THE LAWS OF PASSION Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

  Epilogue

  © 2004

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  Prologue

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  She'd be damned if some kid was going to tell her how to do her job.

  No way was Dana Aldrich going to stand still for having this assistant's assistant insist she change into something more 'suitable'. As far as she was concerned, jeans were exactly right for this assignment. The newbie could just go do something useful … like … like … soak his head.

  "Look, Special Agent Aldrich," the assistant continued unwarily. "Your suspect is accustomed to dating fashion models. To get him to talk you'd better look like one."

  Before she could open her mouth to tell him what she really thought of his suggestions, the office door swung wide and in strode the man whose opinion she valued above all others. Special Agent-In-Charge, Steve Simon, who was currently acting as the SAC for the Atlanta field office.

  "SAC Simon, good to see you." She kept the excitement over seeing her old friend out of the tone in her voice.

  "Are you having a problem, Special Agent Aldrich?"

  "Not a bit, sir," she replied as she straightened up. "I'm just preparing for a new assignment and this yahoo wants to tell me how…"

  "Excuse us a minute, Mr. Rennart." Steve shot Dana a quick look meant to keep her quiet while the administrative assistant took his leave.

  "It's not like you to balk at instructions, Dana," Steve said, once the door was closed. "This new assignment you've drawn is politically sensitive. Marcus Danforth's father is an important businessman in this state. And he's also the front-running candidate for the U.S. Senate seat."

  "I understand that," she told him. "But daddy Abraham Danforth's youngest son is not above the law. And Marcus Danforth should be the first to know it, too—considering that he's the corporate attorney for his family's company."

  "Being accused of racketeering and being guilty are two different things, Dana. You know that."

  She did know that very well. But she was also well aware that children of the extremely rich very often grew up spoiled. Maybe this one wanted to compete with his older brothers in the moneymaking department. And maybe he wanted it badly enough not to care how he went about it.

  "What I know is that we've been trying to make a case against this cartel. We've had informants tell us that they're using the coffee suppliers as a front for money laundering … and are probably using their shipping company to bring drugs into the country. But we can't prove it."

  Steve nodded. "Every time we get close, an informant dies. That doesn't exactly make it easy to get others to tell us what they know."

  "Well, if Marcus Danforth knows anything, I'll get to the truth." It was her job to find informants and offer them deals. "Is my cover all set?"

  "Your credentials and backstory are on Rennart's desk. I've obtained the intro you'll need to stay close to Marcus." Steve stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. "Be vigilant, Dana. I'm not concerned about Marcus Danforth being violent. If anything, I truly believe his life might be in danger. But politics and drugs can be a deadly mixture."

  He smiled at her. "And I don't want to lose my best undercover special agent."

  "Don't worry," she said as she picked up her denim jacket. "As long as I don't have to wear spike heels, nothing is going to keep me from getting Danforth to roll over. That's my job and I'm the best at it."

  Yep. Rich kid and Harvard grad, Marcus Danforth, had just better watch out. She was ready to go to work.

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  One

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  "God, Adam, do I ever need a shower," Marc Danforth said, as he and his brother stepped out of the Chatham County Jail and strode toward the parking lot.

  "We'll have you home in a jiffy." Adam handed him his coat jacket. "There seems to be a nip in the air all of a sudden. Sorry I had to park so far away."

  Marc thought the early October air felt wonderful. Better than any air he'd ever breathed. He reveled in the ability to fill his lungs with the free oxygen.

  "No sweat. I needed the walk anyway." Marc shrugged into his jacket. "I never figured a few hours in a jail cell could be so bad. I appreciate you coming to get me."

  Marc felt a slight chill and stuffed both hands into his pockets. In one, he found the silk tie he'd been wearing yesterday—just where he'd left it. Well, at least the cops had an honest property system.

  "No problem," Adam said. "Dad was here, too, most of the time. But when the reporters started showing up, I convinced him to slide out the backdoor. He said he'd talk to you later."

  "I'll bet he's not real thrilled with me." Marc figured his father would probably be incensed that this arrest would cast his Senate campaign in a bad light.

  "Ian is with him right now." Adam pulled his keys from his pocket and showed Marcus which way to walk toward the car. "It's clear to all of the family that this is a frame-up by the drug cartel. Ian's been fighting them off for nearly a year. First the threats, then that explosion and now this. Dad knows our battles have nothing to do with his campaign."

  Marc nodded and breathed a sigh. Nothing much had mattered in his life for a long time. But family still mattered.

  Family. He thought of the beautiful woman he'd met in his brother's office just a day earlier. He'd never seen Adam serious about a woman before, but he was willing to bet this relationship was going to last a while. "Does Selene know about my arrest?"

  Adam smiled wryly. "I was with her when Dad called."

  "Oh, hell." Marc blew out a weary breath, realizing what that meant. "A thousand apologies aren't going to be enough, are they?"

  "Not nearly."

  The tone almost made Marc laugh. Almost. A new thought struck, sobering him instantly. "It's … it's not possible that Selene's father is involved in this, is it?"

