by Sandra Brown
“How in God’s name did you know I was going to be there? I didn’t even know myself.”
“Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Were you with Lute Pettijohn earlier that afternoon?”
“I can’t talk to you about this.”
“Dammit, answer me.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s a simple question.”
On a humorless laugh, she shook her head. “It’s not simple at all.”
“Then answer it with an explanation.”
“If I did, I would leave myself too vulnerable.”
“ ‘Vulnerable’ is a strange word for you to use, when it would appear that I am the one who’s hanging out in the wind.”
“You’re not the one suspected of murder.”
“No, but wouldn’t you agree that I’m in an awkward situation? I’m prosecuting the murder case of our city’s best-known citizen, who also happened to be married to my best friend.”
“Your best friend?”
“Davee Burton, now Lute Pettijohn’s widow. We’ve been friends all our lives. She campaigned for me to be assigned this case. A lot of people are depending on me, people I would rather not disappoint. Can you even fathom what would happen to my reputation, career, my future, if anyone found out I was here with you tonight?”
“That’s why I left you Sunday morning.” Restlessly she began to prowl the bedroom. “I wanted to remain anonymous. I didn’t want you to feel conflicted, the way you’re feeling now.”
“By Sunday morning it was a little too late for concern and circumspection. If you were so worried about preserving my reputation, you shouldn’t have picked me up in the first place.”
She turned to stare at him with patent disbelief. “Pardon me, but your memory is slightly skewed. You picked me up.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted.
“Who tried to leave? Twice. Twice I tried to leave, and both times you came after me, begging me to stay with you longer. Who followed who from the fair? Who stopped and—”
“Okay,” he said, slicing the air with his hands. “But that hard-to-get act is the strongest turn-on there is, and women have known it since creation. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Yes, I did,” she exclaimed in a raised voice. Then she clasped her hands at her waist and searched his face with tearful eyes. “Yes, I knew what I was doing. And you’re exactly right. At first I just wanted to… make contact with you.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“In other words, to establish an alibi.”
She cast her eyes downward. “I didn’t know I was going to like you,” she said softly. “I hadn’t counted on the chemistry between us. I started feeling badly about using you. So I tried to get away from you. I didn’t want you to be compromised because of an association—even a brief one—with me.
“But you came after me. You kissed me. After that…” She lifted her eyes to his again. “After that kiss, my initial reasons for meeting you ceased to matter. At that point I just wanted to be with you.” She brushed tears off her cheeks. “That is the truth. You can believe it or not.”
“Why did you need an alibi?”
“You know I didn’t kill Pettijohn. You said so in the elevator.”
“Right. So I repeat, why did you need an alibi?”
“Don’t ask me, please.”
“Just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to think…” She paused and drew a deep breath. “I just can’t, that’s all.”
“Has it got something to do with the man?”
The question took her aback. She blinked rapidly. “What man?”
“I traced you here Sunday night. I saw you with a man in a Mercedes convertible, approximately twelve hours after you left my bed.”
“Oh. Sunday night? That was… an old friend. From college. He was in Charleston on business. He called and invited me out for a drink.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because part of my job is to detect lies and liars, and you’re goddamn lying!”
She pulled herself up straight and crossed her arms at her waist. “We should just as well let this be the end of it. Now. Tonight. This is an impossible situation. Your career is at stake. I don’t want the responsibility of wrecking it. And I certainly don’t want to be with someone who thinks I’m a liar.”
“Who… was… he?”
“What does it matter who my friends are, when your friends, Steffi and Smilow, are itching to charge me with murder?”
“Is it any wonder that I don’t believe you when you continue to avoid answering the simplest question?”
“They’re not simple questions,” she shouted. “You have no idea how difficult they are. They dredge up things I would rather forget, that I’ve tried to forget, that have haunted—” She stopped, realizing she was about to reveal too much. “You can’t trust me. All the more reason for you to leave now and not come back. Ever.”
“Fine.”
“As long as we were in bed—”
“It was bloody great.”
“But if you distrust me—”
“I do.”
“Then—”
“Did you fuck Pettijohn?”
Her features went slack. “What?”
“Were you lovers?”
Hammond advanced on her, backing her into the wall. This was what was really bugging him. This was what had driven him to act like he had taken complete leave of his senses, to rant and rave and behave with reckless disregard for his career and everything else he had previously thought important. The desire to know the answer to this question was so imperative, the cautious, careful, and controlled Hammond Cross was ranting like a lunatic. “Were you ever Lute Pettijohn’s lover?”
“No!” Then her voice dropped from a shout to a hoarse whisper. “I swear it.”
“Did you kill him?” He pressed her shoulders between his hands and lowered his face to within inches of hers. “Tell me the truth about this, and I’ll forgive all the other lies. Did you kill Lute Pettijohn?”
