Читать книгу Confessions Bundle - Jo Leigh - Страница 10

JULIET MCNEIL HUNG around for a long time. Schuster had gone. The press had gone. Even Eaton James and his family had ridden down the elevator to the first floor of the California Superior Court. Still, though he had no real logical reason for doing so, Blake stood there at the bank of elevators and waited.

He was done here. Unless called for further testimony, he’d been dismissed and wouldn’t be back. He’d lived in the same town with Juliet McNeil for five years and found no reason to be in touch with her. Had had nothing to say to her.

Voices came from down the hall. Male. And one very distinctive female. The men came around the corner from the courtroom. Nodded at Blake, pushed the down button. Juliet must have stopped off in the women’s room at the juncture of the two hallways.

An elevator came. The two men, apparently attorneys on Juliet’s staff, held the door, looking at him. Blake shook his head. And they were gone.

It was better this way, with no one around. Just a quick acknowledgment, for old times’ sake. Something he might not have bothered with if not for the funeral he’d attended over the weekend—and all the memories aroused by the past week.

Hearing the swish of a door, Blake stood upright, hands in the pockets of his gray slacks, facing the hall. Her head pulled back a bit when she saw him, but her step didn’t falter. She had to be the most confident woman he’d ever met.

That confidence had attracted Blake nine years ago. And attracted him now.

“I thought you’d be long gone.” That was another thing he remembered quite clearly about that foggy night so long ago. The woman had a habit of saying what was on her mind rather than couching her thoughts in platitudes. Disconcerting.

And yet, delightfully refreshing in that he’d known where he stood with her. There’d been no game playing. No social dishonesty.

“I never had the chance to say hello.” He pushed the down button. “And didn’t want to go without at least saying goodbye.”

“Oh.” Her hair was still long—the gold-streaked auburn color striking—and curled past her shoulders. “Well, I wish it could have been under different circumstances, but it was nice seeing you,” she said. She didn’t avoid looking at him, but gave equal attention to the lighted bar atop the elevator, indicating the car’s current floor.

“You look good.”

“You, too.” Except that she wasn’t really looking. And then she did. “I watched your office building go up. Impressive. You’re doing very well.”

Blake nodded. “I had good teachers.” Including his father, the man he’d spoken of so harshly that night just before he’d left the country. Was that what this was about? A need to correct any misconceptions? He’d been a kid then. Too concerned with his own rights and far too insensitive to those of others.

“I’m…uh…sorry.” She tilted her head in the direction of the courtroom from which they’d come. “For back there.”

“We were on opposite sides of the fence,” he told her—as though neither of them could have expected anything different.

The elevator came. Blake held open the door while she stepped inside, then joined her. Standing against the side wall, her briefcase held with both hands down in front, she’d already pushed the first-floor button.

“Still,” she said, glancing over at him, “I wouldn’t blame you if there were some hard feelings.”

“Oh, there are definitely those,” he admitted, thinking of James. “Just not directed at you.”

The quick tilt of her chin, more even than the light in her eyes, gave away her surprise. “Well, thank you.” She smiled.

And he knew he wasn’t done yet.

“How would you feel about getting a bite to eat?”

The elevator stopped and she got out, frowning. “Tonight?”

“Doesn’t have to be.” He followed her over to a decorative column off to the side of the building’s entryway and leaned against it.

“I…”

Blake could sense a refusal coming. “Or just a drink sometime,” he offered. “For old times’ sake.”

“You’ve been home five years. Old times have taken quite a while to come calling.” The easy grin on her face took any sting out of the words.

She was right.

“I…my ex-wife died last week.” Blake was uncomfortable with the personal admission. “I hadn’t seen her in years, but that, plus the whole Eaton James thing, has brought up a lot of old memories. I feel like I have some things to set straight. Unfinished business, maybe.”

“We finished our business.” Her head tilted up at him, those green eyes with their mysterious brown flecks, had him thinking otherwise.

“I’m not arguing with that,” he offered. “I guess I’m just looking for some closure on that whole phase of my life. Think you could humor me long enough for a conversation?”

“I guess.”

He wondered at her hesitancy. “You have a significant other out there who might not understand?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not married or otherwise significantly, uh, connected.”

