Her eyes widened. “Again?”
He got up and walked over to her. He was wearing jeans, with a dark-green polo shirt open at the throat, and he looked relaxed and incredibly sexy.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I looked in on you before I went to bed, and again when I woke up this morning. I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy, but I was worried. You were in such a state last night....”
“I don’t mind,” she quickly replied. “That was thoughtful of you. I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so soundly before.”
“That’s not unusual for someone who’s been shocked as deeply as you have.” His warm, caring gaze roamed over her. “You’re looking much better this morning. Do you feel up to answering some questions after we’ve had something to eat?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she said, “but I can’t go out for lunch without any clothes.”
“No problem.” He walked across the room and picked up some parcels from the floor on the other side of his desk. “Your friend Anna stopped by on her way to work and brought you the things you’ll need.”
Sharon was startled. “Anna did? But how did she know...?” Then her unreliable memory cleared again. “Oh yes, that’s right, we called her when we got here.” Sharon shook her head impatiently. “I seem to be having trouble remembering all the things that happened after I found Floyd...”
Her voice wavered and she fought back a surge of horror at the memory of Floyd collapsed in a heap on the floor, with a letter opener sticking out of his chest.
“You’re doing just fine,” Fergus assured her, and walked across the room. “I’ll put these things in the bedroom. I had coffee sent up earlier. It’s there on the bar, if you’d like a cup before you get dressed. There’s orange juice, too.”
At the mention of food Sharon realized that she was starved. “Yes, I would,” she said as she headed for the large bar area in one corner of the room. “I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday morning.”
Fergus muttered an oath. “Didn’t they feed you in jail?”
She poured steaming coffee out of the carafe into a china cup. “I was just about to go for lunch, when the letter came,” she said thoughtfully. “Then the police questioned me all afternoon. I seem to remember a tray being brought to me in my cell later, but I was too sick and upset to eat.”
She took a swallow of the hot brew and savored it as it trickled down her throat.
“Drink a big glass of the orange juice there, too,” he said as he disappeared into the bedroom before he could see the face she made at him. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still bossing her around, but somehow it didn’t bother her now.
* * *
Sharon was curled up in the corner of the black vinyl couch when Fergus returned, and his breath caught in his throat when he looked at her. She was sitting with her legs under her and the skirt of the terry robe draped over them, but the garment was too big and the bodice tended to gape when she relaxed her shoulders, revealing the top slope of her full breasts.
She had both hands wrapped around the coffee cup as she held it, and her blue eyes were unfocused while she gazed off into space. Her face was still a little puffy from sleep, and her lips were relaxed and slightly parted, as if waiting to be kissed. His stomach muscles clenched with the desire to oblige her. In all the years they’d been married he’d never seen her look sexier, and she was totally unaware of what she was doing to him!
What kind of hell was he subjecting himself to now?
He swallowed back a groan and switched his glance, and his direction, to the coffeepot on the bar.
After filling a cup for himself, he went over and sat down on the couch, too, but was careful to leave plenty of space between them. She smiled at him, and her face softened and lost the haunted look that had been so evident last night.
He tightened his grip on his cup, as if that could somehow prevent him from reaching out and taking her in his arms. His hands itched to slip inside that gaping robe and cup the firm round breasts he knew so well. He remembered the weight of them in his palms, the smoothness of her skin and the hardness of her nipples when he’d brush them with his thumbs—
The sound of her voice snapped him out of his erotic fantasizing. “How are your mom and dad, Fergus? Is your dad still practicing?”
Fergus’s father, Ian Lachlan, was a physician.
Fergus took a deep breath and tried to focus his attention on her question. “Well, yes and no. He sold his practice in Evanston several years ago, and he and Mom moved back to that small village in Scotland where his family came from. He’d planned to retire, but when he got there he discovered there was no medical care for miles around, so he opened a clinic. Now he’s busier than he was in Evanston, and he’s never been happier.”
“I’m glad,” Sharon said. “I always loved your parents. I’ve missed them.”
And what about me, Sharon? Did you ever miss me, as well?
Fergus clamped his mouth shut to keep the words from spilling out. He had no right to hope she’d been lonely for him.
“They loved you, too,” he said, instead. “Although it was too awkward to continue a close relationship with you after our divorce, they never really accepted Elaine as a daughter-in-law.”
Sharon frowned, and twisted on the couch to straighten up and put her feet on the floor. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, as she faced him. “And, Fergus, I’m so very sorry about Elaine’s death.”
Her unexpected sympathy took his breath away, and it was a moment before he could respond. “That...that’s amazingly generous of you—” he stammered before his voice broke and once more he had to fight for control.
“Not at all,” she replied softly. “I never wished either of you harm. Oh, I was hurt and angry, but I was never vengeful.”
Her voice shook, and he could tell that this was as difficult for her as it was for him. “Honey, I know that, but—”
She set her empty cup on the coffee table in front of them, then reached out and put her fingers across his mouth. The compassion in her eyes and voice was his undoing, and, no longer able to resist, he shifted closer to her so that their legs were touching.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let me finish.”
