by Robin Gideon
* * * *
Pamela sat on the edge of the small cot in her jail cell, her hands folded neatly together in her lap, her eyes closed. She was daydreaming again. Lately, she’d been doing more and more of that in a conscious effort to keep depression at bay. And every time she retreated into her mind, into her memories and fantasies, she returned to the world she’d known when it seemed as though she and Garrett were the only two people who existed.
A serene smile spread across her lips as she sat there, slowly and steadily blocking out all the sounds filtering in through the barred cell window. When she daydreamed of her times with Garrett, sometimes she neither heard nor felt anything of the outside world.
But now she heard the rattle of keys then a clanking as the outside door, the one separating the sheriff’s office from the jail cells, was opened. For an instant, Pamela squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, hoping she could block out Deputy McKenzie’s comments. But, unhappily, she could not. If she had to think about the real world, she couldn’t hold onto her imaginary one.
Pamela inhaled deeply then let her breath out on a single long sigh. Next, she knew, she would hear the deputy suggesting that if she showed him “a good time” in her cell, he had the power to make her life more comfortable.
Pamela had explained several times that exchanging her comfort for his groping hands was no deal.
She wondered if she should tell Garrett about what McKenzie had been trying to do. But then, very quickly, she dismissed this idea. Garrett had enough problems to deal with without having to worry about something as silly as her harassment by Deputy Dylan McKenzie.
Garrett couldn’t win the case. Pamela was certain of it. The jury would have to decide between the word of a known troublemaker and that of a powerful family in the territory. To make matters worse, the presiding judge was Robert Dahlmann, whom Pamela herself had witnessed accepting a bribe from Jonathon Darwell.
The future looked bleak, but at least Pamela had her memories…
“Got yerself a visitor,” the deputy said, rattling the numerous keys on the big, round ring, which was just one of his many annoying habits.
Pamela’s eyes widened with gratitude, and she almost shouted out Garrett’s name. But she remained sitting and closed her eyes, very briefly this time. Garrett hadn’t been scheduled to see her. Apparently he had sensed that she needed him, so he’d come, drawn to her by forces neither of them thoroughly understood.
“Good afternoon.” Pamela kept her tone calm, though she was thanking God that Garrett had come to her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until this evening.”
“Some questions regarding your testimony yesterday need to be cleared up.”
As Garrett waited for the deputy to unlock the cell door, he narrowed his eyes at Pamela to examine her carefully. Normally, when he arrived, she was excited to see him, but she controlled her excitement because he’d told her that Deputy McKenzie must never know the extent of their attachment, must never know that they’d been lovers. Now, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, Pamela appeared almost drugged, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.
Garrett stepped into the cell, waiting until the deputy relocked the door. He gave McKenzie an annoyed look. “I want privacy with my client.” He hated to go through the same stupid games every time he saw Pamela. “You don’t need to stand outside the cell to protect me, so don’t say that. And I won’t let you listen in, so don’t stick your ear just outside that door.”
The deputy curled his lips derisively. “Ain’t nobody in town can figure out why you’re defending this gal. You ain’t making no money for it, and everybody knows she murdered Richard as pretty as you please. Hell, there’s plenty of women in town who look real close when you walk by. Why worry ’bout this one? When it comes time to vote for mayor and such, folks will remember this.”
“It’s for the jury to decide whether Pamela is guilty or innocent, for the voters to decide whether they want me in public office.” Garrett pointed to the outside door. “Now I insist upon privacy with my client. Please leave.”
Garrett didn’t turn to Pamela until he was absolutely certain he was alone with her and they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Hello, Garrett,” she said when he finally turned to her. Her voice was soft, distinctly sensual, a nighttime voice Garrett had heard before, out of place here in a jail cell. “A pleasant surprise to see you again.”
“What’s wrong, Pamela?” Garrett sat beside her on the small bed, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “Did the deputy say something to you again?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She smiled at him, touching his face gently with her gaze. Pamela didn’t know how many more times she would be able to look at him, so she wanted every feature, every line, every nuance of him, embedded in her memory.
Garrett didn’t like this drastic change in her. She wasn’t angry. Every time he’d seen her at the jail before, he’d had to wait ten to fifteen minutes for her to calm down enough to discuss the case rationally. She’d needed that much time just to vent her anger over the way Deputy McKenzie was treating her.
“Pamela, I’m worried seeing you like this.” Garrett touched her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers, feeling for a fever. This calm, passive, serene Pamela was not the Pamela Bragg he’d fallen in love with.
“Now, Garrett, how many times have you told me I mustn’t get too angry, that I accomplish nothing by letting men like Deputy McKenzie and Jonathon Darwell rile me?”
Pamela placed a hand lightly upon Garrett’s thigh. She loved the feel of the fine fabric of his trousers and the solidity of the muscles beneath. For all the times she had touched Garrett, she’d not lost even a little of the thrill of it.
“I didn’t want you grinding your teeth in rage, but I don’t want you so accepting of your fate either.”
Pamela leaned toward him to kiss him. At first he pulled away, still surprised and confused by this change in her. But she would not be denied and leaned farther still until she kissed him, though he did not really kiss her back—at least not the way she wanted him to.
