Bobby was in the chips again.
He considered it only a temporary setback that he hadn’t yet collected his money from Alex. She would produce. She had too much at stake not to.
In the meantime, however, he wasn’t without funds. Thanks to the two coeds with whom he had spent the night, he was several hundred dollars richer. While they lay snoring in his bed, he had packed his belongings and sneaked out. The experience should teach them a valuable lesson. He had felt almost altruistic.
Finding other accommodations was a minor inconvenience when weighed against the reward. As soon as he was settled in another hotel across town, in a room with a river view, he ordered an enormous room-service breakfast of eggs, ham, grits and tasso gravy, a short stack, and an extra portion of hash browns, which he hadn’t particularly wanted, but ordered just because he was feeling so flush.
Next on his agenda was a shopping expedition. A new suit of clothes wasn’t an extravagance. It was a business expense. If he paid income taxes, he could have counted his wardrobe as an allowable deduction. In his line of work, one had to look sharp.
He had spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging around the hotel pool, working on his tan.
Now, decked out in his new suit of cream-colored linen with a royal blue silk shirt underneath, he entered a bar that had come highly recommended by a cabbie. “Where can I find some action?”
“Action?” Then, sizing Bobby up in the rearview mirror, the taxi driver had drawled, “You’re hustling pussy, aren’t you, sport?”
Flattered, Bobby smiled in reply.
“I know just the place.”
The moment Bobby entered the bar, he realized the driver knew his stuff. This was a place for prime pickings. The music was blaring. Lights flashing. Dancers sweating. Waitresses scrambling to fill the drink orders being placed by people on a desperate quest for fun. Lots of single women. Fair game.
It took him two watered-down drinks before he homed in on his target. She sat at a table alone. No one had asked her to dance. She smiled a lot, to whomever happened to be passing, evidence that she was feeling self-conscious, conspicuous, and in need of someone to talk to. Best of all, she had glanced his way several times while he pretended not to notice.
And then he charitably graced her with a return smile.
Nervously she looked away. Her hand flew to her throat, where she played with the silver beading on the collar of her shirt.
“Bingo,” Bobby said to himself as he settled his tab with the bartender.
He came up from behind her, so she didn’t see him until he said, “Excuse me. Is someone sitting here?”
Her head came around with a quick snap. She gave away her delight with the widening of her eyes, which she then tried to cover by being flirtatious. “Now there is.”
He smiled and joined her at the small table, intentionally bumping her knees with his, then offering a quick apology. He asked if he could buy her a drink, and she said that would be awfully nice of him.
Her name was Ellen Rogers. She was from Indiana and this was her first time in the Deep South. She loved it except for the heat, but even that had a certain charm. The food was divine. She complained of gaining five pounds since she’d been in Charleston.
Although she could have stood to lose fifteen, Bobby said gallantly, “You certainly don’t need to watch your weight. I mean, you have a terrific figure.”
Slapping his hand, she demurred. “I get plenty of exercise at work.”
“Are you an aerobics instructor? Personal trainer?”
“Me? Goodness gracious, no. I’m a middle school teacher. English grammar and remedial reading. I probably walk ten miles a day, going up and down those halls.”
He was from the South, she observed correctly. She could tell by his soft drawl and the melodic pattern of his speech. And southern people were so friendly.
Smiling, he leaned toward her. “We try, ma’am.”
He proved it by inviting her to dance. After they had gyrated through several songs, the DJ played a slow dance. Bobby pulled her against him, apologizing for being so sweaty. She said that she didn’t mind at all. Sweat was manly. By the end of the dance, his hand was riding her ass and no way was Miss Ellen Rogers in doubt that he was aroused.
When he released her, her cheeks were red and she was flustered.
“I’m sorry about…” he stammered. “It’s… Lordy, this is embarrassing. I haven’t held a woman… If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” said Miss Rogers gently. “It’s only natural. It’s not like you could control it.”
“No, ma’am, I couldn’t. Not with holding you close against me.”
She took his hand and led him back to the table. It was she who ordered another round of drinks. Midway through them, Bobby told her about his wife. “She died of cancer. Two years ago in October.”
Her eyes misted. “Oh, how awful for you.”
Only recently had he been able to go out and start enjoying life again, he told her. “At first I thought it was good we didn’t have kids. Now I sorta wish we had. It’s lonesome, you know, being all by yourself in the world. People aren’t supposed to be alone. It goes against nature.”
Her hand crept beneath the table to give his thigh a sympathetic pat and then stayed there.
Jesus, I’m good! Bobby thought.
* * *
Hammond was standing on the other side of the shower curtain.
