After several quick kisses, Steffi sat back and ruffled his hair. “I forgot to ask. How was your night away?”
“It was great,” Hammond replied truthfully.
“Do anything special?”
Special? Very. Even their silly conversations had been extraordinary.
“I played football in the NFL, you know.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, but after winning my second Super Bowl, I went to work for the CIA.”
“Dangerous work?”
“The routine cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“Wow.”
“Actually, it was a yawn. So I enlisted in the Peace Corps.”
“Fascinating.”
“It was okay. To a point. But after I was awarded the Nobel prize for feeding all the starving children in Africa and Asia, I started looking around for something else.”
“Something more challenging?”
“Right. I narrowed my choices down to becoming president and serving my country, or finding a cure for cancer.”
“Self-sacrifice must be your middle name.”
“No, it’s Greer.”
“I like it.”
“You know I’m lying.”
“Your middle name’s not Greer?”
“That much is true. The rest, all lies.”
“No!”
“I wanted to impress you.”
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m impressed.”
Hammond recalled the touch of her hand, the sensation of swelling…
“Hmm,” Steffi purred. “Just as I thought. You missed me.”
He was hard, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting on his lap and fondling him through his trousers. He brushed her hand aside. “Steffi—”
She bent forward and kissed him aggressively. Hiking her skirt up around her hips, she straddled his thighs and continued kissing him while her hands attacked his belt buckle.
“I hate to rush,” she said breathlessly between kisses. “But when Smilow calls, I’ll need to dash. This will have to be quick, I’m afraid.”
Hammond reached for her busy hands and clasped them between his. “Steffi. We need to—”
“Go upstairs? Fine. But we can’t dawdle, Hammond.”
Agile and energetic, she hopped off his lap and headed for the door, unbuttoning her blouse as she went.
“Steffi.”
She turned and watched with bafflement as Hammond stood up and rezipped his trousers. She laughed lightly. “I’m willing to try just about anything, but it’s going to be a little tricky if you don’t take it out of your pants.”
He moved to the other side of the room and braced his arms on the edge of the granite counter. He stared down into the spotless kitchen sink for several moments before turning to face her again.
“This isn’t working for me any longer, Steffi.”
Once the words were out, he felt hugely relieved. He had left town yesterday afternoon burdened for several reasons. One of them—the least of them, actually—was indecision over his affair with Steffi. He was unsure he wanted to put an end to it. They had a comfortable arrangement. Neither made unreasonable demands on the other. They shared many of the same interests. They were sexually compatible.
However, the topic of cohabitation had never come up, and Hammond was glad. If it had, he would have compiled a list of appropriate excuses as to why living at the same address would be a bad idea, but the real reason was that Steffi’s energy level would have worn thin very quickly. Apparently she hadn’t wanted him around her constantly, either. They kept their affair private. They saw each other regularly and when they wanted to. For almost a year it had been a perfect setup.
But lately, he had come to feel that it wasn’t so perfect after all. He disliked secrecy and subterfuge, especially when it came to personal relationships, where he clung to the outdated belief that honesty should be a requisite component.
He was dissatisfied with their level of intimacy, too. More to the point, there was no intimacy. Not really. Although Steffi was an ardent and capable lover, they were no closer emotionally than they had been the first time she had invited him over for dinner and they had wound up wrestling out of their clothes on her living room sofa.
After weighing all the pluses and minuses, brooding over it for weeks, Hammond had resolved that the relationship had reached a plateau that left him wanting and needing more. Instead of anticipating their evenings together, he had begun to dread them. He was returning her calls later rather than sooner. Even in bed when they were having sex, he found himself distracted and thinking about other things, performing adequately but routinely, physically but unemotionally. Before indifference festered into resentment, it was better to break it off.
What he wanted and needed from a relationship, he wasn’t sure. But he was certain that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to find it in Stefanie Mundell. He had come closer to finding it last night, with a woman whose name he didn’t even know. That was a sad commentary on his relationship with Steffi, but sound confirmation that it was time to end it.
Reaching that decision was only half the problem. He was now faced with actually doing it. He wished to end the affair as gracefully as possible, preferably avoiding the temperamental equivalent of the Hundred Years War. The best he could hope for was that it would end with no more fireworks than it had started.
The likelihood of that was nil. A scene was virtually guaranteed. He had dreaded it, and now he saw it coming.
