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“Nothing you can prove.”
“Yet,” she said, determined to get the fat-cat senator. She dropped the clippings onto the desk beneath the lamp, and one yellowed article slid away from the rest. Along with the report was a picture of Senator Crowley with the head of an automobile company headquartered in Japan.
She reached for the article, but her fingers stopped in midair. Another man was in the grainy photograph, a man standing just behind the shorter industrialist, a man she recognized. Her world stopped and tilted as her future and past collided. She swallowed against the bitter taste of deception as she stared down at the unmistakable, roughhewn features of Trent McKenzie.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nikki stared at the picture in disbelief. Anger surged through her bloodstream. He’d lied to her again! God, why had she trusted him, believed in him?
“What is it?” Trent asked, his voice rumbling and deep with recent sleep.
“I, um, found something interesting.” A cold settled in the pit of her stomach. Her first impulse was to shove the damning piece of evidence under his nose, demand answers, rant and rave about truth and justice and the pain in her heart. Instead, she told herself to be calm, and with trembling fingers, she forced herself to tuck the picture deep into the notes.
“What?”
“More evidence. I have to talk to one of the aides who used to work for him. Barry Blackstone,” she said, remembering a name she’d seen mentioned several times. “He quit working for Crowley a few months back and I’ve written a note to myself that indicates he can give me inside information.”
“Blackstone?”
She stood and walked on wooden legs to the edge of the bed where she dropped onto the quilt near the lying son of a bitch…the man she loved. “What can you tell me about him?”
Trent’s jaw tightened and his skin drew flat over his features. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hands firmly away.
“Not now,” she said, disguising the fact that her heart was breaking, that she’d never let him hold her again, that they would never again make love. Here, with the scent of sex still clinging to the sheets, she vowed never to fall into his tempting trap again. To shove temptation from her grasp, she moved to the couch and leaned against its lumpy back. A world without Trent. It seemed so bleak. Suddenly world-weary, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve heard of him, I assume.”
“I’ve met Blackstone,” Trent said, regarding her warily, as if he sensed the silent accusations charging the air. He slid into his faded Levi’s. Threadbare at the knees and butt, the pants threatened to split as he strode barefoot to the fireplace, crouched down to lay a piece of dusty oak onto the grate and blew into the coals. Sparks glowed bright, catching on the moss and dry bark. “I used to work for our friend, the senator,” Trent finally admitted, stirring the warm ashes with a poker.
Nikki couldn’t believe his admission. Had he read her mind—known that she’d caught him in yet another evasion? Her heart began to pound and she didn’t know if she wanted to hear the rest of his story. Would it be the truth or a lie? Would he admit that he was in league with the man who had tried to have her killed? “You never said anything.”
“Never seemed like the right time.” Red embers pulsed against the charred pieces of firewood. “A few years back, I was one of Crowley’s bodyguards for a few weeks.”
Too convenient. He must suspect that you saw a photo of him or read his name in one of the articles. Still, she played along, wondering whether if she kept giving him more rope, he would hang himself. “But you’re off the payroll now?” Nikki asked. Betrayal, like a serpent, coiled around her insides and squeezed.
“Yep.” He shoved another hunk of wood onto the crackling, hungry flames. “I quit four years ago.”
“Why?”
He hazarded a glance over his shoulder. His mouth was drawn into a hard, cynical line. “I didn’t like the working conditions.”
“Meaning?” She knew she was pressing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. After this one last t
ime, she promised herself, she’d never again listen to his half truths and lies.
Standing, he dusted his hands on his rear, then slapped his palms together. “Meaning I was beginning to suspect that Jimbo wasn’t on the up-and-up. A few things had happened that I didn’t like. I suspected he was on the take, from international lobbyists as well as from corporations here in the States. I confronted him.” A nostalgic, satisfied grin curved his lips. “He told me to take a hike.”
“You were fired?”
“Terminated is the word he used, I think,” Trent replied. “Nice, huh?”
Nikki shivered and rubbed her arms. Don’t believe him. Not a solitary word he says.
“But it was too late, anyway. I’d already turned in my resignation.” Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he sauntered toward her, the firelight playing in red-and-gold shades upon the smooth skin and sleek muscles of his torso. She tried not to notice the webbing of black hair that swirled across his chest and narrowed to a thin line that dipped seductively past the straining waistband of his jeans. She avoided staring at the sinewy ridges in his shoulder muscles or the way his eyes, deep-set and so blue, stared at her.
Her heart did a stupid flip, but she didn’t even smile. “You lied to me.” The whisper echoed to the rafters and swirled around them like a cold whirlpool.
“We’ve established that already.”
“No, I mean you lied to me again. You didn’t want me to know that you were connected with Crowley. Why?” She angled her head up defiantly as he stopped just short of her, his bare toes nearly touching hers, his gaze delving deep into hers.
