Last Night

by Meryl Sawyer

  "You were cleared, weren't you?"

  "Yeah, IA dropped the investigation." His tone told her something else was wrong. What? "I had my badge again, but things were never the same. It affected my wife, Ellen, and our son, Zach, too." She wanted to ask more about them, but couldn't quite muster the courage.

  "There was never a trial. IA investigations are confidential. Since Angela hadn't been charged with a crime, it looked mighty suspicious—for me."

  "What about the papers? Didn't they run stories about Angela's past?"

  "Sure." The word came out like a curse. "They ran a story about her on page thirty-seven. I'd hoped it would clear my name. Boy, was I wrong."

  "What about your wife?" she couldn't help asking.

  "We'd been having problems," he admitted. "Ellen accepted a guest-lecturer position at Cal Tech in Los Angeles. It was supposed to be temporary, a way to shield our son from negative publicity, but even after IA cleared me she didn't come home." Rob's tone was flat now, yet Dana sensed the hurt and anger he wasn't expressing. "Then she filed for divorce. She claimed her career would suffer if she returned."

  How could she? Dana wondered. Women often put their careers first, but there was a child to consider in this situation. Then she remembered Rob accusing her of not wanting to date him because of her career. Obviously, he'd been thinking of his wife's betrayal.

  She was uncomfortably aware of another awkward silence. She managed to ask, "What about Zach?"

  Rob's brows drew together and he studied the pattern on the beach towel for a moment before saying, "I asked for custody. I even tried to persuade the judge to keep Ellen in Hawaii. She had a good job here. We could have shared custody. The judge saw it as a career opportunity though. He granted Ellen custody and allowed her to move to California."

  Once again Dana didn't know what to say. She could understand the judge's decision. Most often custody was given to the mother, but she felt Rob truly loved his son and Zach would have been better off with Rob.

  "Do you see Zach often?" she asked.

  "No. I hardly know my boy. I would have moved there to be with him, but Ellen kept promising to come back here. I had my new business already established when I realized that she never intended to return."

  "Don't you go there to visit him?"

  "Yes, but even then Ellen does her best to keep us apart." The anger in his voice was barely disguised now.

  Dana didn't want to ask anything more about his personal life, realizing it was a wound that had never really healed and there was nothing she could do about it. Again she wished she were the compassionate type of woman who would have soothing words for moments like this.

  "After the IA investigation I went into a tailspin," Rob admitted. "I kept asking myself why in hell I was bustin' my butt for a job when everyone kept acting as if I had some contagious disease."

  "You mean the other officers believed Angela?"

  "Yeah, some of them did. It was the classic fall from grace. One minute I was the department's golden boy, the next I was shit." He shrugged as if to suggest he didn't care, but she could tell it still bothered him.

  She shuddered inwardly, ashamed of herself. Innocent until proven guilty. She was a judge, someone who was supposed to live by that rule. But she hadn't. She'd been guilty of letting rumors and innuendos play on her own fears. She had believed there was truth in the gossip.

  What kind of person was she? All week Rob Tagett had forced her to look in the mirror, and the more she looked, the less she liked what she saw. Was she uptight and cold—a person who judged others on the basis of gossip not facts?

  "Don't feel sorry for me," Rob broke into her thoughts. "I came out okay. I parlayed my experience on the force into a security company that's a cash cow. I have a home on the beach, which I'd never have been able to afford on a policeman's salary."

  His voice drifted lower. "The only loss is my son. Being a father is a lot more than biology. It's having a relationship. I miss Zach more as time goes on, not less."

  She studied Rob as he finished telling her about losing his son. Obviously he loved the boy and that touched the deepest reaches of her heart. And it ran counter to her preconceived notions about him. There was such a charge of emotion every time he said Zach's name that she wanted to reach out and hug him.

  "Not that I want to change the subject from anything so fascinating as my life, but our friends in the blue Toyota are back."

  Dana resisted the urge to look up at the top of the bluff. She moved closer to Rob, feeling inadequate but needing to reassure him. "I want you to know that I do believe you. I'm sorry about what happened. I don't know how your wife could desert you. Loving someone means believing in them, trusting them."

