He promised to call tomorrow and they hung up. She gave Mitch space and stayed in the kitchen cleaning. When she couldn't think of another thing to do, she took the trash and headed for the Dumpster in the alley. As she lifted the heavy lid and tossed in the sack, headlights hit her in the face and she quickly turned away. Why hadn't she remembered Godfather's Pizza always delivered to Mitch's back door? There was never anyplace to park on the street.
She had no choice but to march ahead of the young man delivering the pizza and hope he hadn't recognized her. He didn't look like the type who'd read a paper—even the Evening Outrage.
"Mitch," she called, opening the back door. Oliver lunged toward the opening; she pounced on the tubby tabby before he escaped. But not before she'd stood nose to nose with the delivery boy.
"I know you. You're—"
"We're working," she said with as much authority as she could muster, considering she was standing barefoot in shorts holding a fat cat bent on scratching her eyes out. She spun around and saw Mitch coming toward them.
What else could go wrong today? she asked herself as Mitch paid the delivery boy. Mitch didn't mention the incident but he had to have heard what the delivery boy said. She didn't have the heart to tell him that several people had recognized her today. Undoubtedly Tobias Ingeblatt would get wind of this and do his best to smear Mitch's reputation.
Mitch ate part of one slice of pizza before returning to the dark living room. She put the pizza away before Oliver could help himself and joined Mitch on the sofa. She scooted close and lifted his arm, draping it across her shoulders.
More than anything she wanted him to tell her all about his past. She wanted him to trust her enough to share things wither her. "Mitch," she said and he turned to her. "You did the right thing. You had to kill Harley."
There was a long silence. Finally, he said, "When you love something enough, you'll destroy it before you let it suffer."
She wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Snuggling closer, she tried to physically telegraph her support; Mitch didn't seem to notice. His eyes were on the twinkling lights of the bay, but she'd bet anything his mind was preoccupied with memories of his youth.
And the dog for whom there had been no happy ending.
She looked up at him, his distinct profile shadowed by the dim light, and she realized, she'd never met anyone remotely like him. His lone-wolf mentality concealed layer after layer of his personality, aspects of him she'd yet to uncover. But she had to wait. No matter how much she longed to ask him about his past, he'd tell her when the time was right.
It was almost one o'clock and they were still in the dark living room watching the lights on the bay, when Royce heard pounding on the back door. The police, she thought with a surge of panic. Couldn't be. She hadn't done anything wrong.
Mitch expelled a sharp breath, ruffling the dark hair across his forehead. "It's Jason."
"How do you know?"
He rose. "The kid got home today. His mother has a new baby. That'll mean a hyper daddy and more rules."
"I'll go upstairs."
"What's the point? Jason already knows about you."
A minute later Mitch escorted a very sullen Jason into the living room. Despite his own problems Mitch was listening intently as Jason complained. It took Mitch almost an hour to explain why heavy metal music wasn't good for babies.
Did she really want kids? she asked herself. Would she be this patient with a selfish teenager? She wasn't certain, but she wanted the chance to try. And she wasn't going to get it in prison.
"You'd better spend the night here," Mitch said, his exhaustion now showing in his voice. "I'll call your mother and explain."
"No!" Jason shouted as Mitch stood.
Royce spoke up. "Your mother will worry, won't she?"
"Yeah," Jason sullenly conceded.
Royce encouraged him with a smile. "Let's call her."
"The man won't let me spend the night."
"Who? Your stepfather?"
"Yeah, he's got shit for brains." There was something in his voice that told Royce there was more to this than Jason was telling. "He's always dissin' everyone."
She leaned closer. "What do you mean?"
"He hates Mitch." Jason directed this bombshell to his half-laced tennis shoes.
Royce glanced at Mitch but couldn't tell what he was thinking. She almost screamed that Mitch had done so damn much for Jason that his stepfather should be grateful, but somehow she kept her voice level. "Why?"