She shook her head. “No. I did not.”
He struck the wall behind her with his fists, then left them planted there. Dropping his head forward, he aligned his cheek with hers. His breathing was harsh and loud even above the rain that continued to lash at the windows.
“I want to believe you.”
“You can believe that.” Turning her head, she spoke to his profile. “Don’t ask me anything more, because I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Why? Tell me why.”
“Because the answers are too painful for me.”
“Painful, how?”
“Don’t put me through this, please. If you do it will break my heart.”
“You’re breaking mine with your lies.”
“I beg you, if you have any regard for me at all, spare me having to disillusion you. I would rather never see you again than for you to know…”
“What? Tell me.”
She shook her head hard, and he realized it was useless to press her further. As long as her private torment had nothing to do with the Pettijohn case, he must respect her wish for privacy.
“That’s not all,” she continued. “We’re going to be on opposite sides of a brewing crisis.”
“So all this does relate to the case,” he said dejectedly.
“I knew our being together was going to result in a mess, but I still made it happen. I wanted it to happen. Even at the gas station, I could have said no to you. I didn’t.”
He raised his head and tilted it back to better see her face. “Knowing what you know now, if you had it to do over again…”
“That’s unfair.”
“Would you do it again?”
Her answer was to steadily hold his gaze for a very long time as a tear slid down her cheek.
Hammond groaned. “God help me, so would I.”
A heartbeat later his arms were around her and his mouth was grinding against hers. Water dripped from her hair onto his shirt. Her lips were warm, her tongue soft, her mouth sweet.
When they finally pulled apart, they spoke each other’s name for the first time, laughed at themselves, then kissed again, if possible with more passion than before. He untied the belt at her waist, slipped his hands inside the robe, and touched her, stroking the smooth skin of her belly, eliciting soft moans from her when his fingertips feathered across her mound.
Hammond’s blood pounded against his eardrums as hard as the rain pounded the roof. It drowned out everything else. The cautious murmurings of his common sense and conscience didn’t stand a chance against such a racket.
He lifted her against him and carried her to the bed. Then, in a frenzy of impatience, he removed his clothes. When he stretched out on top of her he sighed with a mix of desire and despair. Her thighs parted and in the next breath he was enveloped in her warmth.
Sinking deeper, he swore softly, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I didn’t sleep with you because I needed an alibi, Hammond.”
Planting his hands on either side of her head, he looked down into her face and began to move. “Then why?”
She arched her back up to meet his thrusts. “For this.”
He buried his face in her neck. The sensations were incredible. They shimmied up through his penis into his belly, spread through his chest and outward to his extremities, making them tingle. He allowed everything else to drift out of his consciousness so he could savor being inside her. But a climax was rushing upon him too quickly, so he stopped moving and whispered urgently, “I don’t want to come yet. Not without you.”
“Touch me.”
She guided his hand between their bodies and placed it where they were joined. He moved his fingers lightly, stroking her simultaneously inside and out. She cupped her breast and pressed it up against his lips. He flicked the nipple with his tongue. The sound she made was almost a sob. They climaxed together.
* * *
They got beneath the covers. He drew her up against him, nestling her bottom against his lap. That’s when he realized that he hadn’t worn any protection. But, somehow, he didn’t care overly much. What good would it do to fret? There was no help for it now. He just wanted to hold her. Smell her. Be near her and share her body heat.
He was content to gaze at her face where it lay in the crook of his elbow. He thought she was asleep because her eyes were closed, but he noticed her lips curving into a smile. He kissed her eyelid. “Penny for them.”
She laughed softly and looked up at him. Lightly she traced the shape of his mouth with her fingernail. “I was thinking what it would be like to dress up and go out on a date with you. To dinner. A movie. Out in public and for all the world to see.”
“Maybe. Someday.”
“Maybe,” she whispered, sounding no more optimistic than he.
“I’d love escorting you around Charleston, showing you off to all my friends.”
“Truly?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, a little. For a back-alley affair—”
“That’s not what this is, Alex.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“I’m a relative newcomer, but I’ve learned how things work here.”
“What things?”
“Social circles.”
“I don’t care about that crap.”
“But most Charlestonians do. I have no pedigree. Your family practically invented the concept.”
“In the words of a famous Charlestonian, albeit a fictitious one, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’ But even if I did, I would still choose you over any other woman in this city. I have chosen you over any other.”
“Over Steffi Mundell.” His expression caused her to laugh. “You should see your face.”
“How did you know?”
“Women’s intuition. I disliked her on sight. The feeling was mutual, and it had nothing to do with my being a suspect and her being a prosecutor. It was more elemental than that. Today, when she caught us in the elevator together, I knew. You were lovers, weren’t you?”
