Читать книгу Close Proximity - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 11

“I can’t believe the judge denied bail.”

Rafe remained quiet as he watched Libby pace the length of the room. She was livid. And seeing her caught up in all that fury, he was struck by the sheer glory of her.

“A flight risk? How could they believe my father would run? Everyone in this town knows him. Well, most everyone, anyway.”

Turning around, she strode back toward him, her gaze dipping and roving wildly, seeing nothing, as thoughts so obviously careered through her head at lightning speed.

“He’d never run. Never. His only intention is to clear his good name.”

Her aquamarine eyes blazed with heated emotion, her long auburn curls bounced with the anger fairly pulsing from her waving arms and jutting shoulders. She was surely a sight to behold.

Finally, he felt compelled to quietly ask, “Did you know he’d planned the trip?”

He remembered how shocked she’d looked when the D.A. had requested that bail be denied due to the risk of David’s fleeing the country.

“He didn’t plan the trip,” she told him. “I did. Before Christmas. He loves to ski and the skiing in Canada is great this time of year.”

Her gaze latched on to Rafe’s, and the shadows that clouded her eyes tore at the very heart of him. She was feeling guilty. That much was plain.

“I’ve been begging him for years to do something fun. I pushed extra hard this year. I even booked the flight and hotel myself. I wanted him to get away and have a good time. Even if I had to bully him into doing it.” She sighed. “I fully expected him to cancel the reservations. But he didn’t.” Softly, she added, “And I remember how happy I was about that.”

The deep crease etching her brow marred her beautiful face.

“This was going to be the first trip he’d taken…”

A lump of emotion seemed to swell in her throat. She attempted to swallow around it, and the effort seemed painful.

“…since Mom died.” Her gaze glittered with moisture. “Rafe, they’ve confiscated his passport, the airline tickets, everything. They really do believe Dad’s a flight risk. They really believe he’s guilty of these charges.”

So, the reality of things was setting in, Rafe saw.

Yes, she was an attorney. In her San Francisco practice, she represented myriad clients who faced allegations just like these every single day. Rafe was sure she had understood the seriousness of her father’s predicament all along; however, when it came to one’s family, it was hard for a person to really imagine anything bad happening. But it seemed that the direness of her father’s situation was finally sinking into her head…into her heart.

The sympathy Rafe felt ached from down deep in his soul. He didn’t want to care about this woman. Couldn’t afford to. Caring made a man weak. And he’d vowed years ago, that weak was the one thing he wouldn’t allow himself to be.

But seeing her haunted gaze, understanding the frustration she was experiencing, imagining the guilt she was feeling over what she saw as her part in providing evidence against her father in the form of those trip reservations, Rafe couldn’t just sit by, see the misery in her gorgeous eyes and do nothing. But he didn’t dare surrender to his desire to touch her. He didn’t dare yield to the urge to take her in his arms and reassure her.

Instead, he said, “Did you ever think that maybe David is better off behind bars?”

She whirled on him. “How can you say that? That place is horrible. He’s penned up in that little cell with nothing to occupy his mind. He’s—”

“Got three hot meals a day,” he interjected, “a clean, warm bed to sleep in and a bevy of armed guards to protect him.”

That’s more than you have at the moment, he wanted to remind her. But he didn’t.

Bewilderment wrinkled her forehead.

From the moment he’d spied her on those courthouse steps, heard her declaring loud and long her intentions of clearing David’s name, Rafe had experienced the strangest sense that Libby might be in danger. Not from the reporters and not from the picketers. But from someone. Some unseen, unknown force.

When he’d sought her out at her father’s house to offer his investigative services, something gut-deep made him hold his tongue regarding his opinion that she needed a bodyguard. Working for her as a P.I., he’d figured, would give him plenty of opportunity to keep a watchful eye on her. And after having spent some time getting to know her, even if it had been just a couple of days, he knew for certain that she wouldn’t appreciate hearing that he thought she was in any kind of jeopardy. She was most definitely the kind of woman who felt certain she could look after herself. Maybe, though, he could plant a small seed of warning in her head by using her father as an example.

“Someone dumped that dimethyl-butyl ether,” he quietly explained. “And since we both know David wouldn’t go near DMBE, then the guilty party is out there somewhere. Waiting to see how things pan out. Hoping your dad takes the fall.”

Her brow smoothed somewhat. But then her brilliant, jewel-toned eyes glittered with new understanding.

