Sawyer, Meryl

by A Kiss in the Dark

  What had possessed her to act so wantonly? She sank back to the pillow, thankful that Mitch must have left hours ago to take Jason to camp. At least she didn't have to face him yet.

  What must he think? Had she really done all those things? Royce, face it. You loved every minute. So true. Despite instincts that warned her against Mitch, he'd fulfilled every fantasy—and some she'd never known existed.

  She rolled over and buried her face in his pillow. Breathing deeply she inhaled his scent, conceding she'd made love to Mitch because she'd wanted him for years. She hated admitting she was so weak, but there was no denying it. She'd disappointed herself, and she couldn't even think about her father. But her regrets didn't change anything!

  She hugged the pillow and wished it were Mitch. How did he feel about last night? Had he gotten her out of his system? The cocky jerk had dared to mock her. I love the way you hate me.

  He could be a real bastard when he wanted, but she thought he was teasing. He'd kept after her all night, not giving her a chance to leave him. He cared about her, didn't he? She wasn't positive; you never knew exactly what Mitch was thinking.

  She wandered through his house, hoping to find a note. Nothing. Dream on, Royce. Mitch isn't the romantic type. The most she could expect was a telephone call, she thought, remembering he was going to drive Jason to camp, then go to L.A. for a case.

  She returned to the garage apartment with Jenny at her heels. The portable phone on the coffee table was ringing, and she answered. It wasn't Mitch; it was Val. Like Talia, she called her each day, usually in the evening.

  "Is everything okay? I tried to get you last night."

  "I went for a walk." Royce hated lying, but she could hardly say she'd let Mitch seduce her and spent the night with him.

  "You sound upset."

  Royce slumped down on the sofa. She tried to picture Val with her deep auburn hair and serious eyes, but couldn't. Somehow she kept seeing a lonely young girl tagging along after Royce. "I'm okay. A little lonely, that's all."

  "I know how you feel. After Trevor left I was totally alone."

  Was Val criticizing her? She'd done all she could to help, hadn't she? Did Val harbor some deep-seated resentment?

  "You always had your family, Royce. I thought I had my brother. Friends are great, but there's nothing like your family."

  "True." Royce breathed a sigh of relief. Val hadn't been finding fault.

  "At least you have your uncle. Does Mitch let him see you?"

  "Yes, but he's down South doing an expose on how chicken factories pollute the environment." She hadn't heard from Wally in days. Was he all right?

  "Royce, I've never asked but"—again Val hesitated— "did you ever blame Wally for what happened to your father?"

  "No," she responded, then amended it to, "not really."

  Her father had been sipping brandy with his closest friend the night Wally had called. Shaun was being abusive again and Wally had asked her father to come for him. The fatal accident had occurred a block from Wally's house. Wally had arrived on the scene just as the police drove up.

  "It was fate, bad luck, whatever. Wally was devastated. When he called me from the police station, he sounded drunk himself, but, of course, he wasn't. It's been years now and he's never fallen off the wagon."

  "I hope Talia does as well," Val said softly. "I'm helping her."

  "Do you still get together every Monday for lunch?'.' Royce asked, not adding, without me. Their Monday luncheons had been a long-standing tradition. It hurt to think of being excluded, but everything had changed. Val was giving Talia the support she needed. Once that had been Royce's role.

  "Can't you meet us? We promise not to talk about the case."

  Royce almost smiled. "I'll ask Mitch." She paused, thinking Val sounded strange. "How's the new guy?"

  "Fine."

  It wasn't like Val to hide things from Royce, but now they were playing by new rules. Instead of being the friend everyone leaned on, she needed them and she couldn't help wondering if they really cared. Or if one of them was behind this.

  "Come on," Royce said to Jenny after she hung up. "To hell with Mitch's security fetish. I'm taking you for a walk."

  Outside the bright sunshine and the soft breeze off the bay brought the uplifting cheerfulness of spring. Granted, it was midsummer, but San Francisco's summer weather usually came in the fall—after the tourists went home. July felt more like April with a hint of honeysuckle on the sea breeze and a lazy sun that chased away morning fog for the warm afternoons.