“You scared me half to death!” Alex gasped. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in? How long have you been here?”
“You scared me, too.”
“Me? How?”
“I figured out why you’ve been lying. You’re afraid of Pettijohn’s killer.”
“It occurred to me that I might be in jeopardy, yes.”
“I wanted to warn you and didn’t trust the telephone.”
She glanced toward the bedroom. “Tapped?”
“I wouldn’t put it past Smilow. Even without a court order.”
“I think he might have me under surveillance.”
“If he does, I don’t know about it. Anyway, I scaled your back wall. Wouldn’t suit to be seen at your house, would it? I’ve been knocking on the kitchen door for five minutes. I could see your upstairs lights on, but when you didn’t answer, my imagination went wild. I thought maybe I was too late, that something terrible…” He stopped. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m cold.”
He reached for a towel and placed it around her, folding it closed in front but not letting it go. “What makes you think you’re under surveillance?”
“I saw a suspicious-looking car while I was running. Engine on. Lights out.”
“You went running tonight? In this weather? Alone?”
“I’m usually alone. But I’m always careful.”
He smiled weakly. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I already had the jitters.”
“I couldn’t very well come up to your front door and ring the bell, could I?”
“I guess not.”
“Would you have let me in?”
“I don’t know.” Then, more quietly, “Yes.”
He stared at the hollow of her throat, where a droplet of water shimmered in the shallow depression. Releasing his grip on the towel, he stepped away from her, a move that deserved a goddamn merit badge for valor. “We’ve got to talk,” he said thickly.
“I’ll be right out.”
Woodenly, he moved into the bedroom, actually seeing nothing, but noticing her stamp on everything. Every item in the room was a reflection of her. When she joined him, she was wearing a robe, the old-fashioned, no-nonsense kind that folded over her front and had a tie belt at the waist, as opaque as a lead apron, yet sexy as hell because she was naked and wet underneath.
“Your hand is bleeding.”
He looked at the cut on his thumb, which had gone unnoticed until now. “I guess I did that when I busted your lock.”
“Do you need a bandage?”
“It’s fine.”
The last thing he wanted to do was talk. He longed to touch her. He wanted to open the robe and press his face against her softness, taste her skin, inhale her essence. His whole body pulsed with physical desire, but he resisted yielding to it. He couldn’t be held accountable for last Saturday night. But he was accountable for everything that followed.
“You knew my name all along, didn’t you? Knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly, assimilating what he had known but hadn’t wanted to accept. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Because…?”
“Because I know you’ll lie to me. That will make me angry. I don’t want to be angry with you.”
“I don’t want you to be angry with me, either. So maybe we shouldn’t talk.”
“There is something I’d like to hear you say. Even if it is a lie.”
“What?”
“I’d like to hear you say that Saturday night… that it had never been like that for you before.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“Not just the passion,” he added. “The… All of it.”
He saw her swallow, dislodging the drop of water he had noticed earlier. It trickled beneath the collar of her robe. Her voice was husky with emotion. “It had never been like that for me before.”
It was what he had hoped to hear, but if anything his expression became more bleak. “Whether we want to or not, we must talk.”
“We don’t have to.”
“Yes, we do. When you and I showed up at the dance pavilion at approximately the same time, it wasn’t by accident, was it?”
She hesitated for a few seconds, then shook her head no.
“How in God’s name did you know I was going to be there? I didn’t even know myself.”
“Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Were you with Lute Pettijohn earlier that afternoon?”
“I can’t talk to you about this.”
“Dammit, answer me.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s a simple question.”
On a humorless laugh, she shook her head. “It’s not simple at all.”
“Then answer it with an explanation.”
“If I did, I would leave myself too vulnerable.”
“ ‘Vulnerable’ is a strange word for you to use, when it would appear that I am the one who’s hanging out in the wind.”
“You’re not the one suspected of murder.”
“No, but wouldn’t you agree that I’m in an awkward situation? I’m prosecuting the murder case of our city’s best-known citizen, who also happened to be married to my best friend.”
“Your best friend?”
“Davee Burton, now Lute Pettijohn’s widow. We’ve been friends all our lives. She campaigned for me to be assigned this case. A lot of people are depending on me, people I would rather not disappoint. Can you even fathom what would happen to my reputation, career, my future, if anyone found out I was here with you tonight?”
“That’s why I left you Sunday morning.” Restlessly she began to prowl the bedroom. “I wanted to remain anonymous. I didn’t want you to feel conflicted, the way you’re feeling now.”
“By Sunday morning it was a little too late for concern and circumspection. If you were so worried about preserving my reputation, you shouldn’t have picked me up in the first place.”