“If there is evidence that points to David,” Rafe continued, “then it just might be unwise for him to be walking the streets, if you know what I mean.”

She nodded, silent and suddenly pensive.

He didn’t want to frighten her. Fear often paralyzed rather than readied a person. His only intention was to make her aware of reality.

“Speaking of evidence…” He’d made his point, he felt, so now was the time to change the subject. “What’s the D.A. got on David that would lead to this arrest? Can they actually prove anything?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain until I get my hands on copies of the evidence. I’ve filed for discovery. Soon we’ll have access to everything: physical evidence, depositions, police reports…” She shook her head. “It must be a mountain of stuff.”

He shot her an expression that had her expounding on her last statement.

“The day I arrived in Prosperino,” she said, “the police searched the house.”

“You allowed that?”

She shrugged. “They had a warrant. But I wouldn’t have stopped them. Dad said he had nothing to hide. That he gave his permission for the authorities to search anything and everything he owned.” Libby sighed. “They carried out a whole file cabinet and boxes of other files as well. Everything that had anything to do with his finances—bank records, credit card statements. And his PC.” Again she shook her head and shrugged. “A mountain of stuff. And there’s no telling what was seized from his office at Springer.”

“It can’t all be evidence against him.”

“No.” Reaching up, she absently combed her fingers through her thick tresses. “I don’t expect anything from home to point to Dad’s guilt. But I am worried about his office at work. Anyone could have had access to it since his arrest, couldn’t they? And the prosecutor will use the other things—the information about Dad’s finances—to try to explain motive, I’m sure.”

Silence settled over them, and while Libby busied herself with thoughts of her father’s case, Rafe took a moment to look around him.

The Corbett home was huge compared to houses on the rez. The floors were constructed of rich, golden-hued oak, waxed and gleaming, and covering them were Oriental carpets that were most obviously costly. The room was elaborately trimmed in decorative moldings at the baseboard and around the ceiling. Such detail spoke of money. The furniture was heavy, luxurious stuff. Many pieces looked, to his untrained eye, to be antique.

He imagined Libby growing up here. Running and squealing and laughing through these rooms with caring parents to tend her, nurture her, love her. He pictured Libby enjoying holidays eating at the long, walnut table he’d seen in the dining room. Blowing out candles on a fancy birthday cake. Decorating a Christmas tree here in the living room. Celebrating Independence Day with sparklers and cookouts in the spacious and shady backyard.

A youngster would have enjoyed an idyllic childhood in this lovely house. A pampered and pleasant existence surrounded with lots of family and friends.

Visions of his own youth came flooding into his mind, and seemingly out of nowhere hot emotion prickled the backs of his eyelids.

What the hell? he wondered. Shoving against the arms of the chair in which he sat, he stood and paced to the nearest window. Not because he wanted to see the view, but because he needed a moment to collect himself, to force these damned thoughts from his mind. He hadn’t allowed memories of his past to affect him like this in years.

It was Libby. She was making him care. She was making him soft.

He couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t.

“We’re arguing trial location tomorrow.”

Rafe nodded, but didn’t turn around. He was glad for something to focus his attention on. “Trial location?” he asked.

“Opposing counsel wants to go to Los Angeles,” she said. “He’s looking to make this high-profile. But I want to stay here. I know there are lots of people ranting against the contamination. Against Dad. But I’m hoping things will calm down and they’ll remember who’s on trial here.”

She’d be safely cloistered in the courthouse during the day, he thought.

“And what would you like for me to do while you’re occupied with that?”

“I was hoping you’d do a little investigating. Talk to some people.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’m due to visit Dad. If you don’t mind, you could come along with me. He wants to thank you for helping out. And while we’re there, we can get a list of names from him. Springer execs, employees, friends who might know something. While I’m busy at the courthouse, you can try to touch base with as many of them as possible. Take some notes. Find out what people told the police. See if anyone knows or suspects anything that might help us nail the real culprit.”

Rafe knew himself to be one of those people. He had a definite theory about the whys behind the chemical dumping, and he also had what could only be described as a scrap of evidence to back it up. However, hearsay was what the authorities would call it.

Hearsay coming from anyone was, at best, flimsy proof. Coming from an Indian, it would be considered idle talk. Meaningless scuttlebutt. That was why he hadn’t gone to the police about what he’d overheard all those weeks ago. And he didn’t tell Libby now because he didn’t think he could continue working with her if he were to reveal all he knew—all he suspected—and she reacted with doubt and skepticism.