“Because you’re still afraid that a relationship would take away your freedom?”

When he’d married Amunet, he hadn’t thought he’d robbed his wife of her liberty, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Their marriage had certainly trapped her. Or changed her, anyway. Enough so that she’d eventually been driven to suicide?

“Not really,” Juliet said, her gaze clear. “Anyway, it wasn’t my freedom I was protecting back then. I just needed to know that I could provide for myself before I relied on anyone else. I needed to believe in me.”

He nodded. That he understood. It had taken four years away and more time back home before he’d discovered that.

“Are you dating someone?”

She shook her head, lower lip protruding slightly. “No. You?”

“No.” He couldn’t tell if his reply had any effect on her. Not that it mattered.

“So what about that drink?”

“If you can make it early, say, four o’clock or so, I can do Thursday this week. Just once. For old times’ sake.”

Right after court.

Blake nodded. “Thursday it is.”

HAVING BUILT a successful career on finding different ways to present the truth, Juliet failed miserably, over the next two days, to come up with a truth that would suffice as a plausible excuse to cancel her drink date with Blake Ramsden.

She just couldn’t find a way to say, “I don’t want to see you ever again because you’re the father of my daughter and I don’t want you to know that.”

“You’re wearing red again.” Mary Jane was sitting at the kitchen table Thursday morning, chewing her favorite marshmallow-and-oat cereal, her legs bouncing beneath her.

“It’s my third day on the hot seat.”

“That’s green day.”

The kid knew her too well. She was too predictable. Had life really become so obsessively the same that someone could predict her day based on the colors she chose? Or was it just Mary Jane who’d always been too perceptive?

“I’m having a drink with Blake Ramsden after court this afternoon.”

“While I’m at Brownies,” Mary Jane said, nodding, her attention still on her cereal. “Good thinking.”

Juliet dropped into the chair closest to her daughter, reaching over to push curls back from the girl’s cheek, knowing they were going to spring right back.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m meeting him?”

Wide eyes, such a strange contrast of all-knowing adult and unsure little girl, stared up at her. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you worried?”

“How can I be? I just found out about it.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

“But?”

“I don’t want a dad. I like us just the way we are.”

Life just never quit getting harder. No matter how many hurdles she maneuvered through successfully. “I like us just the way we are, too.”

Frowning, Mary Jane pushed away her not-quite-empty bowl. “You promised you wouldn’t tell him about me.”

“I’m not going to tell him.” She paused to assess the doubts that had been plaguing her for almost a week. Everything happened for a reason and the timing of Blake Ramsden’s return to her life had occurred just as she was struggling to help Mary Jane find her place in the world.

Every day, when she dropped the child off at school, she waited for a phone call. And every afternoon, when she picked her up, she breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t normal.

Picking up the bowl, she took it to the sink, rinsed it, put it in the dishwasher. “Here’s your lunch,” she said, taking the brown bag out of the refrigerator.

Mary Jane reached for the bag, looking up, her expression not quite as open as usual.

“Hey, remember our deal,” Juliet said, holding her daughter’s free hand.

“What?”

“If ever there comes a time that you want to meet Blake, you let me know.”

“I won’t—”

“And,” Juliet interrupted, “if ever there is a time when I think I have to tell him about you, I’ll discuss it with you first. I promised, Mary Jane, and I’ve never broken a promise to you.”

It took a moment for the clouds to disappear, but after a little bit of thought the little girl smiled up at her.

“I know,” she said.

Juliet just hoped she didn’t live to regret having made that promise.

WALKING INTO the upscale downtown bar on Thursday, Juliet took a cursory glance around, hoping Blake would be late. She could say she’d been there and leave before he showed up.

It would be the truth—and the best version of it she’d managed to concoct.

Her second best idea had been to look, but not very hard, only enough to say she’d been there and hadn’t seen him, and then get the hell out before he saw her.

Her third and final hope had been that he wouldn’t show.

She saw him as soon as her eyes adjusted from the day’s bright sunshine to the bar’s interior. Sitting in a rather secluded booth for two, he should have been easy to miss. But no, her eyes were drawn right to him.

