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Private Scandals
By Joanna Wayne Judy Christenberry Tori Carrington Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-373-83582-5
Chapter One
Shadows of Her Past Jessica Lewis awoke to the piercing buzz of an alarm clock. She hammered one hand into the pillow and reached to shut off the irksome noise with the other. She groaned at the dull thud of pain as her knuckles banged against the edge of the table.
Finally her hand found the clock. She shut off the alarm, rubbed her eyes and tried to bring her mind into focus. She pushed to her elbows, but the muscles in her back and neck protested movement and her head throbbed as if she'd beat it against the wall for last night's entertainment.
Wetting her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she scanned the small hotel room. She was in Bankstown, Georgia, to see the headmaster of Carruthers Boarding School. The appointment was for nine o'clock - an important meeting so she'd better get her butt in gear.
Stretching, she kicked from beneath the covers, then realized she was fully dressed, except for her shoes. Not a good sign, especially when she didn't even remember crawling into bed last night. She'd been dead tired and she'd had a drink. She did remember that much. Maybe the combination of fatigue and alcohol had been a little too potent.
But at least she was in her own room. That was her worn blue luggage on the rack and her black leather jacket tossed over the chair. She yanked her sweater down over her stomach and threw her legs over the side of the bed, determined to get up and get going. The room started spinning, and whatever she'd eaten last night came alive in her stomach. Groaning, she fell back against the pillow. She must have caught some awful virus on the plane yesterday.
Or maybe it was just being back in Georgia that was doing her in. Her past was the type much better left behind, and she'd spent years working to accomplish that. A counselor called it denial. She called it survival - which is what she'd best concentrate on right now.
She forced herself out of the bed, then started to the bathroom. Halfway there she tripped over a shoe and went sprawling across the floor.
And that's when she saw the body.
A man, on his back, a black handle of what appeared to be a knife poking out of his chest. His eyes were rolled back in his head, but every strand of his thick dark hair was in place. His gray suit was barely mussed, except for the section with the crimson stain.
Still on her knees, she closed her eyes tightly and prayed she was lost in a nightmare. When she opened them again, the body was still there. A clammy feeling crawled across her skin as she inched to the man's side and fit her fingers around his wrist. Cold and lifeless, as she'd expected. She dropped it and shrank away.
Nauseous and weak-kneed, she stood, walked to the phone and punched in a nine and a one before caution stopped her. She broke the connection but still cradled the phone in her trembling hand. Once she made the call, the police would show up in minutes. But what would she tell them? That a deranged stranger had broken into her hotel room during the night and stuck a knife in his own chest?
She hung up the phone and dropped to a chair as troubling images staggered through clouds of confusion. She'd gone to the hotel bar last night for a glass of wine, thinking it would help her relax and fall asleep more quickly. The dead man had been there, only he'd been alive then.
They'd talked for a minute, and she'd had the distinct impression that she'd known him from somewhere, though his name didn't register. Damn. She couldn't even remember his name now - or coming back to her room. Temporary and selective amnesia. The cops would love that.
Maybe she should call a lawyer first. No. That would only make her look more guilty. She'd done nothing wrong and she had no reason to worry. All she had to do was to make a call to the authorities. The cops would believe her and understand.
It was a reassuring scenario. Too bad she didn't buy it.
* * *
Jessica jumped at the hammering on her door, then rushed to unlatch the safety lock and swing it open. The man who greeted her wasn't in uniform, but he flashed an ID that looked official. "Sheriff Boyd Latimer," he announced in a lazy drawl. "Are you the woman who reported an alleged murder?"
"I'm the woman who reported finding a body."
He pushed past her, stared at the body for a second, then looked back to her. "You better have one hell of a story, lady."
"I woke up and found the body in my room just as I told the woman when I called 9-1-1."
"Uh-huh. Sure you did." He slid one hand to the butt of his revolver. "Spread your legs and put your hands against the wall."
"What?"
"You heard me."
She did as he said, the way she'd seen it done in movies and on TV. It was pretty disgusting to have his hands on her body, but at least he did it quickly.
"Okay, you can drop the position."
"Thanks. I know how this must look, but the truth is I have no idea -"
"This will go a lot better for you if you admit everything."
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "There's nothing to admit. The body was here when I woke up this morning - on the floor, the same as it is now."
"What's your relationship to the senator?"
"Senator?" Crapola! This was growing worse by the second.
"Surely you're not claiming you didn't know this here's Senator Marcus Hayden?"
"No. I mean yes."
"So which is it?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Private Scandals by Joanna Wayne Judy Christenberry Tori Carrington Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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