He nodded his consent, then put his hand over hers to hold it in place as he kissed her fingers.
She looked surprised, and her voice shook as she continued. “When I heard about Elaine’s sudden death I knew you must be devastated. I wrote you a letter, but then I realized it would probably not be appropriate for me to intrude on you at such a time, so I tore it up.”
Dear God, in spite of the anguish he’d caused her she still wanted to comfort him and help him bear his loss. It was incredible that she could be so forgiving!
Fergus was aware of the pressure of tears building up behind his eyes, and he blinked with the effort to keep them from falling. Dammit, he wasn’t going to bawl like a baby and make her feel even sorrier for him. Pity wasn’t what he wanted from Sharon. But it was hard to resist when he knew it was all he was going to get.
He wrapped his hand around hers and repositioned it to cup his cheek. It felt warm and soft against his skin, and he held it there while he fought to speak around the lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry you thought I wouldn’t welcome your condolences,” he said. “Actually, hearing from you would have gone a long way toward helping me to deal with a very dark and agonizing time in my life.”
Sharon was close to tears, and she could see that she was upsetting Fergus, too. Why was it that she couldn’t do anything right in her dealings with him? She’d only wanted him to know that she sympathized with him over the death of his wife, but all she’d done was reopen the wound and make him hurt again. She should never have started this. She couldn’t handle his pain as well as her own.
“Then I’m sorry I didn’t send the letter,” she said, and quickly changed
the subject. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed so we can go to lunch.” She got up and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Fergus had put her overnight suitcase on the floor and laid the long dress bag across the unmade bed. She opened them and found a dress and a tailored pantsuit in the bag, and several changes of underwear, makeup, shoes, a pair of jeans and a knit shirt, and a nightgown and robe in the overnighter.
Good heavens, Anna must have thought she expected to stay there with Fergus for a while! Whatever made her think that? While it was more convenient last night, and Sharon appreciated his concern in giving up his bedroom to her, she was going to be sleeping in her own bed tonight.
That scene just now in the living room had scared her witless. When Fergus had kissed her fingers she’d wanted to melt into his arms, and when he’d cupped his cheek with her palm she’d had to restrain herself to keep from caressing it with her fingertips.
Obviously she was still highly susceptible to her ex-husband, and that would never do. It had taken her too long to get over him; she wasn’t going to give him another chance to reject her.
If only he wasn’t so damn nice!
She dressed quickly in the peach raw-silk pantsuit, then applied a touch of makeup and combed her hair. Her image in the mirror told her that she’d regained her natural rose color and lost the look of utter desolation that had been stamped on her face the night before.
That was good, because she had no intention of letting this experience beat her down. No matter what it cost her emotionally, she was going to accept Fergus’s offer to defend her, and do everything she could to help him.
* * *
They had lunch in the hotel restaurant, and although Fergus did ask Sharon questions, he steered clear of the subject of the murder and asked instead about her friends and co-workers.
“Now, tell me about your other lawyer, Ray Quinlan,” he said, after they’d exhausted the subject of her housemates, Anna and Tracey.
Sharon swallowed a mouthful of quiche and washed it down with a sip of hot tea. “Ray’s the son of our next-door neighbors. He doesn’t live with his parents, so I don’t know him very well. He just happened to be the only lawyer Anna and I knew at all, so I asked her to call him.”
Fergus frowned. “That’s not a very smart way to select an attorney who will be defending you on a murder charge,” he said grimly. “Where did he go to school, and how long has he been practicing?”
“He’s a native of St. Louis, and got his bachelor’s and his law degree from Washington University right here in town,” she said. “I met him when I moved next door to his parents four years ago. Ray was in his second year of law school then, and he graduated last year.”
Fergus’s expression was thunderous. “Are you telling me that you were willing to place your life in the hands of an attorney just out of law school? My God, Sharon, didn’t you learn anything about the law while you were married to me?”
“Very little,” she snapped as her temper escalated. “If you’ll remember, you didn’t want to talk about your work when you came home at night. When I’d ask you about it you always said we had more exciting things to do, and carried me off to bed.”
She hadn’t known what she was going to say until it was said, and then it was too late. The words hung in the air between them, and she felt the blood rush to her face while she watched it drain from his.
Embarrassment suffused her and left her immobilized, unable to speak or move. Dear Lord, what had she been thinking of?
But that was the problem—she hadn’t been thinking period. How could she have blurted out something so intimate to Fergus, who was not only no longer her husband, but apparently didn’t even remember how erotic and all-encompassing their lovemaking had been at one time?
For a long moment they sat in silence, neither of them able to pick up the conversation. Sharon couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Fergus, but she’d seen the shocked expression on his face, and in his unblinking eyes, before she’d glanced away.
She felt like a tacky, insensitive clod. How was she ever going to apologize and make him understand that she hadn’t deliberately planned to be so crude?