  Without meaning to go there Royce found herself at the Golden Gate Cemetery, standing under the majestic oak looking at her parents' tombstones. Jenny flopped to the ground in the tree's shade and Royce sat beside her.

  After she'd returned from Italy, she used to visit their graves with fresh flowers every Sunday, but this was the first time she'd come since her arrest. It was silly, but she hadn't wanted her father to know how much trouble she was in.

  What would Papa say if he were alive? He would insist justice would prevail. Once she would have believed him, but now she prayed and found it hard to truly have faith—considering everything that had happened.

  And she couldn't shake the feeling the worst was yet to come.

  "Here," she said to Jenny as she put her hand on the soft mound of grass just above her father's grave. "This is Rabbit E. Lee. I knew he wanted to be with Papa, so I secretly buried him here. You know, he was a prisoner in that horrible cage all those years with only Papa to love him. And when Papa loved someone, you knew it. He always had time for you.

  "Mama wasn't like that. She loved me, but she was very busy, translating for the embassy or cooking or being with Papa. They loved each other so much, I sometimes felt like a third wheel."

  Jenny licked her hand sympathetically. These days the retriever seemed to be her best friend—the only friend she could truly trust. Talking to Jenny had become second nature to Royce. Of course, she was really talking to herself, but Jenny was so intelligent that she actually seemed to understand. And she always listened.

  "I guess I shouldn't complain. Think of what Mitch must have suffered. I don't believe anyone's ever really loved him. And I doubt if he'd know what to do if someone loved him now." She fondled Jenny's silky ear. "Except you. He's crazy about you."

  He brushed Jenny every night and kept her at his side whenever he was at home. Come to think of it, Mitch was great with animals. He indulged that beastly Oliver, slipping him food despite his diet so he wouldn't kick kitty litter all over the kitchen. Under the right circumstances there might be hope for Mitch.

  Honestly, Royce, what on earth are you thinking? Forget about Mitch. Loving him is out of the question.

  She leaned back against the tree and concentrated on the regatta sailing across the bay, their white sails a brilliant contrast to the deep blue water and the lighter blue sky. Enjoy this while you can. The view from inside a cell won't be so spectacular.

  She placed her hand on her father's tombstone. It was warm from the late-afternoon sun. She stared out at the wind-ruffled water, but saw instead her father on the morning he'd killed himself.

  She could almost feel his arm around her—the way it had been on that fateful day—as he'd said, "I'm going upstairs to my office." He'd kissed her cheek, his lips lingering longer than usual. "Always know I love you and you'll never walk alone."

  She hadn't been able to answer the odd comment because her mind had been on Mitchell Durant. At the preliminary hearing the previous day he'd annihilated her father's attorney. The judge had ordered Papa to stand trial.

  She'd never forget the look on her father's face. He hadn't said it but she knew he was thinking: This is the man you came home early to see? This is the man you thought was so kind, so caring? She was sorry she'd ever met Mitch, and even sorrier she'd told her father about him.

  Papa walked out of the kitchen, his once proud shoulders stooped. She almost followed him, but decided to let him
do some thinking. She'd tried to persuade him to hire a better attorney and fight, but he'd been too depressed to discuss it.

  He'd been despondent since Mama died, saying he had no reason to live. The ache in her heart almost reduced Royce to tears. She loved him more than anyone in the world, but she wasn't enough. Mama had been his strength, his inspiration.

  Would anyone ever love her that much? Royce wondered.

  She was feeding Rabbit E. Lee when a loud noise like a car backfiring rang out from the attic. Lee dropped the carrot, his eyes riveted on the upstairs window. No one had to tell them anything, they both knew Papa had killed himself.

  Upstairs in the attic office Royce covered her father with the comforter from the daybed before reaching for the envelope with her name on it. Inside were two notes, one for Wally and one for her, and a picture. She'd never seen this photograph of her mother, but she instantly recognized her mother's expression. She was smiling at the camera, her eyes alight with love. Obviously, Papa had taken the picture. On the back was her mother's graceful script.