He’d hold his tongue until he knew she trusted him. He’d play his cards close to the chest for now. Focus on digging up more information so he could lay out the pieces of the puzzle for her with simple clarity, with nothing but hard evidence. If real proof of David’s innocence was out there, Rafe would find it. And it had to be out there.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” he told her, reaching for his jacket from where it hung on the back of the chair. “Let’s go see your father.”

David Corbett was sitting alone in the cold, stark interrogation room when Rafe and Libby entered. The metal table was dented, battered, extremely utilitarian. The walls were painted a greenish gray. Drab. Lifeless. Depressing as hell, Rafe decided.

Although his face was clean-shaven, dark smudges underscored David’s eyes. His brow was puckered, his jaw tight. He looked like a man with a great deal of anxiety eating at his thoughts.

Libby smiled brightly, hurrying to his side and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Hi, Dad.” She set her leather case on the tabletop. “How are you?”

“Fine, hon. I’m just fine.” David shifted his attention to Rafe. “Rafe, it’s good to see you. Pardon me if I don’t get up.”

Rafe thought it strange when the man offered him his left hand, but quickly realized that David’s right wrist was handcuffed to the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Taking the man’s hand in both of his, Rafe pumped it vigorously.

“It’s good to see you, sir.”

David shook his head. “Stop with the sir stuff, if you don’t mind. We’re meeting here as friends. At least, I hope we are.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Realizing what he’d said, Rafe offered up an apologetic smile and David chuckled.

“Don’t you ever doubt it,” Rafe added.

“I appreciate your wanting to help my daughter with this mess I’m in.”

Darting a quick look at Libby, Rafe saw appreciation glistening in her gaze, and his heart jumped, tendrils of heat curling low in his gut. Her gratitude shouldn’t be causing him such satisfaction, but it did.

Warning flags waved in his brain. He wished his reactions to this woman had some sort of switch he could flip off or a cord he could sever.

“Trial location arguments begin tomorrow,” Libby informed her father, getting right down to the business at hand. “It could take a couple of days, maybe more, for the judge to make his decision. While I’m busy at the courthouse, I thought Rafe could do a little interviewing.” She opened her case and extracted a yellow legal pad and pen. “Dad, can you think of anyone…anyone at all who might shed some light on things?”

She slid the pad in front of her father, handing the pen to him.

Then her brows drew together, moisture instantly shimmering in her eyes, when she evidently realized the handcuffs were going to be a detriment to him. It was so obviously hard for her, Rafe reflected, seeing her father like this. She cleared the emotion from her throat as she reached for the paper.

“How about if I take down the names?”

David placed a quelling hand on the pad. “I’ll make do, hon. I’ll make do.” He picked up the pen in his left hand.

Libby nodded, muttering, “Idiot guards.” She rose from her chair, her cheeks flushed with sudden anger, and went to the locked door. She banged on it. Hard. “Can someone come in here? Now!”

A guard appeared and she demanded that her father be released. The guard stiffly informed her that would be impossible. He did, however, agree to switch the handcuffs to David’s left wrist. All the while, Rafe sat silent, watching, his protective instinct stirring. However, rising to give the policeman more grief would do nothing whatsoever to help the situation. Once the task was performed, the guard left the room, locking the door behind him.

David was busy writing, but, with his head still bent over the pad, he softly asked, “Should we think about making a bargain?”

“What?”

Rafe heard the sharpness in Libby’s tone. Her father refused to lift his gaze from where it was glued to the task at hand.

She reached out and touched David’s forearm. “Dad,” she said, her voice more pliant, “you don’t know what you’re saying. We haven’t had a chance to view the evidence. We don’t know that a plausible case can even be made against you. Why on earth would you want to admit defeat before we’ve even had a chance to put up a fight?”

Libby seemed to run out of energy suddenly, and Rafe glanced at her. Her expression was…odd. A frown puckered her brow. Concern darkened her eyes. She was gazing off, seeming to wrestle with some troubling thoughts. The urge to reach out to her was powerful, but it was overridden by the strong, abrupt sense that he was being stared at.

David’s brown gaze narrowed on him, and Rafe was sure the man was trying to convey a message of some sort. However, when Libby’s attention returned to the moment, his head dipped, and he once again began pushing the pen against the paper.

“We can fight this, Dad. We can.”

“I know we can, hon.”

But Rafe didn’t hear much conviction in his words. David’s demeanor was strange, Rafe thought. It was almost as if he was convinced that the battle was lost even before it had begun. Not at all like the strong-willed man Rafe had expected David Corbett to be.

