He met the challenge in her gaze head-on. “You could have been hurt, Libby. Do you have any idea the hell you put me through just now? I didn’t know what was happening to you, and I couldn’t leave Ally. If anything had happened to you, I’d—”
He blew out a harsh breath, dragged a hand over his mouth and jaw. Just the thought of Libby getting shot or stabbed made him sick, made his breath back up in his lungs. He rejected the notion, unwilling to consider anything that horrible.
“You’d what?”
He snapped his gaze back to hers. She studied him with a bewildered, distrusting scrutiny. Even in the darkness, her keen eyes cut into him, exposing vulnerabilities he didn’t want to examine.
He’d lost her once before, and the pain had been almost more than he could stand. He knew now that the only thing that had pulled him through their years apart was the dim hope that someday he’d have her back again. That somehow they’d find a way past all the stumbling blocks and hazards fate had wedged between them.
Yet looking into her eyes now, that future seemed farther away than ever. He felt his second chance with Libby slipping through his hands. Because all he saw staring back at him were her doubts and her distance. The suspicion in her eyes flayed his heart, sliced him to the marrow. Libby just couldn’t see beyond the cold facts of their past. She limited her view to strict right-or-wrong parameters. Feelings, circumstances and motives be damned.
“You’d what, Cal?” she repeated, her eyes gleaming with challenge. “Tell me what you’d think, what you’d do, if something happened to me.”
If he’d seen even a shred of warmth or open-mindedness in her gaze, he might have tried to give her the truth, tell her how deep his feelings for her still ran.
Instead he found only cold dispassion and rigid skepticism.
Frustration and regret arrowed though him. “Forget it. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
Chapter 8
“You’re not going to believe this,” Stan said as he strolled into Libby’s office Monday night after-hours.
“Try me. I’ll believe about anything these days.” Grateful for the excuse to take a break, Libby stretched her arms over her head, flexing work-weary muscles in her shoulders.
Stan helped himself to the chair opposite her. “I just got off the phone with Richard Hampton’s lawyer. They’re ready to plead to manslaughter. They want a guarantee that he’ll serve no more than five years, though.”
“Ha! Not a chance.” She dropped her hands back onto her desk. “Murder two and a minimum of twenty years.”
“That’s what I told him. He’s discussing it with—”
A knock on her door interrupted Stan. Cal stood in the doorway, his damp hair suggesting he’d recently showered. He’d shaved, as well, and in his crisp white button-down shirt and navy slacks, he looked good enough to eat. “Sorry. Uh, am I interrupting something?”
She knew the minute Stan recognized Cal. Her colleague’s face darkened, and his nostrils flared. “Yeah, you are.”
Cal gave Stan a who-the-hell-are-you? look then turned to her. “Lib?”
“It’s okay, Stan. This will just take a minute.” She studied Cal’s attire, trying to ignore how his clothes accentuated his muscled shoulders and great butt, and mentally reviewed her planner. “Did we have an appointment?”
Cal arched a dark eyebrow and shot her his most charming grin. “Your husband needs an appointment to have dinner with you?”
She pressed her palms together, hoping to steady the flutter in her pulse. Why did the man have to be so doggone appealing?
“I’m not having dinner tonight. I’ve got work to finish up before tomorrow.”
Still wielding his devastating grin, Cal scoffed. “Come on, Lib. You gotta eat. We can grab a sandwich at the deli across the street.” Growing more serious, he added, “And I don’t like the idea of you working late, being alone in your office when there’s a—”
“She’s not alone. I’m here.” Stan pushed out of his seat. “She said she was busy. Now scram.”
Libby blinked, stunned by her colleague’s interference and hostility. “Stan—”
Cal swung a hard glare on the other man. “Stay out of this, pal. It’s none of your business.”
“Oh? Well, I’m making it my business. I don’t know what your scam is, Walters, but I’m going to be watching you. Closely. You hurt Libby once, but there’s no way I’ll let you hurt her again.”
Cal shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Stan a scornful glare. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”
Stan returned a tight, smug smile that was anything but friendly. “Stan Moore, assistant district attorney for the state of Louisiana.”
Libby sighed. “He was the lead prosecutor on your case. I think he had a beard at the time, which may be why you didn’t recognize him.”
Her husband’s face reflected surprise then hardened with contempt. “Of course. I remember.”
“Great. Now that we’re through with this walk down memory lane, you can leave. We’ve got work to do.” Stan turned his back on Cal and returned to his chair.
“I wasn’t asking you. I came to take my wife to dinner.”
Feeling a bit like the bone at a dogfight, Libby groaned and divided a scowl between the men. “Boys, if you two are ready to put away the testosterone, I think I can decide for myself what I want to do.”
Cal drew a deep breath, obviously struggling to calm his temper. She gave him points for that. Maybe dinner with him would be all right. She was hungry. Her stomach growled, as if to say, Make that starved!
But she also didn’t want Cal to think he could show up at her office whenever he liked, looking like something out of her dreams, and rearrange her schedule just like that.
Libby picked up her pen, flipped open a file on her desk and scribbled some notes in the margin of a case report. She glanced up at Cal. “I can leave in about an hour or ninety minutes. Why don’t you come back then?”
