Sleeping With the Enemy Page 9

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to say anything to Bridgett. Judging by the stormy look on her face, she was using her brilliant mind to work it all out for herself. “Is this some J. Edgar Hoover thing? Are you keeping files on people? On me?”

  Jay didn’t bother refuting her. He wasn’t the type of man who felt guilty about his business tactics. It was called survival of the fittest. The millions in his bank account could attest to the success of his philosophy, not to mention his tactics.

  When he didn’t answer right away, Bridgett’s face crumpled. Jay refused to acknowledge whatever that feeling might be gnawing in his belly. At least he’d warned her of the possibility that she might be dragged through the muck in this rather than let her find out the hard way.

  She flung herself at him, her fists pummeling his chest. “You son of a bitch,” she cried. “What were you planning to do? Blackmail me?” One of her fists made contact with his jaw, but her punch lacked the power of anything his sparring partners had ever hit him with. In an effort to calm her down, Jay captured her hands in his own.

  “Stop it!” Jay yanked her hands over her head, bringing her body flush with his. Instead of sinking into him as she had the past few days, she recoiled visibly, her body stiff in his arms. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “I hated you, remember?” Hell, he’d hated everybody back then. His stepfather. His mother. But especially Bridgett, for not believing in him. For not loving him enough.

  Bridgett’s mouth had stopped trembling. “Not as much as I hate you right now.”

  Her words cracked through the air and Jay sucked in a breath.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  Jay hesitated briefly and she tugged at her hands before he finally released his grip. Bridgett took a step back, smoothing down her skirt while she dragged in a ragged breath. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. It’s not like the information can harm anyone any longer. I no longer work for Catholic Charities. My parents . . . my parents will be disappointed that I never told them.” She swiped at a stray tear that trickled down her cheek. “But in the end, it all worked out for the best.” Bridgett jerked up her chin, practically daring him to refute her.

  The implication of her words sank in and Jay refused to flinch. He’d realized quickly how little he’d meant to her. He refused to let it bother him now. “Yes, it definitely did,” he said smoothly. “But, still, I’d prefer that information be kept private.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that years ago!” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled about being linked to you in some tabloid headline. Although, it’s a sure way to get me off the case.”

  Her phone buzzed inside her purse.

  “Perfect timing. It’s Stuart.” Her fingers trembled as she pulled the phone out. “This ought to be a fun conversation.”

  Jay wrapped his fingers around the hand holding the phone, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure this doesn’t come out.”

  Bridgett hesitated a moment, the phone still vibrating between their hands. “Jay,” she said softly. “It’s better for everyone if we keep our distance.”

  Jay knew she was right. But he’d made worse decisions in his career and still come out on top. He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. “Twenty-four hours. Give me the same courtesy you gave Alesha Warren.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and he figured that she probably liked the conniving lawyer for the Sparks cheerleader better than him right now, but he could deal with that. Her phone stopped ringing and Jay reluctantly pulled his hand away.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll work this out. Trus—”

  Bridgett’s hand shot up to shush him. “Whatever you do, don’t ask me to trust you. Ever.”

  Well, if that wasn’t the kettle calling the pot black. Good to know they shared the same sentiment. Still, her words pissed him off. “I’m paying you and your firm enough money to defend my team in this case. Last time I checked, a lawyer didn’t always have to trust her client to earn her pay.”

  Bridgett had the good grace not to defend her profession. “Then let’s get to that part, shall we?” She eyed him and then the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a minute alone in here to freshen up.”

  He did mind. Jay minded a lot. Anger and anxiety swelled in his gut when he got next to this woman, but he still hated to let her out of his sight. The image of her walking away from him years ago still speared him in his chest and he loathed that feeling. He swore he’d never be vulnerable to her again. And yet, he was annoyed at himself for having upset her so a few minutes ago. The vortex of emotions flying around in his head was giving him a headache.

  “Fine.” His hand squeezed the back of his neck. “We’ll eat and then head back to Baltimore.”

  • • •

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McManus, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get out of here tonight,” Jay’s pilot told them when they’d returned to the small airport two hours later. “The National Weather Service has gone ahead and declared this one a superstorm. It was supposed to make landfall in South Carolina. Instead, it turned north and has been hugging the coastline, picking up strength in the warm waters along shore as it moves. Things are going to be dicey here for the next several hours.”

  Jay swore as he pulled out his phone. Don had dropped them off and then taken off to follow a lead on Jennifer Knowles. Both he and Jay believed the former Sparks cheerleader was being used as the front for this lawsuit, but Bridgett still hadn’t completely bought into their theory. To be honest, she was having trouble thinking clearly about anything today. All she wanted was to be back in Baltimore—no, make that Boston—sitting by the fire and sipping a glass of wine.

  “Don is on the other side of the bridge already,” Jay said. “They’re closing it to traffic in ten minutes and he doesn’t think he’ll get through the gridlock to get back before then. The state police are clearing all the roads.”

  A lick of panic raced up Bridgett’s spine. “So you’re saying that we can’t even drive back?”