  Adam shook his head. "Van Gelder certainly has his sleazy moments and dirty politics seems to be his way of life. But even he wouldn't stoop this low to win a Senate seat."

  After a little thought, Marc was sure Adam was right. But his brain wasn't thinking too clearly right now. He was trying to stay confident that he would be found innocent of these made-up charges. But his career … hell … his whole life was on the line.

  "Have you thought about hiring a high-profile lawyer?" Adam asked. "I mean, having your friend from the state Bar Association at your bond hearing was fine, but you're going to need a powerful criminal attorney to win this case."

  Marc drove his hand through his greasy hair and winced. "The only thing I know for sure is that I won't be my own lawyer. I'm a damned good corporate counsel. But that doesn't mean I know anything about criminal law. Even if I did, the old saying that 'a man who hires himself as an advocate gets a fool for an attorney' is true."

  "Well, Dad can suggest some good firms. And you have a few days to get yourself together before you worry about getting a lawyer."

  "Like hell." Marc stopped in the middle of the parking lot and turned to his brother. "I intend to find the evidence that proves me innocent. I have to clear my name. And I have to do it before the drug cartel buries the information so deep I can never dig it out."

  Suddenly he felt a determination that startled him. He'd been sleepwalking through his life for the last year, dedicating himself to his work and nothing else. But he didn't have that luxury anymore. No more feeling sorry for himself. His freedom depended on it.

  Both brothers looked up as a car squealed around the corner and headed down the parking lot lane toward where they were standing. Each of them absently backed up a step to let it pass.

  The car slowed and stopped rig
ht in front of them. It was a late model four-door sedan. In Marc's opinion, the nondescript white, American-made vehicle looked just like an unmarked cop car should look. He groaned quietly and prepared himself for another hassle with the police.

  The driver's door was on the far side away from them, so they couldn't see who was driving. While the car continued to idle, the door opened and out stepped a long, lanky female. Dressed in jeans, boots and a denim jacket, she looked serious and tough—except for the riot of curly black hair that hung halfway down her back.

  If this was a cop, she might as well take him in right now. His thoughts could get him arrested—again.

  All he could think of was being able to touch those soft, wild curls. Running his hands through that silk and burying his face in it as if it were an ebony pillow. He didn't suppose that was exactly what had brought her here, though.

  "Marcus Danforth?" she asked in a whiskey-soft voice.

  He closed his mouth and nodded. "That's me. And this is my brother, Adam. He doesn't have anything to do with these racketeering charges, however."

  The woman walked around the front of the car and held out her hand. "Glad to meet you. The name's Dana Aldrich."

  She shook his hand and then turned to Adam. While she was shaking his brother's hand, Marc's fingers could still feel the strong, cool grasp of hers. And he wondered why anything so firm and businesslike should seem so erotic.

  "Are you with the police?" Adam asked.

  "No." She smiled at Adam but the cheer didn't reach her eyes. "I'm a private investigator. I work with your father's bodyguard, Michael Whittaker, on special cases. He's hired me to watch over your brother until the trial."

  "What did you say?" Marc choked. This woman was definitely not what he thought of when someone said the word bodyguard. "I don't need a bodyguard. And no offense, Miss, but you don't look like the bodyguard type."

  Adam ignored his remarks and asked a question of his own. "Can we see your ID, please?"

  "Sure thing." She dug into her back pocket and came up with a leather case. "And I'm a damn good bodyguard, if I do say so myself."

  Marc watched over his brother's shoulder while he studied the photos on both her state private investigator's license and driver's license. Adam handed them back.

  "Give us a second, will you, Ms. Aldrich?" Adam took his elbow and escorted him down past three or four parked cars. "You buying this story of hers?" he inquired of Marc once they were out of earshot.

  "Yeah, I guess so. Why would she lie?"

  "Any number of reasons. In fact, she could be a tabloid reporter just looking for a good story."

  Marc considered that possibility. "That's not what my gut tells me. But if you're concerned, call Michael and ask him if he sent her. I'd be interested to know why he thinks I need a bodyguard. And why he would send me one that was such a knockout."

  Adam grinned. "I'll do just that." He took his cell phone from its place on his belt clip. "You go back and keep her talking."

  "No problem there. Take your time." As Marc walked toward her, he thought about what exactly having a female bodyguard might entail. And he wondered just how much of his body she might want to guard.

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  Dana glanced over her shoulder through the rear window and cut the wheel to the left. It was late for rush-hour traffic, but some of the roads were still clogged with cars.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked Marcus, who sat quietly in the passenger seat beside her. "I thought we could stop somewhere and maybe miss some of this traffic."

  As she drove onto the interstate, Dana relaxed her shoulders. It had been ridiculously easy to talk Marcus into letting her be his bodyguard. His brother, Adam, had been a little more leery, but he'd given in after he called Michael Whittaker and verified her story.

  Adam wasn't the brother that interested her, however. She'd done a lot of research on Marcus Danforth for this assignment. But nowhere in the reams of paperwork about him did it say that he had fascinating chestnut eyes.

  Or that his voice would be a dreamy baritone that brought out captivatingly sensual sensations in her. She shook her head a couple of times, trying to dislodge the strange impressions.