“ ‘Were’ being the operative and important word here. It lasted almost a year.”
“How long since you broke up?”
“Two days.”
Then it was her turn to register dismay. “Sunday?” He nodded. “Because of Saturday?”
“No. For me it had been over a long time. But after being with you, I knew with absolute certainty that, as a couple, Steffi and I were a lost cause.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “In spite of your bent for lying, you are the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. In every way. It goes beyond the physical.”
Pleased, she smiled. “For instance?”
“You’re smart.”
“Kind to animals and the elderly.”
“You’re funny.”
“Even-tempered. Most of the time.”
“You’re thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.”
“Somehow I knew you were a Boy Scout.”
“An Eagle Scout. Where was I? Oh, your tits are perfect.”
“What happened to going beyond the physical?”
Dispensing with the frivolity, he kissed her meaningfully. When at last he pulled away, her troubled expression alarmed him. “What?”
“Be careful, Hammond.”
“No one will know I was here.”
She shook her head. “Not that.”
“Then what?”
“You may have to put me on trial for my life. Please be careful that you don’t make me fall in love with you first.”
Wednesday
Chapter 22
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Solicitor Monroe Mason offered Steffi a chair in his office. “I only have a minute. What’s on your mind?”
“The Pettijohn case.”
“I guessed as much. Anything specific?”
Steffi’s hesitation had been planned and rehearsed. As though uneasy, she said, “I hate to bother you with what will seem like petty office politics.”
“Is it Hammond and Detective Smilow? Are they behaving like rival bullies instead of professionals?”
“There have been a few verbal skirmishes, with some snide volleys being fired from both sides. I can handle that. It’s something else.”
He glanced at his desk clock. “You’ll have to forgive me, Steffi. I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“It’s Hammond’s general attitude,” she blurted out.
Mason frowned. “His attitude? Toward what?”
“He seems… I don’t know…” She hem-hawed as though searching for the right word and finally coming up with, “Indifferent.”
Mason leaned back in his chair and studied her over his steepled fingers. “I find that hard to believe. This case is right up Hammond’s alley.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she exclaimed. “Ordinarily he would be chomping at the bit. He would be hounding Smilow to gather enough evidence to take to the grand jury. He would be anxious to start preparing for trial. This case has got all the ingredients that usually make him salivate.
“That’s why I’m at a total loss,” she continued. “He seems not to care if the mystery is solved. I’ve been briefing him on everything I get from Smilow. I’ve kept him apprised of what leads are hot and which have turned cold. Hammond reacts to every scrap of information with the same degree of disinterest.”
Mason thoughtfully scratched his cheek. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” she said with just the right mix of exasperation and puzzlement. “That’s why I came to you. For guidance. I’m in the second seat on this case and don’t want to overstep my bounds. Please tell me how to handle this.”
Monroe Mason was approaching
his seventieth birthday. He had grown tired of the grind of holding public office. For the last couple of years, he had delegated a lot of responsibility to the young and eager assistant solicitors, advising them when necessary, but for the most part giving them their heads to operate as they saw fit. He looked forward to retirement so he could golf and fish to his heart’s content and not have to deal even with the political aspects of the job.
But it wasn’t by accident that he had served as county solicitor for the past twenty-four years. He had been a shrewd operator when he assumed the office, and he had lost none of that edge. His instincts were as keen as ever. He could still sense when someone was being less than entirely up-front with him.
Steffi had counted on her boss’s intuitiveness when she planned this meeting.
“Are you sure you don’t know what’s bothering him?” he asked her, lowering his booming voice to a dull roar.
With feigned anxiety, Steffi pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “I’ve painted myself into a corner, haven’t I?”
“You don’t want to speak badly of a colleague.”
“Something like that.”
“I appreciate the awkwardness of your situation. I admire your loyalty to Hammond. But this case is too important for sensitivities. If he is shirking his duties—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that,” she said hastily. “He would never drop the ball. It’s just that I don’t think he’s running full out with it. His heart isn’t in it.”
“Do you know why?”
“Every time I’ve broached the subject, he reacts as though I’ve smashed a sore toe. He’s touchy and cranky.” She paused as though mulling it over. “But if you asked me to speculate on what’s bothering him…”
“I have.”
She pretended to think it over carefully before finally saying, “At this point, our suspect is a woman. Alex Ladd is an intelligent, successful woman. She’s refined and articulate, and some might think attractive.”
Mason actually laughed. “You think Hammond’s got a crush on her?”
Steffi laughed with him. “Of course not.”
“But you’re saying that her gender is influencing his approach to the case.”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility. But it makes a weird sort of sense. You know Hammond better than I do. You’ve known him all his life. You know how he was brought up.”