It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When it did, Steffi swallowed, folded her arms over her open blouse, then, in a defiant motion, uncrossed them and let them hang at her sides. “By ‘this,’ I take it you mean—”
“Us.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head to one side and raised her eyebrows in a manner that was all too familiar. It was the expression she assumed when she was pissed off, when she was about to tear into somebody, usually an intern or clerk who hadn’t done a good job preparing a brief for her, or a cop who had failed to include an integral fact of a case in his report, or anyone who dared cross her when she was determined to have her way. “Since when hasn’t it been ‘working’ for you?”
“For a while now. I feel like we’re moving in different directions.”
She smiled, shrugged. “We’ve both been distracted lately, but that’s easily fixed. We have enough in common to salvage—”
He was shaking his head. “Not just different directions, Steffi. Opposing directions.”
“Could you be a little bit more specific?”
“Okay.” He spoke evenly, although he resented her tone because it implied that he wasn’t quite as smart as she. “Eventually I would like to marry. Have kids. You’ve made it plain to me on numerous occasions that you’re not interested in having a family.”
“That you are comes as a surprise.”
He smiled wryly. “Actually it surprises me, too.”
“You said you didn’t want to be to any unsuspecting kid what your father had been to you.”
“And I won’t be,” he said tightly.
“Isn’t this a recent change of heart?”
“Recent but gradual. Our relationship was perfect for a while, but then—”
“The novelty wore off?”
“No.”
“Then what? It’s not exciting anymore? Sleeping with the hot number in the County Solicitor’s Office has lost its appeal? Being Steffi Mundell’s secret lover doesn’t excite you any longer?”
He hung his head and shook it. “Please don’t do this, Steffi.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she retorted, her voice going shrill. “This conversation was your idea.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how many men would love to fuck me?”
“Yes,” he said, raising his voice to the angry level of hers. “I hear the locker room gossip about you.”
“It used to give you a thrill when they wagered on who the mystery man in my bed was, when all along it was you. We used to laugh about it.”
“I guess it stopped being funny.”
Left with nothing to say to that, she stood there and fumed in silence.
He continued in a calmer voice. “In any case, I went away this weekend to reassess our relationship—”
“Without even talking about it first? It never occurred to you to invite me to go away and reassess it with you?”
“I didn’t see the point.”
“So your mind was made up even before you went to your precious cabin in the woods to reassess,” she said, hissing the word.
“No, Steffi. My mind was not made up. While I was away, I looked at it from every angle and always reached the same conclusion.”
“That you wanted to dump me.”
“Not—”
“Dump? What word would you use?”
“This is precisely the kind of scene I hoped to avoid,” he said, finally shouting over her. “Because I knew you would argue. I knew you would beat it to death as though you were in court pleading your case to a jury. You would refute everything I said simply for the sake of argument and not give an inch, because with you every goddamn thing comes down to a contest. Well, this isn’t a competition, Steffi. And it isn’t a trial. It’s our lives.”
“Oh, God, spare me the melodrama.”
He snuffled a short laugh. “That’s just it. I need a little melodrama. Our relationship is totally devoid of melodrama. Melodrama is human. It’s—”
“Hammond, what in the hell are you talking about?”
“Everything in life can’t be summed up in a brief. All the answers aren’t found in law books.” Frustrated with his own inability to explain, he swore beneath his breath before making another stab at it. “You’re brilliant, but you never stop. The arguing, the besting, they’re constant. Incessant. There’s no down time with you.”
“Forgive the pun, but I didn’t know that being with me had been such a trial for you.”
“Look,” he said curtly. “I’ll spare you the melodrama if you’ll spare me the phony wounded-party act. You’re angry, but you’re not hurt.”
“Will you stop telling me what I am and what I am not? You don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“I know it isn’t love. You don’t love me. Do you? Given a choice right now, what would you take: Your career? Or me?”
“What?” she cried. “I can’t believe that you would issue such a ridiculous and juvenile ultimatum. ‘Given a choice’? What kind of sexist bullshit is that? Why must I make a choice? You don’t have to choose. Why can’t I have you and my career?”
“You can. But in order for it to work, it takes two people who are willing to make a few sacrifices. Two people who love each other very much and are dedicated to the relationship and one another’s happiness. What we do together,” he said, pointing upstairs toward the bedroom, “isn’t love. It’s recreation.”
“Well, we’ve gotten to be damn good at keeping each other entertained.”
“I don’t deny that. But entertainment is all it ever was, and it’s pointless to suspect it was something else.” He paused to catch his breath. She continued to stare at him stormily.