“Garrett, darling, we don’t have much time left together,” Pamela whispered. She moistened her lips, thirsty for the taste of his kisses. “Why waste it talking?”
He grinned then, looking away, shaking his head in amazement. “Pamela, let’s be serious here. We’re in the Whitetail Creek jail, and you’re soon to be on trial for murder. As irrational as it seems, there really is something more important to do right now than making love.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Pamela whispered, sliding over on the cot so her thigh was pressed to Garrett’s.
“Be serious now,” he repeated more sternly. “If we’re going to win this case, we’ll need to concentrate.”
The logic would have been fine, except that Pamela didn’t believe the case could be won, not even with Garrett’s brilliant legal mind working full-time on her behalf. She had no future, but she did have the here and now, with Garrett at her side, and if she closed her eyes, she might be able to forget she was in a locked jail cell. She might be able to forget everything except how wonderful it was to taste his kisses upon her lips, to feel the passion he had for her.
“Garrett, darling, I couldn’t be more serious,” Pamela continued, tilting her head to the side to nuzzle his neck. She felt him try to move away, but she would not be dissuaded from her goal, nor would she allow him to push her away. “It isn’t like you to resist.”
Though just a little annoyed, Garrett was grinning. “I know it’s not like me, and I promise you, just as soon as we win this trial, I’ll be more than happy to give you my undivided romantic attention for as long as you care to have it. But while the case is under way, I think—”
“You think all the time,” Pamela complained, slipping her fingers into his hair, turning his face to kiss his mouth. “You taught me to not think so much, and now I’m going to teach you the very same lesson.”
Garrett
groaned theatrically. He was only now becoming aware of wanting a long future shared with Pamela. The rest of his life, in fact. That future, not his immediate desires, most concerned him now.
“Garrett, kiss me, will you?” Pamela continued in that faintly disturbed tone she had adopted. “You’ve been so preoccupied from the moment you stepped foot in my cell.”
“Of course I’ve been preoccupied,” he said, pushing her away and getting to his feet. “How can I be anything but preoccupied when the woman I love is sitting in jail, being tried for a murder she didn’t commit?”
Pamela had been about to rise from her small cot, but upon hearing Garrett’s words, she couldn’t move, other than to turn her face away. For a second or two, she was afraid tears would begin to flow. Garrett had said, “the woman I love.”
Had she ever heard such beautiful words?
Now it was too late for her to have many more tomorrows with Garrett, Pamela realized. She had fallen in love with a man who loved her back. At least she now knew Garrett loved her.
Composure returned to Pamela quickly, and when it did, she was more determined than ever to forget all about the trial and the depressing surroundings and to take pleasure in Garrett.
“Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say those words?” she asked quietly, looking up at him. “I love you, you know? More than you can imagine. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I’ve loved you for a long, long time, Garrett Randolph.”
Only then, with Pamela repeating the words he’d spoken, did Garrett fully realize what he’d said. The reality of it was as shocking for him as it had been for her. How many times had he gotten himself in trouble because he’d refused to give a vow of love to the woman he was seeing? How many times had he been consciously aware that he could avoid a fight if all he would do was say “I love you” to the woman in bed with him?
Too many times, to be sure. But Garrett hadn’t spoken the word “love” because he’d known all along that what he felt was many things, but love wasn’t among them. Not, that is, until he’d found himself with a tomboy named Pamela Bragg and had come to the conclusion that he was willing to risk everything—money, reputation, happiness, freedom, even his life—to protect her and keep her with him, because a life spent without her would surely be a hollow, empty experience.
“Tell me again that you love me,” she said. The impish green twinkle had returned to her eyes, and she nibbled teasingly on her lower lip.
“Now you’re teasing me,” Garrett said with a grin, backing up until he felt the iron bars of the cell door against his shoulders. He knew the twinkle in Pamela’s eyes, knew what it meant. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why she was in that kind of mood while in this kind of place.
“In a way, I suppose you could say that,” she replied, and as she spoke, she began unbuttoning her light-blue denim shirt. “But Lord knows, you’ve teased with me in your time.”
“Yes, Pamela, but this isn’t the time for—”
When she pulled her shirt off, the words caught in Garrett’s throat. He watched, temporarily transfixed, as her fingers toyed tauntingly with the bows holding her chemise closed.
“Time for what, Garrett?” Pamela asked, her tone as innocent as a child’s, her fingers tugging loose the top bow of her chemise to display a little more cleavage.
“For that!” he replied, feeling ridiculous. A myriad of memories—what Pamela had been like when he’d first met her, first kissed her—flashed across the surface of his mind, vividly impressing on him how much she had changed.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said in a whisper, getting slowly to her feet. She pulled loose the second bow on her chemise then the final one. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she sent the chemise drifting down her arms to drop unceremoniously on the stone floor of the jail cell. “This is the perfect time.”
“Pamela—”
“Garrett, you’ve just said you love me. Now, if that is the truth, then I want you to prove it, right here, right now.” Pamela crossed her arms just beneath her breasts, fully aware of how her nakedness drew Garrett’s gaze and addled his thinking.
