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He groaned. The sound was that of an unconscious man struggling toward awareness, and it startled her into laughing.
A smile tugged at his lips, and he rolled onto his side to face her, sliding his arm under her neck and draping his other arm over her hips to anchor her close. "You need to laugh more often." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Every time I see your solemn brown eyes, it's like being kicked in the gut."
"I laugh," she protested sleepily.
"Not enough. And before your fertile imagination comes up with any more off-base scenarios about what just happened here, we are deeply involved in a serious relationship. Is that clear?"
"Clear," she whispered, barely able to get the word out over the pressure in her chest. She felt shaky inside, as if she might crumble. She loved him so much it actually hurt, but it felt good at the same time.
"If you get pregnant, we get married. I refuse to let a child of mine grow up illegitimate. I don't care how many actresses do it or whether or not a woman really needs a man around now to help her raise their children."
"You're damn right we'll get married," she said with sharp force. "The odds are I didn't get pregnant this time, but if you don't plan to stay around, we'd better decide on a method of birth control and stick to it. I don't want a broken marriage." Knowing what being abandoned by her father had been like for both her mother and herself, she was determined her own children would never know that pain if she could possibly help it.
He caught her hand and carried it to his lips, being careful not to hurt her raw palms. She snuggled against him, unable to decide which she wanted to do most: turn cartwheels or sleep. She didn't do either, because she'd never been a head-in-the-sand type of person, and reality at present was a bit dicey.
"It all comes back to here," she murmured, unable to hold the thoughts at bay any longer. "To Dad. His murder is at the center of it, because otherwise why would I be targeted? But I don't know anything about what he was doing. I hadn't seen or talked to him in years."
"What about your mother? Did she have any contact with him?" Marc brushed her hair back from her face, kissed her forehead, and held her closer as if he couldn't get her quite close enough.
"More often than I did. After I grew up, I refused to see him when he blew in for a couple of days, usually when he was out of money, but I know he called her sometimes, though not very often. She didn't tell me much about his calls because she knew how angry I was at him."
"Had there been any calls from him since she died?"
"If he called, he didn't leave a message, but then he wouldn't." A memory surfaced, pulled out by his questions. Marc thought like a cop, looking at angles she hadn't considered. "Wait. She died at the end of January. A few weeks after that, I got a package he'd mailed to her. I was still in shock and hurting a lot, and getting that package made me so angry because she loved him all of her life and he didn't stay in close enough touch that he would know she was dead. I almost threw the package away."
A subtle tension had invaded the muscled arm under her neck. "Did you open it?"
"I opened it, but I didn't go through it. I remember the box had some papers in it. I closed it up and put it in with the rest of her things I had boxed up for storage."
"Where is it stored? Your apartment?"
"No, I don't have room there. I rented a storage unit. That's it, isn't it? The reason why he was murdered is in that box."
"Maybe. It's a lead, and God knows we've been short of those. I want to hear from McPherson first—"
"Who's McPherson?" she asked, as she had before. His earlier answer hadn't been very informative.
"CIA."
"Are you going to tell him about the package?"
He didn't hesitate. "Hell no."
"So you don't trust him, either?"
"I don't know him. He may be who and what he says he is. I'll give him a little information, see what he gives me in return, but I sure as hell won't tell him you're here with me or anything about the package until I've checked it out."
"So what do we do in the meantime?"
"What do you think?"
* * *
Chapter 17
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"Your people are incompetent fools," Senator Lake said coldly, hiding the fear that twisted his stomach. "The woman has disappeared, and you still haven't found the book. She could use that information at any time, thanks to your bungling!"