For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer, but he finally whispered, "He thinks—he says Mitch must be a fag"—now his confession was coming out in a breathless rush—"to want to spend time with me."
"That's ridiculous." She ventured a glance at Mitch; as usual his face was expressionless. "He's trying to give you the help he never got at your age."
"I know," Jason sheepishly acknowledged. "Try'n tell that to the man."
Royce stood up. "I'm going to fix your stepfather. I'm calling your mother and telling her that I'm Mitch's girlfriend." Mitch started to interrupt, but Royce raised her hand to silence him. "I'm not giving my name, but I'll say that I'm spending the night here and we're putting Jason on the sofa. That way she won't worry—and your stepfather can eat his words."
While Mitch went upstairs for linens, she called Jason's mother, then hung up, satisfied she'd done the right thing. The telephone rang and she reached for the wall phone she'd just used before she realized it was her portable telephone ringing.
She checked the kitchen clock. Two thirty-three. Not even Brent called this late.
"Hello?" She hoped she sounded groggy, as if the call had awakened her.
There was a strange noise that might have been a cough or someone placing his hand over his mouth to cover a laugh.
Obviously a prank. Obviously a wrong number.
PART III: Justice in America
CHAPTER 24
Royce hesitated, standing in the entrance of the Starlight Bistro and seeing Val and Talia had already arrived and were waiting for her at a table on the terrace overlooking the bay. Their favorite café—scene of countless happy lunches to celebrate birthdays or just to get together—was sheltered from the summer sun by a leafy canopy of English ivy. Multihued impatiens grew in huge clay pots around the perimeter of the terrace.
How would this reunion go? It was the first time she'd seen them since the day of her hearing when they'd come to the courthouse. They'd been friends for years but doubts had subtly edged their way into Royce's mind.
Had their friendship merely been an illusion? Did one of them really hate her enough to ruin her life?
When it came right down to it, she trusted Mitch more than anyone else, but occasionally she even had suspicions about him. Was there something in his mysterious past that affected her? With the trial coming closer each day a rising sensation of panic engulfed her like a swimmer who sees the shore but knows he's going to drown before reaching it.
"Royce." Talia raced up and gave Royce a bear hug.
Several heads turned and Royce realized she'd been recognized. It didn't matter, she reminded herself. Mitch had allowed her to join her friends for lunch before going to his office for an afternoon session of trial preparations.
She was dressed in a beige suit and black silk blouse— very sedate, slimming, professional. If Ingeblatt spotted her, he could hardly tack a sexy label on this image.
"Talia," Royce said, shocked by the tears limning her friend's eyes. "It's great to see you."
She'd genuinely missed Talia. They'd been friends who
competed for the same boy, but they'd shared so much over the years—the good times and the bad—that it was hard for Royce to imagine Talia doing anything to hurt her. Inwardly, Royce sighed, profoundly depressed. Did she want to live in a world where you couldn't trust your family or friends?
Talia hooked one long strand of hair behind her ear in her so-familiar gesture of self-conscious
ness. "I've missed you."
The emotion in Talia's voice brought a hot sting of tears behind Royce's eyes. In spite of her suspicions she was truly glad to see Talia. "I missed you too." Arm in arm they walked to the table where Val waited.
Val looked tired, Royce decided, but somehow she appeared happier, more at peace, than ever before. Val rose and embraced Royce in her usual restrained way, not quite the full-fledged hug that Talia had given her.
Once Royce would have attributed Val's reserve to her relationship with her parents, who never showed their emotions, but now she wondered. Was Wally right? Did Val secretly hate her?
"You look terrific," Val said as they sat down. "You've lost a lot of weight."
"Close to twenty pounds," Royce answered. She'd stopped dieting weeks ago, but she continued to lose weight despite eating the Oreo cookies that Mitch never failed to tease her about.
"Not another pound," Val cautioned. "You're far too thin."
