Truly Married

by Phyllis Halldorson

  It was just as well.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he whirled around to face it as it opened. A uniformed guard entered leading a young woman dressed in regulation jail coveralls.

  Sharon! He’d know her anywhere, but the fear and anguish that were clearly visible in her expression and demeanor was almost more than he could bear. The long brown hair that he used to love to run his fingers through had been cut to just above her shoulders, and wispy bangs teased her forehead. Even in its disheveled state it was becoming, but her beautiful face was pale and pinched, and the despair that looked out of her deep blue eyes made him long to do something, anything, to make it go away.

  Although he’d been studying her, she hadn’t yet noticed him. Her gaze was cast downward, and she seemed to be in a state bordering on shock.

  Before he could thaw his frozen vocal cords and say something, the guard spoke.

  “Here’s your client, Mr. Lachlan.”

  “Lachlan?” Sharon’s head snapped up and her gaze locked with his.

  “Fergus!”

  It was a cry of shocked disbelief. He watched the blood drain from her face as she wavered, then staggered. Closing the distance between them in two strides, he caught her in his arms before she could fall.

  “Bring me a glass of water,” he ordered the guard as he wrapped her in his embrace and cradled her against him.

  She was trembling violently, and he silently cursed himself for an unthinking fool. When he’d called her friend Anna from the airport as soon as he’d landed in St. Louis he should have asked her to meet him here and let her prepare Sharon for this.

  The problem was that he was still thinking like a distraught husband instead of a coolly analytical attorney.

  But, dammit, he was a distraught husband. Or at least ex-husband. How could he help her if all he could think to do was carry her off somewhere private where he could comfort her, take care of her, protect her.

  A sob shook her slender frame. “Oh, Fergus, I didn’t kill Floyd. Get me out of here!” she wailed against his chest just before a series of smaller sobs broke through her tenuous control and she cried in his arms.

  He lowered his head and rubbed his face in her soft thick hair as he gently caressed her back. “I will, sweetheart,” he murmured. “With God as my witness I won’t let you down again.”

  The guard came back with a glass of water, and Fergus half led, half carried Sharon to the table in the middle of the small room and sat her in one of the straight-backed chairs. “Lean down and rest your head on your knees for a few minutes,” he told her. “It should make the dizziness go away.”

  Sharon did as he said. The shock of seeing him had left her too confused and disoriented to think for herself. But what was he doing here? How had he known she was in trouble?

  “Feeling a little less rocky now?”

  He’d asked the question close to her ear, and she realized that he was hunkered down beside her. The sound of his familiar voice was like a dream. Something she’d never expected to hear again.

  “Yes,” she answered, and sat back up.

  He put the glass of water in her shaking hands and helped her hold it. “Here, take a few swallows of this,” he said, and guided the glass to her mouth.

  As she sipped the water his face was on a level with hers. He’d changed very little. He still parted his dark-brown hair on the left side, and he still had the shadow of a heavy beard on his handsome face, even though he was clean-shaven.

  But he looked tired. There were dark smudges under his green eyes, and he was pale and drawn. She saw the anxiety in his expression that she’d also heard in his voice.

  Anxiety for her? How like Fergus. Although they’d been divorced for years, he still felt responsible for her. Right now she was grateful for that, even though she’d hate it later. She wasn’t functioning well at all in this crisis.

  She hiccuped and swiped at the tears that continued to cascade down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said on a sob. “I don’t mean to be such a crybaby, but I...I can’t go back to that cell. It’s like a nightmare—”

  Another sob cut her off, and Fergus handed her a handkerchief. “I know,” he said softly, “and I’m going to do something about that right now. That is, if you’re willing to retain me as your attorney.”

  Sharon felt the panic rising again. “But I already have an attorney. I can’t afford both of you.”

  Fergus winced, and a brief flash of pain flitted across his face. “We’ll work something out, Sharon,” he said brusquely, “but if you want me to represent you you’d better give me a couple of dollars to make it legal.”

  “I...I don’t have my purse. I don’t think I even brought it to jail with me.”

  How ironic. If she hadn’t gone back to Floyd’s office to retrieve that purse she wouldn’t have been anywhere near there when his body was found, and now, after all the trouble it had caused, she still didn’t have it.

  Fergus stood and reached for his billfold. He took a five-dollar bill out and handed it to her. “Here,” he said. “I’m loaning this to you. Now, give it back to me.”

  Without fully comprehending what she was doing, Sharon held it out to him. “I’ll pay you back,” she promised, “but what about Ray Quinlan?”

  “I talked to Ray on the phone, and he’s agreed to be co-counsel with me. I’ll need him to file papers, et cetera, since I’m not licensed to practice in the state of Missouri, so there’s no problem.”

  Sharon’s mind was too muddled to sort it out, but if Fergus said it was all right, then it was. She’d go over it with him again later when she wasn’t so frightened and confused.

  He reached out his hand to her. “Now,” he said, “if you feel up to it, let’s go see about getting you released so I can take you home.”

  She’d never heard sweeter words in her entire life.