He moved to the table, picked up his beer, and took a long drink. Finally he looked over at her. “Don’t pretend that you disagree. I know you agree.”
“We get along so well.”
“We did. We do. We had some great times. No one’s to blame for this. There’s no right side or wrong side. It’s simply a matter of our wanting different futures.”
She thought on that for a moment. “I made no secret of what I wanted, Hammond. If I had wanted hearth and home, I would have stayed in my hometown, obeyed my father, and married immediately after high school—if not before—and started having babies like my sisters did. I would have spared myself their scorn and his sermons. I wouldn’t have struggled to get where I am. I’ve still got a long way to go to get where I want to be. From the beginning you knew what my priorities were.”
“I admire you for them.”
“Correction. What my priorities are.”
“I hope you surpass all the goals you’ve set for yourself. I mean that sincerely. It’s just that your personal goals leave no room for anything else. They’re incompatible with the commitment I want from a life partner.”
“You really want a Holly Homemaker?”
“God, no,” he said, laughing and shaking his head. He stared into near space for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure what I want.”
“You’re just sure you don’t want me.”
Again, he knew that she was more miffed than hurt. Nevertheless, no woman liked being rejected. He respected her enough to let her down gently. “It’s not you, Steffi. It’s me. I want to be with someone who’s at least willing to compromise on a few points.”
“I never compromise.”
Softly, he said, “You’re slipping. You just made my case for me.”
“No, I gave you that one.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it.”
Then they smiled at each other, because beyond their physical attraction they had always admired one another’s shrewdness. She said, “You’re very smart, Hammond. I like smart and admire intellect. You have a sharp wit. You’re tough when toughness is called for. You can even be mean when you have to be, and mean really gets me off. You’re indisputably good-looking.”
“Please. I’m blushing.”
“Don’t be coy. You know you set hearts aflutter and jump-start hormones.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re generous and thoughtful in bed, never taking more than you give in return. In short, all the things I desire in a man.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “It would take much longer for me to enumerate all the qualities that I admire in you.”
“I’m not fishing for compliments. I’ll leave that kind of feminine wiliness to the Davee Pettijohns of the world.”
He chuckled.
“What I am leading to is…” She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you’d consider carrying on as we have been until—”
He stopped her with a firm shake of his head. “That wouldn’t be good, or fair, for either of us.”
“There’s no option B?”
“I think a clean break would be best, don’t you?”
She smiled sourly. “It’s a little late to be soliciting my opinion, Hammond. But yes, I suppose if that’s the way you feel, I don’t want you sleeping with me out of pity.”
He gave a full-blown laugh then. “The very last thing you are is an object of pity.”
Placated, she said, “You’ll miss me, you know.”
“Very much.”
Curling the tip of her tongue up to the center of her upper lip, she opened her blouse. It didn’t surprise him that her nipples were tight and dark with arousal. Steffi’s biggest turn-on was an argument. Nothing stimulated her better than a shouting match. Typically their rowdiest sex had followed a confrontation of one sort or another. He realized now that she had guaranteed herself an ultimate win for every dispute. His climax had always been her victory. That, if nothing else, validated his decision.
She flashed him a mischievous grin. “One last time? For old times’ sake? Or are you too high-minded and principled to fuck a woman you’ve just dumped?”
“Not exactly a romantic lead-in, Steffi.”
“So now you want melodrama and romance? What’s got into you, Hammond?”
He was tempted to take her up on her offer, not because he had any desire for her, but because sleeping with her might help blur the clear and sweetly painful memory of last night. To have another woman now might ease the weighty sense of loss.
While still considering it, his telephone rang.
Steffi laughed without humor as she closed her blouse and rebuttoned it. “You lucky bastard. Fortune just continues to smile on you, Hammond. You’ve been saved by the bell.” She turned on her heel and went into the living room to retrieve her things.
Hammond reached for the telephone. “Hello?”
“It’s Monroe.”
Not that County Solicitor Monroe Mason needed to identify himself. He knew only one pitch of voice, and that was booming. The man’s vocal cords seemed to have come equipped with a built-in megaphone. Hammond immediately adjusted the volume on the telephone receiver.
“Hey, Monroe, what gives? I spend one night away from Charleston and all hell breaks loose.”
“So you’ve heard?”
“Steffi told me.”
“I understand she’s already in the thick of it.”
Hammond glanced into the living room, where Steffi was stepping into her shoes and tucking in her blouse. Hammond put his back to the door and lowered his voice. “She seems to think she’s got the case.”
