All Jacked Up Read Online Free Page B

Tom was that kind of guy, which was part of the reason she’d broken up with him. Complete and utter boredom was the rest of it. Tom Cavendish, congressional aide, might be blazing his way to the top of the political ladder, but he barely caused a stir between the sheets—not counting his postcoital rendition of “Old MacDonald.”
    When he invited a girl to look at his scrapbooks, he wasn’t speaking in metaphors, and along with newspaper clippings came a mind-numbing recitation of case law and the congressional record. It had been the most forgettable six months of Aubrey’s life, or as forgettable as it got for her.
    Still, he was trustworthy, steady, and honest as the day was long. If there was anyone Aubrey could count on to steer her right in this situation, it was Tom.
    “Aubrey? Are you listening?”
    “Sorry, Tom, just thinking.”
    “If you don’t trust the police, go to the FBI.”
    “And tell them what? Some lunatic who claims to work for them abducted me at gunpoint because he thinks I know something about Pablo Corona?”
    “Jeez, Aubrey, don’t even say that name out loud. Besides, how do you know they were shooting—”
    “Did you see the news?” she asked, then clamped her jaw shut over the shrill edge in her voice. At the time, adrenaline had cushioned the panic and made it all seem kind of unreal, but seeing the aftermath on TV made her heart race until black spots danced in front of her eyes. “Thank God no one was hurt because of me.”
    Tom snorted. “How do you know they were shooting at you and not Mitchell? How do you know he didn’t just duck into the library, thinking they wouldn’t shoot up a public building, and when they proved him wrong, he grabbed you as a hostage?”
    Aubrey opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Tom was making all the same arguments she’d made to Jack Mitchell; she couldn’t refute them without taking Jack’s side, and she wasn’t quite prepared to take everything Jack said at face value. But she wasn’t going to blindly trust the authorities either, whether it was the local police or the Feds. Probably she’d read one too many thriller novels where the “good guy” turned out to be the bad guy—not to mention the trusted friend and confidant . . .
    “Just go to the police and tell them you-know-who is trying to kill you. They’ll take it from there.”
    So much for suspecting Tom, she thought, fighting back the urge to laugh. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to know about you-know-who,” she said, whispering it the way he had, “so how do I make anyone believe me?”
    “People are shooting at you. That’s proof enough.”
    “And when they ask me what I know, what do I say?”
    Silence. Which was all she’d be able to give the police. Yeah they’d protect her for that. She wrenched at the zipper of her backpack. It refused to close.
    “Look, Aubrey, I have another fund-raising trip for Congressman Waters scheduled. Pack a bag and come with me.” Under normal circumstances she’d have sooner rammed a needle into her eyeball than agree to anything that involved Tom Cavendish and a hotel room. Life had pulled a Dorothy on her, though. A tornado called Jack had sucked her over the rainbow, and spending the weekend locked in a hotel room while Tom conducted Congressman Waters’s business didn’t sound so bad. It sounded safe—at least for her.
    “Let me talk to the congressman before we leave. Chances are he’ll have this whole mess cleared up by the time we get back.”
    Not likely. Waters was an up-and-comer, but he was only a second-term guy. He had no power base, zero influence, and his network of contacts consisted of other junior legislators with even less clout. “Thanks, Tom, but I don’t want to put you in danger.”
    “Don’t look at it that way,” he said with a trace of irritation in his voice. “I still want to take care of you, Aubrey. All you have to do is say the word.”
    Sure, a woman who could cite case