He checked his watch. “That was certainly fast.” Then he looked critically at her pale, frozen face. “Don’t be so frightened. This is just a meeting.”
She nodded slowly, and abruptly he realized that she hadn’t spoken a word since he’d entered the apartment. He frowned again. “Miss Conway, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, forcing out the strained, stifled word. “I’m perfectly all right.”
“Are you ill?”
“No.” She walked past him. “Shall I drive my car, too, to save you a trip back here?”
He winced at her harsh, barely audible voice. “No, we could be separated in the traffic. Have you taken anything for your throat?”
Why was he so concerned about her throat? She didn’t bother to answer, and he followed her out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. He took her elbow, his fingers oddly gentle as he walked her to his car and opened the door for her.
“The assistant district attorney is Owen McCary,” he told her during the drive. “I’m optimistic about this meeting. I think they’re going to offer to accept a plea-bargain. It’s entirely possible that a trial won’t be necessary, that you’ll be given a suspended sentence and placed on probation.”
Was that supposed to thrill her? Tessa looked out the window, feeling cold and distant, a little disoriented. She completely missed the reluctantly worried way that Calvin Stine looked at her, the puzzlement in his eyes.
The traffic was a snarled mess, just as he’d said, but they made it with about five minutes to spare. It took those five minutes to make their way to the district attorney’s office, where a pleasant young man took them to a small, private office. As soon as Calvin ushered her into the office with his hand on the small of her back, Tessa saw Brett’s dark, controlled face, and her mind mercifully went blank. She was unaware of being seated, or of the reassuring pat that Calvin gave her cold hand.
The wonderful, protective blankness didn’t last long. Voices intruded on her consciousness as people were introduced, and she looked slowly around the office in an effort to orient herself, but she was very careful not to look at Brett. Evan Brady was there, of course, his nervous energy practically throwing off sparks. Owen McCary, the assistant district attorney, sat at his desk looking for all the world like the stereotypical California golden blond, except for the weary street wisdom in his eyes. There was another man, a tall, silver-haired man, and he was introduced as Benjamin Stiefel, an attorney for Carter-Marshall.
She could feel the searing power of Brett’s eyes on her, feel him willing her to look at him, and she withdrew even deeper into herself. She locked herself away in her mind, sheltering herself in thoughts that took her away from the meeting. Let Calvin handle it. That was what she’d hired him for.
* * *
FROM THE MOMENT she’d walked into the room, he’d found breathing difficult, almost impossible. She was so pale, her face so still, and she looked even more fragile than he’d remembered. The wide, mobile, exotic bloom of her mouth was quiet. There was no lovely, enticing smile curling her lips now, though of course he hadn’t expected smiles, not yet, anyway. But he had expected her to use her formidable charm, the disarming, enchanting play of lashes over luminous eyes, and instead she sat like a delicate marble statue, never looking at him, even though he willed her to with fierce concentration. He wanted her eyes to meet his. He wanted to reassure her that everything was going to be all right.
She’d hung up on him the night before, and though he’d wanted to shake her for it, he felt that he understood how she felt. She hadn’t known then that he was offering her her freedom.
What was she thinking? Her face had always been so expressive, so alive, but now it was as if she wore a mask. Why wouldn’t she look at him? When she heard the offer, would she cry? He couldn’t stand the idea of her crying, even in relief. He’d take her out of here, to a place where they could be alone together; then he’d dry her tears, and begin the process of cementing their relationship.
If only she’d look at him.
* * *
“MISS CONWAY. TESSA,” Calvin Stine said gently, drawing her attention to him. She regarded him somberly, waiting for him to tell her why he’d drawn her from the cocoon of her thoughts.
He took her hand, enfolding it in both of his as if to warm her cold fingers. “Mr. Rutland has proposed, with the approval of the district attorney’s office, that the charges against you be dismissed if you agree to sign a statement of guilt, and to repay the money that is missing.” He spoke softly, so softly that only she could hear him. The others in the room must think they were conferring, rather than that he was explaining something she should have been listening to herself. But Calvin’s gray eyes gentled as they moved over her face. “Tessa, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” she whispered.