“I’ve done a little reading…”

Rafe only half listened to Libby, his attention homing in on David. Each and every time that the man’s daughter turned her gaze away, David would spear Rafe with a sharp, almost desperate look.

“And since the authorities aren’t pursuing Springer,” Libby continued, “that must mean that the company is cooperating with them against you. I can’t believe the upper management creeps would do that to you after all you’ve given that company.”

Once again, with quick, darting glances, David kept indicating the legal pad on which he wrote. Finally, Rafe gave one nearly imperceptible nod to let the man know he understood.

What could David possibly want to convey that he didn’t want Libby to know? Libby was his lawyer. She couldn’t represent him if she didn’t know everything.

Immediately, Rafe thought of the small puzzle piece he’d refused to present. But it wasn’t as if he was never going to reveal all to the woman. He simply wanted to wait until he had more solid proof.

“As far as I’ve been able to tell—” Libby reached into her briefcase and extracted a notebook, flipping it open “—there’s not been a precedent set in a case like this. And as hot as environmental issues are these days, it could be that the authorities are thinking of setting you up as an example.”

Frustration flushed David’s neck and cheeks. “But I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t do—”

“I know that, Dad.” Her very air become soft and consoling. “And we’ll prove that, too. Where it counts. In court.”

Father and daughter shared a brief silence, and Rafe was left feeling as though he were intruding on a special moment. Then Libby went back to studying her notes.

“One good thing,” she said. “Setting a precedent on any issue isn’t easy. They’ve got to have proof. Rock solid. And since you didn’t have anything to do with the contamination, then they’re going to have a hard time coming up with what they need, now, aren’t they?”

It was a rhetorical question, meant only to bolster and encourage.

David tore off the top sheet from the pad, then leaned toward the table, obviously intending to hand the paper to Rafe. But Libby reached for it.

“Thanks, Dad.”

In that instant, Rafe read panic in the older man’s expression. Reaching out, he slipped the paper from David’s fingers before Libby even had a chance to touch it.

“I’ll take care of that,” Rafe said to no one in particular.

Libby looked a little startled. For a moment Rafe was worried that she’d insist on taking possession of the list her father had compiled. But in the end she seemed to shrug it off.

“Well,” she said, “would you mind getting me a copy of those names? For my records.”

Keeping his tone light, he assured her, “Sure thing.” He folded the yellow paper into a smaller rectangle and tucked it safely into his breast pocket. However, the list felt as if it were a flaring match, blistering hot against his skin, so badly did he want to discover the secret message David had written.

Not long afterward, Libby and Rafe were heading out of the jailhouse.

“It’s upsetting,” Libby commented out of the blue. “He seems so depressed, so defeated. I mean, I know he’s under a lot of pressure. He was just fired by a company he’d dedicated his whole life to. He’s been accused of a horrendous crime, but…”

Her long, slender throat convulsed in a swallow, and Rafe wondered what it would feel like to press his fingertips against her soft, creamy skin. Or better yet, his lips. At once, hormones pulsed through his body, fierce and fervent. He clamped a lid on his runaway libido, forcing his thoughts back to the subject at hand: David’s behavior during their visit.

Rafe had thought the same thing about Libby’s father’s demeanor. There had seemed to be no fight in him. But feeling that Libby needed to hear something a little more heartening, he said, “Once we get our hands on the evidence, once we start talking to people, planning our strategy, he’ll perk up.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

But her sea-green gaze was still clouded with doubt, and he was left wondering what other misgivings were causing her such tremendous anxiety. He’d have loved nothing more than to hug her to him and assure her that everything was going to be all right. But she wouldn’t appreciate such an act. And he certainly didn’t dare put himself in such a role. It would surely change their professional relationship into something personal. Intimate. And that was something he meant to avoid.

“It’s still early,” Libby finally said. “I think I’ll shoot over to the courthouse.”

Rafe nodded, looking at his wristwatch. “I could run home and check on my horses. How about if I meet you back at your father’s house in, say, an hour?”

“That sounds good to me.”

With a final wave, Libby got into her car and drove away.

Immediately, Rafe reached up and plucked David’s list from his breast pocket. The paper was crisp against his fingertips as he swiftly unfolded it. His eyes scanned down the list of names. He found David’s message near the bottom, carefully written as if it was just one more name of someone to be interviewed.

Protect Libby.