“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” asked a distinctly feminine voice from across the room. “Keeping us waiting here in a holding tank deemed the ladies’ parlor as if women are some kind of alien invaders out to destroy their safe haven rather than acknowledging the fact that we do make up at least half the population of this planet.”
The woman who stepped out from behind a tall philodendron beneath a veiled cornice wore an expression of disgust similar to Susan’s. The only difference being, this fiery redhead looked as if she would just as soon grab an antique gun off the wall in the hallway outside as stoop to smashing china as a way of expressing her outrage.
Crossing the room in quick strides, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself simply enough as Meredith Silver. A petite five feet in height, she would have little trouble crawling through the air duct that she had been studying before she introduced herself. Susan was immediately struck by the energy the young woman radiated. All her features were animated, but her eyes were particularly expressive. The storm brewing in those arresting gray orbs did not bode well for whoever might happen to get in the way of this human tornado.
The warmth of Meredith’s handshake belied the indignation of her words. Susan felt an instant bond of sisterhood not entirely explained by the fact that they were thrown together by such unusual circumstances.
“Susan Wysocki,” she introduced herself.
Relieved to be spared the torture of searching for anything more interesting than the latest in diet advice in the stack of glossy ladies’ magazines provided, Susan attempted to keep her own emotions in check by carrying on polite conversation with Meredith. It couldn’t help but make the time pass more quickly.
“How long do you think it’ll be?” Susan asked, checking her watch for at least the tenth time since she had arrived at the front door.
“Before they come out or I go in after him?” Meredith asked.
Her response coaxed a smile from Susan, although she wasn’t so sure that it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek.
“Which ‘him’ are you referring to?” she wanted to know. It occurred to her that she had perhaps stumbled upon yet another in a long line of Sebastian’s conquests.
“Dorian Brady.”
Meredith spat the name out. “I’m here to see that that good-for-nothing, low-down skunk pays for what he did to my sister.”
She gestured emphatically to make her point, causing her long auburn curls to bounce with fury. The glow of the Tiffany light fixture overhead emphasized red highlights that matched her temper. Susan thought camouflage gear would have suited this little spitfire far better than the pink sweater and matching slacks she was wearing.
As stunned by the ferocity in that open declaration of war as she was by the fact that Meredith named Dorian as the cad in question, Susan could only assume he had done something dastardly, like getting some poor girl pregnant and running out on her. Meredith’s loyalty touched a chord deep inside her. Susan wished there was some way of showing her empathy. Thinking of how she herself would react if her little sister was poorly used, she shook her head in disgust.
“Dirty deeds must run in the family,” she muttered. “I’m here to confront his half brother.”
This bit of information served to further galvanize Meredith’s resolve to take action. Fury blazed in her eyes. Seeing as she had already divulged more than she had probably intended, Meredith was clearly impatient to make a move. Instead, she made a bold announcement.
“I’m going in.”
Susan was reminded of a Green Beret single-handedly launching an attack on an enemy position. It sounded like a suicide mission to her.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked, knowing it would take more than pluck alone to storm such a fortress.
As if to forestall Susan from trying to talk her out of it, Meredith mumbled, “Cover my back,” as she darted out the door and down the corridor. Susan was tempted to call “Remember the Alamo” after her, but didn’t much care for the images the saying evoked. She had little time to gather her thoughts before the sound of rioting broke out. The thought of one tiny gal taking on the whole of the Texas Cattleman’s Club by herself made Susan laugh. It was a sound she thought she would never hear again.
She wished she were more like the spirited Meredith Silver, who would let nothing stand in the way of retribution. Though Susan doubted whether the younger woman would attempt anything more serious than shaking up this archaic gentleman’s club by attempting to publicly shame Dorian, she had to admire Meredith’s grit. From the sounds of it, she was holding her own in there. Susan wondered just how many men it would actually take to remove her from the premises.
Unfortunately she could ill afford to let her desire to join Meredith in the fray get in the way of what she knew she must do. In any case, Susan knew there was little point in trying to contact Sebastian in the midst of such a melee. Just as she suddenly knew that nothing he had to say would dissuade her from going to Royalty Park at midnight to meet the mystery woman who owned his heart. For while his heart was traitorous, hers was not.
As much as Susan could not bear the thought of him spending the rest of his life with another woman, she could not allow vengeance to supplant justice. If it could be proved that Sebastian was, in fact, with someone else on the night Eric Chambers was killed, she would set aside her personal feelings and do everything in her power to bring that information to light. Though rage was certain to keep alive the sense of betrayal she felt at Sebastian’s hands, even now it could not erase the memory of the breathtaking heights to which he had taken her. Susan could not bring herself to regret giving herself over to Sebastian so completely. He had taught her how to love again, and that in itself was no small matter.
Truth was, even such acute pain was better than the numbness with which she had been living before Sebastian had blown her safe little world all apart. She had escaped the cage Joe had built for her only to incarcerate herself behind bars forged with the paralyzing fear of ever again entrusting her heart to another. With his words and actions Joe had done his best to convince her that she was nothing without him. But his love had been too small to hold her.