“Hi.” Juliet slid in across from him, trying not to notice how broad his shoulders looked minus the suit coat he’d been wearing the other day.

“Red, again,” he greeted her with a curious smile. “A brave move for a redhead.”

“My hair’s not—”

“I know, I was teasing,” he admitted. “Your hair is auburn.”

They’d had that conversation nine years before. When she’d been wearing nothing at all and he’d been playing with her hair against her breasts, telling her he’d never seen anything quite like it.

It had been right after they’d made love the second time with the first condom—the time, she’d long ago decided, that she had conceived Mary Jane.

“And the suit looks great,” he said when she didn’t respond. “Beautiful in fact.”

She wished he’d stop catching her off guard. “Thank you.” It had been a long time since she’d felt desirable, and life was much more under control that way.

They ordered drinks, the bar’s specialty, a mixture of rum, vodka and a couple of exotic fruits. Blake added an order of chips and salsa.

“We’re driving,” he explained as the waiter left. “It’s not good to drink on an empty stomach.”

She appreciated the forethought.

“Fine by me,” she told him. “I missed lunch today and I’m starving.” She’d been busy calming Kelly James, who was beginning to panic. That was the worst thing Eaton’s wife could do. This trial was all about character—and proving that neither James nor his family or associates had any doubts about his.

Blake asked about the trial while they waited for their drinks. She felt like a Democrat talking to a Republican. Or a Republican talking to a Democrat. They both wanted justice to be done, wanted what was best for society at large and saw the way to get there on opposite ends of the spectrum.

“It’s obvious the man is guilty,” Blake told her fifteen minutes into the conversation. “If you really want to serve the Constitution, you’d see that and help him get the fairest punishment.”

“He’s not guilty until proven so beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Juliet reminded him. “And until that happens, he deserves to be treated that way. As though he’s not guilty. Meaning, I believe what he tells me and my job is to try to persuade those sitting in judgment to do the same.”

“Regardless of what you think personally.”

“Personally, I know it’s possible that he’s a good man and a rotten businessman who didn’t knowingly defraud anyone.”

“Establishing bogus companies is against the law. Ignorance is no excuse for criminal action.”

“He claims they weren’t bogus but, rather, ventures that never got off the ground.”

“So why are there invoices for goods purchased from vendors that don’t exist?”

“He was told the vendors did exist. He established the companies with the belief that his associates were on the up-and-up and he was helping them all get started.”

“With that theory, you could free up just about anyone for a white-collar crime.”

“The jury has to be convinced,” Juliet told him. “Ultimately, the truth must speak for itself.”

“The truth?” he asked, munching on the chips that she had hardly noticed appear. “Or some twisted bits of fact and fiction that pose as the truth?”

A topic close to her heart. “How do you define fact and fiction?” she asked. “Some people believe in angels. They’d pass a lie detector test claiming that angels exist. That they’ve actually seen an angel. For others, reality is completely devoid of such possibilities. Who’s right?”

“If someone can prove that angels exist, show a picture of ones they’ve seen—” He stopped, smiled. “I’m digging myself in deeper than I care to be at the moment.”

She didn’t know if it was the drink or if there really was something about this man’s presence that affected her, but that strange mixture of anticipation and appeal she’d felt nine years ago was settling over her again.

All these years she’d blamed it on the drinks. She’d had several back then.

Today she’d had three sips. So far.

“Okay, well, think about this,” she said. “You don’t have to buy into it, just try it on long enough to see how it feels.” She helped herself to a chip.

“I’m game.”

“Truth is the means by which human beings try to define reality, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.” His nod was accompanied by a slow smile. “Most of us anyway.”

“So the issue is defining reality.”

“Maybe.” He took another chip, his eyes narrowed.

“But any psychiatrist will tell you that for every single human being there is a different version of reality. Our realities are shaped by the belief systems we were raised with.” She took another sip. “Say, for instance, from the time I’m a little girl, my mother punishes me for saying the word ain’t. So I end up thinking it’s a bad word. Just like damn. Or worse.”

“Okay.” His enjoyment of the conversation was obvious. His eyes lit up, just as his daughter’s did when Juliet debated with her. Much the way they had that long-ago night, when Juliet and Blake had talked until the bar closed and they had to go somewhere else.