  * * *

  Night court was a dreary place. Most of the prisoners were pretty unsavory types—drug pushers, drunks, muggers and the like—but Sharon considered it a haven compared with the jail. Especially with Fergus at her side, exuding confidence and determination.

  When it was his turn to plead her case he stood. “Your Honor,” he said respectfully, “I’m acting as co-counsel with Raymond Quinlan in the defense of Sharon Sawyer. I understand that Ms. Sawyer was denied bail earlier tonight, but I just arrived from Chicago and would like to plead on her behalf.”

  The judge looked annoyed. “Mr. Lachlan, I’m well aware of your reputation, but since the issue of bail has already been resolved for the time being I see no reason to reopen it.”

  “I understand, Your Honor,” Fergus said, “but this is a special circumstance. I have knowledge of the prisoner that neither Mr. Quinlan nor the district attorney are aware of. Ms. Sawyer is my ex-wife. We were married for three years, and I probably know her better than anyone else, since she has no other family. I assure you that she is neither a danger to society nor a flight risk. Actually, she’s in a state of shock, and should have been held in the dispensary instead of a jail cell. When I arrived about an hour ago she was hysterical. The guard will testify to that.”

  Sharon watched Fergus. He didn’t move around or gesture, but stood quietly and looked straight at the judge, while speaking in a low, respectful tone. She’d never seen him in action before. Most of the time when they were married she’d been in college and had classes during the day when court was in session.

  He was dressed in a superbly tailored gray suit, with a green tie that highlighted his deep-set green eyes. He looked elegant and every inch the professional. She still couldn’t believe that he was there, at her side, defending her in a court of law!

  The judge spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I wasn’t made aware that the prisoner needed medical attention.”

  The lawyer from the district attorney’s office stood. “She didn’t, Your Honor. When we brought her in she was upset but rational. If need be we can have
her held in a hospital ward, but we still object to having her freed on bail. Our case is almost airtight. She was caught leaning over the body of a stabbing victim with a bloody letter opener in her hand.”

  “I should think that would be enough in itself to send her into shock,” Fergus drawled acidly. “Sharon has a spotless record. She’s never even had a parking ticket. While we were married she wouldn’t go fishing with me because she couldn’t stand to see the fish hooked and killed.”

  His voice throbbed with emotion as he continued. “This woman has absolutely nothing in her background to suggest that she would kill anybody or anything. In fact, I’m willing to stake my career on her innocence. I’ll take full responsibility for her if you’ll release her in my custody.”

  That snapped Sharon out of her apathy and she gasped. Even the judge looked startled.

  “Mr. Lachlan,” he said, “are either of you married to anyone else at this time?”

  Fergus shook his head. “No, Your Honor, we’re both single. There won’t be any problem with prior commitments.”

  The assistant district attorney muttered a halfhearted protest, but the judge reversed his previous decision and granted Sharon freedom on bail. Her relief was short-lived. Bail was set at two hundred thousand dollars, and she couldn’t raise anywhere near that amount.

  “Don’t worry,” Fergus said, helping her to stand. “I’ll take care of it. Come on, we’ve got one more stop to make and then we can go home.”

  Sharon wanted to protest. To refuse his much-too-generous offer. But the thought of being locked up again in that dungeon was one she couldn’t face. She’d pay him back somehow, but for now she had to accept his charity. All she wanted was to get out of there.

  It didn’t take long to have her released, but when they brought her the bag containing the clothes and personal possessions that had been taken from her when she was booked there was one essential item missing. Her dress!

  “Sorry,” she was told when she pointed out the oversight, “but it’s being held as evidence. There’s quite a lot of the victim’s blood on the front of it.”

  Again panic froze her. Was she going to have to spend the night there after all? “But I don’t have anything to wear home,” she cried.

  The man behind the counter shrugged, but Fergus swore and reached for his wallet. Extracting a bill, he tossed it on the counter. “Here, I’ll buy the damn coveralls she’s wearing,” he snapped, and took her arm to guide her through the building and outside into the cool, sweet night air.

  * * *

  Fergus had been fortunate to find a parking space within half a block of the jail, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he seated Sharon in the white Cadillac he’d rented at the airport. Getting her released had been easier than he’d expected, but now what was he going to do with her?

  He shut her door, then walked around and slid into the driver’s side. What had possessed him to volunteer to be responsible for her? That meant he had to act as baby-sitter, bodyguard and parole officer for her, and she was going to object to that when she realized the extent of his commitment.

  Neither of them spoke as he started the engine and pulled out into the street. Anna Grieg had given him her address. Their address. Apparently she and Sharon shared a house with another woman named Tracey, but he had no idea how to get there.

  He turned his head to ask her for directions, but the words died in his throat. She was crumpled against the seat with her eyes closed, and she looked beaten and exhausted. That settled it. If he was going to be responsible for her then he was also going to make some of her decisions until she was better able to make them herself.

  He turned at the next corner and headed for the riverfront.

  Fergus was well aware that Sharon hated his guts. So much so that she hadn’t even asked for him when she was arrested for murder. When she found out they were going to be joined at the hip for the duration of this case she’d be outraged.

