LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

disturbing pImages** of a darkly handsome man, his body moving over hers with strong, sure movements. She’d wanted to protest, to push him away, but there had been no denying the promise in his eyes or the way he’d made her body respond. She’d woken up hot and achy and unfulfilled.

      In the kitchen, she flipped on the small television over her counter and mechanically went through the movements of making coffee. She was reaching for a coffee mug when she went still and then closed the cupboard, her attention riveted on the television. A Washington reporter, elegant in a tailored suit and chic hairstyle, stood in front of the emergency entrance of a local hospital.

      “Senior White House advisor, Edwin Zachary, was brought here just past midnight last night with minor injuries, after falling asleep and crashing his car on Post Road. He was treated and released early this morning. There were no other occupants in the car at the time of the accident.”

      Sara gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “Fell asleep, my ass,” she muttered, and went into the hallway to retrieve the little evening bag she’d carried last night. She couldn’t wait to call Lauren and tell her about the incident. If anyone would understand the ramifications of what she had witnessed, Lauren would. Sara might not approve of everything Lauren did to get a story, but the woman took her job as an editor very seriously. She would know the best way for Sara to proceed.

      Inside the evening bag she found her wallet, a lipstick, and Rafe Delgado’s business card, but no cell phone. It was only then that she recalled dropping it as she’d slammed on the brakes following the accident. Grabbing her keys, she slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops, opened the door to her fourth-floor apartment and made her way swiftly down the staircase.

      Her car was parked just a few doors down from her building, and she unlocked it, crouching to check the floor on the passenger side. The carpeting was black, making it difficult to see anything. Ducking her head to peer beneath the seat, Sara caught sight of her cell phone, wedged between the seat and the center console. Stretching her arm, she was straining to reach the phone when her fingers closed around what felt like a small book. Pulling it free, she saw it was a pocket-sized day planner. She retrieved the cell phone and locked her car, and then carried both items back to her apartment. Dropping the planner onto the kitchen table, she quickly dialed her editor.

      “Hi Lauren, it’s Sara Sinclair.”

      “Sara!” The other woman’s voice sounded groggy and surprised. “You do realize it’s barely eight o’clock on Sunday morning, don’t you?”

      “I know. I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Sara apologized. “But I was watching the news and there’s a breaking story I thought you should know about.”

      “Go on.” Lauren’s voice sounded slightly less sleepy.

      “Edwin Zachary, the White House advisor—”

      “I know who he is,” Lauren interrupted. “What about him?”

      “He was in a car accident last night. A car accident that I witnessed and stopped to help.”

      “What happened? Is he okay?”

      Sara tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and reached again for a coffee mug. “He was taken to hospital for some minor injuries, but he’s going to be fine.”

      There was a brief silence. “I assume there’s a reason you’ve called to tell me this?”

      “The news reports say that he was driving alone and that he fell asleep at the wheel.”

      “O-kaay…”

      Sara could hear the barely veiled impatience in her editor’s voice. “Well, that’s not what happened. He wasn’t alone and he most definitely did not fall asleep at the wheel. He was with a young woman who was definitely not his wife. After I stopped to help, Mr. Zachary asked me to give her a ride home and not to say anything about it. He even tried to give me money to keep quiet.”

      “Really.” Lauren sounded wide-awake now.

      “And the reason he crashed his car wasn’t because he fell asleep at the wheel, as the news reports claim,” Sara continued. “The reason he crashed his car is because the woman was giving him a blow job.”

      There was a pause, and Sara could almost see Lauren rolling her eyes. “He wouldn’t be the first Washington powerhouse to be caught with his pants down. So what are you saying? That you want to expose him?”

      Sara frowned. “Lauren, this is big news, especially considering that Edwin Zachary is one of Washington’s biggest proponents of family values. He was the first one to publicly denounce Senator Baldwin for having an extramarital affair. Zachary has a serious shot at the presidential candidacy, and yet he’s running around doing this? It’s incredibly hypocritical. I think this story is worth pursuing.”

      Lauren sighed. “I agree. Do you know who the woman was? Can we get her to corroborate your story?”

      “I know her name is Colette, and I know where she lives.”

      “Okay. Get her side of the story and then we’ll talk. Without that, all we have is your word against his.”

      Sara nodded. “I’ll get it.”

      “And Sara? This has the makings of a good story, but it’s not a done deal. Your interview with Sergeant Delgado? That’s a clincher, and that’s your priority right now. I don’t want you spending a lot of time on the Zachary story. Are we clear?”

      Sara barely resisted the urge to hold the phone away from her ear and stare at it in bemusement. She sensed a real reluctance on Lauren’s part to pursue the lead, but she didn’t understand why. American Man magazine wrote about strong men, but they didn’t limit those stories to feel-good features. The publication prided itself on showing the good, the bad and the ugly side of power. And Lauren was known to be ruthless when it came to uncovering political scandals. At least, she usually was. Why should this be any different? Sara didn’t get it. “I’ll call Sergeant Delgado today,” she promised.

      Which was the last thing she wanted to do, she thought as she hung up the phone. Sara poured herself a cup of coffee and retrieved his card from her evening bag, sitting down at her kitchen table to contemplate it moodily. The dreams she’d had of him were still too fresh in her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could actually feel his lips on hers, warm and hard and demanding. She shivered and opened her eyes.

      As business cards went, his was simple and straightforward: heavy white vellum with the Marine Corps logo in one corner and his name, rank and telephone number in bold lettering across the front. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Sara picked up her cell phone and dialed the number. It wasn’t yet eight-thirty, and Sara had the perverse hope that she might wake him up.

      He picked up on the second ring. “Delgado.”

      His voice was crisp and alert without the slightest hint of grogginess. The guy had probably been awake for hours. Unbidden, pImages** of him climbing naked out of a rumpled bed swamped Sara’s imagination. She could picture it clearly—smooth, tawny skin over sleek muscles, stubble shadowing his strong jaw and throat as he absently rubbed a hand over his corrugated abdomen—

      “Hello?” Impatience sharpened his voice, jerking Sara out of her reverie.

      “Yes, hi, Sergeant Delgado. This is, um, Sara Sinclair. We met last night at the charity ball?” She winced, wishing she’d used a more authoritative tone, wishing she had waited until later in the day to contact him. He no doubt thought she was desperate, calling him so early on a Sunday morning.

      “The journalist.” His voice deepened. “I remember.”

      “I wanted to set up a date—er, an interview—with you for the magazine, and I was wondering when a convenient time might be.”

      “That all depends,” he drawled. “How long do you need?”

      The question was perfectly legitimate, yet Sara’s rampant imagination imbued it with all kinds of double meaning, no

Скачать книгу