There was a stunned, haunted expression in her eyes, and instinctively he moved in front of her, shielding her from the view of everyone else in the room. “I advise you to accept their offer,” he murmured urgently. “You’ve been through enough. I can’t tell you how risky a trial would be.”
Her stifled voice was barely audible. “You don’t think I have a chance of acquittal?”
“Only a slim one, I’m afraid. Their evidence is very strong. Don’t take the chance. You couldn’t survive in prison,” he said angrily.
Why was he so angry? He didn’t believe in her innocence, hadn’t from the beginning. But in the view of the law, even the guilty were entitled to competent legal representation, and that was what he was offering now. He was attempting to give her the best advice he could.
A little sigh escaped her as weariness pulled at her limbs. “I’d have to sign an admission of guilt? A confession?”
“That’s what they want, yes.”
She smiled now, a slow movement of her pale lips. “But I’m not guilty.”
A desperate look came into his eyes. “Don’t even think it, Tessa. Take the chance they’re offering you and run with it.”
“I’d have to run. I certainly couldn’t face myself in the mirror in the mornings. My self-respect, my good name, are all I have left, and I wouldn’t have those if I signed a confession that isn’t true. It would be an act of cowardice.” Her voice broke several times, and the sounds were harsh and strained, but she managed to say what she felt.
“My God, this isn’t the time for nobility!”
“Oh, I’m not noble at all. I’m desperate.” She turned her hand in his until she was holding him, trying to make him understand. “I won’t do it. I’m sorry, but I can’t admit to something I didn’t do.”
He bit off the curses that rose to his lips. He was pale, too, and sweating. Behind him, the others were shifting restlessly, wondering about the extended conference, the pleading note they had detected in Calvin’s hushed voice. Tessa released Calvin’s hands and stood up, her eyes on Owen McCary. She didn’t dare look anywhere else.
“I refuse to accept the offer,” she said, straining her voice to achieve the necessary volume. “I won’t admit to something I didn’t do.”
Brett surged to his feet, uttering a violent oath. Tessa didn’t look at him, but she sensed that he moved toward her, and her heart stopped beating. Clinging tightly to Calvin’s arm, she walked past Brett as if he were invisible.
The door closed behind them, and in the pool of silence that was left behind, Evan swore shakily. Brett turned to face him, his eyes burning with an emotion that couldn’t be named. A feeling of horror was clawing at his insides. “God in heaven, what have I done to her?” he choked. “She’s innocent. She didn’t do it!”
Benjamin Stiefel sighed. “I never expected this.”
That was an understatement, Brett thought savagely. Like a wild animal he turned on Owen McCary. “Drop the charges. Completely. Now.” He bit the words off like bullets.
McCary was shaken, too, but he said, “Mr. Rutland, the evidence against her is very strong—”
&nb
sp; “I know how strong it is,” Brett interrupted harshly. “I’m the one who found it. But I didn’t look far enough. I didn’t find out who set this up to make Tessa take the blame for it. I’m dropping the charges, as of right now.”
Benjamin Stiefel tried to interject a bit of caution. “Brett, I don’t think Mr. Carter will approve—”
“I’m not asking for his approval. I have the authority to withdraw the charges, and I’m doing it. He’ll have his thief, all right. I’ll bring him to Joshua Carter on a silver platter.”
Evan’s dark eyes were full of the same anger that burned in Brett. “Ben, we nearly sent an innocent woman to prison. It didn’t seem right from the beginning. It just didn’t fit in with the type of person she is. We’ll keep Mr. Carter posted on what we’re doing, and if he doesn’t like it”—Evan shrugged his shoulders—“let him fire us.”