  "Ellen thought a scandal would reflect on her and spoil her chances for a promotion. It was easier to hightail it to L.A. than to stand by me."

  "I would never have left you, no matter what the consequences." Dana sat up straighter, amazed and very shaken. Where had those words come from? How could she have said anything so personal?

  Suddenly Rob smiled, an arresting smile of approval, telling her that—for once—she'd said the right thing. She mustered a tentative smile. Their gazes locked and they kept looking at each other until she smiled in earnest.

  "You like me, Dana. Admit it." She had no intention of admitting anything, but she couldn't look away from him. He leaned closer, bending toward her mouth. "Admit it," he repeated, his voice husky and low.

  "All right," she responded, amazed at the breathless quality of her voice. "I like you better—now that I've gotten to know you—than I ever thought I would."

  Rob chuckled, a rich, masculine sound that vibrated deep in his chest. A warm glow suddenly flared into something more. His mouth, so close to hers seemed very tempting. She had no intention of parting her lips, but she did.

  He made no move to kiss her. Instead, he cupped her face with his large hand, cradling it in his palm and stroking her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. A languorous weakness flowed through her body like the lulling sound of the surf rushing softly across the sand.

  She should have moved away, but she didn't. She should have reminded him of the blue car on the bluff, but she didn't. She should have done something—anything—to break the spell, but she didn't.

  They were shadowed by the umbrella, she assured herself. The men up there couldn't see anything except their legs. Still, they were on a public beach. He wasn't doing anything—exactly—but the rough pad of his thumb stroking her lip seemed unbelievably intimate.

  He slid his hand across her cheek and into her hair. His fingers threaded through the damp tresses, the fingertips stroking her scalp. It was just a massage, she told herself, yet it seemed to be so much more than that.

  This had to be some kind of sophisticated foreplay. He was seducing her, plain and simple, with the slow, hypnotic movement of his fingers.

  The small sound that escaped her parted lips wasn't a moan, was it?

  "I'm the one, baby," he whispered. "The one for you—and don't forget it."

  She should have argued, but she couldn't. It was all she could do not to demand that he stop teasing her with his talented hands and kiss her. Really kiss her.

  He seemed to sense that the fight had gone out of her. He caught her hair in his fist and gently drew her head back as he lowered her to the towel. His lips brushed the rim of her ear as he spoke, sending a rush of warm air with each word. "I'm the one. The only one."

  He could make a woman—even the sanest woman—do anything, she thought, slow heat unfurling in her belly. She waited, anticipation welling inside her, anxious to see what he'd do next.

  He kissed her ear, his agile tongue flicking across the sensitive skin in a light caress that was as soft as a butterfly's wing. And more arousing than any X-rated movie could ever be. Push him away, her mind ordered, but her body couldn't resist temptation.

  With his free hand he pulled her closer until she was flush against
the hard, strong length of him. Then he moved his head lower, kissing the curve of her neck while he held her head back to expose her neck and shoulders.

  His lips left a moist trail of kisses down her neck to the sensitive base of her throat. This time a real moan did escape her lips. Oh, Lordy, why couldn't she tell him to stop?

  Even when he nudged her legs apart, gently inserting his powerful knee between her thighs, she didn't say anything. How could she? His lips on her neck had her mesmerized, and his strong thigh, slightly rough with hair, was so arousing against her bare skin that she didn't dare speak. If she did, she might beg him to take her right here on the beach.

  Suddenly his lips were exploring her breast, his hand cupping its fullness. Her conservative suit covered her, of course, but she might as well have been naked. He coaxed the soft peak into rigid proof of the effect he had on her. Painful currents of arousal rushed through her, and the surf seemed to be pounding in her temples, beating an erotic tattoo.

  She arched upward as he pulled her taut nipple into his mouth, teasing it mercilessly through the sheer fabric. Somehow her hands were in his hair now, holding his head in place, encouraging him shamelessly.