Juliet wasn’t sure there’d been another man in her life who’d risen to the challenge without feeling challenged, without feeling a need to assert male superiority or authority, without ego being involved.

“So then I meet a friend whose mother uses the word ain’t regularly. My friend uses the word. I’m absolutely convinced that she swears.”

“A little feeble, but I get where you’re going with that. I still don’t see the application to Eaton James. In his case, reality is clearly defined by irrefutable documents.”

“The documents aren’t on trial. A man’s intentions are on trial. You look at those documents and attach your meaning to them. But just because it’s your version doesn’t mean it’s the real version. How can he be guilty of defrauding people if he didn’t deliberately mislead them?”

“He invoiced mock companies for goods that were never produced. Those invoices were paid.”

“And he was under the understanding that the goods had been shipped.”

“There was no proof of that. No confirmation of sales. No receipts.”

“So he was too trusting. That’s not a crime.”

Blake shook his head. “I didn’t ask you here to debate Eaton James.”

Neither had she accepted for that reason, though she was content to do so if it kept her out of more dangerous territory. “Here’s the thing,” she said, returning to what she’d started to say earlier. “We all have different views of reality—which, as long as we follow society’s rules, is just fine. And when it’s perceived that someone breaks one of those rules, society’s reality is determined by a vote from the majority. That’s justice. In this case, the majority comprises the twelve people sitting in that jury box. Schuster presented the state’s reality, I present James’s, and it’s up to those twelve individuals to determine which version is true.”

“I’ll say this for you,” Blake said, shaking his head. “You sure have a colorful way of looking at it all.”

“As opposed to you, who sees everything in black and white?” She couldn’t stop herself from issuing the challenge, probably because she somehow knew it would be taken in the manner intended—without defensiveness.

“I do like things to be clearly defined.”

“I remember that about you.” She took a chip, dipped it in salsa, brought it slowly to her mouth.

“What?” The corner of Blake’s mouth twisted slightly.

“That morning, after…you know.” What in the hell was she doing? She paused before continuing. “You were quite serious about making sure that we both clearly agreed about what had and hadn’t happened. And about what couldn’t happen again. You wanted it all spelled out. We wouldn’t exchange information because we weren’t going to contact each other.”

“I was leaving the country!”

“And I would’ve shot myself before I’d have become entangled with a man.”

With both hands around his glass on the table in front of him, he looked over at her, a smile in his eyes, but his mouth was serious. “It was damn good for what it was, though.”

She floundered. Wished she’d downed her drink the moment it came. Where was a safe version of the truth when she needed it?

“Yeah.”

“YOU MENTIONED your ex-wife,” Juliet ventured at the beginning of her second drink. They’d ordered a platter of ribs and chicken appetizers with veggies.

Mary Jane’s Brownie troop was going to Sea World that afternoon, and she wouldn’t be dropped off until bedtime. Juliet had no reason to hurry home. And it wasn’t as though she’d ever have cause to see this man again.

“I didn’t realize you were divorced.”

The one time she’d run into him, he’d just returned to the States five years before—with a wife. Mary Jane had been about three at the time. Marcie had been visiting and Juliet had just run out to pick up some wine for the two of them to have with dinner. Blake had been over in her part of town looking at a prospective building site and had stopped for a six-pack of beer.

He loosened his tie. “She didn’t like San Diego.”

“How can anyone not like San Diego?”

He tried to smile, but failed rather miserably, in her opinion. “Guess that proves your point about individual reality, huh?”

There was more he wasn’t saying. A lot more.

“So I guess you were right back then when you said it was a blessing you didn’t have kids.” Some dormant form of masochism had made her ask him about children that night.

“Until that point Amunet and I had lived a rather unconventional life. And neither of us was completely sure we wanted that to change. We were both fairly disoriented when we first settled in San Diego. Adjusting to a life of routine and stability is rougher than it sounds.”

“Especially after living without it for so long.”

There was gratitude in the blue eyes looking back at her.

“In the long run, I adjusted. Amunet did not.”

There was more to that story, too. But Blake Ramsden’s heartache was not any of Juliet McNeil’s business or concern.

It couldn’t be. It didn’t fit into her version of their reality.