by Sandra Brown
“I’ve been terribly afraid. It’s unreasonable, I know. But I have been. I was scared that by some quirk of fate or some terrible accident I might never get out.”
She sounded on the verge of hysteria. He’d never seen her so shaken. “Shhh, shhh.” He smoothed back her hair with a comforting hand. “I’d never let that happen.”
“But you might not have been able to help,” she argued irrationally. “I’ve been so cold.”
Before he weighed the consequences, he lay down beside her and pulled the blanket over both of them. Making the noises of a small wounded animal, she cuddled against him. Her arms went around his neck like a frightened child’s and she buried her face in his neck.
“I love you, I love you. I’m so afraid. Hold me.”
Her misery knifed through him and he felt it just as keenly. “Oh, God, I love you, too.” He folded his arms around her and held her tight.
But she wanted to get still closer. Her lips found his. He sealed her to him with a fervent kiss. His tongue speared deep into the wet silk of her mouth.
After long minutes, he lifted his mouth from hers. “God almighty, this is insane.” he covered her throat with quick random kisses. “I could strangle you for getting the two of us into this predicament.”
She laid her cheek against his chest. “I deserve to be strangled. I had to make my stand on a reporter’s right to protect his source, but I’ve learned I’m not martyr material. I came face-to-face with the fact that I’m basically a coward. How do convicts stand imprisonment day after day, year after year?”
“Few are as sensitive as you, love.”
“I’m going to do a piece on convicts. I’m going to study their—”
He groaned. “Let’s get you out first before you start thinking about your cellmates and how you can call the public’s awareness to their plight.” He tilted her chin up to peer into her face. “Why didn’t you let the TV station’s attorney bail you out?”
“What would have been the point of all this if I had? The real issue here is the First Amendment. I know you think I’m just a troublemaker, stubborn, and—”
“I respect what you’ve done.” Her eyes widened in surprise and he chuckled. “That’s me the man talking, not the D.A. Me the D.A. is still upset with you. But I love you, Kari Stewart, and all you stand for.” He pressed her head back onto his chest. “Why else would I risk my career by coming in here and holding you like this? They could throw the book at me.”
“Sexual abuse of female prisoners?”
“Something like that.”
She kissed his chin. “I promise not to squeal on you.” They kissed and it was so satisfying that long moments passed before the severity of their situation took preeminence again. “You may have the book thrown at you for a different reason,” she said quietly, recalling the chaos her arrest had caused in the corridors of the police department.
“Your cohorts have already seen to that. I was made out an ogre in the headlines today. And I think you bumped Joan of Arc off the roster of leading lady crusaders. You’ve got a staunch army behind you. They declared me their common enemy and came at me from all sides.”
“I’m sorry, Hunter. Truly I am. I didn’t want this to look like a personal attack on you.”
“Well, that’s a switch.”
She laughed. “What will you do to get back in the public’s good graces?”
“Find out what happened to those babies and return them to their families. I’ve got a gut instinct they aren’t dead.”
“I hope not,” she said softly.
They fell quiet and she listened lovingly to the thudding of his heart beneath her ear. Only minutes ago, this small cell had seemed threatening. Now, with him lying beside her, his arms around her, the chilly gloom had been dispelled. She felt safe and warm and at peace.
“They took my watch. What time is it?”
“Late.”
“You planned this rendezvous, didn’t you? That’s why I’m in a cell block with no other prisoners.”
“Yes, I planned it. I couldn’t let you spend the night in jail alone.”
“How did you explain your visit to Sergeant Hopkins?”
If the grin he smiled down on her was anything like the one he had smiled at the matron, Kari’s question was answered. “She has a romantic nature. I merely appealed to it.”
“Doesn’t that constitute a bribe?”
“Bribing the emotions, maybe.”
“And you never did pay for that orange you pilfered in the grocery store.” She pretended to consider him carefully. “I think that with just a little encouragement, you could become quite corrupt.”
“I’m already there. I’m lying in a jail cell with a female inmate and wishing with all my heart that I could have carnal knowledge of her.”
Giggling, she pressed closer to him. “Is that what you’re wishing?”
“Cut it out, Kari, or we’re both going to be in more trouble than we’re already in. Are you warm enough?”
“Hmm, yes,” she sighed. “Stay right there. Don’t move. There’s something to be said for narrow beds.”
“I can feel your breasts against my chest.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. Have I ever told you what beautiful breasts you have?”
“Yes.”
“Next time we make love, I’m going to give them special attention.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
The arm around her waist tightened and drew her closer. His lips wandered through her hair. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed making love to you, reaching for you in the middle of the night and finding you there, waking up in the morning with you lying beside me. Remember that afternoon in Breckenridge?”
“I remember them all. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“When it rained.”
“Hmm, yes.”
“Do you?” His lips slid down the length of her nose before they planted a sweet kiss on her partially opened mouth. “Which part did you like best?”
“All of it. I like it when we slowly explore each other with our hands and lips. I love the feel of your skin and the hair on your chest and abdomen. My mouth waters when I think about the way you taste. And I love to feel you inside me. You fill me so completely.”