Before she could marshal her thoughts, Fergus spoke.
“You’re right, Sharon.” His tone was low and vibrant. “I did have better things to do than talk shop while I was married to you. Much better. So much better, in fact, that if I let myself think about those times now I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else, and that’s dangerous. For both your defense and my sanity.”
His words freed her from the clutch of humiliation that had held her mute and still, and she took an unsteady breath. “Oh, Fergus, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t even thinking it.”
He shook his head. “It’s all right. I deserved it. I had no right to flare up at you the way I did. You and Anna did what most people would have done—you called on an attorney who was also a friend. Since I selfishly thought only of my own needs, when I should have taken the time to teach you about your rights under the law, you couldn’t have known all the intricacies of selecting the right lawyer to handle the charges against you.”
He took his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table, then signaled the waiter for the check. “If you’re finished eating we’d better go back upstairs. I have a lot more questions to ask you.”
* * *
Back in the suite they settled themselves comfortably, Sharon on the couch and Fergus in the upholstered chair. They were still self-conscious because of her gaffe, but the embarrassment melted away as the interrogation progressed.
“Tell me all there is to know about your relationship with Floyd Vancleave, from the day you met until the time you were found bending over his body,” he said. “Don’t leave out anything, no matter how insignificant you may think it is.”
It took her a long time, and when she was finished they went over it again, then again, until Sharon was tired, upset and becoming angrier by the minute.
“Now, tell me again about the advances Vancleave made toward you,” he said for the second or third time. “Are you sure you didn’t encourage him?”
“Encourage him!” she shouted. “Damn it, Fergus, are you deaf? How many times do I have to tell you? The man was a chauvinist pig, and I’m getting tired of you insinuating that I was flirting with him. I don’t lead men on to tease them, and your insistence that I did that to Floyd is insulting.”
“Then you’d better get used to being insulted,” Fergus said grimly, “because if you’re indicted and go to trial the district attorney is going to use every trick he can think of to make the jury believe that’s exactly what you were doing.
“Now, let’s go over this again. I don’t want any nasty surprises when you get on the witness stand.”
So they continued all afternoon. Fergus probed, insinuated, even accused her of withholding information, while Sharon reached deeper into her memory and seethed at his callous disregard for her feelings.
* * *
Fergus hated what he was doing to her. Every time she winced or cried out in indignation at his offensive questions it was like a knife in his heart, but he couldn’t let up. He had to extract every bit of information she had, even what was buried deep in her subconscious.
The police would question her again before the arraignment, and although he’d be there this time to protect her as much as the law allowed, it could still get brutally savage. Also, he needed to test her breaking point. To see how far she could be pushed before she started fighting back and making herself more prone to errors in judgment as well as memory.
Fergus sincerely doubted that Sharon had ever had an enemy. She was sweet and kind, and liked by everyone she met. Unless he gave her a preview of what she would be subjected to by the D.A. in a court trial, she’d never hold up over the long run.
Damn that bastard Vancleave! It enraged Fergus just to think about him putting his slimy
hands on Sharon and making vulgar propositions to her. Fergus silently vowed that if the police ever caught up with whoever had killed the man, he, Fergus, would defend the guilty party without charge and aim for an acquittal. Or at least the lightest possible sentence.
Sharon’s endurance finally snapped late in the afternoon when he sank to a new low and asked her how many male employees of the hotel she’d slept with. He doubted the judge would allow her to answer a question like that, but that didn’t mean the D.A. wouldn’t ask it.
She came totally unglued. He happened to be standing at the time, and with a howl of indignation and rage, she sprang off the couch and hurled herself at him, arms swinging and feet kicking. She took him by surprise and landed several hard blows, all the time yelling denials and calling him names that questioned his parentage and his honor, before he managed to overpower her and pin her arms to her sides.
“Calm down, sweetheart,” he shouted over the noise she was making while she continued to struggle in his restraining embrace. “I don’t expect you to answer that question, but I had to ask it to see how you’d react.”
She stopped struggling and stiffened as she gaped at him, eyes wide. “How I’d react? How’d you think I’d react? No, don’t answer that. I’ll show you. You’re fired! You might as well pack up and go back to Chicago, because I wouldn’t let you defend me if you were the last lawyer on earth. I’d get the gas chamber for sure.”
Once more she started twisting and turning in his arms. “Let go of me, dammit!”
“I will,” Fergus assured her. “Just as soon as you cool down enough to listen to me. I had to know how you’d react under stress to that question when you weren’t expecting it, because in one form or another it’s going to be asked of you.”
Again she stopped squirming, and glared at him. “You wouldn’t,” she gasped.
“No, I wouldn’t, but the prosecution will,” he said through clenched teeth. “They have a strong case. You were seen going into the office in a huff, everyone in the waiting room heard you and Vancleave quarreling and just minutes later you were found bending over the body with the murder weapon in your hand.”
Truly Married Page 6
