sorority rush thing, the parent weekends, the homecoming games. I’ll still experience some of it, of course, but not the usual way.” She twisted the clasp of her purse. “Did you go to college?”
“I did. Graduated from Hallie University with a degree in business. Did a finance MBA right after that.” He shifted into second for the downhill run coming up.
Her mouth formed a perfect O. “No kidding? How’d you get from an MBA to being a mercenary?”
“Not too many jobs available to you when you have a criminal record.” He didn’t bother to dress up the bald facts, just put the shit out there for her to wallow in.
“Criminal record?” She had drawn back into the bowels of the supple leather seat.
“I was arrested, tried, and convicted for the kidnapping and murder of a minor. I spent sixteen months in jail before DNA evidence cleared me of all charges.” He concentrated on the road, on the zippered white dividing line, and refused to surrender to the temptation to gauge her response to his statement.
“Sixteen months.” She touched his forearm, and the brief connection ignited his desire in a heartbeat. “That’s awful, Joe. You must have been so angry.”
“At first. But I’d learned to channel my rage at an early age.” He shook the cobweb memories from his head. “It’s all in the past, and it worked out for the best.”
“And the minor?”
“Turned out he had staged his own kidnapping for the ransom. His father was wealthy.”
Her brows did an indignant uphill run, and she balled her hands. “Who the hell was this sick kid?”
“Henderson, Ritchie Henderson.”
“I remember that case. It was on the national news. The ransom was paid, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Paid and never recovered.” He waited for her to recollect the rest of the details.
“They accused you of…of raping him. They found his body in a cabin in the woods. A cabin you owned.”
“That’s all it took, plus the fact that I’d just paid cash for a new car. Circumstantial evidence, but the jury bought it.” Joe eased the gear into second for the steep hill up ahead. “It took sixteen months and damned hard work on the part of a couple of buddies and myself, but we got the conviction reversed.”
“Did they ever find out where the money went?”
“Nope.”
He was probably the sole American citizen who reported every cent earned and refused all the tax loopholes available to him. Bob Weber, the district attorney who’d prosecuted his case, had declared war on Joe after the verdict was reversed. Every year since his conviction was overturned, the IRS had audited Joe on the basis of anonymous tips.
They traveled in silence for the next seven miles. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
“Anywhere’s fine.”
“Susie, give me a drop-off point or we’ll be circling the campus for hours.” Joe tried to keep the testiness out of his voice.
“Registrar’s office, please.”
He pulled into the porte cochere entrance, reached over, and opened the door.
“Um…” She twiddled with the tassel on her purse. “I, um. There’s no subtle way of saying this. Do I ask for a key for the next couple of days? I want to pay for my share of groceries and some form of rent. I don’t want to be underfoot. Maybe it would be best if I moved into one of those extended-stay hotels until I find a place I can—”
“Here.” He pulled a key from his pocket. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be. Stay at my place as long as you need to. We’ll put last night into an abyss if you want. I’ll keep my hands off you, but if you make another move, all bets are off. No rent, no groceries, not for a lousy two days.”
She licked her lips and met his stare. “I wouldn’t be averse to a friends-with-benefits arrangement. You did tell me exactly how you operate yesterday, and that works for me. But I’d prefer if we waited until I had my own space before we, um, incorporate the benefits side
“I did. Graduated from Hallie University with a degree in business. Did a finance MBA right after that.” He shifted into second for the downhill run coming up.
Her mouth formed a perfect O. “No kidding? How’d you get from an MBA to being a mercenary?”
“Not too many jobs available to you when you have a criminal record.” He didn’t bother to dress up the bald facts, just put the shit out there for her to wallow in.
“Criminal record?” She had drawn back into the bowels of the supple leather seat.
“I was arrested, tried, and convicted for the kidnapping and murder of a minor. I spent sixteen months in jail before DNA evidence cleared me of all charges.” He concentrated on the road, on the zippered white dividing line, and refused to surrender to the temptation to gauge her response to his statement.
“Sixteen months.” She touched his forearm, and the brief connection ignited his desire in a heartbeat. “That’s awful, Joe. You must have been so angry.”
“At first. But I’d learned to channel my rage at an early age.” He shook the cobweb memories from his head. “It’s all in the past, and it worked out for the best.”
“And the minor?”
“Turned out he had staged his own kidnapping for the ransom. His father was wealthy.”
Her brows did an indignant uphill run, and she balled her hands. “Who the hell was this sick kid?”
“Henderson, Ritchie Henderson.”
“I remember that case. It was on the national news. The ransom was paid, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Paid and never recovered.” He waited for her to recollect the rest of the details.
“They accused you of…of raping him. They found his body in a cabin in the woods. A cabin you owned.”
“That’s all it took, plus the fact that I’d just paid cash for a new car. Circumstantial evidence, but the jury bought it.” Joe eased the gear into second for the steep hill up ahead. “It took sixteen months and damned hard work on the part of a couple of buddies and myself, but we got the conviction reversed.”
“Did they ever find out where the money went?”
“Nope.”
He was probably the sole American citizen who reported every cent earned and refused all the tax loopholes available to him. Bob Weber, the district attorney who’d prosecuted his case, had declared war on Joe after the verdict was reversed. Every year since his conviction was overturned, the IRS had audited Joe on the basis of anonymous tips.
They traveled in silence for the next seven miles. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
“Anywhere’s fine.”
“Susie, give me a drop-off point or we’ll be circling the campus for hours.” Joe tried to keep the testiness out of his voice.
“Registrar’s office, please.”
He pulled into the porte cochere entrance, reached over, and opened the door.
“Um…” She twiddled with the tassel on her purse. “I, um. There’s no subtle way of saying this. Do I ask for a key for the next couple of days? I want to pay for my share of groceries and some form of rent. I don’t want to be underfoot. Maybe it would be best if I moved into one of those extended-stay hotels until I find a place I can—”
“Here.” He pulled a key from his pocket. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be. Stay at my place as long as you need to. We’ll put last night into an abyss if you want. I’ll keep my hands off you, but if you make another move, all bets are off. No rent, no groceries, not for a lousy two days.”
She licked her lips and met his stare. “I wouldn’t be averse to a friends-with-benefits arrangement. You did tell me exactly how you operate yesterday, and that works for me. But I’d prefer if we waited until I had my own space before we, um, incorporate the benefits side
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