Brett paced the office like a caged animal, his control shattered by the events that had just taken place. Without thinking it out in a logical progression, he’d known as soon as she’d refused his offer that she was innocent. He’d known it instinctively, and without doubt. He’d driven her to the very edge, hurt her—he winced at the thought of how he must have hurt her. No wonder she wouldn’t look at him!
He’d give anything to turn back time, to wipe this past week out of existence for her. Every protective male instinct in him was aroused, and outraged, because he’d almost destroyed the very person he loved most in the world. He had to find the real embezzler now, to clear Tessa’s name in everyone’s mind as well as on paper. It was the only reparation he could offer her.
CHAPTER NINE
CALVIN DIDN’T WANT to leave her. He took her back to the apartment, but seemed totally incapable of walking away from her. She sat on the couch and watched him as he prowled restlessly around, wondering what he wanted. He kept watching her, too, with a stricken look in his gray eyes, as if he still couldn’t believe what she’d done.
Finally his pacing began to wear on her nerves, even through the remote emotional exile she’d placed herself in. “Calvin, I’m sorry,” she croaked in as soft a voice as she could manage. “I know you advised me to do the most sensible thing.”
“It isn’t that.” His voice was muffled. “It’s just…ah, hell, I’ve forgotten what it is like to trust someone, to simply be able to take their word on something. I should’ve trusted you, but I didn’t. I was so damned cynical that I thought your guilt or innocence didn’t matter to me as a lawyer.”
“It doesn’t. It can’t, or you wouldn’t be able to do your job.” Why was she trying to comfort him? She was so tired, and she wanted to go to sleep. If he would just leave, she could wrap herself up in a blanket and lie on the couch. She felt as if she wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer. Her legs and arms were leaden, and fatigue dragged at her.
Someone beat on the door, and it sounded as if they were using their fist. Calvin looked at her, but Tessa made no move to get up and answer it. She’d gone very still, like a small animal when a hawk flies over, so he answered the door himself. Brett Rutland filled the doorway, his face dark and dangerous, his eyes savage. “How is she?” he barked.
Calvin turned and looked at Tessa, but she stared straight ahead, not looking in their direction. Brett shouldered past him, ignoring Calvin’s sharp, “Mr. Rutland, this is highly irregular—”
“I don’t give a damn about irregular,” Brett snapped, crossing to Tessa and hunkering down in front of her so he could see her face. Her eyes slid away from him to focus blindly on some spot on the wall. He reached out and took her hand, and that small touch electrified him. It had been so long since he’d felt her skin, been close enough to smell her subtle fragrance. He wanted to lift her in his arms and hug her to him, but she was so pale and stiff, withdrawing from him without actually moving. Her hands were icy. He captured her other hand and held both of them in his in an effort to warm them.
“Tessa, I’ve dropped the charges. Do you understand? You’re clear. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Calvin was galvanized into speech. “What? You’ve dropped the charges? But why—I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain it all to you in a minute,” Brett said without taking his eyes from Tessa’s face. “Tessa, do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, too numb to feel anything, not relief, or surprise, or even curiosity. She didn’t want to feel; she didn’t want to think. Not now, with Brett so close. Why didn’t he go away? Why didn’t he let go of her hands?
“What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked sharply.
She looked at him then, and he drew in a convulsive breath at the look in her eyes. “Go away.”
Something in her eyes, her face, convinced him to let her go. He released her hands and got to his feet, his bronzed features set. “Let’s talk in the kitchen,” he said to Calvin, and the two men left the room. Tessa remained where she was, alarmed that they were discussing her, but totally unable to go in there when Brett was there. His presence overwhelmed her, brought too much pain for her to handle, for her even to cope with in any way except to admit to its existence. She couldn’t examine it; she couldn’t face it.
It seemed as if time dragged, that they spent hours in the kitchen. She wanted desperately to lie down and sleep, but she didn’t dare, not with Brett so close. What could they be talking about? Surely there weren’t any legal difficulties involved in dropping charges against someone? The charges had really been dropped, he’d said. She was free. She no longer had the grim specter of prison hanging over her head. Why didn’t it seem real to her?