  She couldn't tell how long they lay there, halfhidden by the umbrella. In the distance the waves breaking on the beach seemed to be accompanied by the shrill cry of squabbling gulls. Rob raised his head and gazed into her eyes, his own eyes shadowed by thick, black lashes.

  "I'm the one," he said yet again, his voice raw, a reflection of his desire.

  He kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers, a wild, uninhibited tango that encouraged her to move against him to relieve the sweet ache in her breasts. He kissed her with all the passion he'd shown the other times he'd kissed her, and yet there was a tenderness in this kiss, a gentleness in the way he held her that hadn't been there before.

  The shrill cry of the gulls became a crescendo. Rob lifted his lips from hers. It wasn't gulls that she'd been hearing. A gaggle of kids streamed down the trail, followed by their mothers toting sand toys and coolers.

  "There goes the neighborhood," Rob said with a laugh.

  He positioned the umbrella so they were concealed from view. Then he looked at her, scanning the length of her body and stopping at her breasts. Beneath the damp fabric her nipples were peaked and her chest rose and fell rapidly. His gaze traveled slowly upward, but got only as far as her lips.

  Like liquid heat, his body spread over hers, his strong knee grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he moved it upward until it could go no farther. Passion smoldered in his eyes. "See? What did I tell you? I'm the one."

  His lips covered hers before she could respond, and his tongue invaded her mouth with trusting pressure as if he couldn't get enough of her while his knee rubbed against her with shocking intimacy.

  When he finally raised his head there was more than a hint of triumph in his eyes. "Sorry we can't continue this. We don't want to give the kiddies a show, do we?"

  Dana finger-combed her tousled hair, a little self-conscious about what had happened. Why, there were people nearby and Big Daddy's spies on the bluff. No doubt they'd loved every second even if they couldn't see much.

  "Let's get out of here." She rose to her feet, not daring to look directly at Rob. What had he been trying to prove? He'd confided in her as if she really meant something to him, but now he seemed totally nonchalant, gathering up their things without a word about what had happened.

  What did he really want from her? He must have some reason. Men didn't bare their souls without a motive, did they? Of course not. A woman would be a fool to place too much faith in a man, particularly one who so skillfully manipulated women.

  Keep your mind on the blackmailer, she reminded herself as she followed Rob up the serpentine trail toward the top of the bluff. Suddenly there was a thumping in her ears. It was the heat, wasn't it? Boy, was she ever becoming superstitious. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she was hearing the night marchers.

  15

  Garth Bradford wheeled himself into his office, stopping just inside the door to let the welcome blast of air conditioning cool him. He loosened his tie and shed his jacket, then unbuttoned the top three buttons of what had once been an immaculately starched and pressed white shirt.

  "I guess I chose the wrong profession," he joked as his secretary watched. Willa had been with him for years; she knew better than to try to help him. "The only place in the islands where men wear suits is in court—or in a coffin."

  Willa laughed dutifully, the way she always did when he came back from court, hot and irritable. Today he'd successfully argued a motion to dismiss a case; he should be happy, but he wasn't. What was wrong with him? He'd begun to suspect that winning wasn't enough. Yet it had to be. What else was there?

  Cooler now, he wheeled into his spacious office and transferred to his custom-made chair. He gazed out the high rise's window at Waikiki's sun-splashed surf with its endless parade of tubular waves that tumbled across the bay. Yellow catamarans and orange outrigger canoes glided across the water, competing for waves with sun-bronzed surfers and sunburned tourists on paddle-wheelers. Windsurfers darted between them like colorful butterflies.

  A happy sight, he thought, deliberately not looking at the other view his prestigious corner office offered. If he glanced in the other direction he'd see Pearl Harbor and in the distance the U.S. Arizona, which would depress him even more. A monument to men for whom history had ended as they were making it.

  Willa walked in, a discouraging stack of affidavits in one hand and a fistful of messages in the other. "Do you know a Vanessa Coltrane? She isn't one of the Coltranes, is she? Probably not." As usual Willa chatted on, answering her own questions. "Anyone that rich wouldn't be using a pay phone."