She turned to stare at him with patent disbelief. “Pardon me, but your memory is slightly skewed. You picked me up.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted.
“Who tried to leave? Twice. Twice I tried to leave, and both times you came after me, begging me to stay with you longer. Who followed who from the fair? Who stopped and—”
“Okay,” he said, slicing the air with his hands. “But that hard-to-get act is the strongest turn-on there is, and women have known it since creation. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Yes, I did,” she exclaimed in a raised voice. Then she clasped her hands at her waist and searched his face with tearful eyes. “Yes, I knew what I was doing. And you’re exactly right. At first I just wanted to… make contact with you.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“In other words, to establish an alibi.”
She cast her eyes downward. “I didn’t know I was going to like you,” she said softly. “I hadn’t counted on the chemistry between us. I started feeling badly about using you. So I tried to get away from you. I didn’t want you to be compromised because of an association—even a brief one—with me.
“But you came after me. You kissed me. After that…” She lifted her eyes to his again. “After that kiss, my initial reasons for meeting you ceased to matter. At that point I just wanted to be with you.” She brushed tears off her cheeks. “That is the truth. You can believe it or not.”
“Why did you need an alibi?”
“You know I didn’t kill Pettijohn. You said so in the elevator.”
“Right. So I repeat, why did you need an alibi?”
“Don’t ask me, please.”
“Just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to think…” She paused and drew a deep breath. “I just can’t, that’s all.”
“Has it got something to do with the man?”
The question took her aback. She blinked rapidly. “What man?”
“I traced you here Sunday night. I saw you with a man in a Mercedes convertible, approximately twelve hours after you left my bed.”
“Oh. Sunday night? That was… an old friend. From college. He was in Charleston on business. He called and invited me out for a drink.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because part of my job is to detect lies and liars, and you’re goddamn lying!”
She pulled herself up straight and crossed her arms at her waist. “We should just as well let this be the end of it. Now. Tonight. This is an impossible situation. Your career is at stake. I don’t want the responsibility of wrecking it. And I certainly don’t want to be with someone who thinks I’m a liar.”
“Who… was… he?”
“What does it matter who my friends are, when your friends, Steffi and Smilow, are itching to charge me with murder?”
“Is it any wonder that I don’t believe you when you continue to avoid answering the simplest question?”
“They’re not simple questions,” she shouted. “You have no idea how difficult they are. They dredge up things I would rather forget, that I’ve tried to forget, that have haunted—” She stopped, realizing she was about to reveal too much. “You can’t trust me. All the more reason for you to leave now and not come back. Ever.”
“Fine.”
“As long as we were in bed—”
“It was bloody great.”
“But if you distrust me—”
“I do.”
“Then—”
“Did you fuck Pettijohn?”
Her features went slack. “What?”
“Were you lovers?”
Hammond advanced on her, backing her into the wall. This was what was really bugging him. This was what had driven him to act like he had taken complete leave of his senses, to rant and rave and behave with reckless disregard for his career and everything else he had previously thought important. The desire to know the answer to this question was so imperative, the cautious, careful, and controlled Hammond Cross was ranting like a lunatic. “Were you ever Lute Pettijohn’s lover?”
“No!” Then her voice dropped from a shout to a hoarse whisper. “I swear it.”
“Did you kill him?” He pressed her shoulders between his hands and lowered his face to within inches of hers. “Tell me the truth about this, and I’ll forgive all the other lies. Did you kill Lute Pettijohn?”
She shook her head. “No. I did not.”
He struck the wall behind her with his fists, then left them planted there. Dropping his head forward, he aligned his cheek with hers. His breathing was harsh and loud even above the rain that continued to lash at the windows.
“I want to believe you.”
“You can believe that.” Turning her head, she spoke to his profile. “Don’t ask me anything more, because I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Why? Tell me why.”
“Because the answers are too painful for me.”
“Painful, how?”
“Don’t put me through this, please. If you do it will break my heart.”
“You’re breaking mine with your lies.”
“I beg you, if you have any regard for me at all, spare me having to disillusion you. I would rather never see you again than for you to know…”
“What? Tell me.”
She shook her head hard, and he realized it was useless to press her further. As long as her private torment had nothing to do with the Pettijohn case, he must respect her wish for privacy.
“That’s not all,” she continued. “We’re going to be on opposite sides of a brewing crisis.”
“So all this does relate to the case,” he said dejectedly.
“I knew our being together was going to result in a mess, but I still made it happen. I wanted it to happen. Even at the gas station, I could have said no to you. I didn’t.”
He raised his head and tilted it back to better see her face. “Knowing what you know now, if you had it to do over again…”
“That’s unfair.”