Stan grunted and shook his head.
Cal clenched his jaw, making the muscles in his jaw twitch. “All right. I’ll see you then.”
With one last narrow-eyed glance at Stan, Cal stalked out.
Libby tossed down her pen and drilled her colleague with a hard look. “What was that?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. That he-man, beating-your-chest thing you just pulled on Cal? What right do you have to interfere in my life?”
“I’m just trying to look out for your—”
“Don’t! I can look out for myself. I remember well enough how things ended last time, and I went into this marriage with my eyes open.”
“I don’t trust the guy. Something about this whole thing doesn’t add up. Why you?” Stan leaned forward, his face red, and jabbed his finger on her desk to emphasize his point. “Why did he come straight back to you the minute he’s released from prison?”
“Have you considered that he might have feelings for me? Isn’t that why most people get married?” She’d intended the question to be rhetorical, but her stomach flip-flopped. Could Cal have feelings for her?
Do you have any idea the hell you put me through just now?
“This whole thing smacks of a setup,” Stan grumbled. “He’s out to hurt you. You work for the same people that sent him to jail, Libby. A guy doesn’t just forget a thing like that!”
She clamped her hands to the sides of her face and massaged her temples. “Stan—” Blowing out a harsh breath, she collected her composure before she went on. “I appreciate your concern. Truly I do. But you’ve overstepped your bounds. My marriage is my business, and I’ll thank you not to mind it for me. Now…”
Stan grunted and pinched his nose under the rim of his wire glasses.
Libby flipped a page in the open file and pointed to a highlighted section with her pen. “We have Mr. Hampton on record at his arrest saying, quote, ‘She’s had it coming for a long time. I just gave her what she was asking for.’ I�
��d say this could be construed as premeditation. Murder two is a gift. Tell him, take it or leave it.”
He gave her a tense, penetrating stare, arguing his distrust of Cal without saying a word. “You got it. Murder two.” Stan slapped a file on his leg as he stood and stalked toward her door. “Just…watch your back, okay?”
Libby shivered, hearing Roach’s similar warning from Saturday night replay in her head. She had ticked off more than her share of people of late. As if her stalker weren’t enough for her to worry about.
She stared at the work spread on her desk, doubting herself for the first time since her early days at the D.A.’s office. Was she only fooling herself about her ability to make a difference? About the security in a job where laws guided you? How could she be doing everything right, following the rules, and still feel like the whole world was against her?
And why did thinking about dinner with Cal start a tickle of excitement deep inside her?
She thought about his troubled expression, the earnest concern darkening his face when she’d helped bring Roach in Saturday night. For him to truly be that worried about her would mean…he cared.
And he didn’t care. Not about her. He’d proven how little he cared when he’d discarded her like last week’s newspaper in order to marry Renee. Circumstances be damned. If he’d loved her as he claimed, he’d have found another solution, some way to save their relationship and still be Ally’s father.
Like now.
Libby shifted uncomfortably in her chair and ignored the prickle of ill ease. It was too late for second chances. Cal was using her for his own purposes, nothing more. This marriage was about protecting Ally from Renee’s neglect.
Another barbed prick of conscience stung her.
Libby shuffled through the stack of files on her desk, determined to get something accomplished, needing to distract herself from the disturbing track her thoughts had wandered down regarding Cal.
Forget it. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.
Libby sucked in a sharp breath but couldn’t quell the pain that sliced through her chest. The defeat and misery in Cal’s tone taunted and tortured her. She wasn’t supposed to care this much about what Cal thought. Sentiments were not supposed to be a part of this marriage. She’d put her feelings for Cal behind her long ago. It was the only way she could have survived losing him.
When Libby read the same paragraph for the fifth time and still had no idea what the brief was talking about, she slapped the file closed. Miffed with herself, she shoved away from her desk and rose to pace. Since she couldn’t concentrate, she might as well get ready to meet Cal for dinner.
Swiping her purse from her desk drawer, she headed into the ladies’ room down the hall. The click of her heels on the marble bathroom floors reverberated with a hollowness in the high-ceilinged bathroom. Other than a couple of secretaries and legal assistants, she was the only woman on this floor of the seventy-year-old municipal building. The old-style amenities held a certain charm for Libby. The sink might be rust-stained and the mirror cracked, but the fact that the facilities had weathered so many years spoke of a quality and workmanship that was absent in too many modern products. Dependability, in any form, was heartening to her.
She poked at the strands of hair that had worked free from the knot at the back of her head, but the more she tried to fix the damage, the more she destroyed what was left of her bun. Growling her frustration, Libby finally pulled the pins out and let her hair fall loose. She whipped a brush through the mussed strands and touched up her lipstick. She surveyed her work then paused, frowned. She was not primping for Cal. Her pulse tripped guiltily.
After tucking the lipstick tube back in her purse, she checked her watch. Cal had left an hour ago. Maybe she could still get a few things filed away before he arrived to get her for dinner.
She tugged open the heavy wooden door to the restroom, and headed back to her office. The sound of heated male voices brought her up short. She cast a glance around to determine which direction the noise came from and realized the arguing was coming from her office. Puzzled and a tad wary, she approached her door quietly, listening carefully.