  He couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t going to be a picnic for him, either. As a matter of self-preservation he didn’t want to spend a lot of time with her. It could only lead to more heartbreak, and he’d had about all that he could stand.

  She’d never forgive him for what she saw as his betrayal while they were married. There was no reason why she should. He’d have felt the same way if he’d caught her in the embrace of another man. The kindest thing he could do for her now would be to stay out of her personal life. To protect her from himself as well as from a false charge of murder.

  He just hoped to God he was strong enough to do that and not give in to his overpowering need to hold her, cherish her and plead with her for a second chance.

  * * *

  Sharon felt wrung out, both emotionally and physically. As the car sped down the nearly deserted city streets her eyes felt glued shut, and her mind had shut down completely. There were a million questions she wanted to ask Fergus, but right now she couldn’t think of one of them. Either he was as done in as she was or he was being sensitive and understanding, because he must have as many questions as she did, but he wasn’t badgering her with them.

  He’d gotten her out of jail and she felt safe with him. For now that was enough. Tomorrow she’d fight for her freedom, but tonight she just wanted to surrender to more of the tender, loving care he’d lavished on her while they were married.

  He had loved her once—she was almost sure of that. So what had happened? She’d adored him, and was unstinting in letting him know how she felt. So why had he stopped loving her? What had Elaine offered him that she hadn’t? She’d asked herself these questions time and again over the years and had found no answers.

  She must have dozed, because the car was stopped and two big hands cupped her head and repositioned it gently as Fergus’s voice murmured gently but distinctly, “Wake up, honey. We’re home.”

  She opened her eyes and sat up. A quick look around convinced her they were parked at the curb of one of the downtown city streets.

  “This isn’t home,” she said. “Fergus, where are we?”

  There was enough street light for her to see his small smile.

  “We’re in the valet parking area of the Adams Mark Hotel. You’re going to spend the rest of the night here with me.”

  Chapter Four

  Sharon woke up by degrees. Like a diver surfacing from the deep, she drifted through several layers of diminishing darkness until she gained enough control over her muscles to open her eyes. She found herself in an upscale hotel room, but not one of the Starlight’s.

  Then the events of the previous day came back to her, and she groaned as she curled up in a ball and pulled the sheet over her head. Floyd Vancleave was dead, and she’d been arrested for murdering him!

  Not that she hadn’t been mad enough to do the dastardly deed, but fortunately the idea hadn’t occurred to her. Instead, she’d walked out and left him furious with her, but alive and healthy.

  Then Fergus had come to her rescue.

  Just the memory of the shock she received when she walked into that interview room and saw him there made her heart pound and sent a tremor through her whole body.

  He said Anna had called and told him she’d been arrested. She should be mad at her housemate for contacting Fergus without her permission, but after spending several hours in that jail cell, Sharon felt nothing but gratitude toward Anna for doing what Sharon had been too proud and stubborn to do.

  So where was Fergus now? She shoved back the sheet and sat up, then saw her image reflected in the mirror of the dresser against the opposite wall. She was wearing only her panties and a man’s white T-shirt.

  Dear heaven, where had that shirt come from? It must be Fergus’s, but she didn’t remember putting it on. Had he undressed her...?

  No. No, of course not. Now it was coming back to her. She’d insisted on taking a shower before going to bed. After being in that jail cell she’d felt dirty all the way to her soul. Fergus had loaned her a shirt to sleep in.

/>   A glance at the bedside clock told her it was 11:43 a.m. Her memory of what had taken place last night after Fergus had arrived was pretty jumbled. Apparently he’d been right about her being in shock, but she did remember that he’d brought her to his hotel instead of taking her home after she was released.

  At first she’d objected, but then he’d told her he’d reserved a suite—a bedroom, and a living room with a pullout bed. She could have the bedroom complete with her own bath.

  A wave of sadness washed over her. She should have known he had no intention of seducing her. He’d stopped wanting her a long time ago. Why else had he gotten involved with another woman? Even so, he’d been protective of her. A half smile tilted the corners of her mouth upward as she remembered how he’d even taken off his suit coat and put it around her when they’d entered the hotel so she wouldn’t be conspicuous walking through the lobby in her jail clothes.

  Enough of this malingering, she thought, as she crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She had to wake up and face Fergus and the mess she’d found herself in. He didn’t deserve to be kept waiting around all day.

  Her ex-husband was a busy man, but still he’d apparently dropped everything to come all the way to St. Louis to try to pull her chestnuts out of the fire. The least she could do was stop feeling sorry for herself and cooperate.

  After splashing her face with cold water to banish the last of the drowsiness from her deep slumber, she brushed her teeth with the complimentary toothbrush and paste in her bathroom, then put on a white terry-cloth robe supplied by the hotel and went looking for Fergus.

  She found him in the living room, working at a desk. She vaguely remembered his saying there was a fold-down bed in there, but if he’d slept on it, it had already been put back into the wall, because it was nowhere in sight.

  “Well, hello there, sleepyhead,” he said with a smile as he looked up. “I was just about to check on you again to make sure you were okay.”