His breathing was harsh and rapid in her ear. “You’re tight and warm,” he whispered, making the words wonderfully forbidden. “Always perfect for me, perfect.” Then his mouth found hers in the darkness and made love to it with his tongue. When at last they fell apart, he tucked her head under his chin. “Go to sleep,” he said roughly.
“You’ll stay with me?”
“I’ll stay with you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Their hearts pulsed together. Kari slept.
When she awakened at first light, he was gone. But the cot was still warm where he had lain with her through the dark night.
WBTV’s attorney looked like David Niven. He had the same debonair mannerisms and dressed in a dapper fashion, even down to the fresh carnation on his lapel. When he appeared before her cell later that morning, he smiled charmingly. “Good morning, Ms. Stewart.” Kari had the distinct impression that if he had had a hat, he would have doffed it while executing a quick bow. “You’re being released.”
She felt considerably better about the jail cell than she had the previous night before Hunter’s appearance. Still she couldn’t get out of it fast enough when Sergeant Hopkins unlocked the door. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly. The attorney took her arm and led her down the corridor. At Sergeant Hopkins’s desk, Kari paused.
“Do you still want my autograph?”
The policewoman beamed. “I wasn’t going to bother you about it. Thanks for remembering.”
Kari signed her autograph to Gus on the top sheet of a tablet. When she handed it to the woman she asked, “Aren’t your shifts rather long?”
“I worked a double one. Mr. McK
ee asked me to so I could look after you.”
With a soft private smile Kari nodded and left the cell block with the lawyer. Downstairs they collected her possessions. She checked the contents of the manila envelope against the inventory that had been made the day before, signed the release, and gathered her things to leave. It was then that the booming voice halted her.
“Wait a minute!”
Kari turned to stare into the intimidating scowl of Lieutenant Harris. “I wanna see you.” He pointed a blunt finger at her. The nail had been bitten to a nub.
Fear clutched at her throat again. Did she have to go back to jail? Where was Hunter?
“Ms. Stewart has been released on bail,” the attorney said crisply.
“This is between me and her,” Harris said belligerently, dismissing the attorney with a wave of his hand. His beetle eyes remained on Kari. “You coming or not?”
It was a dare. And as Pinkie and Hunter knew well, she never backed down from a dare. “Of course.” Much to the lawyer’s consternation she followed Harris. He had no choice but to trot along behind.
They went up one flight of stairs, turned right into a hallway, and then turned left into a small room. As Harris opened the door and led the way inside, he said, “Friends of yours, I think.”
She had never seen the woman with the iron-colored hair and kind brown eyes. But she would recognize the fuzzy blond mop and acne-scarred cheeks of her companion anywhere.
“Hi,” Grady Burton said. “Guess I’m on your blacklist, huh?”
In spite of her weariness, Kari laughed. “Let’s just say I’m awfully glad to see you.”
“This is, uh, Mrs. Plummer,” Grady said. “After we heard about you going to jail on account of us, we got together last night and, uh, decided to come in on our own.”
“That’s very conscientious of you,” Kari said. She smiled at both of them. “You’re doing the right thing. I never would have given you away, but I think the police need to hear whatever you have to tell them.”
“So do we,” Mrs. Plummer said.
“Since they came in, that lets you off the hook,” Harris said. “I’m dropping the charges against you.” He expected her to grovel with a tearful thank you. Kari merely nodded in acknowledgment. Harris frowned. He could scare almost anybody, but this dame was as cool as a cucumber. Again he wagged that unmanicured finger an inch from her nose. “You stay out of my hair from now on.”
She glanced up at the flakes on his scalp. “I’ll do my best.” Her sarcasm was wasted on him. And she had been wrong. He didn’t eat garlic for lunch. He ate it for breakfast.
Without another delay, the lawyer hustled her outside. Bright sunlight chased away the chill of the jail. Closing her eyes, she drew deep breaths of fresh air. When she opened her eyes, a horde of reporters were swarming up the steps, microphones and cameras aimed at her.
“Be careful of what you say,” the attorney cautioned. “Every word will be quoted.”
She had come to terms with her night in jail, but would she be able to explain her feelings about it? Where was Hunter? Why hadn’t he come with the attorney to release her? Why hadn’t he been with Lieutenant Harris? She didn’t have time to sort out all the perplexities before a reporter asked the first question. Setting aside her misgivings, she faced her peers confidently.
“How was jail, Ms. Stewart?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” She smiled shakily.
“Were you mistreated?”
“Not at all. I was made as comfortable as possible.”
“Were you questioned by Lieutenant Harris?”
Careful, she warned herself. Someone might have seen Hunter going into the cell block last night. If she failed to mention it, suspicions might be aroused. “I spoke with Mr. McKee last night,” she said evasively.
“What about?”
“About naming my sources. I wouldn’t.”
“We understand two hospital employees came forward this morning and are willing to tell their story to the police.”
“Yes, and I’m glad, for many reasons. I didn’t relish another night in jail.” Everyone laughed. “But I’m especially hopeful that what they tell the police may lead to finding the missing children.”
