Free Wounded Earth by Mary Anna Evans Page A

a great deal of money. Why should I be afraid?”
    Why, indeed, should Gerald be afraid? Because they both knew that even the perfect employee wasn't safe when Babykiller was the boss. The two men had looked at each other for a heartbeat while that fact hung, acknowledged but unsaid, in the air.
    Gerald had passed the last test. He'd shown guts, even when face-to-face with death on two legs. Babykiller had come straight to the point. He wanted Gerald to handle the day-to-day business of his empire so he could be free for more creative pursuits.
    Gerald had been amenable, but he'd asked for a pile of money. Babykiller, who had long since determined that Gerald was motivated by money and only money, had paid it. It had been a small price to pay for freedom from day-to-day drivel.
    Now Gerald was poised to accomplish his most amazing organizational feat yet. The logistics astounded even Babykiller. But Gerald was a genius when it came to moving things and getting people to commit felonies. It was going to be an intriguing Monday morning for so many people.
    * * *
    The motel walls were thin and J.D. could hear Larabeth getting ready for bed. She'd just finished a long shower and he could hear her faucet running in a cozy on-off pattern. On. Wet the toothbrush. Off. Brush the teeth. On. Rinse. He swore he could hear the clinking of little travel bottles being retrieved from a makeup bag, then the faucet went on again for a while. When the water was warm, she washed her face in silence. The faucet came on one last time, she rinsed her face, then there was silence again. Except for the faint creak of a tired set of bedsprings.
    J.D. wondered if he was getting old, because all he wanted at that moment was a woman to talk to while he brushed his teeth. He didn't even want sex. Well, yes, he did. But after his lover had brushed her hair and slipped on a cute but comfortable nightgown. And only after they'd discussed the day's triumphs and disappointments—which in Larabeth's case might mean signing a multi-million-dollar contract to restore the Everglades.
    He wanted someone to listen when he spent all night on a stake-out and nothing happened. He wanted someone to cry when he recovered a kidnapped child.
    He might as well tell himself the truth. He didn't want just anyone to listen to him. He wanted Larabeth.
    He met women all the time, at the gym, at clubs, even at the grocery store. They asked him out. He took them to dinner. Sometimes he took them home with him. They were all the same. They talked a lot, but they had nothing to say.
    Before they argued, all those years ago, he hadn't really considered romance with Larabeth. He'd never once dated a client, before or since, but that wasn't the real obstacle. She'd had plenty of money and he was eking out a bare living, but that wasn't the problem, either.
    When J.D. first laid eyes on Larabeth, he was a few years out of college and she already held three patents. She had made him feel like a little kid. No, she didn't. He had made himself feel like a little kid.
    Then they'd argued and he hadn't seen her since. He missed her and he thought of her often, but it was years before he realized that he held every potential lover to Larabeth's standard. They all fell short.
    That was when he realized that he wasn't a kid any more. He'd tripled his business in two years. Even he was surprised at the size of his profit margin. Maybe BioHeal's net service fee still dwarfed his, but that didn't bother him. He was a success. He was finished with being intimidated by the beautiful Dr. McLeod.
    That was when he started watching the business pages and the society pages to see if she had married. He started keeping an eye out for her silly pink car. He had nearly worked up the nerve to call her when his secretary handed him the blessed message slip that said Dr. Larabeth McLeod had called. She wanted his help. Well, it had taken many years, but he was ready.

Chapter 7
     
    Dirk Hogood walked in his