When they came out of the kitchen, Calvin crossed over to her and clasped her hand. “You’ll be okay,” he reassured her. “Mr. Rutland is going to take care of everything. I have to get back to the office, but I’ll be in touch with you later.”
“Wait,” Tessa whispered desperately, her eyes darting to Brett. He wasn’t going to leave her alone with Brett, was he?
“Mr. Rutland will take care of everything,” Calvin repeated; then he dropped her hand and went to the door. Tessa struggled to her feet. She had to stop him; she had to do something. She couldn’t stay there with Brett! But Brett moved, his broad shoulders blocking her as he went with Calvin to the door, and Tessa hesitated, not willing to go so close to him. He closed the door behind Calvin, and turned to face her.
Desperation gave her strength. She swallowed, causing her throat to tighten in pain, but she looked straight at him and said hoarsely, “Get out of my apartment.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked again, ignoring her order. Before she could evade him, he’d crossed to stand very close to her, and for the first time she noticed that he held a glass in his hand, a glass of clear, yellowish liquid. He put the glass in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it, and it was so hot that she almost couldn’t hold it.
“Hot lemonade,” he said. “Drink it. It’ll be good for your throat.”
It felt like heaven to her cold fingers, and because it was a remedy that she’d often been treated with as a child, she raised the glass to her lips and cautiously sipped the hot, tangy mixture of sweet and sour. The taste was a sweet memory on her tongue, and burned on her throat, but it felt good for all of that.
“What’s wrong with your voice? Are you sick?”
Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? He was going to badger her with the same question over and over until she screamed, or went mad, or both. “No, I’m not sick!” she yelled, but it came out as only a stifled rasp.
“Then what’s wrong?”
His persistence ate at her, destroying her control, but then, he was the only man who’d ever been able to make her react in ways she couldn’t control. She drew away from him, a fine trembling beginning to shake her body as she stared at him, at the hard, unhandsome face and the stunning blue beauty of his eyes, the same face and eyes that had held her bemused from the first time she’d seen him. She’d loved h
im, and he’d turned on her. The trembling grew worse, and suddenly she erupted into rage, her face twisting as she hurled the contents of the glass at him. “Damn you! I hate you! I hate you, do you hear?”
The night before, the sound of his voice had shattered the barriers that she’d built around the hurt she felt, and now he’d broken the control she’d had on the seething anger that had been building up inside her. She flew at him, her fists beating at his face, his chest, any part of him that she could reach, screaming wildly in her stifled voice, but the stress on her throat was too much and her voice began to go entirely, until the screams were silent. Tears streamed from her eyes as the hysteria built in her. Brett jerked his head back, protecting his face, but he simply stood there and let her pound at his chest, absorbing the blows and the pain, the rage, his own heart aching at what he’d done to her. When her strength was gone, she sagged weakly against him, and only then did he put his arms around her, stilling her feebly pounding hands.
“Baby, I’d let you throw boiling water at me if it would make you feel better,” he said raggedly, brushing his lips against her hair, her forehead, her temples. “God, if I could only undo it all!” It was a bitter cry from the depths of his soul.
The feel of his arms around her was so painful that she almost couldn’t bear it, yet she didn’t feel able to push him away. His shirt and suit jacket were sticky from the lemonade that she’d thrown on him, and it was making her face and hair sticky, too, yet her head lay tiredly on the broad expanse of his chest. The lemonade wouldn’t ruin the expensive wool, she thought fuzzily, but she was glad that he’d have the expense of having it cleaned.
The room swung around her in a dizzy arc as he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the kitchen, where he sat her on a chair. He wetted a paper towel and washed the stickiness from her face, then dabbed at her hair. Gently he removed the pins from the knot on top of her head and raked his fingers through her hair, tumbling the dark mass down around her shoulders. Then he poured another glass of lemonade for her, and pressed it into her hand. “Here’s the rest of the lemonade. Throw it at me if you want, but it’ll do you more good if you drink it.”