“If you had it to do over again, would you keep your sources a secret?”
“Absolutely.” She addressed them with conviction. “This is one of the most ambiguous issues of our time. I believe in freedom of the press. I believe in the privacy of the individual and in the sanctity of that privacy. I also believe in justice being carried out. I certainly don’t condone the crime of kidnaping babies from a hospital nursery.
“Had I personally known any factual evidence I would have given it to the district attorney without hesitation. But at the same time, I would go to jail again to protect the identities of my sources, who until this morning wished to remain anonymous.”
“Did Mr. McKee use this issue to pay you back for the attacks you had made on him?”
“Did I ever attack Mr. McKee?” she asked innocently. Her audience laughed again.
“At one time your stories were rather slanted,” a reporter observed. “You all but accused the D.A. of using his present office to advance his political career by fair means or foul.”
She was very tired. She knew she looked a wreck. She had dressed for jail, not a press conference. Her twenty-four-hour makeup felt like caked and peeling paint on her face. Her clothes were wrinkled.
But that particular question sharpened her wits. She had come to a meaningful conclusion sometime during the night, but it had remained fragmented and incomplete. Now it came into sharp focus. “At one time, my attitude regarding Mr. McKee was biased.”
“Because of his allegations against your late husband?”
“Yes.”
The attorney stepped between her and the cameras. “These questions have no bearing on the current situation. Ms. Stewart has no further comments.”
“Yes, I do,” Kari countered. A hush fell over the jostling crowd. Even the noise of passing traffic didn’t seem to affect the sudden quiet.
A few months ago she would have grasped this chance to lambaste Hunter McKee. Now she was going to take the opportunity to defend him.
Rather than telling them how he maligned the reputations of dead men, how he victimized their widows, how he used controversial trials as stepping-stones to further his own career, she was going to take his side. She had the power to ruin him by revealing that he had sneaked into her cell in the middle of the night.
Oh, what a sweet secret that was to keep!
How could she have ever thought he was a manipulative opportunist? The man she loved was a man of integrity, who didn’t need to play political games to win the public’s confidence. To uphold a principle he firmly believed in, he had sent the woman he loved to jail. But he had also risked personal ruination by spending the night with her in her cell.
The eager reporters staring up at her would hang onto every word she spoke. She would be quoted and recorded and photographed. A year ago she would have used every means of ammunition available to destroy Hunter McKee. Yet now all she could think of was how much she loved him.
“It’s true,” she began quietly, “that at one time I did hold a personal grudge against District Attorney McKee. But that’s just what it was—a personal grudge. In a most unprofessional way, I used my access to the media to slander him.”
Emotion welled up inside her and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t cry. “Unlike me, he separated his personal feelings from his professional duty in this case. He is a man of integrity. He refused to compromise that integrity, no matter what it cost him personally. He felt strongly about my withholding information. He acted upon it in the only way he could.”
She could tell they were disappointed. What she had said came straight from her heart. She had organized the thoughts in her own mind, reconciled them, acknowledged them, before speaking them aloud. But they hadn’t been the tantalizing
kind of statements that made good news copy.
“Now if you’ll excuse us,” the attorney intervened once again, “Ms. Stewart has suffered a terrible ordeal.” Taking her elbow in a surprisingly strong hand, he escorted her toward his car.
Newswise, it was a record day. The late evening television newscasts carried numerous stories about the doctor and nurse who had been operating a blackmarket baby ring from one of the city’s major hospitals. The three children who had been kidnapped and sold had been located. Their tearful parents had been interviewed at length. The doctor was seen hiding his face as he was led handcuffed from a police car into the jail.
Kari felt resentful that she hadn’t been a part of all the excitement, but Pinkie had refused to let her work that day. When the attorney dropped her off at the TV station, Pinkie had blown a fuse. He wouldn’t even let her check the mail on her desk.
“Go home. Rest. Bonnie and I will come by after work. Now get out of here; I’m busy. Has somebody gone out to talk to the Hus … Hoos … hell, whatever their names are? Is someone on the way there now? Come on, let’s haul some ass around here!”
When they arrived at Kari’s condo, Pinkie nursed the two drinks Bonnie allowed him while she converted a sack of groceries into a home-cooked meal. They left as soon as the dishes were done.
The empty evening yawned in front of Kari. She had taken a long nap that afternoon, so she wasn’t sleepy. Her mind wouldn’t stay on a book; there was nothing to watch on television; there was no one to talk to. There was nothing to do but fill the hours with worry.
Why hadn’t Hunter called? She knew he must have been busy all day, but surely he could have taken five minutes to call and ask about her health or her mental state or something. Why hadn’t she heard from him?
She was still agonizing over it when her doorbell rang close to midnight. She ran to the door. When she saw him through the peephole, she sighed her relief and pulled open the door.
“May I come in?”
She stepped aside.
“May I have a drink?”
Without waiting for her consent, he went straight to the portable bar and poured himself a stiff Scotch. He drank it down in one stinging swallow.
