Chapter 20

Rather than sitbehind her massive glass desk, Kayla led Ash to a plump sofa and matching chair near a white marble-framed fireplace.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, indicating the chair. “I hope you don’t mind such informality. I don’t normally entertain business associates in here.”

“Hence your lack of guest chairs around your desk,” Ash said, running his fingers over the soft beige fabric before sitting down. “I would’ve thought you were one of those twenty-four-seven corporate types.”

“I suspect there’s much about me that you have wrong, Special Agent Blackwell.”

He ignored her obvious taunt. “It’s good to know you’re at least part human.”

“Only twenty-five percent, I assure you.” She made her way to a well-stocked sideboard. “Can I interest you in coffee or tea?

“Coffee would be appreciated. Black, please.”

“Of course.”

He didn’t miss the smile that shimmered across her face. His gaze lingered on her full bottom lip and noted a light gloss across the surface. Lip balm? Or had her tongue moistened?—

Ash ripped his attention away, as desire flamed through his veins. He forced himself to study her personal workspace, to take in every detail until his blood cooled.

A mix of business books weighed down the shelves behind her desk. A clock with a black stone base sat on the mantel with an engraving of a large X and some lettering he couldn’t quite make out. Enough windows lined one wall to provide hours of procrastination. An escape door led to a backyard patio, complete with a pool, Jacuzzi, and colorful lounge chairs. Giant boulders rose up from one end of the pool to create a two-story waterfall.

It looked like something you’d stumble across in a tropical rainforest. A hidden grotto with a natural spring pool. Ash had the sudden urge to shed his clothes and dive in to see if it felt as warm and inviting as it looked.

Continuing his visual sweep of her office, he noted the predominant color was more of an off-white than beige, highlighted by mauve, olive, and hints of a light blue.

Soft, feminine, timeless.

Comfortable.

“One black coffee.” She handed him a large mug, handle side toward him.

Was she being polite? Or avoiding potential contact with their fingers?

Ash gave himself a hard shake, irritated by his questioning of her style of mug handoff. This woman, this master manipulator, was going to drive him to the brink of insanity and kick him over the edge.

Unable to help himself, he checked the illustration on the ceramic mug. A kangaroo peered over its shoulder at the viewer, while shoving jewels from a safe into its bulging pouch.

Nothing to see here.

He raised a brow.

She grinned. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

Bold, irrepressible, hot-as-hell woman.

“Not even a little.”

Curling up on one end of the sofa, she tucked her stockinged toes in between the two seat cushions. “Now, Special Agent Blackwell, tell me what transgression of mine has brought you to my back door.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“What?”

“Using my title.”

“You’re here on official FBI business.”

“Stop, okay? Just . . . I’m Ash. Just Ash.” A wave of self-consciousness barreled through him. “Or Cameron. Anything but the title.”

She regarded him for a moment, then one of her freaking smiles appeared.

He frowned. This one seemed different. On anyone else, he would’ve labeled her fleeting emotion as gratitude. With Kayla though, he suspected she’d already catalogued how to use this moment against him.

After taking a sip of the strong brew, he set the cup down on the oval coffee table and settled his forearms on his knees. All of a sudden, he found the casual atmosphere disarming. She acted as though she was having a cuppa with a dear friend and they were embarking on a bout of scandalous gossip.

Rather than stir up family drama, he’d decided to leave Zeke and Aunt Joan out of their conversation. He hoped keeping this Bureau-driven would resolve it faster, satisfy his supervisor, and preserve—or at least not worsen—his familial relationships.

But Kayla always had a way of pissing on his best-laid plans.

Until this moment, he’d known exactly how he would begin questioning her. Knew the tone and timbre he would use to tease out the truth. All of his planning seemed wrong now, though his inner monologue berated him, told him to stick to the script.

“Ash?”

Staring at her, he battled with an intense urge to cuddle up with her on the sofa. To take her fuzzy feet into his hands and massage them. To lay his head in her lap just so he could feel her long fingers trail through his hair.

Suddenly, he understood why she was so successful at persuading those in power to support her clients’ initiatives. Find their weaknesses, their passions. Tempt them beyond reason.

A soft, pliable, fuzzy-socked Kayla Krowne was his weakness, his secret passion. His undeniable temptation.

And they were alone.

She’s off-limits, Blackwell.

Would her hair be as soft and silky as it looked? Would her breasts be heavy in his hands? Would her aureole be petunia pink, dusky rose, or some other mouth-watering hue?

He shot out of his seat. Distance. He needed distance. A helluva lot of it.

“Ash?” A note of concern entered her voice.

The sound of his given name from her lips sent a bolt of heat straight down his spine. He prowled the room until he could no longer smell the scent of the soap she’d used during her quick shower. Could no longer calculate the width of her sofa to determine if it would accommodate six-plus feet of aroused male.

Pausing before her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, he skimmed the titles, while he gathered the melting parts of his brain and molded them into a semblance of an intelligent, fact-finding, objective mind.

“Your silence is starting to unnerve me,” Kayla said. “Not at all like you.”

The volatile emotion constricting his throat eased. He turned away from what appeared to be a very rare book collection and gave her a pained smile.

“I find myself in a unique situation, where two sides of my nature are at war with how to proceed.”

“Based on your reason for being here, I can guess the one side.”

“My role as a federal agent, yes.”

“And the other?”

A volcanic mix of desperate words and long-suppressed actions battered at him from the inside, demanding release. Pressure pulsed in his temple, his chest, his damn eyelids.

He turned toward the rare books again, squeezed his eyes shut. Gathered himself. Once his control was mostly restored, he leveled her with a steady, no-nonsense stare.

“Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush about this. It’s come to my attention that you might have a personal interest in an agenda item going before the Engel County School Board next week.”

She returned his stare with a speculative one of her own. “I have a personal interest in every initiative Krowne and Associates takes on.”

“But Engel County School Board isn’t one of your principals. I checked.”

Surprise skittered across her features, and she tried to cover it by taking a sip of tea.

“You have no children in the school district. Why the personal interest in passing a Parents’ Bill of Rights, in compliance with state law?”

“Children must be allowed to explore new worlds, to express themselves without the banner of danger hovering over them.”

“Whose liberty are you protecting?”

“Every child’s.”

“Who specifically?” he pressed, though the answer came to him a split second before she answered.

“I’m godmother to Liv’s son, Brodie.”

“You’re afraid of the domino effect. Whatever decision they make in Engel County might also be adopted in Haywood County.”

“It’s happening all over the country.”

“Does your protection extend to loaning a twenty-five-hundred-year-old Celtic artifact to a board member’s son?”

A beat of silence. “You have yet to tell me of what I’m being accused.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Where did you come by your information?”

Ash ground his teeth together. “Are you really going to play it this way?”

“I’m not playing it any way. I’ve learned it’s best to make sure we’re on the same page, is all.”

“Let’s start at Chapter One, then,” he said, allowing his irritation to shine through. “An Engel County School Board member overheard another board member bragging about how a wealthy benefactor had loaned her son a priceless artifact for display at the grand opening of his natural history museum. Based on the proud mama’s description, the other board member believed it’s the one from your private collection.” He tilted his head. “Ring a bell?”

“I’m not sure you could’ve been any more vague if you’d tried.”

“Chapter Two,” he ground out. “The complainant has suggested the artifact is payment for an upcoming vote addressing book bans and parental rights, and she conveyed this concern to others until the information reached my desk.”

“Sounds like a great deal of speculation.” Her head tilted to the side. “Let me guess—Joyce Ann Carlson, the so-called complainant, gave Joan Steele an earful about this conspiracy.”

So much for keeping his family out of this. Kayla-fucking-Krowne was already several steps ahead of him. Did she know Lawson would send him?

It shouldn’t have surprised him that she would have thoroughly researched each member of the school board, to determine the yeas and nays. But how had she made the link to his Aunt Joan?

“You’ve done your homework,” he said at last, knowing it would be fruitless to probe at her methods.

“Always.”

“Chapter Three?—”

“The personal chapter,” she interrupted. “I’m aware that Joyce Ann has already informed her cousin, Resident Special Agent Mitch Lawson, about her concern. Who did your Aunt Joan discuss it with?”

“Her sister-in-law.” He raised a brow.

She sent him a don’t-waste-my-time look. “Lynette Blackwell, your mother.”

“Just checking.”

“It’s amazing, I know, but I’m still following this endless, epic tale.”

“She thought Liv could talk to you and find out if the accusation was true.”

“At least she gave me the benefit of the doubt.” She eyed him as if to say, Unlike her nephew. “Liv never spoke to me.”

“Zeke intercepted Mom before she could fill her in.”

“How did Zeke know?”

“The size of Zeke’s ears could rival yours.” His brother’s office was beside Lynette’s, so he probably overheard enough of her conversation with Aunt Joan to trigger his protective instincts for his fiancée. “How did you know Joyce Ann talked to Lawson?”

A short visual battle ensued before her expression turned knowing. “Zeke decided to take matters into his own hands and sent his FBI brother to what, intimidate me?”

“If you knew anything about my recent history with my brother, you’d understand that he came to me for assistance as a last, desperate option.” He hardened his tone. “Zeke doesn’t want his fiancée worrying about her alleged idiot best friend, right now.”

The perpetual humor that curled at the corner of her eyes fell away. “That’s what friends do. Worry about each other, whether for valid reasons or not.” Her gaze sharpened. A hyperalertness that wasn’t there seconds ago. “Why right now?”

“Pardon?”

“You said Zeke doesn’t want Liv worrying about me ‘right now.’ Is something going on with her?”

Who’s the idiot now, Blackwell?

“If something was, I’m the last person my brother would confide in.”

Something like empathy softened her expression. But only for a second. She was a dog, at the moment. He, a bone. “You suspect something.” When he didn’t respond quickly enough, she demanded, “Tell me.”

“And have you running to Steele Ridge? No thanks. I have enough disappointment”—betrayal—“piled at my brother’s feet.”

Her cup clattered against the end table when she set it down. The lobbyist unfolded her long legs from beneath her and set her feet firmly on the floor. She leaned toward him. “Liv’s my best friend. If something is wrong, I have a right to know.”

His gaze clashed with hers. “Like she has a right to know if her friend is about to throw away her career, maybe even her freedom?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t avert her eyes. Didn’t even hitch a breath. “Tell me, Ash.”

She wasn’t going to let it go. The last thing he needed was for her to blast Liv with a bunch of questions she wasn’t ready to answer, because of something he let slip.

“You’re a damn annoying woman.”

“And you’re a self-righteous stick-in-the-mud.”

“I don’t need you causing me more trouble with Zeke. If you run out there, telling them I told you?—”

“I won’t,” she cut him off. The hand resting against the sofa’s arm rolled into a tight fist, but not before Ash noticed her trembling fingers.

“You have my word. Tell me, please.”

He drew in a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t digging a deeper hole for himself with Zeke. The realization that he’d gladly pay the price if it meant allaying her fears made his voice rough and angry.

“I think my brother is protecting the mother of his soon-to-be-child.”