  Was Vanessa calling to tell him Dana was in trouble? Garth wondered. Considering what he was paying Rob for this investigation, he should at least have gotten more than one sketchy report, but he hadn't. He wasn't certain how long he stared at the turquoise water, which beckoned him even though he hadn't been able to go to the beach in years. Willa had to buzz twice to get his attention.

  "It's that Coltrane woman again," Willa told him, and he picked up the phone.

  "This is Garth Bradford." Suddenly he sounded uncharacteristically formal.

  "Thanks for taking my call." The voice was low-pitched with that sultry quality he remembered from last night's conversation.

  "Is everything all right with Dana? How'd she take the news?"

  "I told Rob and he broke it to her. I guess she's fine. They went off to the beach this morning."

  So why are you calling me, Garth wondered, once again imagining the Dana look-alike with long, dark hair as free-flowing as waves on the sea. And long, sexy nails. He didn't know where the image of nails came from, but in his mind's eye he saw Vanessa's soft hands with long, tapering nails polished a dusky pink.

  "I'm calling from a phone booth in Makawao. Just a minute while I put some money in, so we won't be interrupted."

  Garth waited, his interest piqued as he pictured the small town. As a kid he'd loved to go to their annual rodeo. Makawao had been built in the early part of the last century. It looked like a western town with its blacksmith shop, general store, and hitching posts for the paniolos. The cowboys often rode in from the neighboring ranches. He couldn't visit anymore because his wheelchair refused to navigate the rough-hewn plank sidewalks.

  Makawao had lots of upscale boutiques, where artists who favored the secluded up-country sold their work. He tried to imagine Vanessa outside a trendy boutique housed in an old livery stable, plinking quarters into one of the wooden phone booths that looked as if Wyatt Earp had just used it.

  Willa was right: Anyone as rich as Vanessa Coltrane shouldn't be using a pay phone. Obviously Vanessa didn't want her call to be overheard, or she might not want someone to see his number on the monthly statement.

  "I talked to Rob about you last night," Vanessa announced when
she came back on the line. "He said you were the best attorney in the islands."

  "Really?" Garth didn't know what else to say. He'd never been comfortable with compliments, and when one came from a beautiful woman he was even less comfortable.

  "I'd like you to take my case."

  He hesitated, wondering if she and Dana were involved in the same problem. Why hadn't Rob told him more? "Tell me about it."

  "I'm married to Eric Coltrane. I guess you know the Coltranes," she said, an edge of bitterness in her voice.

  Who didn't know the Coltranes? They were famous for their money and their arrogance. Garth had met Thornton Coltrane at several political functions. He called himself Big Daddy and acted like a pompous jerk.

  "I want to divorce Eric. Could you help me? I know that's not your field, but this… this"—her voice broke—"isn't going to be easy. Big Daddy will get the best lawyer money can buy. He's determined to take my son away from me."

  Garth hesitated; the anguished way she'd said "my son" tugged at his heartstrings. He imagined her in a hot phone booth, tears in her eyes and light dancing over the shadows of her dark hair. Common sense said to refuse, but he couldn't.

  "I'll take your case," he said, careful to keep his tone professional. Never become emotionally involved; it was the cardinal rule for any lawyer. "Have you already left your husband?"

  "No. If the Coltranes knew I was leaving they'd never let me take Jason. In two days Big Daddy will have almost a hundred people at the ranch for his birthday luau. I'm leaving then with Dana. There'll be so much going on, no one will miss us. Jason and I will live with Dana."

  "I don't think that's a good idea. That's exactly where they'll look for you."

  "You're right," she admitted, a definite quaver in her voice. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

  "Let me think about it. I'll come up with someplace for you two," he said, although he had absolutely no idea where that might be.

  The smell of smoldering banana leaves that had been dried for months in the sun filled the warm evening air, which for once didn't have nature's blessing—cooling trade winds. The up-country was usually cooler than the touristy beach area, but not now. Tonight there was a hot, restless, seething feeling in the tropical air.