  Jay shook his head just as a gust of wind shook the metal hangar, sliding several of the smaller planes that weren’t tied down. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her arm, pulling her in next to him. “Obviously, we can’t stay here.” He yelled toward the pilot, who was furiously helping to tie down the planes. “Ron! We’re going to find a place to hole up for the night.”

  “I’m staying here with the plane, Mr. McManus,” Ron said.

  “It’s only a plane, Ron. No need to be a hero.”

  Ron grinned at Jay. “You forget I flew planes on an aircraft carrier. This”—he gestured toward the hangar’s ceiling, which was currently being pelted by the heavy rain—“is nothing.”

  With a shake of his head, Jay mumbled something about the Navy as he ushered Bridgett into the office located at the front of the hanger. A woman was pulling on her jacket when they stepped inside.

  “We’re closed for the day,” she started to say, but then her eyes took in Jay and her face softened. Bridgett worked not to roll her eyes at the obvious adoration that took over the other woman’s face. “Can I help you?”

  Jay flashed his rakish grin at the woman. “It seems we’re stranded here for the night. Is there a rental car office nearby?”

  “There is, but they closed about an hour ago. As soon as the weather service upgraded the storm.”

  Bridgett swayed a little on her heels, but Jay’s hand on her arm kept her upright. She tried to find the positives in the situation: At least they were safe from the driving rain. Glancing over at Jay, she worked to draw some steadiness of her own from his cool demeanor.

  “What about a taxi?” he asked. “We need to get to a hotel.”

  The woman glanced betwe
en Bridgett and Jay, a chagrined look on her face. “The only motel we have on this part of the beach is the Super Eight down the road. Everything else is on the other side of the bridge.”

  “Is it on your way?” Jay asked.

  With a resigned sigh, the woman nodded to Jay. “It’s not much out of the way.” She glanced at Bridgett. “It’s not the Ritz, mind you.”

  “As long as it’s warm and dry, we’ll be fine,” Jay reassured her.

  He and Bridgett followed the woman out to her car as darkness settled over the area nearly four hours early. The motel was two miles down the road, but it took almost twenty minutes to navigate through the torrential rain. Its parking lot was packed and worry seeped into Bridgett’s damp bones that they might not find a room.

  Holly—the woman had introduced herself to Jay during the drive over, highlighting the fact that she was divorced—let them out at the front door of the motel’s lobby; if it could be called a lobby. The smell of burned coffee assaulted Bridgett’s nostrils as they walked into a narrow room that boasted two worn chairs, a metal rack featuring brochures of local attractions, and a reception desk. The Weather Channel blared over a television situated on the Formica desk. Bridgett caught a glimpse of the radar image on the screen.

  “Wow,” she said. “It’s headed right for us.”

  Jay acknowledged her with a grunt as he tapped his finger on the bell. An Indian woman dressed in a richly colored sari emerged from the back room. “Oh,” she said, her bangles jingling as she clapped her hands together. “I didn’t hear you come in. This weather, it’s so crazy. But you are here and you are wet.” She handed each one of them a small towel. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  Bridgett’s stomach rolled at the thought. “No coffee, thank you,” Jay said to the woman.

  “Then what can I do for you?” she asked innocently, as if there might some other reason the two of them were standing in the lobby soaking wet.

  “We need a room for the night.” Jay reached into his pocket, presumably for his wallet.

  “Rooms,” Bridgett added. He shot her an annoyed look.

  The woman in the sari made some sort of tsking sound. “Are you a Super Eight Club member?”

  Jay plunked his platinum card onto the counter. “No, but this should do the trick.”

  The woman frowned. “I have to save my last room for a club member.”

  “You only have one room left?” Bridgett nearly cried. As much as she wanted to get away from Jay, fate kept throwing them together.

  “Yes.” The woman nodded.

  “Surely you can make an exception,” Jay asked. “We’re stranded here.”

  The woman behind the desk contemplated him before shaking her head slowly. “No, it is company policy, sir.”

  Bridgett glanced around the room as Jay glared at the desk clerk. “Seriously?” Jay’s voice shook the walls as soundly as the wind howling outdoors.

  Spying what she was looking for, Bridgett pulled a membership form from the brochures in the rack and slapped it down on the counter. She retrieved her Montblanc from her bag and began filling out the paperwork. When she was finished, she tore off the temporary card and handed it to the woman. “I’ll take that room, please.”

  Jay looked at Bridgett with a mix of surprise and admiration as the desk clerk clapped her hands again. “This is perfect. Welcome to the Super Eight Club. You can now have the room.” She reached for Jay’s credit card. “But your points won’t accrue this visit because technically, you aren’t in the system yet.”

  Bridgett tuned the woman out as she explained, in great detail, the terms of the club. The only detail floating around in Bridgett’s brain was that she was about to share a room with the Antichrist. The lights flickered briefly and Bridgett’s thoughts took a whole new twist.

  The desk clerk handed Jay the keys. “If the power does go out,” she was saying, “my son, Jagdish, he will bring you a candle.”

  “You don’t have a generator?” Jay asked, his voice incredulous.