A silence followed that none of them seemed to know how to fill. Mercifully the waiter, who introduced himself as Toby and acted as if he were going to become their best friend, gave them menus and explained in excruciating detail how the specials of the day were prepared.
"How's it going?" Val asked, her amber hair gleaming in the summer sunshine filtering through the leafy ivy covering the lattice roof.
Royce shrugged; Mitch had allowed her to come today, but he'd emphasized the importance of not talking about the trial. No one knew about the informant having Royce's key or the Italian count's true identity. Nor did they know Mitch was counting on finding Ward's mistress.
"I spent yesterday packing so I can sell the house," Royce said, thankful she'd found a subject she was free to discuss.
It had been a long, lonely Sunday. Mitch had taken Jason home at dawn, then caught a flight to Chicago. With Jenny still recuperating at the vet's, Royce had slipped into her house unnoticed and continued the packing she'd begun earlier. After spending the day alone it had been almost midnight when she'd returned to Mitch's.
"It's terrible that you have to sell," Talia sympathized.
"Do you think you'll get much for it?" Val asked, always more practical than Talia. "The market's so depressed right now."
"I don't have a choice." She was even selling what little jewelry she had. Her thorough search of the house hadn't uncovered her mother's missing charm bracelet. Luckily, Mitch had filed an insurance claim. She should receive the money soon.
The settlement wasn't much but she needed every cent. Mitch and Paul weren't charging her, but outside expenses were mounting at an alarming rate.
"I see your front door is still boarded up," Val said.
"I'm going to order a new one. I've put if off because Papa's stained glass panel is in the old one. It wasn't a work of art, but we'd made it together. Another door won't be the same, but the panel can't be repaired."
Royce's despondency must have shown in her voice; another uncomfortable silence followed. Royce steered the subject away from herself to a topic no more upbeat. "How's your brother?"
"David doesn't have long to live now," Val said. "I'm taking a leave from work to be with him until the end."
Talia unlooped the strand of hair from behind her ear, then looped it back over her ear again, a sure sign she was terribly nervous. Why? Royce wondered. Was it because she'd been the one to tell Royce about Val's reconciliation with her brother?
Once Val would have told Royce herself. Royce had been a little hurt, but decided Val was closer to her mysterious new boyfriend than she was to Royce. Another casualty of her situation, Royce thought with a renewed sense that her life—even if she were acquitted—would never be the same.
"This must be very difficult for you," Royce said to Val, ignoring the warning look from Talia, who was far too nervous to ask Val about Trevor and David, "—after all that's happened."
"You mean facing everyone again?" Val asked, the picture of composure.
Royce realized Val had changed. The emotional tide pool of anger had vanished, replaced by an inner strength Royce envied. In many ways Val was facing a situation as devastating as her own. And handling it much better.
Royce opted for a more direct approach. "Is seeing your ex-husband difficult?"
"At first seeing Trevor was painful, but seeing my brother was even worse. I had to let go of my negative feelings. I came to realize that everyone makes mistakes. Everyone."
For some reason Val glanced at Talia, but Talia quickly looked away. "David loves me. He never did it to deliberately hurt me. In fact, wanting to spare me pain only made things worse."
Royce thought about Mitch. Little by little she'd let go of her negative feelings about him like grains of sand slipping through her fingers. But in her tightly clutched palm she still held a few remaining granules of bitterness.
Buoyed by guilt, that bitterness was hard to dismiss. David had deceived his sister out of love. What Mitch had done to her father had been spawned by pure ambition.
Still, she realized she should forgive him. Who knew how terrible his past was? It had molded him into an iron-willed individual who didn't live by the rules. He made his own rules.
At her father's funeral Mitch had apologized for what he'd done. Why couldn't she accept his apology?
"Well"—Talia paused to clear her throat—"guess what?" She didn't wait for them to attempt a response. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with one hand and toyed with her spoon with the other. "Caroline Rambeau dumped the count."
"Really?" Royce wondered if Caroline had discovered his claim to royalty was more bogus than Anastasia's had been.