“Can’t this wait until after the trial?” he asked, his voice a breathy whisper that lacked all conviction.
She shook her head, walking forward slowly, then took his hands in her own and began leading him to the small cot.
She did not trust in tomorrow. She didn’t even believe she’d be happy an hour from this moment. Pamela knew only that she loved Garrett, that he loved her, and that at least for a little while, even though they were locked in her cell, they had each other.
About everything beyond that, she had grave doubts, but she had Garrett, she had this moment…and she was going to make the most of both.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was the third day of the trial. Every time Garrett looked into the eyes of the jury, the disbelief he saw reflected in their eyes, the suspicion and doubt he saw on their expressions, told him they believed Pamela was guilty of the cold-blooded murder of Richard Darwell.
The most damaging testimony came from Angie. She broke down in tears as she was testifying. When she broke down a second time, it required both her father and brother to be at her side to shore her up as she told her heart-wrenching account of seeing Pamela riding away from “the scene of that awful, bloody crime!”
Garrett waited for Angie to break, waited for her to at last look at the jury and tell them she was lying. He knew she wouldn’t, of course, but just the same, he kept hoping she would do something that would tip the jury to her duplicity.
But Angie never broke from her story, never revealed that she was lying, not in her face, in her eyes, or in the way she held her shoulders as she sat in the witness chair. She was, Garrett now realized, the consummate liar, and as such, she was perhaps more dangerous to society than her father.
Pamela touched Garrett’s sleeve, and he turned toward her.
“I never did those things,” she whispered.
“I know you didn’t,” Garrett replied, stifling the “darling” that very nearly had come from his lips. He dared not whisper such endearments to her now, in the courtroom, even though he desperately wanted to make her feel more confident, wanted her to know beyond a doubt that he believed in her.
What was he to do? The jury believed that Pamela had killed Richard Darwell. Garrett knew that she hadn’t committed the crime. If he put Michael Darwell on the witness stand, Darwell would only lie, as would Jonathon.
It was cruel, he now realized, how the law worked. Justice wasn’t being played out in the courtroom. Instead, power, deceit, and corruption thrived. The Darwells held all the keys to victory, using them at whim, destroying anyone who dared get in their way.
As Angie’s gut-wrenching lies continued, Garrett lowered his eyes and looked at a spot on the floor, letting his mind focus, going deeper and deeper into itself, to a place where nothing existed but pure thought. Somehow, some way, he must free Pamela. Garrett believed in the legal system, even when it was being perverted and abused by an ambitious prosecuting attorney and by greedy scoundrels like Jonathon, Michael, and Angie Darwell.
But how could an honest man fight such dishonesty, such corruption?
When Garrett turned toward Pamela, his vision once again became sharp and focused. Nebulous ideas were forming.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he reassured her with a smile as he patted the back of her hand.
Judge Robert Dahlmann looked at Garrett and asked, “Have you any questions for this poor young woman?”
Garrett looked at the judge and remembered seeing him accept a bribe from Jonathon Darwell on that fateful night when the Midnight Phantom had first run across Pamela inside the Darwell mansion.
The judge was projecting sincerity and sympathy. Garrett thought, This guy’s a master at deceiving people, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d even think he was really sorry for all that Angie’s supposed to h
ave gone through.
“No, Your Honor, I have no questions for her.”
Garrett rose from his chair, feeling as though Pamela’s freedom and his own personal happiness were slipping through his fingers. He looked into the jury box, and his gaze met Andy Fields’s. Fury welled up in Garrett’s breast as he thought back to that night when, as the Midnight Phantom, he had crouched in the dark with Pamela and watched Jonathon Darwell give Fields a bribe. It seemed so unjust that Pamela’s guilt or innocence should be in the hands of venal men like Judge Dahlmann and Andy Fields.
The judge rapped his gavel hard, putting the court into adjournment until the following morning.
Garrett leaned close to Pamela and, giving way to an endearment, whispered to her, “Don’t worry, darling, I think I know how we can put an end to this travesty.”
* * * *
It was late at night when Andy Fields kicked his feet up onto the footstool then leaned back on the sofa in his den. All was good in the world as far as he was concerned. Tomorrow was the last day of the trial, and when it was over, there would be few serious obstacles standing in his way to becoming the next mayor of Whitetail Creek.
He took a sip of whiskey, washed it down with a heavy swallow of beer from a brewery in St. Louis, and then issued a long, slow, satisfied sigh. Everything tasted better to Andy now that Garrett Randolph seemed so willing to discredit himself in the eyes of the voters of Whitetail Creek by fighting for Pamela Bragg. Even Mrs. Fields’s cooking seemed to have improved dramatically since the murder trial had begun, and the prostitutes at Lulu’s appeared more energetic and more pleased to see him.
Andy closed his eyes, letting his mind wander aimlessly as the alcohol began to take effect. Yes, everything was perfect in his life. His wife, seeing his smooth road to being elected mayor of Whitetail Creek, had stopped nagging him about his drinking and wenching and now concerned herself only with his appearance, always making sure that his shirts were free from wrinkles and immaculately clean. Nobody would ever accuse her of being a bad wife to the mayor of Whitetail Creek!
