Chapter 7
Restless dreams plagued Gwen as she slept. She imagined she snuggled closer to the heat of David’s body, resting her head on his shoulder. She felt his arm lightly tracing a path from her lower back up to her shoulder blade and moaned in satisfaction.
“You awake?” he asked, and she nodded. He shifted to face her, running his hand up her hip to her arm and shoulder. “I had a dream about you,” he said.
She opened her eyes to stare into his, a slight smile curling one side of her mouth.
My David.
Relief flooded her senses at the sight of him, a gratefulness filling her heart at his presence. Why was that? Had he been away on a trip and only now returned? Was he out when she went to bed, only sneaking under the covers after she had fallen asleep?
I can't remember.
“What was your dream about?” she asked.
“We were on a train.” As he said the words, they seemed to fly through the air, landing, fully clothed, on a commuter train.
It was nighttime, and though Gwen could not see beyond the interior of the car, she knew it rumbled alongside the Hudson River.
David was turned away from her, staring past the reflected interior of the train car to the hidden landscape beyond, and she felt very far away from him.
When he spoke, it was so quiet she could barely make out the words. “I would have let you go, if that's what you wanted.”
“Never,” she whispered, upset that he would suggest such a thing.
David turned toward her, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I saw you with him.”
Colin.
Shame filled her gut, clawing at her. “I never did anything...” She shook her head.
“I saw you right here, on this train,” he wept, “letting him touch you, letting him make love to you.”
A loud feminine moan behind her made Gwen turn around.
There, in the next seat over, was an image of herself astride Colin Mitchell's lap, wearing only a long set of golden beads, clothes hanging off her body.
They were kissing passionately, their cheeks flushed, hands grabbing at each other as they rocked in an intimate dance.
Gwen's stricken eyes met those of her twin, heavy-lidded with lust, as the image called out again, unashamed.
Gwen’s throat worked, panic rising. “No, David, I didn't...”
“Do you love him, Gwen?”
Then she was the one with Colin, joined as lovers, so close to the edge she might explode, her eyes locked with the man beneath her. The feel of him was almost unbearable, the heat of his body and the slick stick of sweat between them indistinguishable from each other.
Colin fiercely pulled her body onto his, and she quivered. “Tell him, Gwen. Tell him you love me.”
He moved beneath her and her eyes closed in surrender.
David's voice invaded her ears, whining, distracting her. “Do you love him?”
Her eyes flew open and she looked to him, the action returning her to his side, fully clothed. “I love you, David. Only you.”
She was hot, her skin damp with sweat and her pulse pounding. Her body ached with sexual need.
David smiled. “I love you, too, honey.” He kissed the top of her head and grasped her hand, turning back to his view of the darkness.
Gwen sat in stunned silence, afraid to see what might be beside her. Slowly, her head turned of its own accord.
A naked Colin stared at her with contempt. “You're a liar.”
“I didn't lie,” she said, somehow certain David could no longer hear her, even as she squeezed his hand. “I do love him, Colin. I'm sorry.”
Colin stood, pulling on a pair of jeans with exacting movements. “I know you love your husband. That was never the issue. But you told him you loved only him, Gwen, and that,” he said, buckling his belt, “is a goddamn lie.”
Gwen awoke to a cool breeze across her skin, one leg hanging out of the covers and draped back over the fluffy bedding. Taking in the unfamiliar room, her stomach dipped as she remembered where she was, glimpses of the kiss she had shared with Colin haunting her memory.
Not a dream after all.
She groaned, sitting up in bed as she flung back the covers.
She was getting sidetracked. She came back here to find out who had murdered her husband, not to get involved with Colin Mitchell.
Well, then maybe you should keep your lips to yourself, Gwen.
Brushing her thick golden hair in the mirror, she nodded. “I will definitely be keeping my lips to myself today.” She gave herself a wink and headed downstairs to set the record straight with Colin.
“So, you're not going to be kissing me today?” asked Colin, a light smile on his lips. Gwen had come downstairs determined to make him understand that their amorous exchange yesterday was a mistake, pure and simple.
“No. I shouldn't have been kissing you yesterday, but I hadn't seen you in so long...”
“Oh, is that why?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe. I don't know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It does sound a little silly when I say it out loud.”