Stan’s voice was easily identifiable. He had practice raising his voice with an authoritative air to carry across a courtroom. “Two years is a long time. A long time to think, a long time to plan.”
“Wasn’t that the point? Lock me up so I could think about what a horrid mistake I’d made, the debt I owed society?”
Cal. His tone dripped sarcasm and bitterness.
Libby gritted her teeth. She didn’t have the energy to referee a confrontation between those two. She slumped against the wall outside her office and let her purse drop to the floor.
“And did you? Did you do a lot of thinking in prison, Walters?” Stan’s taunting tone grated along her nerves. The man sure could be condescending when he wanted. She scowled.
“What’s your point, Moore?” Cal asked.
Libby wondered the same thing.
“Well, I know if I was sent to prison, and I thought I’d been wronged by the judicial system, a lot of my thinking would center on how to right the wrong done to me.”
“Are you admitting the plea bargain you offered me was out of line? Too harsh considering the circumstances?” She heard an eager excitement in Cal’s voice, as if he were close to some long-awaited payoff.
“I’m saying no such thing. But obviously you felt we gave you a raw deal. Am I right, Walters? Did you feel like you’d been railroaded?”
“Your words. Not mine.”
Stan pushed, his tone growing more hostile and more provoking. “Did you wonder if Libby played a part in the hard line the prosecution took? Wonder why, considering your history together, she hadn’t tried to defend you to her colleagues?”
Cal’s silence spoke volumes.
Libby swallowed hard and leaned closer to the door to hear.
“A woman you’d once slept with. Trusted. How could she turn her back on you? Let you be hung out to dry the way she did?”
Stan knew she’d had nothing to do with Cal’s prosecution. What was he up to?
Nausea twisted inside Libby. She waited to hear Cal deny the ugly accusations Stan was flaunting.
“Back off,” Cal warned.
“You hated the idea she might have influenced the prosecution’s approach to your case. Maybe she’d supported the prosecution’s hard line to punish you for dumping her. Is that what you thought?”
Stan’s assumptions churned in her stomach, Cal’s silence adding an acid bite. How could Stan suggest such things? He knew better than anyone she’d stayed far away from Cal’s prosecution. Ethically, she’d had to. Why would Stan plant suspicions to the contrary in Cal?
“Libby swears she had nothing to do with my case, and I believe her,” Cal said.
“But you didn’t know that then. You had plenty of time in prison to stew over it. To wonder. To get good and mad.”
She thought of the night he’d proposed his marriage plan. You owe me.
Her stomach revolted, and Libby pressed a hand to her mouth, keeping herself in check by sheer force of will.
“You thought she’d sought revenge on you by allowing you to go to prison when she could have prevented it. Didn’t you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She heard the shuffle of feet, furniture being jostled.
Libby moved into the doorway and took in the scene before her. Stan had her husband backed against her filing cabinet, his nose in Cal’s face, clearly trying to provoke a fight.
Cal squared his shoulders and returned a taut, even stare. “I know what you’re doing, pal, but I won’t take your bait. I have too much to lose to get into a schoolyard brawl with you.”
Her colleague’s face grew red as he ranted. “Admit it. You believed Libby betrayed you. And you hated her for that. Didn’t you?”
“Yes!” Cal growled. “Yes, damn it!”
Libby gasped. B
oth men turned.
She studied Cal’s face, searched for understanding. The hard anger and resentment quickly melted to something like guilt or shame. He swiped a hand over his face and bit out a curse. “Libby, I…”
To her horror, tears burned in her eyes and knotted her throat. She shook her head, snatched her briefcase from the chair by the door then spun away, racing down the corridor.
“Libby, wait! It’s not like that!” Cal caught up and kept pace with her, stride for angry stride, as she hurried to the elevator and jabbed the down button.
“I know what I heard. You think I betrayed you. You hate me.”
He huffed and raked his fingers through his hair. “No. Stan was putting words in my mouth. Needling me. Damn it, he was trying to get me to punch him. Testing me or something. But I wouldn’t.”
“Why did you marry me if you hate me?” She heard the tremor in her voice. Her hands shook.
“I don’t hate you. Those were his words. I admit that after my sentencing, I was angry for a while. I thought you might have had something to do with my stiff sentence.”
“How could you think I’d betray you?” She heard her tone becoming shrill but didn’t care.
He growled and slapped the flat of his hand on the wall. “Damn it, Lib. Listen to me!”
Libby squeezed the handle of her briefcase so hard it bit into her palm. “I am listening.”
“Then hear this. I was hurt and angry when I went to prison. Angry with myself, with your office and, yes, angry with you. I did feel betrayed. By you. By Renee. By fate. I hated the thought of losing Ally. I hated losing my job with the fire department. But I could never hate you.”
A jab of pain prodded her below the breastbone. “Why did you marry me if you thought I betrayed you?”
“You know why. I have to get custody of Ally. She is my priority.” Cal’s words reverberated off the marble floor, down the empty corridor. And in the cold, vacant places in her heart.
To Love, Honor and Defend Page 11