  "You're all the world to me. There isn't anything else."

  Royce stared at the picture and felt her father's presence as if his spirit still filled the room and she could talk to him. "You couldn't live without her, could you, Papa?"

  For one heart-stopping moment she thought she heard him answer, "No. There's nothing more precious than her love."

  Royce slowly unfolded the note, with the uncanny feeling that her father's spirit was still present, lovingly guiding her, treasuring these last moments before his spirit crossed over to another, far better world.

  Dearest Royce,

  Please try to understand. I can't face this trial without your mother. I'm only part of a person without Sophia. When she died, I died too. I've looked down life's road and what do I see? Profound, all-consuming loneliness.

  I'm sorry to leave you and sad to miss the treasured moments I planned to share with you. Oh, how I'd looked forward to walking you down the aisle, to toasting everyone at your wedding, to holding my first grandchild.

  There are memories I won't have, but I cherish those memories you gave to me. You took your first step, toddling forward and yelling, "Dada! Dada!" I'll never forget the Christmas pageant when you played the elf in the third row. You kept waving to me all night.

  Most of all I remember how you looked the night of your first prom. That's when I realized that one day Id lose you to another man. One day you wouldn't be Daddy's little girl any longer. And I hated that man even though I never met him.

  This isn't about you. It's about me. Darling, go on with your life. You have Wally and your career. And one day that special man will appear and you'll fall in love with him just as I fell in love with your mother.

  Remember, I will always be with you in spirit. I'll be in the flowers we love, in the midsummer sky, in the song of our robin who comes to our garden each spring. Look for me there—in the things we loved—in your heart. And you'll never walk alone.

  Forgive me. I love you, but I can't go on without your mother. One day, when you find your special man, you'll know how I feel. That person becomes so much a part of you that existing without them becomes unimaginable.

  Good bye, my darling.

  Royce stood and gazed at the blanket covering her father. She could feel his spirit reluctantly leaving her. Across every childhood memory she saw his loving smile and heard his encouraging words. What would she do without him?

  "I forgive you, Daddy." She knelt and touched his chest where the bullet had pierced his heart. "I'll never stop loving you."

  She came to her feet slowly. "When you get to heaven and find Mama, give her my love."

  Until that moment she hadn't realized how fortunate she'd been. Truly blessed. She'd had two devoted, loving parents. And her father had taken special care to spend time with Royce. She'd lost something precious, unique. And nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing.

  Royce sat in the deserted cemetery with her memories, Jenny at her side, until the sun slipped below the horizon, leaving shards of golden light dancing on the water and a backwash of mauve to herald the night sky. She rose and walked along the cobbled path toward the exit. At the gate she turned and looked back at the matching headstones beneath the sheltering canopy of the noble oak tree.

  "Mama and Papa together the way they always wanted... for eternity." Tears pooled in Royce's eyes. "And Rabbit E. Lee—free at last."

  CHAPTER 19

  "What are you reading?" Val asked.

  Paul looked up from the criminology bulletin, surprised to see Val standing there. She'd been moody all weekend, but she'd become even more withdrawn since talking with Royce a few hours ago. He patted the space on the sofa beside him. "I'm reading about soft lasers. The FBI has developed a technique for lifting fingerprints from fabric using laser light. Makes it harder for perps to get away with a crime."

  "I see," Val said as she sat beside him, but she didn't sound really interested.

  "Are you upset about Royce?"

  "Yes. She sounds—I don't know—distant. I wanted to talk to her about something, but I wasn't comfortable. I think she suspects I did this to her."

  "Right now, Royce must feel like a rabbit cornered by a pack of wolves, but I'm certain she doesn't suspect you." He excused his lie, thinking he didn't want to upset Val. Until this weekend she'd been so upbeat that he'd hoped she was finally getting over her brother's betrayal.

  "You're going to find out who's doing this to her, aren't you?"