“Do you want her to have it?”
Hammond realized that his shirt was sticking to his torso. When had he begun to sweat? He rubbed his forehead, and discovered that it was damp, too. There was a reason for this uncustomary perspiration: He had met with Lute Pettijohn yesterday afternoon in his suite at the Charles Towne Plaza.
Monroe Mason should know that. Now was the time to tell him.
But why make an issue of it?
It didn’t relate to Pettijohn’s murder. Their meeting had been brief. It had occurred before the estimated time of death. Shortly before, but nevertheless…
He saw no reason to tell Mason about it, any more than he had deemed it necessary to tell Steffi when she broke the startling news of the homicide to him. There was nothing to be gained by informing them of this coincidence, and much to be lost.
Wiping his forehead on his shirtsleeve, he said, “I want the case.”
His mentor chuckled. “Well, you’ve got it, boy.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You had it even before you asked.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Stop sucking up, Hammond. I didn’t make the decision independently. You got the case because the Widow Pettijohn has been calling me every hour on the hour since about ten o’clock last night.”
“What for?”
“She’s requested—make that demanded—that you be the one to put her husband’s killer on trial.”
“I’m grateful for her—”
“Cut the bullshit, Hammond. I can smell it a mile off. Hell, I’m so goddamn old, I think I invented it. Where was I?”
“The widow.”
“Oh, yeah. Lute’s dead, but it appears that Davee’s going to take over where he left off when it comes to throwing weight around. She can make noise in this county. So, to spare our office a lot of grief and bad press, I agreed to assign you to the case.”
This case would impact his career as no other case could. A high-profile murder victim. Media saturation. It had all the elements that cause ambitious prosecutors to salivate. Of course, he would feel better if Mason had assigned it to him without Davee’s intervention, but he wasn’t going to dwell on a minor detail like that. No matter how it had come about, the case was his.
He wanted it, needed it, and he was definitely the man for the job. He had tried five murder cases before and won convictions in all except one, when the accused had plea-bargained. From the day he had joined the prosecuting side of the law, he had been preparing himself for a case of this magnitude. He had the appetite for it, and he had the know-how to come out the winner. The Lute Pettijohn murder trial was going to catapult his career right where he wanted it to go… the County Solicitor’s Office.
Since he already had the case, the confidence of his superior, and the backing of the widow, he reconsidered telling Mason about his meeting with Pettijohn. He hated to go into a project of this caliber with even the slightest disadvantage. A negligible ambiguity like this could become critically damaging if discovered later rather than sooner.
“Monroe?”
“Don’t thank me, boy. You’re in for a lot of sleepless nights.”
“I welcome the challenge. It’s something else. I…”
“What?”
Following the small hesitation, he said, “Nothing. Nothing, Monroe. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, then launched into his next point. “You’ll be working with Rory Smilow. Is that gonna be a problem?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“We don’t have to swap spit. All I want is a guarantee that he’ll cooperate with our office.”
“He drew first blood.”
“What does that mean?”
“I got a call from Chief Crane this afternoon. Smilow lobbied for Steffi Mundell to prosecute the case. But I told Crane about the widow’s preference.”
“And?”
He chuckled. Monroe Mason thrived on politics more than he did the law. Hammond disliked the necessary politics associated with working for the county government, but it was the part of the job that Mason reveled in. “Davee had already given our chief of police an earful, too. She told him she wanted Smilow to find the killer and she wanted you to put him away. So this is how we worked it out.”
Hammond winced as he did when the dentist approached with the anesthetizing shot and told him to expect a slight sting.
“You and Smilow will lay your differences aside until this thing’s over. Got that?”
“We’re both professionals.” He was making no promises where Rory Smilow was concerned, but a cease-fire truce was an easy enough concession. Then Mason added the second condition.
“And I’m putting Steffi in there to act as referee.”
“What?” Trying to hide his anger and keep his voice down, Hammond said, “That’s a shitty deal point, Monroe. I don’t need a monitor.”
“That’s the trade-off, Hammond, take it or leave it.”
Hammond could hear Steffi conversing on her cell phone in the other room. “Have you told her about this arrangement yet?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. You got it straight, boy?”
“I’ve got it straight.”
Even so, Monroe Mason shouted it one more time. “Steffi’s assisting you and acting as a buffer between you and Smilow. Hopefully, she can keep one of you from killing the other before we get Lute’s murderer tried and convicted.”