“Would you do it again?”
Her answer was to steadily hold his gaze for a very long time as a tear slid down her cheek.
Hammond groaned. “God help me, so would I.”
A heartbeat later his arms were around her and his mouth was grinding against hers. Water dripped from her hair onto his shirt. Her lips were warm, her tongue soft, her mouth sweet.
When they finally pulled apart, they spoke each other’s name for the first time, laughed at themselves, then kissed again, if possible with more passion than before. He untied the belt at her waist, slipped his hands inside the robe, and touched her, stroking the smooth skin of her belly, eliciting soft moans from her when his fingertips feathered across her mound.
Hammond’s blood pounded against his eardrums as hard as the rain pounded the roof. It drowned out everything else. The cautious murmurings of his common sense and conscience didn’t stand a chance against such a racket.
He lifted her against him and carried her to the bed. Then, in a frenzy of impatience, he removed his clothes. When he stretched out on top of her he sighed with a mix of desire and despair. Her thighs parted and in the next breath he was enveloped in her warmth.
Sinking deeper, he swore softly, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I didn’t sleep with you because I needed an alibi, Hammond.”
Planting his hands on either side of her head, he looked down into her face and began to move. “Then why?”
She arched her back up to meet his thrusts. “For this.”
He buried his face in her neck. The sensations were incredible. They shimmied up through his penis into his belly, spread through his chest and outward to his extremities, making them tingle. He allowed everything else to drift out of his consciousness so he could savor being inside her. But a climax was rushing upon him too quickly, so he stopped moving and whispered urgently, “I don’t want to come yet. Not without you.”
“Touch me.”
She guided his hand between their bodies and placed it where they were joined. He moved his fingers lightly, stroking her simultaneously inside and out. She cupped her breast and pressed it up against his lips. He flicked the nipple with his tongue. The sound she made was almost a sob. They climaxed together.
* * *
They got beneath the covers. He drew her up against him, nestling her bottom against his lap. That’s when he realized that he hadn’t worn any protection. But, somehow, he didn’t care overly much. What good would it do to fret? There was no help for it now. He just wanted to hold her. Smell her. Be near her and share her body heat.
He was content to gaze at her face where it lay in the crook of his elbow. He thought she was asleep because her eyes were closed, but he noticed her lips curving into a smile. He kissed her eyelid. “Penny for them.”
She laughed softly and looked up at him. Lightly she traced the shape of his mouth with her fingernail. “I was thinking what it would be like to dress up and go out on a date with you. To dinner. A movie. Out in public and for all the world to see.”
“Maybe. Someday.”
“Maybe,” she whispered, sounding no more optimistic than he.
“I’d love escorting you around Charleston, showing you off to all my friends.”
“Truly?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, a little. For a back-alley affair—”
“That’s not what this is, Alex.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“I’m a relative newcomer, but I’ve learned how things work here.”
“What things?”
“Social circles.”
“I don’t care about that crap.”
“But most Charlestonians do. I have no pedigree. Your family practically invented the concept.”
“In the words of a famous Charlestonian, albeit a fictitious one, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’ But even if I did, I would still choose you over any other woman in this city. I have chosen you over any other.”
“Over Steffi Mundell.” His expression caused her to laugh. “You should see your face.”
“How did you know?”
“Women’s intuition. I disliked her on sight. The feeling was mutual, and it had nothing to do with my being a suspect and her being a prosecutor. It was more elemental than that. Today, when she caught us in the elevator together, I knew. You were lovers, weren’t you?”
“ ‘Were’ being the operative and important word here. It lasted almost a year.”
“How long since you broke up?”
“Two days.”
Then it was her turn to register dismay. “Sunday?” He nodded. “Because of Saturday?”
“No. For me it had been over a long time. But after being with you, I knew with absolute certainty that, as a couple, Steffi and I were a lost cause.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “In spite of your bent for lying, you are the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. In every way. It goes beyond the physical.”
Pleased, she smiled. “For instance?”
“You’re smart.”
“Kind to animals and the elderly.”
“You’re funny.”
“Even-tempered. Most of the time.”
“You’re thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.”
“Somehow I knew you were a Boy Scout.”
“An Eagle Scout. Where was I? Oh, your tits are perfect.”
“What happened to going beyond the physical?”
Dispensing with the frivolity, he kissed her meaningfully. When at last he pulled away, her troubled expression alarmed him. “What?”
“Be careful, Hammond.”
“No one will know I was here.”
She shook her head. “Not that.”
“Then what?”
“You may have to put me on trial for my life. Please be careful that you don’t make me fall in love with you first.”