  Her thoughts simply never turned to lustful cravings—never. She was too tough to allow such things. Clearly, she shouldn't think about that stuff when it came to a suspect. Marcus was a job, and she was a professional.

  "I'm starved," he replied with a smile. "Fortunately, I didn't get a chance to eat jailhouse food. But, right now, all I want to do is go home. I think there might be some things in the refrigerator that'll be fresh enough to eat. I could fix us some eggs … after I take a shower, of course."

  "Okay. That'll be fine. But you'll have to give me directions to your place."

  "Just keep heading south for about twenty miles. I'll tell you when to get off the interstate."

  Despite her momentary lapse into a ridiculously lust-filled haze over the man, her cover had held. Apparently, Steve had convinced his old army buddy, Michael, that the FBI wasn't simply out to prove Marcus guilty. An investigation might prove him innocent, as well.

  And, moreover, it might be prudent to have a bodyguard around to help keep Marcus alive while he awaited his trial.

  So she was in. But she intended to do everything in her power to find the evidence that would make the case hold. She felt sure this rich playboy lawyer was somehow involved in money laundering for the drug cartel.

  She knew Marcus came from a very wealthy family with all the money in the world to hire legions of lawyers and private investigators. And Dana was determined to get to the evidence first so she would have a bargaining chip to help convince him to turn on his racketeering buddies and become an informer.

  That is … if she could keep herself focused on the assignment and off Marcus's intense brown eyes.

  Glancing into the rearview minor, Dana caught sight of the same black SUV that she'd noticed earlier. "Hope you don't mind if we take a detour. Hang on." She whipped the wheel hard to the left and stepped down on the gas.

  "What the hell?" Marcus jerked his head around to stare at her as she ripped in and out of traffic.

  He cursed under his breath when she two-wheeled it past a car going seventy, hit the next exit ramp and locked the brakes. He struggled to balance himself on the seat while Dana maneuvered the boxy sedan down the ramp and blasted past the stop sign at the bottom.

  She finally slowed down to the speed limit and looked around. "You have any idea of where we are?" she asked.

  "That was some driving exhibition," he muttered. "What do you think you were doing?"

  "Saving your butt. The driver of the car that was following us didn't look like any Sunday driver."

  "A car was following us?"

  Dana nodded, pulled into a convenience store's lot out by the air pumps and shut off the engine. "I understand you have some involvement with a drug cartel. I'm no expert, but I've seen the kind of cars those guys drive around town. A car like that had been following us since we pulled away from the jail. I figured it was time to shake them loose."

  Was she kidding? "The drug cartel … why on earth would they be following me?"

  "Maybe they're afraid you'll turn state's evidence against your friends. Have the feds offered you a deal for information yet?"

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and tried to think. "I spent all morning in interrogation. But no one mentioned any deals. I got the distinct impression they already had plenty of evidence against me. At my arraignment, it sounded like the federal prosecutor's office wasn't interested in any more information … or any deals."

  She'd turned in her seat to face him, and he noticed that her body seemed poised for action. Ready to fight or flee at any wrong move. Tense and in perfect control of herself and the situation. This was some bodyguard that Michael had hired.

  Now that Marc's breathing was steadier, he decided to covertly study her, trying to remember everything she'd said. "Did
you just say something about the cartel thinking I would turn on my friends? I don't have any connection to the cartel. I don't even know anyone that's in a cartel. Why would you think I did?"

  "You were arrested for racketeering, weren't you?"

  "Yes, but I'm innocent. I've been framed." Damn. The woman had the most gorgeous dark brown eyes he'd ever seen, but if she didn't believe in him… "Look, Dana. If you believe I'm guilty of what they say, maybe we'd better rethink this bodyguard deal."

  She twisted in her seat and checked out the back window then turned the key in the ignition before she answered him. "I'm not paid to believe anything, pal. I'm a professional. It's my job to keep you alive."

  Backing out of the space, she never looked at him, but her voice was strong. "You need a bodyguard and I'm the best. It doesn't matter what I think."

  He laid a hand on her forearm. "It matters to me. Will you at least give me a chance to prove it to you?"

  She stopped the car and stared down to where his hand touched her arm. "I'm just your bodyguard. I'll be right beside you until the trial. If you find any new information, I'll be there to see it." She glanced up and for a split second there was an odd expression on her face, then she tugged her arm out from under his hand.

  In that instant he'd seen a different kind of emotion in her eyes. He'd begun to think of her as simply tough and beautiful. But buried deep in that gaze was something more.

  Her expression reminded him of buried yearnings and crazy childish desires. It was totally out of context with the controlled and strong person he was beginning to know.

  He'd seen a scared little girl buried deep in those eyes. A girl looking for someone who would love and care about her. It made him want to protect her. Made him want to insist she stop the car so he could change places and drive her around. Made him have a crazy vision of moving in front of her while bad guys pointed guns in her direction.

  "So…" she began. "Let's get on with it."

  The sexy, "tough guy" was back. And just that fast, Marc's protective impulses turned to something more primitive. Visions of her in bed, tangled up in his arms, appeared in his head.