Again Dominic was struck with awe by the miracle of such a tiny human being. Eventually the baby would grow to have wants and dreams, to love and be loved. But he would live his life without a father’s guidance, without a father’s love.
Melissa heated the bottle in a contraption obviously designed for such a thing. “He wouldn’t have to wait so long if I’d been able to breast-feed him,” she said, a stain of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Unfortunately my milk didn’t come in well enough. The doctor said it was probably because of stress.”
“I doubt very much that this little guy cares,” Dominic said.
“You’re right,” she said. “Besides, this will be better if...if things go wrong.”
She retrieved the bottle, then took Jamison from Dominic. “Let’s go back in the living room,” she suggested.
She settled into the cushions of the sofa, and Dominic sat down in the easy chair and watched as she began to feed her son. Jamison ate greedily, the bottle nipple hissing as he tugged at it. Melissa’s features softened with love as she gazed down at the infant in her arms.
Dominic allowed himself to get caught up in the moment as he watched mother and child bond in silent communication with each other. It was a beautiful scene, and suddenly he felt like an intruder peeking in through curtains at an intimacy he shouldn’t be sharing.
He stood and walked to the front window, focusing his gaze into the darkness of the night, trying not to think of how Melissa’s navy robe made her eyes appear a darker blue than normal, how it emphasized the paleness of her golden hair.
“Richard Wallace seems like a pretty good man,” he said, reaching for a subject that reminded him of why he was here.
“Yes, let’s just hope he’s a good lawyer,” she replied. “Was it like this for you?”
He turned and looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Did you feel like you were in the middle of a train trestle and running as fast as you could to escape a locomotive bearing down on you?”
Dominic relaxed in the chair as she placed the baby over her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Not exactly. In my particular case, I never got the opportunity to run. The train was on top of me before I knew it. I was arrested minutes after Abigail was murdered.”
The memory of that night—coming to on Abigail’s bed to discover her dead beside him, the police bursting into the room—filled him with sorrow...with anger... with grief.
“You’d been drugged, hadn’t you?” Melissa asked curiously.
Dominic nodded. “Seems the first Mrs. Morgan wasn’t pleased with the second Mrs. Morgan. She paid big money to have Abigail killed. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I can definitely relate to that.” Melissa frowned. “I keep thinking if I hadn’t gone to the store, if I hadn’t left the door unlocked...would he be dead now?” The baby burped, and Melissa cradled him back in her arms, rocking him in the ageless rhythm of motherhood.
“Those kinds of thoughts will make you crazy,” Dominic warned. He knew all too well how dangerous it was to be alone with your thoughts.
He wondered if he’d not gone to Abigail’s house that night, if he’d talked her into meeting him someplace else, would she still be alive?
Dominic leaned toward Melissa. “The one thing we can’t do is wait to see what the police intend to do. We need to approach this thing aggressively.” He didn’t want to talk about his particular case anymore. He didn’t want to give to Melissa the pieces of himself he kept hidden away—the regret...the pain...the guilt. They belonged locked away in his heart where only he could pull them forth and examine them.
She nodded her agreement. “Richard Wallace can only work for me if I get arrested. I don’t want it to go that far.” She paused, her eyes holding Dominic’s gaze for a long moment. She looked as if she wanted to say something—something important—then she gazed back down at the baby, breaking the momentary connection with Dominic. A curious relief flooded through him. He didn’t want those pieces of her soul, either.
“I just can’t imagine who would do something like this to Bill. He had no enemies that I was aware of—he spent all his spare time with me.” She broke off, obviously frustrated.
“Tell me about the men who worked for Bill,” he said.
She frowned, a small wrinkle puckering in the center of her forehead. “I didn’t know them very well. There’s Sam Jacobson. He’s the oldest of the three. He’s been with the company since Bill first started it a little over six years ago. Mike Withers is in his early twenties. He’s worked for Bill for about two years, and Neal Cook is middle-aged and has been with the company for five or six months.”
“You know anything about their backgrounds? How they got along with Bill?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve met them all several times, occasionally when I’d go to the shop or when one of them would come here to pick something up. But Bill didn’t talk about work much. When he got home in the evenings, he just relaxed.”
Dominic nodded, imagining quiet evenings, shared meals, the sweet companionship of love. “In the next couple of days you’re probably going to have to decide what you want to do with Bill’s business,” he said, breaking the silence that had grown between them.
“Yes...I know.” She sighed and looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms. “I don’t know anything about running a business, but I hate to put the other men out of their jobs.”
“Maybe you could promote one of them to manager. Or maybe one of them will be interested in purchasing the business from you.”
“Maybe.” She flashed him a bittersweet smile. “Life goes on even after murder, doesn’t it? Decisions have to be made, problems faced.” She leaned her head back against the sofa and released another deep sigh. “It just all seems overwhelming at the moment.”
Dominic steeled himself against the soft vulnerability she radiated. He’d always been a sucker for women in need. He would have to remember that the only thing Melissa needed was for the real killer to be found. He tried to ignore the fact that he was no longer convinced that the killer wasn’t her.