“No. It doesn't sound silly at all. But if I were you, I would skip my high school reunion.”
She pursed her lips and gave him a look before taking the bold red mug of coffee he offered. “Good heavens, this is delicious.” Gwen inhaled the rich scent of the steaming coffee. “What kind of beans do you use?”
“I grow them myself in a hothouse in the backyard.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You're pulling my leg.”
He shook his head. “It's a lot of work, but it's worth it.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible. Where did you find a coffee plant here in the States?”
“Interesting story. Six years ago, I was in Columbia on a case for several months. I met a woman there. Paola. She was young. Beautiful.”
Gwen watched as Colin's face was transformed by the memory, a twinge of jealousy curling in her stomach.
“Her family owned a coffee farm in the mountains.” He turned away, slowly pouring himself a cup. “She took me there once.” He paused, and Gwen wondered what he was keeping to himself. “They were the most exquisite blue-green beans you've ever seen in your life.”
“You cared for her.”
He rested his open palm across his heart and nodded. “When it came time for me to leave,” he looked down into his cup, “she gave me a coffee plant. A single plant in a pottery jar she'd made for me on her pottery wheel.”
“Oh, Colin, what a touching story. And you've nurtured and tended to that plant ever since, harvesting and roasting your own beans in a greenhouse here in New York.” She was in awe. This was a side of him she'd never seen before.
“It's a lot of work, but the orphans help.”
“Orphans?”
He nodded. “A few years ago, I got dressed for golf and I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was wearing a nice new polo shirt, which cost about a hundred bucks. For a polo shirt. All of a sudden, it just hit me. I have to give something back. You know?”
Gwen settled onto a barstool, her eyes wide. “I do.”
“So I started an orphanage. There used to be loads of them,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “You know, like in Little Orphan Annie.”
Gwen began to squint at him.
“But no one opens up any orphanages anymore. Where are all those orphans supposed to go? There was a need, you know, a real need, so I decided to fill it.”
“Where is the orphanage?” she asked, taking another sip of the delicious brew.
“Underground.”
Coffee sprayed out of her mouth, covering the floor in a fine mist.
He leaned across the counter, putting his sincere face close to hers. “Of course. I had to hide them from the Bald Eagles I raise on the lawn. They're known for snatching small children, those damn eagles.”
She couldn't help the grin that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Colin, where'd you get the coffee beans?”
He opened a cupboard and threw a small white bag to her. The label read COFFEE BEANS, MEDIUM ROAST, $3.99/lb.
Gwen laughed in spite of herself. “I'd forgotten what an ass you can be.”
“You mean you'd forgotten how damn cute I can be.” He winked, and her breath caught in her chest.
Yes, she thought to herself. I'd forgotten that, too.
“But don't even think about kissing me,” he said, holding his hand up between them. “These lips are strictly off-limits.”
“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it,” she said, her mind suddenly flashing to her dream from the night before. She instantly felt her cheeks color, and worked to keep an innocent look on her face. “What time is your train?”
Colin was headed to his office in the city to gather what information he could from David's WITSEC file. He checked his watch. “Twenty minutes. If all goes well, I should be back around lunchtime.”
Gwen nodded, a strange and troubling apprehension weighing on her thoughts. “God speed,” she said sincerely, then added, “Be careful, Colin.”
Graham Walker leaned back in his large leather desk chair. “Do you know what you're asking me to do?”
Colin felt like a teenager being chastised by his father.
When Colin first joined the Marshal’s Office, he was green, out to prove himself.
It was Walker who had taken him under his wing, worked with him, taught him when to be eager and when to pipe down.
The older man showed him how to build a new life for a witness, how to pick a suitable environment and make a person disappear like a rabbit from a hat.
The Southern District of New York branch of the U.S.
Marshal's Office was predominantly concerned with security for court trials and the safeguarding of witnesses.
Colin was one of only a handful of deputies who worked for the WITSEC division, and he reported directly to Walker, as he had for the last eight years.
The two of them shared a bond, an understanding of sorts. Colin would trust Walker with his life, and suspected his boss would do likewise.
“I'm asking you to help me,” said Colin.
Walker raised his voice. “You're asking for a hell of a lot more than that, Mitchell.” He stabbed his finger at Colin. “You're asking me to sacrifice my integrity.”