn't tell him the real reason she didn't want to come to the capital.

  "Sandra called a few minutes before
I left the room."

  Jordon knew Sandra was Annie's stepsister. The girls had once been close, and despite what Annie said, he believed it was Annie who had erected the barriers between herself and her sister.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Sure."

  When their drinks arrived, Suzanne immediately took a swallow.

  "She knew I was in town."

  The implication of how she knew was left hanging. He hadn't told her. In fact, he had only seen Sandra Rutledge once and that was at a campaign fund-raiser for her father several years ago. She'd been in the distant background and had left as soon as she could. He had gotten the impression she was camera shy.

  "She wanted to know if I'd seen or heard from Dad. I hadn't."

  "You didn't invite her down? How long has it been since you two have seen each other?"

  "Not long enough." Suzanne raised her wineglass and stared through the gold-colored liquid. "Not long enough."

  All families have difficulties, Jordon thought. He and his own father had fought constantly while he was a teenager, but as time had passed they'd become close. Jordon wanted her to open up to him, let him be the shoulder she cried on. Usually he was. She'd talk to him as if he assumed two women would talk, but Annie had few women friends and she seemed completely oblivious to his true feelings for her.

  "Suzanne . . . Suzanne Rutledge!" someone suddenly called.

  They both looked up. The man was tall and well-built. He looked as if he worked out daily. Jordon could easily see him posing for an ad selling a muscle-building protein mix. He had a full head of dark hair with only a sliver of gray running through it and no evidence of a receding hairline. His bone structure was good. He would easily get through another ten years without a face lift.

  Suzanne's face lit up when she saw him, and Jordon's stomach instantly clinched.