“It shouldn’t be too hard to check into the alibis of the men who worked with Bill, find out where they were at the time of his death,” he said thoughtfully. “At least it will be a start.”
“We don’t have much else to go on, do we?” she replied, her voice soft. She studied him, her eyes contemplative and achingly blue. “Maybe the police are wrong. Maybe it really was a stranger who came in to rob us and panicked when he saw Bill was here.”
A tinge of hope colored her tone. Dominic knew it was always easier to believe that a loved one had been killed by some crazed madman, not someone familiar. If she wasn’t responsible for Bill’s death, then the idea of somebody sneaking into her home and killing him so brutally had to be terrifying.
“Maybe,” he agreed, although he knew his voice lacked any real conviction. “But if that’s true, it just makes finding the perpetrator more difficult for us.”
Despair swept across her features, and Dominic fought the desire to move from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa, take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. The impulse irritated him.
She suddenly irritated him, with her gorgeous eyes and beautiful hair and soulful expressions that made a man want to be a hero for her.
“You’d better get some sleep,” he said more brusquely than he’d intended. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“Of course. You’re right.” She stood and shifted the baby in her arms. She started to turn to walk away, but froze, her gaze captured by the window. “Dominic... there’s somebody out there.” Although she kept her voice low, he heard the fear that trembled in it “Somebody is outside.... He was looking in the window.”
Dominic slowly stood. “Stay here. Act natural. I’m going to check it out, and I don’t want your actions to tip off whoever might be out there watching us.” He spoke cal
mly despite the adrenaline that shot through him. “When I go out the door, lock it behind me.”
She nodded her understanding and Dominic walked in studied casualness across the room and into the entryway. Once past the view of the window, he burst into action. He twisted the lock and threw open the door, then stepped out into the night.
Without pause he moved stealthily across the front of the house, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight. His feet made no sound on the lush, newly green grass as he approached the corner. The living room not only had a large window at the front of the house, but also a smaller window in the west side.
Not breathing, not making a single sound, he leaned forward and peeked around the side of the house, immediately spying the dark silhouette of a man at the living-room window.
Dominic didn’t wait to ask questions. He hadn’t been able to protect Abigail, but he wasn’t about to allow anyone to harm Melissa or her son. He launched himself around the corner and toward the intruder.
The man turned, his mouth opening in protest. Whatever he’d been about to say exploded in an “Umph” as Dominic dived and hit him just below the knees, buckling them and bringing both men to the ground.
Dominic scrambled for dominance as the man beneath him flailed wildly with his arms and legs. “Marcola...stop! It’s me, Gary,” a familiar voice sputtered.
Dominic cursed roundly and stood, offering a hand to the man on the ground. “Gary, what in the hell are you doing out here peeping through windows?”
Gary Watters pulled himself off the ground, a sheepish expression on his moon-shaped face. “What do you think I was doing? Trying to get a story.” The thin reporter dusted off his jeans and grabbed a small notepad that had fallen to the ground in the brief scuffle.
“You’re lucky I didn’t pull my gun on you. Otherwise you might have collected a bullet instead of a story,” Dominic snarled. He drew a deep breath, trying to control the adrenaline rush that still raged inside him. He raked a hand through his hair and eyed the reporter irritably. “Since when does the Wilford Sun employ their reporters to peek into windows?”
Gary didn’t quite meet Dominic’s gaze. “Since nobody is talking, and this is the hottest story around these parts since you were arrested.” His gaze lowered slyly to Dominic’s face. “So, what are you doing here? Are you and the lovely widow close friends?”
Dominic laughed dryly. “Ah, Gary. You’re a piece of work. I should beat the hell out of you and have you arrested for trespassing.”
“But you won’t because I was one of the few reporters who tried to be fair about your case,” Gary reminded him with a confident smile.
It was true. Gary’s feature articles following Dominic’s arrest had been among the few that hadn’t proclaimed Dominic’s guilt, hadn’t jumped to conclusions but instead had remained unbiased and objective. “But that doesn’t mean I intend to give you any information, either,” Dominic replied. “However, I can tell you the name of Melissa’s lawyer. It’s Richard Wallace. If you want an official statement, you can contact him.”
“From what I’ve heard, she’s going to need a good lawyer,” Gary observed.
“So, what exactly have you heard?” Dominic asked, knowing Gary’s sources were always the best.
“Oh, no.” Gary laughed. “Quid pro quo. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
Dominic thought for a moment. “All right,” he relented. “I’m here because I’ve been hired by Samantha and Tyler Sinclair to protect Melissa.”
“Protect her from what?” Gary countered. “According to my police sources, her prints were all over the murder weapon, and there was no signs of forced entry. When the police arrived, she had blood all over her dress. And just between you and me, they’re livid because the dress was destroyed by the hospital on the night she had the kid.”
Dominic frowned. He remembered the blood smears on her dress when he’d arrived at the scene on the night of the murder. The bloodstains had been minimal, and he assumed she’d been checking her husband for signs of life.