Sebastian erred in the opposite extreme. Perhaps it was his jet-setting background and his father’s poor example that led him to believe he could love two women at the same time.
Her heart was not so generous. The love she felt for Sebastian was all-consuming. She could not share her heart with another. Not now. Not ever. She simply wasn’t made that way.
Just as she could never forget the times they spent together, she could never forgive him for what he had done to her. Whatever they had together was over.
However, that did not mean she could shut off her feelings for him like a spigot. She still loved him. Fool that she was, Susan suspected she always would. Her aching heart would not let her believe otherwise. But she was not so vindictive that she would knowingly let an innocent man go to prison just to keep him from the arms of another woman.
Meredith Silver’s voice could be heard echoing throughout the building as Susan slipped unnoticed out the front door of the venerable Texas Cattleman’s Club to lay her life on the line for Sebastian Wescott, the man she believed had betrayed her love.
Twelve
Sebastian was not the only one shocked to see Susan at his preliminary hearing. He supposed that the fact that he hadn’t bothered hiring another attorney had something to do with her presence in the courtroom today. As grateful as he was for the last-minute show of support, he didn’t want her to mistake his refusal to replace her as some grandiose gesture or play for pity. It wasn’t. The truth was, he simply found her irreplaceable.
Ever since she had moved out, Sebastian could think of little else but how desperately he missed her. Having never been “lovesick” before, he had a horrible new appreciation of the medical connotation associated with this disease. Lethargy, loss of appetite, irritability, headaches and insomnia were just some of the symptoms he h
ad had the past week. In the grip of this debilitating malady, he came to understand the darker side of passion. Facing a possible life term in prison wasn’t any more wretched than facing life without Susan’s love and support.
Her being here meant more to him than she would ever understand. Sebastian wanted to believe that it signified not only that she knew him to be incapable of committing such a heinous crime, but that she had come to respect, if not completely understand, his motives for keeping his alibi secret.
The crisp, powder-blue suit Susan wore underscored her femininity without compromising her professionalism. Acting as if she was oblivious to the stir she caused simply by walking into the room unannounced, Susan looked as determined as Sebastian had ever seen her. Indeed, only someone very brave or very stupid would dare to try to stop this high-heeled warrior as she purposefully strode down the aisle.
Looking straight ahead at the judge, she deliberately avoided eye contact with Sebastian.
He couldn’t have taken his eyes off her had he been ordered by the judge to do so. With her blond hair pulled up and away from her face, he could see signs of the stress of the past few days. Her naturally pale complexion appeared wan, and dark circles emphasized the anguish in her eyes. She asked for permission to approach the bench. In light of their ugly breakup, he would have to assume that seeing her again under harsh fluorescent lighting and in such strained conditions would lessen any romantic feelings he had for her.
Quite the contrary, he longed to loosen that golden cascade of hair from its constraining bun as he was hit broadside by a flashback of that silken mass splayed out on his pillow. His need to reach out and touch her lodged itself as a physical ache dead center in his chest. Right where his heart used to be, before he’d lost it to her.
Sebastian felt a cold draft when she breezed past him as if he were invisible. He was confused by her failure to acknowledge him. Confused, and deeply hurt. Why would she bother showing up at all if she couldn’t spare him so much as a passing glance? If she wasn’t here to support him, just exactly what was she up to?
Aside from the fact that he didn’t much care for the idea of plea-bargaining when he hadn’t committed any crime, Sebastian doubted whether the prosecutor would agree to reduce the charge, anyway. The influence of intensive public opinion, media saturation, political pressures and Seb’s own refusal to negotiate made that a highly unlikely possibility. He certainly hoped Susan wasn’t here to beg him for a last-minute explanation of where he was on the night of the murder. They had covered that territory before, and it had gotten them nowhere but lost and estranged from one another. As tempting as it was to save his own skin, Sebastian had two innocent lives, as well as the sacred trust of the Texas Cattleman’s Club to consider. A man who was governed by his own code of honor, he simply put his trust in God and prayed that justice would prevail.
Perhaps she was going to enter a plea of insanity on his behalf?
“This is highly irregular,” cried the district attorney.
Mr. McCallaster had thinning blond hair and an ambitious wife who frequently badgered him to do whatever it took to advance his career beyond the paltry earning potential of a public servant. A murder case of this magnitude was the perfect vehicle for obtaining the public exposure necessary to catapult them into a bigger house. Undoubtedly it would have a pool in back and an impressive address that declared their upward mobility to the entire world—and specifically to a father-in-law who thought his little girl could have done a heck of a lot better for herself.
“I was given to understand that Ms. Wysocki had taken herself off this case,” Mr. McCallaster protested.
Judge Walters seemed to be listening sympathetically to the prosecution. He wasn’t one to tolerate any shenanigans in his courtroom. He had been quoted as saying that the press could expect the same kind of access to the case of a millionaire accused of murder that he allowed for anyone else who came before him—which was next to nothing. As far as this grizzled old judge was concerned, the press corps could line up like vultures on a fence post outside the courtroom, but as long as he was in charge, the proceedings were closed to the media. Feeling the beat of their wings as the scavengers flocked around this preliminary hearing, he could only imagine what kind of a circus they would turn a full-fledged trial into.