  “Oh yes.” She nodded before waving her arms about the room. “For the office. We will stay up all night and keep you informed in case of an emergency.” Funny, but Bridgett didn’t find the desk clerk’s pleasant nature all that reassuring.

  They had to go back out into the rain to find their room. Fortunately for them it was located just beyond the office on the motel’s bottom level. Jay opened the door and turned on the lights, only to have them flicker off and back on again. He slammed the door against the wind and the rain as Bridgett walked over to one of the pair of double beds, shooting up a silent prayer of thanks that there were two.

  “At least we won’t have the roof blow off over our heads,” she said, pulling off her soggy raincoat.

  “No, but there’s a reason she didn’t rent this unit. It’s at the bottom of a hill. We could be ankle deep in water by morning.”

  Bridgett glanced over at Jay, who was drying his hair with the hand towel the desk clerk had given him. “Thanks for the reassurance. I hadn’t considered flooding.”

  He chuckled. “You would have figured it out. Nice work on the club membership, by the way.” He rummaged through the sparse closet.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “An umbrella. Don took the one in the car with him.”

  “Don’t tell me you think the roof is going to leak through two floors?” Bridgett didn’t usually panic easily, but today had really worn her down.

  Jay actually laughed then. “No. I’m going out.”

  “Out?” While the thought of sharing a room with him was anxiety provoking, the idea of being alone in the room during this tumultuous storm wasn’t exactly the most appealing alternative.

  He paused in the act of rebuttoning his overcoat. “I’m not waiting around for Jagdish to bring us a candle. There’s a gas station with a convenience store across the street. Lock up behind me. Who knows what other club members are hiding out here.” He was out the door before Bridgett could lodge a protest. The lights flickered again and Bridgett lunged across the room to flip the safety lock closed.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her purse and Bridgett was glad to have someone to talk to. Gwen had been calling her all day without leaving a voice message. Some days, talking to Gwen was like poking yourself in the eye with a sharp stick, but Bridgett would gladly take the pain right now.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey there, Buffy.”

  Bridgett sagged with relief at the sound of Stuart’s voice. “Please tell me you’re sending the Navy to come rescue me?”

  Stuart laughed. “No can do, Buff. You seem to have flown into the eye of the storm—literally and figuratively.”

  Flopping back on the surprisingly soft mattress, she let out a groan. “I told you Dan should have come instead of me.”

  “Why? Does he have his own boat?” Stuart was the only one laughing at his quip. “While you’re cooling your heels, we’re working hard up here. I just hired Mimi Livingston to consult on the potential media fallout involved with this case.”

  Mimi Livingston was the poster woman of cougars everywhere. Bridgett couldn’t stand the gaudy woman’s tactics. It was hard to argue with her success rate, though. If anyone could redirect the media, Mimi could.

  “I could hear her salivating over the phone when I mentioned the client would be Jay McManus and the Baltimore Blaze,” Stuart said.

  Bridgett would likely have to spend all of her time peeling the other woman’s eyes off Jay’s body every time they met. She reminded herself that the twinge deep in her core was not jealousy.

  Stuart grew more serious. “Did McManus go into any detail about these past cases?”

  “He didn’t deny them.”

  “Hmm. That surprises me. I’ve talked to several colleagues in Northern California who would know if Alesha Warren’s
claims would be true and no one knows anything about them.”

  Bridgett ran her finger through her damp hair. “She intimated that many of them were settled.”

  “Still, my sources would have heard whispers of even that. I’m going to send Scott out there to do some more digging.”

  She shot up on the bed. If someone had Jay’s personal files and knew about their summer in Italy, how easy would it be for Scott to stumble across them? In the ladies’ room earlier, she’d told Jay it didn’t matter who knew, but that had been a bit of false bravado. The idea of her deepest secret being revealed made Bridgett a bit nauseous. “Jay is having his assistant pull together the files. It sounds as if he has nothing to hide. I wouldn’t waste Scott’s time on that. We still need to follow up with Jennifer Knowles.”

  “Don Carter is tracking her down. I’d rather not waste valuable man hours duplicating the work being done by the Blaze. Besides, if it’s blackmail this woman is interested in, I’d rather have all the ammunition we can up front. We’ll be better able to prepare Mimi this way, as well.”

  Of course, Stuart was right. Bridgett only hoped that the Antichrist had his stupid files under lock and key. Bridgett’s phone beeped and she checked the screen. Gwen again. She’d call her sister back after she finished with Stuart.

  “So where are you two riding out the storm?” Stuart asked. “Knowing you, you found the only five-star hotel in Virginia Beach.”

  Bridgett glanced around the utilitarian motel room. “Hardly. We’re at a Super Eight motel next to the airstrip. If you don’t hear from me in the morning, I’ve floated away into the Chesapeake Bay.” She didn’t bother mentioning that she and Jay had been forced to share a room. Somehow, she didn’t think her boss would think the situation was appropriate. Of course, it really wasn’t. For all of Bridgett’s denial about attorney-client privileges, she’d somehow found herself stranded in a room with a bed and her former lover, who was now her client. She just had to keep reminding herself that he was still—and always would be—the enemy.