But he knew the police would make the missing dress part of their case. He could just hear old Chester Sparks, the district attorney, transforming that dress into damning evidence.
“Melissa is a victim, just like her husband was,” Dominic replied, as much to convince himself as Gary. “While the cops spin their wheels, trying to make her the criminal, the real killer is running loose, laughing at them.”
“Can I quote you on that?” Gary asked.
“No. What you’d better do is get out of here before I forget I like you and have you arrested for playing Peeping Tom on an innocent woman.”
“Innocent or not, I’ve got it on good authority that she’ll be arrested within the next week or two,” Gary said as he and Dominic walked around to the front of the house. “Mawlins is planning on running for chief of police, and he figures on riding this high-profile case right into the position. He’s just getting all his ducks in a row.” Gary flashed a quick grin. “They want to make sure their case is airtight before an arrest is made. The sting of your arrest still tastes bad in their mouths.”
“Yeah, well, I hope they choke on that taste for a long time to come,” Dominic replied dryly. “Now get out of here.”
With a wave, Gary took off down the driveway and disappeared into the darkness.
Dominic watched him go, then stifled a groan. Whenever politics were involved, things definitely were more complicated. Mawlins wouldn’t want the good people of Wilford to believe a crazed killer was on the loose, wreaking havoc on the small town. Much cleaner, much easier to arrest Melissa and assure the public that the killing was nothing more than a domestic squabble turned deadly.
A domestic squabble. The bruises on her thighs. The subtle need to please. He shook his head, afraid of jumping to conclusions. In any case, things were definitely not looking good for Melissa. How long would it take before the evidence mounted and she was arrested?
Dominic turned and walked back to the front door. “Melissa. It’s all right, open the door,” he said as he knocked. He heard the dead bolt shoot free, then the door opened and Melissa looked out, her eyes huge and dark with fear.
“Who was it?” she asked when he stepped inside and once again locked the door.
“Nobody... Just a snooping reporter.”
Melissa sagged against the wall near him. “Thank God...just a reporter.” She shook her head, her gaze remaining on Dominic. “I was so scared. When you didn’t come back right away, I thought... I just got scared.” She swiped trembling fingers through her hair.
Instantly, remorse swept through Dominic, along with a burst of confusion. He hadn’t thought of her waiting for him in here, wondering what was happening, fearing the worst. If she’d killed Bill, then she wouldn’t be afraid that there was a murderer on the loose. But if she’d gone to the grocery store for a six-pack of soda and had returned home to find her husband murdered, then of course she would be scared.
“I’m sorry. I should have come back in immediately and told you what was going on.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s all right now.” She reached out and touched his arm lightly, a touch that seared right through him, directly to his heart. “I was just so frightened for you.”
Her words stunned Dominic. He’d assumed her fear had been for herself, the fear of a woman who might be a target. He hadn’t considered that she might be frightened for his safety.
She dropped her hand immediately. “I...I think I’ll go on to bed.” He watched as she picked up the baby from the sofa and started down the hallway toward the nursery.
He remained standing after she’d disappeared, the lingering scent of her floral perfume swirling in the air around him. Innocent victim or cold-blooded murderess? Innocent victim or calculating actress hiding her guilt? There was another possibility. Had she killed Bill in an act of self-defense and then, in guilt and fear, was attempting to lead him and the police in another direction?
He had no answers. In any case, it was a very long time before he could no longer feel the warm imprint of her hand on his arm.
Melissa sank into the mattress on the single-size bed in the nursery. The room smelled of baby powder and innocence, but she could still smell the scent of Dominic—provocative and masculine...and dangerous. Dangerous in that something about him, something in the look in his eyes, reminded her that she was a young, vibrant woman who’d been without love for too long.
What Bill had given to her throughout their marriage had nothing to do with love. She’d realized that for some time now. Bill had believed it was love, but it had been obsession, possession—something ugly and cruel.
She longed for the kind of love she’d once dreamed existed—a love both passionate and tender. She rolled over on her back and stared up at the play of moonlight on the ceiling.
Perhaps that kind of love didn’t exist. Maybe those wistful dreams of hers had simply been the fantasies of a lonely girl raised in a cold, uncaring home.
Still, it would be all too easy to find herself falling for Dominic, with his dark eyes and air of tragedy. She knew he’d suffered horribly, not only from the death of the woman he loved, but also from having been charged for her murder. That was the darkness that lingered in his eyes, drawing from her the desire to fill him with light.
With a sigh of irritation, she turned over and stared at the baby crib silhouetted in the moonlight that drifted through the nearby window. She must be out of her mind, thinking such crazy thoughts. Fill him with light, indeed!
She’d been trapped for too long with a man she no longer loved in a cruel marriage. Was it any wonder she was drawn to the first decent man she’d come in contact with?
Two survivors—that’s what she and Dominic were. They’d both been dealt a bad hand from fate. That was probably why she felt so drawn to him. The camaraderie of survivors. She frowned as she realized the fallacy of this thought; Dominic had survived his ordeal, but hers was only just beginning.
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