  Now he couldn't lie. This was the damnedest case. Whoever the perp was, he—or she—had thoroughly covered his tracks. Despite an intensive investigation only one new development had been uncovered, and he doubted it had any bearing on the case. "We're going to have to count on Mitch to convince a jury that Royce was framed."

  "Oh, no. Poor Royce." She shook her head. "Now I'm glad I didn't bother her with my troubles."

  "Can't I help?"

  She leaned over and kissed him—just a peck, not her usual provocative kiss that led to sex. "I'm always crying on your shoulder. I didn't want to bother you. I thought Royce would understand because she felt as close to her father as I did to my brother."

  Trying not to be hurt because she hadn't confided in him, he put his arm around her and gave her a reassuring hug. "I love you. Let me help you. Talk to me."

  Val heaved a sigh, her eyes intense, filled with pain. "Friday, Mother called to tell me"—she looked away—"my brother has an inoperable brain tumor. It's just a matter of time... but he's going to die."

  Paul stared bleakly at her. Val had been through too much already. Not this too. He gathered her in his arms and held her snugly. "Oh, Val, I'm so sorry."

  Tears trembled on her lashes and finally broke free, leaving a moist path down her cheeks. "I don't want him to die. What am I going to do?"

  "David will want his family around him in his final days, won't he?"

  "Yes, of course, but how can I face him? My ex-husband, Trevor, will be there. And Mother. They all lied and deceived me. I'm still so angry. I don't know what I might say or do."

  He handed her his handkerchief and let her wipe away her tears. "Val, nothing is more final than death. When David's coffin is lowered into the ground, you'll never be able to turn back the clock. He'll be gone—forever. How will you feel then?

  "There'll be a thousand things you wish you'd said, a thousand memories you'll wish you'd shared, a thousand times you'll wished you'd laughed together... a thousand times you'll wish you told him you'd forgiven him. But you won't have the chance. This is it, darling. If you don't go to him now, you'll never have another opportunity."

  The next day when Royce arrived at Mitch's office to work with the defense team while Mitch was in L.A. on another case, Paul was waiting for her. "Did you find out anything new?"

  "You were right about the Italian count that Caroline is dating," Paul answered.

  Royce thought what a nice man he
seemed to be, but it still struck her as unusual that he would have hired Val without being totally certain she wasn't the one behind this.

  "The count is really an actor from Texas. He filmed a few spaghetti Westerns in Italy. That's where he picked up his accent. I've gone over him with white gloves. He looks clean."

  Royce thought about Mitch. He'd reinvented himself. Why not the Italian count? It was his entree into society. He might even marry an heiress. "Does Caroline know?"

  "No, and it's not my place to tell her."

  "Any luck finding Ward Farenholt's mistress?"

  "None. Ward is sticking close to home these days. Caroline and the count are over a lot, but that's it."

  "Brent's there too?"

  "No. He's spending time with Talia."

  Royce didn't let the stab of betrayal she felt show. What could it possibly matter? Anyway, her mind was on Mitch— not Brent. Last night she'd checked the phone a dozen times, certain it was out of order. It wasn't. Mitch just didn't bother to call. Obviously, he'd gotten her out of his system.

  She told herself it didn't matter. She wasn't in love with Mitch. They'd simply reached a point where their physical attraction had to be resolved. Now it was. Come on, Royce, concentrate on what's important. You want your life back, don't you?

  "I haven't been able to discover who murdered the informant either," Paul admitted with a shake of his head. "I want you to be careful. I'm not sure what's going on with this case. My gut instinct says you could be in danger."

  "All right," Royce promised, but she doubted she was in danger. Why would anyone want to kill her? Torturing her like a turtle on its back in the desert sun had to be more satisfying than a bullet, which would mercifully end her life in a second.

  By the end of the week Royce's emotions were fluctuating dangerously between anger and hurt. Mitch hadn't called once. The defense team was working her hard now, conducting a mock trial for a focus group of participants paid to pretend they were real jurors evaluating her case.