The brass spittoon beside his bench rang out with an all-too-visual expression of his opinion of the media in general. His aim was impeccable. As was the way this old country boy intended to run a court of law.
“Calm down, Norm, and try to remember we’re not at the trial stage yet,” he said with a weariness that had permanently settled into the lines of his brow.
The judge hoped it wasn’t necessary to explain to the prosecutor that he need only present enough evidence to convince the court that a crime had been committed and that there was “reasonable and probable cause” to believe that Sebastian Wescott had perpetrated it. Although this was not as stringent a standard as proving someone guilty beyond a “reasonable doubt,” as required at the trial stage, it did prevent the kind of tyrannical abuses that historically occurred when the English Crown enjoyed the right of initiating criminal prosecutions.
“I suggest you save the theatrics for a jury, if things progress that far.”
Having spent the better part of the last month salivating over this case, the prosecutor paled at the possibility of a dismissal. The judge nodded at Susan and gestured for her to come forward. She expressed whatever it was she had come to impart so quietly that the old man had to lean forward a little in his seat to hear her. His weathered face gave away nothing, but a moment later he motioned for the prosecutor to come forward, as well.
Still frowning, Mr. McCallaster vehemently shook his head as the judge rose from his seat and led both Susan and him out the side door. He knew better than to open his mouth again, however. There was too much at stake here to alienate the judge before they even reached the point of jury selection.
No one said a word to either Sebastian or the prosecutor’s special assistant, a stocky young man who wore a badly cut suit and cheap tie much like the pair of glasses perched on his nose—a little askew. He began riffling through his briefcase for no apparent reason other than to cover his own confusion and embarrassment at being so visibly left out of the loop. Aside from the bailiff, they were the only two left in the room.
The quiet was broken only by the dull hum of an overhead ceiling fan that did little but move the warm air around the room. Sunlight spilled in through high windows where the gardener waged a weekly war to keep the ivy in check. It crawled up the walls of the old brick edifice, lending an air of charm to the outside courtyard area. By contrast, the interior was stark and drab. The institutional beige carpet beneath Sebastian’s feet was worn, and the chair he sat on was wooden and uncomfortable. Scars on the armrests gave the impression that more than one defendant had clawed at the wood with bare fingernails while awaiting a verdict.
Sebastian was tempted to tug at his tie and fling it across the room. He felt as if he was suffocating. April was nearly over, and the air-conditioning had yet to be turned on. Beneath a conservative dark suit jacket, his pristine white shirt was growing damp with perspiration. An impatient man by nature, he had been on jungle missions that were less stressful than sitting here in ignorance waiting. And waiting. And waiting….
The woman waiting for the judge in his private quarters was even more beautiful than Susan had first observed. Not even the moon had cooperated that night at the gazebo the first and only time that they had met. Dark clouds had obstructed its glow as effectively as the veil the mystery woman had needlessly worn to cover her face. Susan had secretly hoped that the sultry voice that had so reluctantly agreed to come forward emanated from a less-attractive body.
Up until now she hadn’t so much as divulged her name. When Susan had pressed her for information, she had jumped up from her seat as if to bolt. Realizing her mistake, Susan was quick to relent. Seeing how this woman
’s testimony was the only thing standing between Sebastian and a prison term, she could hardly afford to indulge her own gloomy curiosity. Clothed all in black, the mysterious woman had deliberately chosen to blend in with the shadows of the night. She had looked over her shoulder often. Small noises frightened her: the wind rattling the chains of the playground swings, a squirrel jumping from branch to branch, an owl asking the same question Susan longed to ask: Who? Who? Just who exactly are you?
Their clandestine encounter had lasted no more than five minutes, only long enough for Susan to procure an assurance that the woman would indeed consent to speak to the judge in his chambers. Alone. Under the circumstances, Susan was hesitant to make such a promise. Not only did she doubt the judge’s willingness to agree to such an outrageous demand, she wasn’t completely convinced the woman herself would show. She certainly didn’t relish the thought of making a fool of herself in front of a judge she respected.
More than once since that night, Susan wondered if she had dreamed the encounter. Relief showed on her face when the judge opened the door to his chambers and she saw that the room was not empty. He wasted no time in bidding both the district attorney and Susan to enter.
“I thought I stipulated that I would talk only to the judge. Who is this man?”
The woman asking the question pointed to the only other man in the room. Fear was tangible in the air as she cowered in her chair, reminding Susan of a cornered kitten. Unsheathing her claws, she did everything but hiss her displeasure at being thus betrayed. For a moment Susan feared she would attempt to dart around them and make an escape without divulging what she had come to say.
“This is the prosecuting attorney, Norman McCallaster,” Judge Walters said without further ado. “I asked him to be here. He has to be privy to this conversation if I’m going to be persuaded to dismiss this case based on what you have to tell me.”
Tall, Dark...And Framed? Page 12