"Caroline and Brent are an item again," Talia informed them.
"Are you surprised?"
Royce waited for Talia's answer to Val's incisive question. A large part of Royce's suspicions about Talia centered on how her friend really felt about Brent. When Brent had asked Royce out, Talia had encouraged her to go, but since she'd been arrested Talia had spent a lot of time with Brent. Was she really trying to help Royce as Talia claimed, or did she have another motive entirely?
"No," Talia said emphatically. "I wasn't surprised that Brent is seeing Caroline. The Farenholts have always wanted Brent to marry her."
Royce listened to detect a note of jealousy in Talia's voice, but heard nothing but a factual statement without any emotional overtones. She turned her thoughts to Brent. He hadn't called last night, but he had called the previous night, Saturday, from his parents' home.
Obviously, Caroline had been there. Had that been the night they'd resumed their relationship? Was that why he hadn't called Sunday evening as he'd promised?
Not that she gave a damn about Brent getting back together with Caroline, but she didn't want him to testify. And while he was still calling her, insisting he cared about her, she could influence him not to take the stand. But now, who knew what would happen?
"Does that mean they're engaged?" Val inquired.
"No," Talia replied as Royce noticed a flash of blue at the door of the restaurant. The police. A ripple of fear shimmied up her spine.
"Caroline is upset about breaking up with the count. Brent's helping her get through this crisis."
"Some crisis," Royce said, her eye on the cops who were speaking with the maître d'. The jolt of panic escalated; she struggled to remain calm, rational.
Had her experience left her permanently damaged? Why was she afraid? She hadn't done anything to worry about. There could be a thousand reasons why the police were here.
"Of course, Brent's just being kind to Caroline," Talia replied, raking her fingers through her hair. "You know how compassionate he is."
"Where was he when Royce needed him?" snapped Val.
For once Talia didn't hedge. "It surprised him. He was embarrassed. When he realized—"
"It took him long enough," Val cut in. "We had to hire an attorney, remember?"
"Brent didn't mean—"
Royce refused to let a jerk lik
e Brent cause an argument and spoil her first outing in weeks. "It doesn't matter. I don't care about Brent. I don't think I ever really did. I wanted a home, my own family."
Talia quickly agreed. "He's not your type. Not at all."
Royce's eyes were still on the policemen. Now they were angling their way through the tables. She looked directly into Talia's deep brown eyes, striving to concentrate on their conversation and ignore the police.
"But I have to admit Brent was wonderful when Tobias Ingeblatt published that photo of us. He took the blame for arranging our meeting. He could have dodged the press and let them call me a femme fatale, but he didn't. I'm sure his parents weren't thrilled about it either."
Royce looked up and saw the policemen were coming closer to their table. Fear, raw and primitive, overwhelmed her. Why were they here?
Talia smiled, her expression affectionate. "Brent's always so supportive. That's why I—"
The policemen stopped beside their table. There as an unnatural silence in the café, like the eerie stillness between a jagged bolt of lightning and the inevitable crash of thunder. Every eye in the café was on them.
The taller policeman spoke first. "Royce Anne Winston?"
No one at the table answered. The silence echoed throughout the restaurant. Not even a tinkle of an ice cube could be heard. Finally Royce raised her head and faced the officers with a bravado she certainly didn't feel.
"I'm Royce Anne Winston."
"You're under arrest for the murder of Caroline Ram-beau."
Royce stretched out on the cot and stared at the cockroach creeping across the ceiling above her prison bunk. An overwhelming sense of hopelessness engulfed her. Why me? Who would want to do this to me? As usual there wasn't any answer.
What evidence could they possibly have? She'd never been to Caroline's home. She'd barely known the woman. Still, they wouldn't have arrested her for murder without some damning evidence.
Why hadn't she heard from Mitch? Royce wondered. It had been almost twelve hours since her arrest. So far only an associate from Mitch's office had come by, and he'd been confused, uncertain what they were going to do.
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